“I’ll allow it.” He continues to steer his prisoner gently. The massive glistening blotch over the man’s chest is mirrored, dark and thick, on his back. Red-black dribbles trace lines from it almost to his waist. He seems completely unaffected by what should clearly be a mortal wound.
“He was dead,” I observe eventually.
“Djedef hereisdead.” He says it sincerely, no trace of humour this time. “They’re called iunctii. They don’t need to eat, or sleep, or breathe. They don’t age or bleed. They do still remember who they were, feel things the same as you and I—but they cannot do it without the Will of the person who brought them back.”
“Oh.” I don’t really know how else to respond. Gaze around again as I collect my thoughts. Qabr is reminiscent of the Necropolis in a lot of ways. Not maintained, though. Far less grand. The painted images are faded and cracked. Some entrances have carved symbols above them but more than a few of those have been scratched off, completely defaced. Where they have not, I can see the script is rudimentary, functional more than artistic. “So thatwasWill. Gods. When you said its effects were different, here …” I laugh awkwardly. Still not really believing what I’m implying.
“I know. It’s hard to grasp, at first.” Caeror’s sympathetic response confirms it anyway. “Mechanically, everything works the same as on Res—ceding,self-imbuing and imbuing. Except that back home, you imbue in order to strengthen and manipulate. Here, you do it to restore and sustain. In this case, as long as you can give enough Will to account for someone’s injury—and little enough time’s passed that their mind is still intact—they wake up a iunctus.”
He delivers it simply and mildly. I reel regardless. “So ithealsthem?” I look again amidst all the blood smeared across Djedef’s skin. Thereisa wound there. Pulled tight, closed. But still visible. Still raw.
“No. If I take my Will back, the injury that killed Djedef will open again. It’s compensating for what’s wrong with him, not fixing it. Think of it as giving his body the ability to ignore the injury. And only barely doing that, in this case,” he adds softly. “I didn’t have much to spare. He’s not showing it, but he must be in great pain.”
Djedef says something I don’t catch, and Caeror gives him an affirming squeeze on the shoulder. “I should talk to him some more. He’s a little disoriented.”
“Sounds familiar.”
Caeror grins back at me. “Arguably notquitethe same, though.”
I accede with a reluctant chuckle. Uneasy though I am and grim though this place is, Caeror’s amiable energy is hard not to find reassuring.
I almost say nothing more, but my gaze drifts to Djedef’s bindings, and I find myself asking before I can help myself. “Is he dangerous?”
Caeror’s smile dims. He examines the blindfolded man as if trying to make a decision.
“I hope not,” he says eventually. “That’s why we’re going outside. There’s a way to find out, but we can’t do it in here.”
Caeror resumes his conversation with Djedef after that. Low and gentle, still mostly inaudible to me. I catch snippets as Djedef talks about his life, his family. Some sort of escape. There’s sadness in the man’s voice, and I hear it crack more than once. Whatever he’s saying, it seems personal enough that I find myself trying not to listen too closely, despite my curiosity.
The crevasse has begun to taper and finally, ahead, its rocky end emerges from the dim. Caeror doesn’t pause, pushing forward until it’s almost too narrow to continue. Then he crouches.
“In here,” he tells me, indicating the barely waist-high opening.
I stare at the hole. So small and lost in shadow I’m not sure I would have even noticed it on my own. “How is he going to get through?” I ask, indicating Djedef.
“He’ll have to shuffle on his knees. We’ll take it slow.” He murmurs something to the man in Vetusian, then ushers him forward, helping him kneel before he hits his head on the stone. I crouch, peering in after him. His awkwardly shambling progress is quickly lost to the utter pitch of the tunnel.
“Other than the Channel, it’s the only way out of Qabr.” Caeror’s seen my expression, makes the explanation understandingly before kneeling and disappearing after the dead man. Clearly expecting me to follow, no matter my misgivings.
I wait a few seconds longer. Not fearful, exactly. The last time I was in a tunnel this tight was more than four years ago, and it was underwater the entire way.
My little sister’s ghost blurs my vision. Gods. I haven’t thought about her in so long. I haven’t remembered her nearly enough.
“Vis?” Caeror’s voice, muffled and twisted.
I swallow the moment of melancholy, kneel, and crawl after him into the dark.
WE INCH THROUGH THE ABSOLUTE BLACK FOR MINUTES,me feeling my way forward and following the sound of Caeror’s sliding and scrabbling. The tunnel is never so low we have to drop to our stomachs, but several times my head painfully grazes rough rock. Caeror warns me of any sharp changes in direction in a calm, clear voice. Accustomed to this journey, I suspect.
It’s no small relief when I realise I can see the outline of my hands in front of me; a minute later and we’re scrambling out through the crevices and crags of a low cave. Strong, natural light floods the entrance, and I drink in the sight of it greedily. The cloying, burning air, which I’ve largely adapted to, is noticeably worse up here. Immediately harsher and thicker. But in the familiarity of what I’m seeing, the relative normalcy of it, the sting is a minor inconvenience.
“Alright.” Caeror exhales it in Common, extending a hand and helping me through the last narrow section. Djedef is already standing out in the sunlight ahead. I squint and shield my eyes as I emerge into the blinding white. Ulciscor’s brother waits until I’ve straightened, and then hands me a long, heavy robe that was stowed between some rocks. “We’re going to walk in single file now. Spread this out and drag it behind us. We both need to watch the skies, too. Same as Solivagus. You see movement, you tell me.”
I almost don’t hear him. The midday sun pounds down upon an ocean of white sand. A hot, dry wind sweeps along the dunes of the desert that stretches away before us. My bare skin is immediately, uncomfortably aware of the heat. It’s not even close to an embrace in the way it used to be on Suus during the summers. This is an assault. Dry, and harsh, and instantly unpleasant.
In the distance, in a valley below that’s cut in two by the glitter of a snaking river, lies a massive black pyramid that glints and glimmers and wavers in the heat.
“That’s Duat,” Caeror says quietly, following my gaze. “It’s a Concurrence city.”
