Hytheira: The Tunnels Underneath Part 3

Final installment of Hytheira's Preface: The Tunnels Underneath

The walk up to the alter was a long one, and strange as well. It was like walking through a tunnel, not knowing what was on the other side, and not really wanting to. He couldn't see any faces in the crowd, just a mass of colours and shapes. Nigredo was glad of this. The last thing he wanted to see then was Waldeck glaring back at him, his cursed eye piercing through the patch he wore. He forced himself not to shudder at the experience the day before. Now was not the time to think of that. Looking up now, he finally saw his father, standing atop the pedestal, his sword in hand, waiting, his uncle behind him. He forced himself not to look at their faces. The expression on them surely weren't calming ones. A lump began to form in his throat. The pressure of what was coming finally began to fall on his shoulders. A strange feeling overwhelmed him. Suddenly he felt calm; dull; emotionless. His heart began to slow down, and his vision unclouded. The words his uncle said to him now didn't seem to matter. They went in one ear in out the other. Lies.
"Nigredo Swift."
Nigredo knelt down on one knee, his head down. The sword--his own now--landed on his right shoulder, gently. "I grant thee the right to this city." He flipped the sword over and tapped him again, "I grant thee the right to protect its people and the right to rule it as you see just." He flipped the sword again, this time on his left shoulder. "Nigredo Swift, I leave this city to you," he flipped the sword over, continuing, "and the Head of the Royal House." The sword's pointed edge landed square in front of him, nearly cutting the wooden platform. This was his cue to stand. He came eye level with Daine now, forcing his fears back. He tried to look strong, but he knew he wasn't. The two stared at each-other, both wondering if all this was really a good idea. Nigredo didn't see any emotion in his eyes. No sorrow, no anxiety, no anger. If there was anything there at all, it was a hint of disgust. He was looking down at the boy who, at the moment he came of age, would take over. He was not the type to give up easily. The boy would be his to teach for the next few passings before he was old enough. He would make sure he listened to him. A weak smile cracked on his face, puzzling Nigredo for a moment. Daine lifted up the sword now, and it lay flat in his hands.
Nigredo strained to hear anything out of the ordinary. Surely something would have happened by now. He knew he was supposed to take the sword, but he hesitated. The tension was thick enough to slice through. He could feel hundreds of anxious eyes staring into his back now. What did they expect to happen? That he would take the sword, recite some ancient passage, walk off the stage and everything would be alright? Nigredo knew his father must have been staring at him in awe, after all, he was just standing there, staring his uncle down almost in defiance. The crowd must of been confused too, but Nigredo didn't hear them. Not a word, not a breath was coming from the onlookers. Maybe they were holding their breath. Slowly, Nigredo could feel a smile growing on his face. This was fake! This ceremony, this gathering--was for nothing. He could see his uncles' confused face turning to anger now, but he didn't care.
"What are you doing boy?" he spat. Dresden moved closer, his eyes now on the sky. Nigredo thought he said something, but it wasn't for his ears to hear. Instead he glared at his uncle, trying desperately to find the words to explain.
"Daine," Nigredo cooed, "this will not happen today."
A wave of desperation moved across his face.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Nigredo stole a glance at his father, who was still gaping upward. He pointed at something. Suddenly, he realized just what he was looking at. Daine was about to strike his face, but Nigredo caught his arm and held on tight. His arm shook with strain, but his grip held.
"Listen."
He did. It was silent at first, but it was not long before both of them could hear it. The sound started off short, but with every repetition, whatever created it seemed to grow closer. They were evenly spaced apart; planned; executed with precision.

Thump. Thump. Thump.
It was a long moment before the people began to look for the source. Was it a cannon? Or maybe it was houses falling down, one by one. The sky, which had been so blue and clear, now had clouds dotting it, growing darker by the moment. Were they made from smoke, or was a storm moving in? Maybe both. It soon began to rain, for the first time in weeks. Nigredo with his small but trained eyes could see something else amongst the falling water. Black balls were falling. Never had he seen such a thing. He knew what they must be for, but for a moment, he was fascinated.
"It has begun, Daine," he said.


