The Hostage, part one.
The Great Fire continues as Maya enters the tunnels
The Great Fire is designed to be read in any order but you can catch up on the previous stories here:
Previously we heard from the dancer as she recounted what she remembered of the events that led up to the fire. Maya continues the story with what she knows.
The Hostage
Part One
There are tunnels beneath Teron that steer away from Losian Mountain towards the main gate of the city and beyond. The night I fled Teron after the attack against my life, I used those tunnels.
At the time none of it made any sense. I had heard whispers of a threat against my life and I had thought it would have come from outside my Kingdom, if it ever eventuated at all. I thought that I was safe inside the city walls.
I was given no warning to the Dancer’s arrival, so when I went to see her perform I assumed it was a charade and that she was there to kill me. Yet when I saw the knives fly at the Dancer and I realised that we were both targets, the identity of our attackers became more complicated.
From the gardens we ran towards the throne room. I had let go of the Dancer to stop my neck from bleeding. The wound wasn’t deep but blood flowed out of it nonetheless. I tore part of my shirt and tightly wrapped it around the wound to stop the blood. I continued on listening to the Dancer’s footsteps behind me, hoping the worst of it was over.
I had been so quick to believe that she was the threat. Teron had always been civil with Baline but we watched their soldiers to make sure that they never came too close to our borders or that they spent too long in Thorne, the Kingdom that lay between us.
There was no trust.
I don’t know what I planned on doing once we were both in the tunnels but we ran and I slowly worked my way through what I knew.
The men who attacked us were unmarked, which made me think that they had no allegiance and were hired by an individual rather than sent by any particular Kingdom. I thought perhaps they were assassins from Molinos. I had exiled many people to those wastes but these attackers worked as one group.
Fighters from Molinos worked alone.
The attackers were well trained but they relied on the element of surprise. I have no doubt that the Dancer’s skill surpassed theirs but even I gained ground against them. It wasn’t until the third attacker appeared and I became outnumbered on the balcony that they were able to defeat me. None of it made any sense.
We came to the beginning of the hall, at the other end my throne was perfectly framed by the old wooden doors that my grandfather had sourced from Neighrey. He said that they were formed with magic so that only the person who closed them would be able to force them open.
Although not once have I seen them shut. My mother told me that they were a symbol; we may have the power to close them but we leave them open to whoever wishes to enter. There are no secrets between our family and our people.
I hadn’t realised how scared I was until I saw the open doors. I think I had expected to see them closed or to see someone sitting on my throne waiting for me. Fear has a twisted sense of humour because I thought that somehow through all of what had happened I had become the enemy and that Teron was going to make me answer for some unimaginable crime.
We were halfway down the hall when the Dancer grabbed my arm and swung me against the wall. My head smacked against stone and my ears rang but through my blurred vision I saw an arrow fly past; one that would have easily taken my life.
I looked to the Dancer and beyond her I saw another assailant with a bow in hand and they too were un-marked and clad in black. They sent another arrow flying towards us that the Dancer caught in mid-air. In two swift movements she broke the head from its stem and with an elaborate turn sent it flying back where it struck our pursuer and we were alone once more.
My voice rasped against the binding of my wound:
“Quickly,” I said and motioned her to follow.
The throne room contains one of several entrances to the tunnels. The floor is tiled with white marble, which is carved with designs that are inlaid with gold so that as you walk towards it, and the floor catches the light, it appears to move. It’s one of my favourite parts of the castle. The room is empty apart from the throne that stands atop a small dais, which is made from the same wood as the doors.
The tunnel’s entrance is next to the throne and almost invisible to the eye, you can see it because the pattern in the tiles is slightly askew; the curl of the leaf doesn’t align with the flowers stem. After sliding the tile into the correct place the floor next to it swings down and reveals the descent into the tunnels below.
I never told Favian about that entrance, I don’t know why, but he believes that the tunnels stop at the castle gates. He asked me about them once, curious as to how they were maintained and what they were for. I told him what I told my children, they were dangerous – not to be entered.
I warned him against using them and he suggested that perhaps we should have them repaired. I told him it would mean digging up half the city and that there was no point. I told him to forget about them.
I don’t know why I said it but his ignorance meant that I survived that night - the Gods must have some pity for me after all.
I admit that as the door swung down I noticed that the Dancer wasn’t with me. I heard her voice and four others back outside in the hall. I heard her fighting them. I heard her begin to lose. I made the choice; I abandoned her and climbed into the dark.
It’s not my only regret from that night.
After climbing down to the bottom and reaching the sand floor of the tunnels, I made my way through by touch. The tunnels weren’t designed like a maze to try and trap you; it’s a network with a beginning and an end. So by entering at the farthest point, all I had to do was continue straight with one hand on the wall until I found an exit and hope that there was no one waiting on the other side of it.
I've made a map of the tunnels since then, which I should show you. It has markings that reveal all the entrances and dead ends. I marked them on the streets as well, in lines barely larger than an eye. You'd only ever know it was there if you were looking for them. So far, no one has found them.
It seems fitting that so much of my life now is spent hiding beneath my city in the same tunnels I used to try and escape it. I keep imagining the day when I climb out and take it back for my own. Although even dreams wear thin with age and hope, like flesh, begins to die.
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