10

Once and Future

Sometime much later Candle opened her eyes and stared up at the tiny crack of light high in the darkness above her. Slowly and painfully she eased herself to her feet and stood up. Her back felt bruised and sore but nothing seemed to be broken so she ignored it and slowly stretched out her arms in the inky blackness. She could feel nothing. There was uneven floor beneath her feet so she took a cautious step forward. There was a feeling of empty space around and above her. She spread out her arms, waving them around her. Nothing. Gingerly she walked forward, stumbling a little on the rocky, uneven floor. After several metres she stubbed her fingers on a wall, a wall that ran straight up, and was certainly not natural. She ran her fingers over it, all the while staring up at the tiny window of light so far above her. The wall was too smooth to climb, it was flat and sheer. She felt around but her pack was gone, it must still be on the rocky ledge behind the waterfall. Her pocket contained only her candle stub, and a piece of toffee. Her flint and steel were in her pack, along with the iron bar and what remained of her food. She held her candle in her hand.

"Burn," she murmured to the Ancestors, her voice sounding strange in that dark place. It didn't burn but she hadn't thought it would. She put it back in her pocket, and pressing her palm to the wall and walked carefully to the left. The wall curved slightly, and she found herself walking the circumference of a vast subterranean hall. Where was she? And more importantly, how did she get out. If the chamber she had fallen into was manmade and not a cave...surely there must be a way to leave?

She continued to trace her way around the walls, stopping abruptly as her fingers felt nothing in the dark. A doorway? She waved an arm through it experimentally and met no resistance. She paused, staring up at the tiny window of light high above her. A terrible choice lay before her, but really it was no choice at all. The cavern into which she had fallen was barren and cold. If she stayed where she was she would soon die of thirst and starvation. If she explored the depths of the mountain further she would almost definitely get lost, and then die of thirst and starvation. But this time in the dark. Who knows what creatures lurked in this dark place. She wouldn't even see them coming. Was it not better to stay in the light? If she stayed, she would die, staring up at that tiny sliver of light. If she went she would probably die. But there was a chance she would find her way out. There must be a way out. If she only she could conjure a witch light... She sat on the floor and cleared her mind. She meditated with perfect form, emptying her mind of cares and worries and aches and pains, and then slowly picturing the light in her mind. Just a simple tiny candle sized flame, nothing fancy. Just enough to see by. She willed it into existence, imaged the shape and texture of it, the feeling of warmth on her palm, just like her tutors had taught her. She opened her eyes...to darkness. She tried again and again but nothing worked, and at last, she got up wearily, resigned to her fate.

Taking one last look at the fragile little window of light she stepped forward through the doorway, arms outstretched. She felt her way with blind fingers into the ever-deepening gloom of the mountain, until nothing of light was left and she was surrounded by pitch dark. She followed her fingers with no idea of direction, making painfully slow progress down passages that rang hollow, and up and down crumbling flights of rough hewn stairs.

At one point she stopped to rest, for minutes or hours, dozing fitfully, curled on the dry stone floor. It was hard to judge the passing of time, but she knew she was hungry. She dreamed of her home, of her parents, and of complicated spells that never worked and of endless midnight passages. She awoke with a dry throat, trying to open eyes that were already open. Her back was tender and hurt her with each step. She began to feel slightly mad as if she was in a waking nightmare. Part of her became convinced that if she sat and shut her eyes when she opened them she would be safe in her bed in her parent's manse, under the familiar thatch. She opened her eyes to nothing and dug the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. She could see nothing. All was emptiness and darkness. Slowly, she crawled on, on hands and knees, occasionally bumping her head against the rock, grazing already bruised fingers. A faint hope kept her moving, these passages and caverns were made by people. They must lead somewhere.

Down another passage she went, groping in the darkness. She followed a faint stirring of air which led her to a rocky corridor. She followed the whispers of air eagerly. Yes, the air was fresher, and perhaps not quite as dark? She cut her finger on the rusty hinge of what must have once been an iron door. But then up ahead, was she dreaming? It was a faint light! She stumbled on a rock in her eagerness and fell forward, with a cry. Runes were etched into the wall up ahead. They glowed with subtle magic. She brushed them wonderingly with her fingers. How long since this spell had been cast? Who had made them? It was still active, which meant it was maintained... or perhaps it had been cast long ago and was very powerful. She didn't recognise any of the markings, except one which might have been gwitha for protection? Or perhaps cage? She wasn't sure. It was both like and unlike the runes she knew. Where had she seen them before? They tickled her memory but she could not remember. Whatever they were, they were old and partially worn away where the light was dimmest.

She stayed in that spot for a while, basking in the glow, then, regretfully moved on into fresh darkness. Down, down she went, down a spiral of stairs and then through a series of what felt like small caves. She turned a corner and paused at an opening. Concentric circles of magically active light gleamed sweetly in a great vast cavern, and at its centre... She walked forward and stumbled over a rock. Hunger and tiredness making her clumsy. She fell against one of the glowing circles, scuffing it with her foot and the line broke. It had been made with some sort of white powder, rather than permanent runes etched into the rock. The whole pattern went dark. Uh, oh, she thought. What had that been there for?

