CHAPTER FOUR
L AURIA
The guards dragged me down a long spiral stair. After one last anguished scream for Kyros, I closed my mouth hard, clenching my teeth. If I die, let me at least face it bravely. There’s no hope of escape. Tamar—I wish I could return to you, if only for an hour…
We were deep underground now. It was cool and lamps lit our way. A memory of the mine rose up unbidden and I tried to fight it back. When we reached the bottom of the stair, two of the guards opened a heavy trapdoor that was set like a lid into the floor. They loosed me, and when I didn’t immediately try to run or attack them, one of them sized me up. All the guards were women, or I would have feared rape. As it was, it still took all the self-control I had not to shrink away from her. She kicked something down into the hole in the floor—a ladder.
“Get in,” she said. When I hesitated, she said, “Climb down, or we’ll throw you down. Your choice.”
“I’ll climb down,” I said. My legs were shaking as I approached the ladder, and I crouched carefully beside it, fearing that I would fall if I weren’t careful and that they would push me if I weren’t fast enough. They waited until I had reached the bottom, then pulled up the ladder behind me. Then they heaved the trapdoor up and let it fall shut over me with a thud. I heard a latch fall into place, though how I would have opened the door from below with no ladder…
The darkness was absolute. I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. I felt my way around the edge of the room. It was small. I could lie down, but if I put my hands over my head and stretched, my feet pressed against the opposite wall. The room was round, and lined entirely with seamless rock. It was rough, not smooth, but I couldn’t feel the lines that would be present if it had been lined with brick. How would you make something like this? Djinni, I suppose.
I felt for handholds—was there any way to scramble up? No.
Even if I learned how to fly, it’s locked. There’s no way out.
There’s always a way out. There was a way out of the mine.
This place is darker than the mine.
I’d heard stories about prisoners being thrown down into pits and left to die of thirst or starvation. I spent a long time, that first day of darkness, wondering if they would let me die here. I remembered the thirst of my trip across the desert, with Tamar, when we journeyed to the Alashi. It would not be a pleasant death. At least it’s not hot here, but I don’t imagine that would make the thirst feel any more pleasant. I swallowed hard, my throat clenching just thinking about it.
Or perhaps I wouldn’t live long enough to die of thirst. Would the air go bad? The djinn at the bottom of the mine had been there to bring in fresh air; there was no djinn here. Perhaps my throat clenched because I was starting to suffocate…But when I sat still, I could feel a breeze waft across my knees, and when I felt through the dark I found some holes in the wall near the floor. I didn’t know where the air was coming from, but there did seem to be air coming in.
After a time—it was hard to know how long—I heard a rattle above, and the trapdoor opened, just a bit. A bucket came down on a rope. It held a piece of bread and a waterskin. The water had a strange taste, and I was still hungry even after I ate the bread, but at least it looked like they planned on feeding me. They lowered another bucket and someone shouted down for me to use it for my wastes. So I wouldn’t be left to lie in my filth, either.
I lay down a bit later on the stone floor. Tamar, I thought, but the blackness claimed me, and I dreamed of nothing. No borderland. No Tamar.
It was very difficult to guess how much time was passing. I thought they were feeding me twice a day, but some days I thought they fed me three times and other days only once. I tried counting times I slept, but I knew that sometimes I napped in the middle of the day, and in any case I had no way to mark a count. This bothered me, and I spent a long time on my hands and knees, searching for tiny pebbles that I could pile up to mark the days. I gathered a small heap, and since I’d slept five times by then, I put five beside the bucket I squatted over to relieve myself. I added pebbles for several days, then reached for the pile one morning and found it scattered and lost—I had kicked it while not paying attention, or maybe in my sleep. I let out a stream of foul words. Would the guards above hear me and wonder what I was so angry about? Were there any guards up there when they weren’t feeding me?
I tried again to count, then gave up. It had been about two weeks, I thought, but it might have been half that. Or twice that. I didn’t know.
One time, instead of food, a ladder unrolled, and two guards descended with a lamp. As I shaded my eyes against the dazzling light, a blow to my stomach caught me by surprise. A lash cut across my back, tearing through the linen dress. They asked no questions, and by the time I wanted to offer information—anything—to stop the beating, I couldn’t get the words out.
Then it was over, and they were gone, until the next time. My stomach lurched when the trapdoor opened again a few hours later, but it was just my dinner. I had little appetite today, but I was thirsty; I drank the water and curled up on the floor. Sleep came easily, despite the fear and the pain, but I couldn’t find the borderland—nothing beyond thick darkness.