That was when the screams came. Panic had finally gained a full grip on the crowd. A black ball fell on a house nearby, igniting a great ball of flame and air, sending a handful of bystanders flying. Even on the pedestal, Nigredo felt a blast of warm wind. There was no-one in the house, but the people beside it... Hastily, he let go of his uncle's arm. Gently he pried the sword from the King's hands--he didn't resist when he did so.
"Goodbye." He put the sword in its sheath, and ran towards his father, who took his arm and jumped off the platform. Behind him, he could hear his brother cursing, commanding, shouting. He knelt down to his son, took a long, staggering breath and said, "Nrakkon is in the back house. You know where that is, I know you do. I need you to find him. He will take you somewhere safe. That is all I want you to think about right now."
Just Nrakkon was there? Where was his mother? His sister? And, just as importantly, where had Waldeck gone?
"Just do it Nigredo. There isn't much time." He pulled his son into a short embrace, then let him go, tears brimming in his own eyes. "Go! For Gods' sake, go!"
Nigredo did as he was told, stumbling at first, but soon breaking into a full run, ripping his leggings. He didn't bother to look behind him. He could hear what was happening. His father screaming with surprise; then silence.

Burning.

He felt his eyes turning to look, but forced his neck ahead. Nrakkon. He must find Nrakkon. The back house. Where was it? He could feel himself slowing down, his eyes searching the desolate landscape for something--anything--familiar. Everything was so different now. Buildings were missing, there was a strange smell in the air, and most of all, the people were gone. Possibly forever. A cold lump formed in his throat. He could feel it choking off his breath, slowly forming into tears. His eyes began to burn and blur. Blood...he could smell it everywhere. The smell leached from the ground, from near, from far away, from beneath his feet. The back house had to be nearby, but his vision wouldn't clear. He rubbed and rubbed at his eyes, all the while keeping his steady sprint.
"Nigredo! Where the hell are you?"
It was Nrakkon. But where was he?
"Nigredo, get over here NOW!" His head turned from side to side, his eyes finally coming to a stop right in front of him. He rushed over to Nrakkon, who pulled him inside, slamming the door. The room was quiet, much to both their surprise. The windows were shut, tightly bolted. They could barely see each-other in the dark, but both of them could feel the panic and confusion in each others' eyes.
"Nigredo?"
"Yes?"
"Father. Is he...?"
He heard his brothers' arms fall to his side, and the cold lump in Nigredo's throat rose again, this time causing tears to erupt on his cheeks, melting the paint, causing the teal streaks running down his face As his shoulders trembled, his brother embraced him, doing his best to quiet Nigredo's panic, and to keep his own from showing.
Time seemed to creep as the two stood in the cold, dank and deserted shack. As great balls of fire burst outside, as people screamed and shrieked for their lives, the two brothers were safe.
For the moment.
"Shh," Nrakkon whispered, trying to sound like his mother. "You'll be alright." But even his own voice was beginning to falter now, and he knew that their pitiful excuse for a shelter wouldn't last much longer. The crashing sounds outside were less frequent now; there weren't many buildings left to knock down, not many left to invade, not many left to empty. Nrakkon knew it was only a matter of time before this one too would be flattened. Things had to happen fast if either of them expected to survive. His decision was made even before he let his brother go. He let the words fall from his lips as quickly and blandly as possible.
"I could not find Mother and Sister."
Nigredo took a staggering step back. Couldn't find them? Neither of them knew whether they were alive or dead? Why weren't they looking right now? He stared back at his older, taller brother, his watery eyes overflowing with confusion, denial and agony. Nrakkon made no attempt to touch him, made no attempt to move. It was quite clear he didn't intend on looking for them.
"They were at the front. Near father."
It was too silent outside, much too silent. The air smelt clammy, dirty, filled with a lingering despair and emptiness that only death could create. There were bodies lying outside that door, both of them knew, and any one of them could be of the ones they spoke of now. It became apparent to Nigredo now why they had not been found, why his brother gave up the search for them. Somehow, through the dank air, he pulled out his voice.
"So we are...alone?" He spoke to himself rather than his brother, who nodded and his eyes roamed to the door.
"Nigredo...I will not let you die."
He spoke with authority now, even though his own tears were beginning to show. Nigredo would not protest; this was all that his brother, his closest companion, was asking of him through his stony face. "I am your Guide, Nigredo. We will go to the house now. We will use the Stone Tunnels to escape."