As her eyes adjusted to what little light remained she stayed very, very still. The hairs on the back of her neck were rising slowly. She was no longer alone in the darkness. She was sure of it. Every instinct cried out. In the dark centre, something stirred. Or was it the trick of the light and her feverish mind? Her ears strained to hear, her eyes strained to see. The air stirred again, and there was a faint dry rustle. The darkness moved. There was a strong smell of charcoal. And something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Who was it? What was it?

“Who’s there?” she cried, at last, sweat breaking out on her forehead. She desperately hoped it was a who and not a what. Her voice sounded strange and unfamiliar to her ears. Everything felt wrong. She should run, but where to? It was useless to flee in the dark. Curiosity overcame fear. She wanted to know - what was in the cave with her, encircled in what could only be spells of warding. Some of which she had unwittingly destroyed. Was it human, beast or spirit? If she was travelling to the Night Nation tonight she wanted to know what it was that would send her there. She took a cautious step forward, poised for flight when a velvet voice rang out from the darkness.

“Would you mind terribly,” it said, “giving me a hand?”

Candle stood rooted to the spot. Surely she was imagining things now. Her madness had taken over her mind once again. She felt a hysterical giggle bubble up from somewhere in her chest.

“Please?” said the voice, masculine, soft and very persuasive. “I’m over here.” Candle turned her face but the speaker remained in the shadows.

“I – I can’t see,” she muttered after a moment, embarrassed and afraid all at once. Several witch lights blossomed into being, illuminating the cavern. They floated gently, reflecting off a circular pool that was in the direct centre. Standing ankle deep in the water was a broad-shouldered man in a tattered black shirt and trousers. His brow was too heavy for conventional handsomeness, and his hair long and matted. But he had a strong jawline that gave him rather savage good looks. His eyes, at least, were not blue but an unusual tawny gold. His body was relaxed and he lifted one brow lazily as she looked at him. But Candle did not miss the chains that held him in place by both ankle and wrist. By the Ancestors, what had she stumbled into?

Her eyes slid from the chain to his face. He was watching her with at least as much interest as she showed him. He beckoned to her casually, clanking as he did so.

“Over here, child,” he said, unnecessarily.

Candle stayed where she was. She glanced down at the last remaining circle of wards. The one she had stumbled through was made of salt, she saw with a sinking heart. Despite his situation, the man managed somehow to exude an air of unhurried repose. His eyes glowed gold in the dim light, and they were locked on her with an intensity that belied the casualness of his speech, and the relaxed lines of his body. Candle received the overwhelming impression of a predator, lulling its prey.

“Who are you,” she asked.

“Jotham,” said the man, immediately, and much too politely, thought Candle, for the circumstances, “at your service. And you are..?”

“Candle.”

“Candle, my dear, I seem to have fallen into some distress and need your assistance.” He looked at her pitifully. The effect was charming or was meant to be charming, and effect which was not lost on Candle. She distrusted charming men even more than she trusted other men, which was to say: very little. His manner irritated her in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on, even though she was tired and hungry and not a little afraid. The silence stretched between them.

"What are you? Why are you here?" she asked, at last. "Who bound you here in the dark and why?"

"Just a man, fallen on hard times," he said, picking at a filthy nail. "It's a long story, I wouldn't want to bore you."

"Just a man?"

"Yup." Candle didn't move, and Jotham sighed. The water around him rippled. "It is a long tale, little friend, and one I shall tell you once you set me free." He paused, looking at her stony face. "And in return, you shall tell me what you are doing wandering my halls."

"Your halls?" He nodded. Candle looked at him, standing tall and unbowed in that pool of water and felt very strongly that setting this man free would be a mistake. She stepped backwards, taking care not to scuff the remaining gleaming line of salt.

"Come now," Jotham said, "let us make a bargain. There must be something that you want. Something I can grant you in exchange for my freedom? Gold? Treasure?"

"Are you a spirit out of folklore, to be granting wishes?" she said sarcastically. He laughed and the sound was unexpectedly merry and out of place in that dark chamber far below the rest of the world. The witch lights bobbed and bounced, sending the shadows flying.

"No spirit am I," said Jotham, at last, "but a creature of flesh and blood. Now, enough of this. What do you want in exchange for your aid?"

"A way out," said Candle, at once, "a way out of this mountain. A safe way out." She swallowed. Someone had chained him up for a reason. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to keep him here. He was bound by the triple protections of salt, iron and water. However normal he sounded she could not ignore that.

But she was growing weak. She longed for the sun...and for a decent meal. If she didn't escape the dark soon she would die anyway. She was tired, so very tired. She was so tired it was an effort to stand up. But she had to hide her weakness from this man.

