Page 46 of Aubade Rising
Black spots interrupt my vision, blotting out his face as he prepares to throw me into the wall again. The rebel guard’s hands slacken and release. Then relief – I can breathe. I drop to the floor with his bone-chilling scream deafening me, blood vessels popping in the whites of his eyes.
Eskar kneels, panting, his unbound hands contorting and twisting. There’s silence after the guard dies.
“Are you okay?” I whisper as I help him stand, taking in the blood pouring from a head wound and black, green and yellow bruises merging across his ribcage. He staggers a little, legs buckling and winces. “Likewise.”
“I’m not the one who’s been tortured.”
“Not today at least.” His eyes are full of relief as they sweep across my body. Guilt at my silent observation of his treatment eats at me and I struggle to find the words to explain I never left him there intentionally. That I was never on their side. My words taste like dirt on my tongue.
“I’m so sorry,” I choke out, pulling him close.
His clothes are covered in the red mud from the tunnel floor and it’s smudged into his skin. Bruises and old lacerations interrupt the smoky red staining of the clay. The time in the tunnels has weakened him. I don’t understand how he’s even able to stand.
My hands claw his clothes, trying to get closer. The strand of Mordros magic I’ve been harbouring, lights up and dances. His chin presses into the top of my head before he pulls back.
“Here, give me that,” he rasps and I shift the rucksack off my shoulders and he swings it onto his back with more ease than I managed. Despite his treatment, Kitto kept her word about curing his infection: his eyes are focused and clear.
“Follow me, I promise I can get us out of here.” My voice cracks, neck throbbing from the rebel’s hands. I hope that’s what Eskar puts the tremble down to. I push the nerves back into my stomach, ignoring my clammy hands and we leave the cells.
He leans on me for support as I start to lead him through the tunnels. Our hands grip each other’s tightly, knuckles glowing white in the dim light. Turning back, I flinch when I see spatters of fresh blood leaving their damning trail behind us. We need to hurry.
We walk, shoulders tense and too afraid to speak. The corridors are barren lengths, no room to hide and nowhere to run if we are spotted. No one appears. Our luck holds. I don’t think I breathe until we finally reach the trap door Ciaran showed me.
It’s locked, a shiny new padlock hangs above our heads and Iswear viciously.
Eskar turns, what little colour in his cheeks vanishing along with the hope in his eyes. I can’t bear it. Then I hear footsteps.
The hatch where Kitto permits me to channel from is our last option. Pulling away from the padlock and the footsteps, we break into a slow run until we’re safely round another corner and hidden from view. I worry that even that short jog might be too much for Eskar but he simply shifts the rucksack to his other shoulder. We have to keep moving; the hatch is back past the laboratory. An invisible noose feels as if it tightens round us as I lead us back to the laboratory.
Kitto never let me see what lay outside this trapdoor. I don’t even know which side of the tor it comes out on, or whether it’s another exit into the quarry where we’ll be easily discovered. It’s a risk we’ll have to take; there’s no going back now.
In my panic, I take several wrong turns and am sprinting when I get to the hatch. It’s unlocked but the ladder is missing. I look to Eskar, unable to hide the fear that’s threatening to take over. He doesn’t falter, lifting me above his shoulders to open it. My face flushes as I scrabble with the catch, fingers slow and conscious of his hands so easily gripping my waist, despite weeks of being held prisoner. How does he have the strength?
I pull myself through the hatch, arms straining and breathe in the cold damp air, my lungs struggling from the underground run. Eskar passes through the heavy rucksack and as I’m hanging through the hatch to lift it out, we freeze at the sound of footsteps. Our luck has run out.
An unfamiliar face rounds the corner; he shouts at us to stop. Thankfully, the guard is slow to progress down the tunnel and unarmed.
Conflict over whether to incapacitate them or to escape flits across Eskar’s face, anguish in his caramel eyes.
“Leave him, let’s go!” I make the decision, extending my handto help pull him up. He ignores it, launching himself and grabbing the sides of the hatch, pulling himself through in one swift motion. He lands less elegantly, stumbling and getting tangled in my legs. We stop to close the hatch, throwing as many loose stones and boulders on top as we can reach, hoping it buys us precious seconds to escape, then we take off at a run downhill.
Chapter 46
The mist is thinner here. The outline of a tor towers above us but I can’t make out if it’s the same view as Ciaran showed me. If it’s not and we’re heading deeper into the Haag, then we’re as good as dead. With no food or supplies, I was banking on being able to make it through the moorland to Tanwen. The view of the tor fades as we tumble down the hill.
Even in his weakened state, I struggle to keep up with Eskar until the ground flattens. He pauses in a hollow at the base of the tor and we stare over the boggy quick mud vanishing into the fog. As the stagnant, fetid air of the swamp washes over us, my stomach turns. Each step is a risk; we cannot afford to get stuck.
At the first gorse bush we find, I dive upon the berries, pulling one from the nearest side. Luck is not on my side – I heave. My heart sinks as I calculate our direction. We’ve travelled down the tor away from Tanwen and now need to circle the base before we can make it out of here.
That’s more time to be caught in the open, more time for the rebels to send out scouts to find us.
I barely allow myself to think as we pick our way round the base of the tor, keeping the slope on our right. Large boulders interrupt our path and I have the strongest sense we’re not going quickly enough. Neither of us is prepared for this terrain and the rucksack of serpentine is bulky and unyielding.
Our slow pace raises my anxiety. The rebels are familiar with this terrain. If Ciaran is leading the hunting party then there might be a chance he can put them off our tracks, but if he’s not…
Every few minutes, we stop to test a berry and alter our trajectory. Before long I’m sick of the taste of both types,the noise of retching accompanies our heavy breathing as we continue our blind escape.
Several times I think I hear shouts and cries from rebels chasing us but I tell myself if we can’t see them then we’re hidden as well.Neither of us speak, not wanting to risk our voices carrying through the mists and revealing our location.