The house. What if the house was nothing but rubble by now? The Royal House did seem like one of the first that should fall. It was a sign of order, of rule, of any hope at all. Why wouldn't it have been knocked down by now? And the Stone Tunnels? Nothing but old, useless water pipes, put out of use long before either of them was even born. The plan they had was a weak one, Nigredo admitted it with his doubtful face. Nrakkon's face however did not change. The decision was made: surely perish in the shack, or gain a small, dull promise of life outside its doors. To him, there was no decision. Nigredo had to live and that was that. He could see the doubt blooming on his brother's face, the horror of their situation settling there. It was now. Live or die. Flee or hide. He would let them dwell on the matter no more.
"We are leaving now Nigredo. Don't look at me like that. When I open this door, you will run. Run back the way you came, I will follow. Keep your head up--there is no need for you to see what could be at your feet."
For a moment his mind flickered to Tantianna. Had she survived? He felt disgusted that he had forgotten about her. Where was she now? Dying in some sea of expired people? Fighting her way through intruders with only her own skill? Or maybe she was safe in the caverns, waiting alone for his arrival? The moment they had in the alley was so distant, so painfully out of reach. Her warm lips, her glowing skin, her heart so alive, beating so close to him. Tantianna...
"...Will have to use it." Nrakkon had been speaking all that time! He had not even cared to listen. He gave his own head an imaginary smack.
"What?"
"I said 'your sword: don't drop it. Do not lose it. There might come a time you will have to use it."
Lost for words, still a little enveloped in his own thoughts, he nodded. His words hit him numbly now. He could very well have to kill someone that day, someone he didn't know. Someone that could easily return the favour. Someone who very well could have killed his family..he felt a hot rage rise from the pit of his stomach, but he quickly cooled it. Revenge would have to wait. Surviving came first.
"Let's go," Nigredo said moving towards the door, where his brother had been standing for quite some time. He reached for the latch to lift it, but Nrakkon grabbed his wrist.
"Nigredo, one more thing. Please."
He listened.
"If you find yourself going it alone, DON'T come back for me. Turn your back and keep going. LEAVE me, you hear?"
Nigredo gaped at him. His face, even though he was speaking of his own death, was defiant, ready. Pride swelled up in him. His brother would die to save him, the one who took his only chance at sitting on the throne away, the one he thought his father had favoured, the one who ran amuck in the city's cobbled streets.
"Nrakkon, I..."
"I don't want to hear it. We are leaving now." His eyes narrowed as he took in a final glance of the room. He would finish his father's task. He would bring Nigredo to safety, even if it meant the loss of his own life. He would do this final errand for his father and for his brother who undoubtedly was King.
The latch was lifted, the door creaked open and two brothers both radically different, but both strikingly similar, streamed out of the wooden broom shed, the younger one's bright clothes ripping and tearing with every long stride he took away from it. They hadn't gone fifty paces when they felt heat erupt from behind them, a deafening crash following it. They had come close to death, so close they could feel it. Nigredo picked up his pace, holding onto the heavy sword at his waist to stop it from bashing into his legs. Nrakkon was not far behind him, but not speeding up at all. His top speed had been reached. He was taller and bulkier than his brother. His legs, though strong, could not keep up with Nigredo. For a moment he wondered if the house was still standing, if the very place they were running to was already flattened, but he forced himself not to think. If they made it, they made it. If they didn't...Well, at least they tried.