"We have a deal," said Jotham. "Now please get this chain off me. I am in rather a lot of pain.” He sounded like a high born aetheling lady discussing a broken nail over tea, she thought, in disgust.

"How?" said Candle, not moving.

"The key sits on that plinth," he pointed, chains rattling, and Candle saw a large silver key. She went over and looked at it, stepping over the salt carefully. She was still loathe to set him free but could see no practical alternative. So she picked it up and slowly waded into the water, which was ankle deep and chilly. Jotham watched her approach eagerly, his eyes bright and golden, like a crouching spider ready to pounce. This close Candle could see the sores on his body from the rusty chains. The skin beneath them was crusted with filth.

“Thank you,” he said, as she stopped before him, the key held in the air. As he spoke tendrils of magic coiled out of his mouth and twined towards her, twisting over the water.

“No!” said Candle, sharply, dropping the key and leaping aside to avoid the twisting vein of magic. She sloshed backwards through the water. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you spell me! I’ll be damned if I ever let anyone ever spell me again! I’ll find my own way out, and you can just...lie there in the wet and die!” She turned and prepared to step back into the darkness of the passages beneath the mountain. “No,” she said again, to herself as much as to the man in the pool, and forced herself to walk back into the black, one shaking leg at a time.

Jotham's laughter echoed down the passage behind her. This time his laughter was dark and deep, verging on hysteria as well as amusement. No merriment this time. It was an uncomfortable sound to hear in the dark.

Maybe he’s mad, Candle thought. He must be mad..maybe...we're both mad...Maybe this is a dream... A loud click echoed through the cavern followed by a splash. Her heart lurched as a large hand grabbed her by the shoulder. Jotham turned her around as easily as he had turned the key she had so foolishly dropped. His face had lost its pale drawn quality and his skin was a warmer colour. Veins of magic crisscrossed his body healing the many cuts and scars, he grew more vital as she watched. Powerful magic, Candle thought, with some discomfort. She had never seen anyone work a spell soaking wet. Ever. Water and magic didn't mix. It was a fact of life, like the fact that water was wet.

Jotham laughed down at her, his golden cat’s eyes gleaming in the dimly lit cavern, wild and fierce.

"Thank you for releasing me, little cousin," he said. He didn't let go and she stood paralyzed, staring up at him. What had she done? He leaned forward with feline grace and lifted her effortlessly so her eyes were level with his. She gasped in shock, and squirmed, trying to escape, but he held her easily. “Now tell me exactly why I should not kill you now?”

"I set you free!"

"I'm not entirely sure that you meant to. Now tell me what you are doing here if you want to live."

"I just want to get out," she said. Shock made her bold. “How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“How did you cast a spell while you were standing in water? You ungrateful maggot of a man."

Candle kicked at him, with what little strength she had left but he merely laughed and held her at arm's length. He could probably tear her in two with his bare hands. The last of her energy dulled to embers. What was the point of struggling? She was so tired. So very tired.

"I like the water," he said, unhelpfully.

"You said you would show me a way out."

"In exchange for my freedom."

"Are you not free?"

He laughed again, the merry laugh, not the disturbing manic one that made her skin crawl. The sound bounced around the cavern.

“I am. And I am not an ungrateful maggot. Merely a curious one. You are the first human I've seen in...a long while. But before I grant you your freedom first tell me why you came here.”

"Tell me why you were chained up."

"You first," he dangled her in the air expectantly.

“I'm lost. I just want to leave! I didn't come here on purpose. I don't even know where 'here' is! I was running from some wights and climbed up a waterfall to escape them. I fell into the cave by accident and couldn't get out."

“You didn't come to steal?” said Jotham, studying her curiously, as if he were trying to look through her eyes into her very soul.

"No. What is there to steal anyway? No one cares about rocks and chains."

She sagged in his grasp, suddenly too tired to struggle any more. If death was inevitable she hoped it would come soon so she could finally rest.

"What is a wight?"

"An evil spirit,” said Candle, wearily. What was the point of talking? ­What was the point of anything? “Cursed ones from the Night Nation. They wanted to eat me, to wear my skin. How do you not know what a wight is?”

He shrugged, lowering her to the floor.

“Perhaps I know them by a different name. I have been here a long while. But you...these wights...not much to eat, little cousin” he said thoughtfully. He poked at her ribs, and she swatted his hand away feebly. "Times must be tough in the Day Nation."

“Maybe,” she said, but it was hard to pay attention when the floor seemed to be moving. Her legs were unwilling to hold her weight. She crumpled slowly and the ground rose slowly up to meet her. It was growing darker there in the deep cavern, so far under the mountain.

“Candle? Was that your name? Candle? Are you alright? Are you hungry?" she heard Jotham say, and she nodded in agreement. When was the last time she had eaten a proper meal? She couldn’t remember. Jotham was talking but she couldn't make out what he was saying.

“...not much more than a mouthful, anyway,” she heard, as the darkness closed over her.