Even in the darkness, the fever burned in my blood. I paced around and around the tiny circular shaft, pretending that somehow this was taking me closer to Tamar. How many steps would take me back to where I belong? Sometimes the fever told me that I was going to die here. Months might pass; years. I might go completely mad alone in the darkness, until I died an old woman, forgotten even by Tamar. Other days hope seized me with a violence that made me sob. I would escape; there was a way out of here. Prometheus had been bound to the side of a mountain, his immortal liver torn out daily, until Arachne had found him and they had freed each other. Spiders liked darkness. Arachne is here; her messengers are close at hand. I thought I could hear them, when the fever burned strongly enough. Or the djinni. The djinni will help me. I am the gate. Their gate. A djinn could get me out of here. If I wait. If I hold on.
Prometheus had been freed, but there was also Zeus. The story said that Alexander had imprisoned him under a mountain when he conquered Olympus. Though some believed that anyone who found Zeus and freed him would be granted immortality in gratitude, in nearly a thousand years he had not been found. I am not going to live that long.
Then I woke one morning and felt the darkness settling in around me like a blanket of snow, and knew that the hope I’d felt had only been the fever that was now leaving me. There was no reason to hope. No reason to continue. I left my food and water untouched. There is a way out of here. One way. And with no Tamar here to force me to eat and drink, it shouldn’t even take all that long.
Perhaps a day after that, the ladder unrolled. I waited, curled in the corner, for the guards to descend, but no one did. “Lauria,” someone called from overhead. “Come up the ladder.”
Stay here, the melancholia whispered. Let them drag you up if they want you that badly. You’re tired, weak from hunger, you don’t have the strength to climb the ladder.
“Come up,” the voice said again.
Curiosity won out. I stood up, steadied myself against the wall as my head spun momentarily, and climbed up the ladder.
There was lamplight above; it dazzled my eyes, and I couldn’t see much. The hands holding me were female, but I could hear a man’s voice—Kyros. I heard him say on my authority and then I’ll make it worth your while. Then his hand was on my arm and he was steering me out of the room, up the spiral stairs, and out into a courtyard.
It was day. If the lamplight had dazzled me, the sun blinded me completely. My knees buckled and I couldn’t open my streaming eyes. “You need to come with me,” Kyros said, pulling me back to my feet. “Your eyes will recover in a few hours. Just keep them shut for now.”
It was galling to be so helpless. At least I’m out of the pit. I felt the sunlight leave my face as we passed inside into a cool hallway. Down a short flight of stairs, then out to another courtyard, under some sort of overhang that shaded me from the sun even as it let in a summer breeze. Inside again, up a spiral stair, and into a room. “Sit here.” Kyros lowered me into a chair. I heard the rustle of curtains. “You can open your eyes now.”
Kyros had closed the curtains, but even the thin lines of sunlight around the edges made my eyes water. I put my face down on my folded arms. “Let me get you some tea,” he said.
I sat and waited; gradually my eyes adjusted, so that I could look around the room without tears pouring down my cheeks. It was small, but with a comfortable bed, a table with chairs, a wood door with a latch on the inside. Hangings with pictures of olive trees covered the walls. It was desperately ordinary. I nearly sobbed with relief. “Why did the magia change her mind?” I asked when Kyros returned. My voice was hoarse.
“I persuaded her to grant you a reprieve,” Kyros said. His voice was gentle. He poured a cup of tea and set it down beside me at the table.
I picked it up; my hands were shaking so badly I had to use both of them to hold the cup. “After all this time?” How long has it been?
Kyros’s fingers drummed on the tabletop. “The magia is actually four women. Or rather, it’s a single office, occupied in turn by one of four women, so that decisions can be made by someone who isn’t too despondent to rise from bed.”
I wondered what happened when one magia didn’t wish to give up her authority. This didn’t seem like a good time to ask.
“The magia you met has given up the gold serpent—she has stepped aside. The new magia was more willing to listen to me. For now, at least, you have been reprieved from the pit. You’re still under guard.” He gestured briefly to the door. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t do anything foolish,” he added in a low voice. “I vouched for you. Please don’t make me regret that.”
“Why did you vouch for me?” It was a stupid thing to ask—Do you want him to send you back there?—but I asked anyway.
“Lauria. You’re my daughter. I know that I can trust you.” He stood up. “Let me get you something to eat.”