They did make it.

The street which they had become most familiar with was lined with rubble. The front door, luckily was still intact, they could both see. The brothers were across the street now, staring. People both living and dead dotted the cobblestone, the ones still standing making damn sure the ones at their feet stayed there.
The intruders were not like anything they had ever seen: they dressed in a strange and primitive way, and the language they spoke was unknown to both brothers, despite many visits and meetings they had had with rulers and traders abroad. Yes, these attackers were strangers. Luckily, they had not been noticed by them...yet.
"How are we going to get across?" whispered Nigredo from behind a crate. Nrakkon narrowed his eyes in thought. They could burst from their hiding place and attack, but after he counted how many of them there were--eleven--he decided against it. Even if Nigredo knew how to use his sword well, it would not be enough. It wasn't worth the risk. He promised Nigredo would survive. From where they sat, he could not see any safer hiding place to run to, and the street was too narrow to create any diversions. After a long pause, he answered his brother.
"We wait."
Nigredo stared at him, dumbfounded.
"You mean sit here while all those people are being murdered?" his voice was full of malice.
"Keep your voice down!" Nrakkon warned. "We cannot save them. Their fates are set. I'm not losing you too." They glared at each-other for a moment, until Nigredo's eyes softened, and he let out a deep sigh. It was not one of relief.
"Well, I'm not watching it." He knelt down to the ground and then laid down, putting his arms behind his head, a small comfort against the jagged stone. For a moment, Nrakkon thought he would go to sleep, but he kept his eyes open, staring at the sky harshly, seeming to wish for it to swallow him whole.

So they waited.

And waited.

They sat behind those crates full of fish for hours on end, waiting for the strangers to leave the street. They poked and prodded at the homes now empty, trying to find who knows what within them. They were in no particular hurry. It didn't seem they had any reason to still be there at all, but they lingered for a long time, some coming and going, until the sun had set.
"We can't stay here forever," Nigredo sighed. They were the first words spoken since that afternoon. And they were true words. They had been lucky to have not been found as it is--too much longer and they would be pushing their luck.
"Just a little longer. There's just the one left, and I think he's getting bored." Nigredo sat up and peeked over the crate--full of apples, he noticed now--with his brother.
One tall, burly man with a face full of dark hair was pacing, back and forth, wandering aimlessly, stopping only to admire the destruction he had caused, occasionally breaking a window, or poking a body with his broadsword, making sure his victim was dead. The look on his face was not an intelligent one; it was twisted into a permanent state of confusion. His eyes seemed to look two different directions, his lips moved tirelessly, making no real sounds. It seemed like he was waiting for something, but the brothers could assume he had forgotten what it was.
"Nrakkon.." his voice trailed off, leaving his tongue dry. This dim witted man would have to leave sooner or later, but Nigredo's head, legs, and bladder screamed in protest. He felt like sprinting from their crevace into the street, across to his home, so close. At his side, he heard a sharp intake of breath. Nrakkon grabbed his arm and pointed a finger.
