The place where my firebolt impacted the wall shimmers slightly, as if molten, but not enough to illuminate the wall. I step forward to get a closer look, but my legs quiver with sudden exhaustion, so I work my way around the pit instead, using the curved wall for support. My breath comes too fast; my heart kicks in my chest.
The wall beneath my fingers warms as I approach, but the area already darkens, the embers winking out, and I can no longer see. I call on the zafira to light my fingertips, but nothing comes. I am an empty vessel.
I lean against the wall, panting. Please, God. I just need to see. Then I can rest.
Power trickles into me, just enough to light one finger flame. I hold it up to the wall.
Where the stone block used to be, there is now a glassy indention. Only two knuckles deep, but at least it’s something.
I’ll need every bit of strength I have for the next one, as much power as I can muster. A small water skin is attached to my belt. Next to it is a pouch with a bit of meal made of jerky, cheese, and grain. I can last a few days if I have to.
Finally I allow myself to slide to the ground and close my eyes. Sleep takes me instantly.
My stomach aches with hunger and thirst when I wake. I take a pinch of meal from my belt and wash it down with a single swig of lukewarm water. It is not nearly enough, and my stomach rumbles angrily.
I don’t even know how long I’ve been asleep. Minutes? Hours? When I first awakened in this pit, my body broken and bloodied, the air was winter chilled. It is much warmer now, and moist, as if filled with my own hot breath.
My bones ache as I clamber to my feet; however long I slept, it was not long enough. My eyes are bleary, my breath ragged, as I back up against the wall, draw in the zafira, loose a blinding bolt of blue fire against the stone.
It’s weaker this time, the light winks out faster, and I crumple onto the ground with despair. I squeeze my eyes tight. Think, Elisa!
I need more power. Maybe I could figure out how to call upon Lucero. Maybe I could channel the power of nearby animagi.
Nearby animagi. Surely they can sense my efforts. Maybe I’ll break free only to find them waiting for me.
The thought of escape suddenly feels so ludicrous I almost laugh at myself.
“Hector,” I whisper aloud. “This time, I might need you to come save me.”
I wake from another attempt because of the light streaming across my face. Hope surges. Maybe I broke through and didn’t realize it!
But no, it’s the trapdoor above. I blink against the onslaught of brightness, trying to make sense of it. Do I imagine the shape of a head, framed by the light?
“Will you consent to be our willing sacrifice?” booms a male voice. “Will you make Umbra de Deus your home and never leave, knowing that your noble sacrifice brings prosperity and happiness to the great nation of Invierne?”
“No! Of course not. I’m—”
The trapdoor slams closed, shrouding me again in darkness.
I stare at it, willing whoever it was to return. Maybe I could bargain my way out. Maybe I could lie, say I was willing . . .
I sigh. Maybe I need to blow a hole in the wall and get myself out of here.
The zafira comes unwillingly this time. It’s like wrestling with sludge to get it to fill up my limbs enough to fling another firebolt.
It’s even weaker than the last. My head swims and my bones ache with exhaustion.
An awful possibility looms: What if I’m playing into their hands? Maybe they don’t starve bearers to the point of death in this pit. Maybe the bearers bring on their own demise with repeated attempts at escape.
This time, I allow myself a little more food and water. And next time I wake, I’ll pray for a while. Eat and drink more. Renew my strength. Because a volley of puny firebolts will not get me out of this pit. But a few monstrous ones might.
Next time I will produce white fire, something that will continue to burn even after I’ve passed out.
My final white fireball explodes through the stone wall.
Icy wind whips my face, bringing the faint scents of sulfur and pine. Even though my legs tremble with fatigue, I rush toward the opening, gulping at the fresh air, afraid to hope.
The top of the opening, where my bolt landed a direct hit, glows like molten glass. Wary of touching it, I peer into the cold night. Umbra de Deus is as brightly lit as any large city. Its radiance filters down the stone ramparts and glistens against the rushing water below.
Only two body lengths separate me from the river, and my hole is right above the temple’s foundations, which are ancient, cracked, and crooked—and therefore climbable. But the rapids and the mist rising from the water’s surface will make for slippery handholds.
Should I dare the whitewater? I’ve always been a decent swimmer. But I could just as easily be pounded to death as drown in the current. And if I survived, there’s no telling where the river would take me.
I crane my neck to view the wall above me. Except for a lump of moss here and there, the way is too smooth to have any decent handholds. And near the top, the balcony hangs over the edge. I would have to climb underneath it, hanging like a spider.
The only possible route lies sideways along the foundation. Small, dark openings are set at regular intervals. Trash chutes? Gutters? Maybe I could climb up one of them.
I groan. It seems I am destined to spend a lot of time in sewers.
There’s no knowing when the Inviernos will return for me. Surely they have sensed my use of magic. I should go now. But after the last firebolt, I’m too weak. I would fall to my death.
I will rest just long enough to get some strength back. I close my eyes and pray. Please, God, I just need a little blessing from you. Send me strength. Or if you’d rather not, could you please hold my captors at bay while I rest?
I keep my eyes closed, waiting, hoping. But of course nothing happens. It’s not that I expected strength and energy to suddenly fill my limbs, but it would have been nice.
I scoot back into the pit and lean against the wall, wondering whether or not God will do as I ask. If he does, I’ll never know whether it’s him or dumb luck. Which makes me wonder, somewhat guiltily, why God never answers the obvious prayers, prayers that I can see being answered.
Having my body suddenly awash in strength—now that would be something.
I don’t realize I’ve drifted off to sleep until something crashes to the ground beside me. Black shapes roughly the size of my foot pour from a shattered wooden crate. I see eyes, hundreds of them, as round and shiny as marbles, as oily black as a Deciregus’s. Tiny claws skitter across the bedrock as they swarm toward me.
Rats.
I scurry backward toward the hole, pulling food from my pouch as I go, scattering it before me. The rats pile on top of one another to get at it, and I almost sob with relief. I’ve bought myself precious seconds.
Wind whips at my loosening hair as I swing out over the hole. I grasp the bottom edges and let myself hang, seeking toeholds. I can do this. I’ve climbed before.
But how long until the rats pour out of the hole looking for more food? Whoever threw the crate into my pit had to have noticed how bright it had become, maybe even saw the hole itself. I’ll be lucky if I am only pursued by rats.
I creep to the side, limbs splayed like a spider’s. The wall is not quite sheer, and as my grasping fingers slip and my arm swings wildly into the air, I realize the slight slope is the only thing keeping me from falling to my death.
My shoulders burn. My knuckles are already scraped, and each time the breeze picks up, I feel like a tiny grass blade, barely rooted, swaying in the wind. The dark sewer entrance is so far off.
Despair almost takes me. I can’t go back. But I’m too weak to dare a plunge into the rushing river.
Something skitters above me, and I look up to find noses twitching in the morning sunshine. One bold rat takes a step over the edge. He slips, and his high squeal echoes like a raptor’s as his ro
und black body bounces along the wall. The churning river does not even acknowledge his entrance with a splash.
To my left is a stone block that juts out from the others. It might jut out far enough that I can straddle it. I climb toward it, one careful handhold at a time. If I do it in strategic increments, pausing to rest when I can, maybe I’ll have a chance.
Sounds carry out through the hole. Footsteps. Yelling. A ringing sword.
I’ve been discovered. Tears fill my eyes, because I don’t know what to do. I can’t climb any faster. Maybe I should let them take me, look for another opportunity to escape.
But there won’t be another opportunity. Next time they take me, it will be for keeps.
The river. Rapids aside