The Sheltered City by John Tristan

Author:John Tristan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

It was not exactly lightless in the tunnels between the roots; after a while, Amon’s eyes picked up a subtle glow, too dim to come from even the most listless lightvine. It seemed to seep from the earthen walls, a mossy gleam which made Caedian, three steps ahead in the dark, seem carved from ebony and silver.

There were no steps leading down—there was no true floor at all, just black earth. The tunnels seemed less something dug by human or elvish hands and more the dwelling place of some fantastic worm, some limbless dragon. They were not as cramped as the stone tunnels of the Rim, but they had not been designed for a man of Amon’s height; he had to slump and shuffle in order not to scrape his head.

Amon registered a sharp downward slope in the path, a tight curve—and then he saw it. The tunnel here followed the jagged path of a fat, living root, trailing below it so the damp black wood formed its ceiling.

Caedian reached up and pressed his bare hand to the wood. A pulse of light seemed to run through it, like coldly burning blood through massive veins. There was a feeling like breath on his face, cool and loamy, a breath that almost whispered. Not words, not any he could make out at least, but whispers nonetheless.

Amon staggered, bracing himself against the wall. “Great Mother. Is that the Tree? Is it speaking?”

Caedian turned to him. The cold light faded and left his face in shadow. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard this before.”

He turned away then and moved on, following the curves of the roots. Every now and then the mossy dark lit up with one of those cold-fire bursts of light like soundless storms, and Amon felt the crawling sense of whispers all around him—whispers that did not seem unfriendly as much as inhuman.

“Caedian.”

It came from nowhere, soft as a thought. Amon froze. He grabbed for Caedian’s wrist, held it in an iron grip. The elf twisted his arm, grimace lit by bluish light. “What—”

“Did you hear that?”

Silence. The breathing of wood. Then, whispers.

“Cae. Diannn...”

He heard. His tilted eyes went wide. He slipped Amon’s grip with a graceful, forceless twist and started running.

Amon cursed loud enough to echo, and followed in a loping, awkward half run down the too-cramped tunnels. The roots loomed over him like carved dragons, flashing eyespots of cold color. Caedian’s footsteps seemed to be slipping farther and farther away, muffled by the damp earth.

Then they stopped. The whispers stopped. Amon could hear nothing except the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Amon found Caedian standing in a dark hollow beneath a great bulge of a root, his hand on a strange knot in the rough wood. The roots flashed and skittered with light all around him, so it seemed he stood in the middle of a surge of lightning. Tears streamed down his face, glittering in the stormy light. His lips were moving, but Amon could not hear a sound.

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