“Look! This is the mark for Pillars.” I point to overlapped right angles incised to the right of this passage. “Like start gates on a Fives court.”
“This is not a Fives court, Jes,” says Kalliarkos, hands extended as if calming a crazed person. “We are buried underneath the City of the Dead. But Ro and I have found stairs—”
“Don’t you see?” Like my mother I’m feverish, but it’s an idea that consumes me, not illness. I begin to sing the song that announces each new Fives run: Shadows fall where pillars stand. Traps spill sparks like grains of sand.
To my surprise Ro-emnu joins me, slipping into harmony: Seen atop the trees, you’re known. Rivers flow to seas and home.
Kalliarkos whistles sharply to interrupt us. “You both need to drink something and sit down. You’re dizzy.”
“No, she’s right about the marks.” Ro-emnu’s agreement comes so unexpectedly that I actually smile at him. “And there were sparks that turned to sand.”
“I didn’t see any sparks,” says Kalliarkos.
“You’re not Efean,” says Ro-emnu. “Go on, Doma.”
The pattern has seized me. It’s like watching Rings unfold on the court. “You said you climbed a lot to get to us. So you entered the underground complex in Trees, right?”
They glance at each other. “We entered next to a pool and crossed some streams,” says Kal.
“Ah! Then you entered in Rivers. Even better! But the passage here that’s marked with Rivers is blocked, so we can’t return that way. What if you climbed through Trees to get to the tomb, and then we all crossed Traps together? The way the bridge was constructed is kind of a trap, right? If the stairs you found lead to Rings, then they won’t take us to the surface but into the heart of the complex. We’ll be stuck underneath the kings’ tombs. So we have to go through Pillars to circle back to Rivers. Doesn’t that make sense?”
Ro-emnu shakes his head. “This can’t be a Fives court because Fives isn’t an Efean game. The Saroese brought it here with their other festivals.”
“How do you know the Saroese brought it? You weren’t alive then. Your grandparents weren’t even alive yet.” Hands on hips, chin up, I challenge him. “Look around! Obviously this is not a Fives court because it isn’t the game we play. But I will wager you anything you wish that if we enter the passage marked like Pillars we will end up in a maze.”
“It’s our lives we’re wagering with,” Ro-emnu retorts.
“With chalk to mark the dead ends and false turns we can get through it and back to Rivers and thus to the place you came in! Do you have a better idea?”
Of course they don’t have a better idea!
In the silence, a sound flutters like wings above us. When I glance up, shadows twist along the ceiling even though the lamp isn’t moving. If sparks spill in Traps, then shadows haunt Pillars. Fear runs cold through me. But I know better than to hesitate.
“Get everyone up. We have to go now.”
We have four lamps. I lead the way with one, but we leave the other three unlit so that Kalliarkos must guard the rear with dark shrouding him. As we pick a route along the tunnel, the smoothness of a stone walkway gives way to a rumpled floor of awkward ropy ridges and bumpy protuberances. The ceiling is too high to touch; the walls are rough.
Maraya says, “These tunnels don’t seem like they were chiseled out of rock. In the Archives it’s said rough tunnels like this were made long ago by fire burning a path.”
Ro-emnu breaks in. “These passages are the veins of the land through which ran the blood of the Mother of All. Hers is the blood that wells out of the earth’s heart. In ancient days before people lived here, the Queen’s Hill and the King’s Hill were lakes of molten fire.”
“Like the Fire Islands,” she replies. “Yes, that’s what the Archivists teach.”
“It is the dames who kept this knowing knitted into the hearts of the people. Not your Archivists.” His look challenges her. “Everything you Saroese have you have stolen from us.”
“We have no time for this,” I say. Mother sags like a sack of grain over Ro-emnu’s back. Her eyes are closed, and there is blood on her legs. She will die if we don’t get her to a safe place and a healer. “Keep moving.”
Ahead, the path branches, and I find that my heart feels the same. All that I am has come unmoored. The mask I have worn my whole life is cracking, and what shines up from beneath will scald our eyes.