"There! On his arm! Do you see?" His eyes followed his finger, but met only darkness. The moonlight flickered across the intruduers' chain mail, adding a drop of light to the otherwise black street.
"Nrakkon, it's dark.." he began, but he only squeezed his arm tighter.
"Look. There. A tattoo."
Nigredo squinted, trying to even find the man. A flicker of metal brought his eyes back to the target. The man's skin was browned with dirt and grime, and at first Nigredo could see nothing. But slowly the moonlight strengthened and the mail fell away for a moment.
"A...star?" Nigredo didn't believe the words he was saying. "What kind of a tattoo is that for a man? And there's a circle around it." Nrakkon said nothing. Nigredo could almost hear the wheels in his brain turning. Slowly, he spoke, this time so quietly that even Nigredo's fine tuned ears strained to hear.
"I have seen it before, I think. But I don't understand...they are peaceful, the Craft Users..."
The Craft. Nigredo had heard his father speak it many times, but he had no idea what it meant.
"And, I have never heard of them branding their sign on their bodies like this..."
These couldn't be the people their father had told them about. He'd seen one once, when he was very small. He had taken a wrong turn in the hall, and ended up in a conference room--while one was in session. Everyone at the table was subtly dressed--almost casually--except for one woman, in a milky white robe. There was a natural, wholesome feeling about her: her hair was wild, with flowers and colourful stems woven into it, and she always maintained good humour. Before he was escorted out of the room by his red eared father, Nigredo decided the woman sitting before him--who wasn't at all wearing an impatient look--would never hurt a fly. She was a child of nature, his father later told him. A Craft User.
How dare these men wear the Craft's mark? These men weren't sorcerrers, or nature worshippers, they were warriors and murderers. These were either imposters or something much worse.
"A rebel group, maybe?" said Nigredo. "Maybe revolting from the others?"
Nrakkon bit his lip, chewing it over.
"They already have separated from the other clans. Here we have a new breed of Craft User." He shut his mouth curtly, and bent backward behind the crates. "I think they should be called something else. Black Witches, maybe."
Nigredo agreed. These men were not gifted at all in magic or their dark Craft. They were nothing but a bunch of old warriors, revived by a new host. Nothing more.
It was nearly an hour before the man finally looked ahead, stumbled over a body and disappeared out of sight. The brothers waited a few more moments, then ventured out of their hiding place. They heard no signs that they had been seen, so they opened the door, slipped in, and closed it behind them.
One of the most eerie things in life, along with deja vu, dreams and graveyards are empty, silent houses. Houses that seemed to breathe in and out when the cruel winds washed over them, the ones that groaned in agony whenever someone dared to cross it forgotten, decaying floorboards, ones who looked sleepily at you from half closed shutters, its eyes lightly illuminated by the moonlight or sunlight shining behind them. Inside, there was a dead heavy silence, and some smell you couldn't quite trace, for it was in no one particular spot, but everywhere. Each step, each breath you took inside it seemed to edge you closer to death; it was forbidden to be there, and you knew it.