Despite the darkness that still lapped at the edges of my thoughts, I was ravenous. Kyros brought a plate of sweet rice pudding, as if I were recovering from a long illness, and a cup of cider. I tucked in, relishing the sweet, creamy taste, the silky texture of the rice, the scents of the spices. Kyros watched quietly while I ate, and sent away for more when I finished what I had. I drank enough cider to make me tipsy before I thought to slow down.
“What were you going to say about Lycurgus, before the magia had you taken away?” Kyros asked.
“He’s in league with the Younger Sisters,” I said, my voice still hoarse. “Solon, the steward—he is loyal to the Sisterhood of Weavers.”
“What do you know about the Younger Sisters?”
“Not much. Lycurgus was funneling them some of the goods from the farm. And he summoned a sorceress to help him at one point. I think she might have been one of them.”
Kyros leaned forward, clearly interested. “What was her name?”
“I can’t remember.” I was telling the truth; I couldn’t.
“Try.” Kyros stood up. “For now, I’ll arrange for you to have a bath. Your meals will be brought to you. If you want to go anywhere, you can ask your guard to escort you.” He turned back at the doorway. “If you can remember the sorceress’s name, that would be very helpful.”
Cassandra, I remembered a few hours later, as I soaked in a tub, a slave scrubbing the filth of the pit from my hair. I didn’t really care what happened to Cassandra. Should I give him the name? I didn’t have a great deal I felt willing to offer Kyros. Not even to stay out of the pit. I’d hold on to that for a while, in case I needed it.
At least I’m out of the pit for now. Maybe now I’ll be able to find Tamar in the borderland….
When I was clean and dry, the guard took me back to my room. More food, along with a glass of wine and a pot of tea, waited for me. I filled my stomach and took a hesitant glance out the window. Night had fallen. My eyes might be intolerant of light, but my night vision was no better than it had ever been; I could see little in the shadowed courtyard below. There was movement, however, and after a few minutes of watching I decided that it was not just my imagination: there was, in fact, a guard out there as well as at my door, despite the fact that it was too far to jump and the wall was too well kept to climb. I watched a few minutes longer, then let the curtain fall shut. In time, they will be more likely to slip.
I ignored the wine—I’d avoided wine for nearly a year, because it tended to remind me of the night when Sophos raped me. I took a cup of tea. Halfway through the cup, I felt sleepy and went and lay down in the bed. Despite my fear, despite everything, I fell asleep almost instantly. A dreamless sleep, again, where Tamar could not reach me. Darkness.
One of the slaves woke me the next morning. Steam rose from a cup of tea on the table by the door. There was also a tray with food—sliced cold meat, soft fresh bread, and yogurt. They had brought a basin and pitcher of cool water, and a cloth to let me wash my face. By the door, someone had set a basket with linen, needles, and colored thread. Again, I nearly wept over the homey comforts. I washed my face and had breakfast, then picked up the basket and tentatively opened the door. “Is there some courtyard…with shade? I’d like to get out under the sky,” I said, my tongue awkward.
“This way,” my guard said, and I trailed her outside to a garden.
Summer had come while I was in the pit. I was relieved that at least it hadn’t passed. It was hot and sunny, though still reasonably pleasant in the shade. I took a seat in the shade of a tree and threaded a needle. I’d always hated embroidery, even among the Alashi. If I ever get back there—when I get back there—I’ll have another vest of sister cloth to embroider. Maybe I’ll try to make a picture of a horse, so I’ll be able to do it right next time.
The garden was fully enclosed. The walls were high, but enough sun made its way in to sustain a couple of olive trees and some golden flowers. A fountain bubbled up in one corner; a slave dressed in white linen drew water out of the fountain in a blue pitcher to pour over the flowers and the roots of the trees. A white cat sat at the edge of the fountain, washing itself; after a while, I let my untouched linen drop to my lap and watched the cat as it licked its paw, then rubbed its paw behind its ears. It saw me watching, jumped lightly down from the fountain edge, and came over to say hello.
I scratched its bony little head with a fingertip; it lifted its nose and purred, then arched its back and settled itself into my lap, on top of the embroidery. I closed my eyes and stroked the cat.
My guard nudged me out of my half doze to bring me inside for lunch. Kyros had sent up a message: let me know if you need anything. I left the note on the table, reminding myself that he was my keeper, my prison guard. Nothing he did was for kindness, but because he wanted something. Still, somewhere in the dark cellars of my own soul lurked the Lauria who had once been Kyros’s willing servant, and she whispered to me now. You can trust Kyros. Kyros freed you from the pit. Kyros will never betray you.