Page 45 of Aubade Rising
It would be presumptuous to read resentment from that one comment but it niggles my curiosity.“Why are you telling me this?”
“Call it self-preservation, call it a sense of foresight. Why, I’ll call it a conscience if it means I can sleep at night,” he continues, pointing north-west. “Tanwen is a half-day hike in that direction. Even if the mist descends, keep travelling that way and you’ll reach the boundary of the Haag in no time. You should be able to find your way from there.”
“And how am I meant to know which way is north-west without a compass?”
Sighing as if I have the intelligence of a small child, he walks to a small, spiky bush a few feet away. Plucking two small yellow berries, one from each side of the bush, he hands them to me.
Perplexed, I hold them in my hands and stare at him, waiting.
“I don’t recommend swallowing them, but you do need to put them in your mouth at least.”
As if that is the most obvious thing to do in the world. I go to shove them both in and he grabs my wrist strongly.
“One at a time, one at a time!”
This man is insane. The first berry is bland and earthy and I have the distinct impression it might, at some point, have been pissed on by a wild animal. I spit it out in disgust, retching.
Bracing myself for the next disgusting taste, I pop in the second berry.
A vibrant, nutty flavour explodes in my mouth. A flavour completely at odds with the previous.
“See, the berry that gets the sun produces the oils that make the flavour.”
“The sun, here?” Even with the rich taste fading in my mouth, I’m sceptical.
“Not much, but it’s enough. The side of the bush with sweet berries faces south. As long as you don’t swallow them, you can find your way.”
Interesting. It might be a trap, but my gut is telling me to believe him and it’s more progress in forming an escape plan than I’ve managed over the last few weeks. I’m running out of time. Kitto is working frantically to master the Gallos and her behaviour becomes more erratic each day.
“Are you planning to leave?”
A coarse laugh, tinged with regret, I think. “I’m more useful to Kitto here. When you’re back in Pentargon, remember not all of us wanted to attack the cities.” His fractured sigh breaks free. “Many of us had friends, family there. There’s been no news…”
I think of Cedar back in Pentargon and I understand. I don’t know how the King will respond when he learns of this place, how aggressive his retribution will be, but we should allow those that want to, an opportunity to surrender if we can.
“I can’t promise I’ll be able to temper his response, but I will tell the King of your help and regret.”
Looking to the distance, towards where Pentargon should be, soaking in the view as if he knows his time is limited, his response is heavy. “I understand – that’s all I could hope for.” He pauses, then reaches his hand to mine. “I’m Ciaren by the way.”
Savouring the fading daylight for a moment more, I take his hand and shake it.
Chapter 45
I spend the next two days rehearsing the route from the dining hall to the trapdoor Ciaren showed me. Since our conversation, I’ve been left unguarded. Every spare moment in the evenings is spent wandering the tunnels, familiarising myself with the warren of routes and pathways.
Ciaran has conspicuously ignored me since our conversation; he’s rarely at dinner again, so I’ve not had an opportunity to ask for more help. Every time I’ve made the trip to his trapdoor, there’s no lock or barricade preventing me from opening it. Once or twice, I’ve been tempted to crack open the door, to get a lungful of fresh air. I resist, unsure whether Kitto or one of the other Zephyrs would be able to sense the change in air in the tunnels and become suspicious.
Living in this heightened state of anxiety is exhausting. I’ve stopped sleeping properly. Balancing Eskar’s healing when I’m not permitted to visit him versus Kitto’s progress with the Gallos is nerve-wracking. I need him to recover as much as possible, but if I leave it too late his torture will resume or I’ll be imprisoned too. Kitto, normally so sharp-eyed and observant, misses my frequent yawns and doesn’t mention my brain fog. Nor does she remember to reassign guards to me in the evenings. She’s distracted by our progress, honing her visualisation skills and having me infuse bomb after bomb, each one bigger and more powerful than the last.
The next morning, the laboratory is empty. I call out for Kitto but get no response. The air is stale; I’m the first to arrive. I check the drawer and the keys are there. It takes seconds to make my decision. This is it. We’re making a run for it.The antechamber is lined with shelves of serpentine crystals. I only have the rucksack I’ve stashed in the cupboard under my workbench. It will have to do. It doesn’t take long to fill. I swing it on my back, staggering under the weight, knocking over several vials of Kitto’s other experiments.
I didn’t consider this. If I bump into someone, they’ll know I’m hiding something and I won’t make it far if I run. I’ll have to go slowly and trust I won’t be seen.
My heartbeat is so loud, it drowns out everything. The route is burnt into my memory, each step towards the wretched cells is a step closer to being free from the rebels. The heavy sack thumps against my back as I creep through the tunnels.
Eskar lies on the dirt floor of the cells, being kicked and spat on by two rebels. I left it too late; they consider him healed enough. My steps falter; I can’t take them both on. I swing my heavy rucksack at the one closest, hearing the rocks connect with the back of his head with a sickening crunch. He drops to the floor, blood pooling beneath his head. The other guard shouts for back up, charging at me in a rage, hands reaching for my throat.
My eyes bulge as his grip tightens and my airway crushes. He’s so much stronger than me and lifts me clean off the floor, slamming me into the wall.