This was the sickly charm of forgotten houses. This was the brothers' home now.

Every memory, everything that breathed life into the space was gone now, sucked dry of vigour and light; of happiness. This was a house and nothing more. It was no longer a home. Nigredo could not cry. He glanced at the tapestries--torn, now, the gilded trimmings shorn off in the hopes of extracting the gold within them. The chairs were the same, the handles ripped from their bindings, scrolls scattered everywhere, the windows partly bashed in, and the stairs leading to the bedrooms were missing in spots, the cupboards and doors had been pulled off their hinges, his father's liquor cabinet was empty, (its empty evidence was on the floor), and every kitchen appliance was destroyed. All that was missing was the bodies. Nigredo grimaced. He suddenly became thankful they weren't here.
All this he took in in a matter of seconds, before his brother bent down to his height and said softly,
"We need to leave before sun-up. The others down below will have left by then." Nigredo screwed up his face. He was skeptical.
"Others? You really think there's more of us?"
"Of course!" Nrakkon spat. "There must be! There has to be!" He took his shoulders. "We aren't easy to kill, you know that." He smiled, and ruffled Nigredo's hair. "There's too many of us. With the attackers' numbers, it would be an impossible task to take us all."
For a moment, his ears perked up, and he stopped breathing. Out of habit the boys bent down, out of sight, but there was nothing living outside besides a rat scurrying among the bodies. Nrakkon lowered his voice now.
"We need to find the rest of them. Do you remember what mother told you about the Stone Tunnels?"
Nigredo was silent for a few moments, vaguely recalling his now deserted life, then nodded. "There is a latch under my bed, remember? You found it once when you were little. We're going to go down there, all right? The others will be there. I'm sure they won't wait long after sun-up for us. We need to go, okay?" His last words were those of a small boy; he sounded defeated. "Don't bother bringing anything. I assume everything we need is gone anyway. Let's go, quietly. Don't touch anything." Nigredo said nothing, edging his way across the debris strewn floor. He cringed and held his breath whenever a stair squawked from under his foot, the fear of one breaking and causing a tremendous fall mounting with each time he rose higher. He didn't want to die, and certainly didn't want to be killed because of one damn broken stair. But it was when they were rounding the sixth when something that was certainly not a rat was heard outside. Both stopped breathing at once, their cat like ears twitching involuntarily.
Voices. Foreign voices. They sounded drunk.
"Go!" Nrakkon whispered. "Go up. Quickly! I'll follow in a moment." Nigredo didn't stick around to argue, making the top step in a matter of seconds. He was surprised to find his brothers' door unharmed, and the lock still intact. He made no effort to wonder why, and entered. The bed was untouched, a cup of water on his brothers' nightstand sat undisturbed, but he took no notice, crouching down, then laying and rolling himself under the bed. It was a tight fit, and more than once the hilt of his sword jabbed him in the stomach. His fingers found the floorboards and began searching for a hole. Where was it? He hadn't been under there for so long. Was he laying on it? Scuffling and cursing, he inched his body across the floor. What took a matter of moments seemed to take hours. He found the latch, lifted the door off, and put his legs inside, letting himself slide halfway in. His pointed ears twitched, warning him of the sound before he even heard it.
Footsteps. Quickly, quietly. The door creaking closed. He saw boots coming toward him.
"Nigredo, you down there?" Nrakkon was hushed, even more so than before.
"Yes."
"Nigredo, listen to me. They are going to destroy the house. Those balls of fire we saw? Those black stones that turn into a blast of wind and fire? That will be the house soon. We need to go. Now."
"Then get under here!" He heard him shuffle to do so, but his stomach leaped when more footsteps were heard. Nrakkon shot up. They had been heard. Or were they just double checking the house for valuables? Either way, they were coming up the stairs. The sound of their chain mail was dangerously close. Nrakkon pointed to the door, and it locked on command.
"I'll distract them. If something happens, do not--I repeat--do not wait for me. Go."

Angry voices now. Drunk, confused, stupid, hungry. Nigredo heard the quiet shing of a dagger being pulled--Nrakkon's. Words were being mumbled, ones Nigredo was told never to say. Nrakkon was preparing for battle. In his mind, there was no possibility of him losing. After all, Immortals are extremely hard to kill.

Door bursting open. Shouting. Shouting in a strange language, demanding something unknown. Then clear words--spells--and light. Laughter.
Nigredo's heart stopped. Why were they scoffing? Were they that stupid?

Screaming. A thump. Nrakkons' knees on the floor. More light.

Nigredo bit his fingers to keep from screaming himself. The hope of both of them escaping alive was growing thinner by the moment.

Another scream, the walls shaking for its sheerness, its loudness, its duration. Another thump. Nrakkon whining, then growing silent. Feet shuffling. Nrakkon's body was turned over, being pushed by a filthy boot. His lifeless face was within a foot of him now, his blue eyes wide with surprise and pain, his mouth slightly agape. His skin was pale, chalky, waxy. His teal hair had diminished to nothing but a mass of grey, the last of his Immortality, gone. At least there was no blood. None at all.
God, Nigredo thought, he was only fifty. The tears were instantaneous. He was alone. He was the only Royal left.

Footsteps leaving. Doors being bashed in along the hall. There was no point in staying now. He lowered himself below, after taking a moment to stare through tears and mumble "goodbye, brother." He felt his feet hit the hard, uneven stone. Cobblestone. It was nearly completely dark, save for the glimmer of light coming from the world above. The tunnel lay just ahead of him, its pure darkness like a living, breathing abyss, ready and willing to swallow him whole. What if there was no end, blocked off from hundreds of passings of neglect? What if he was crushed? What if the others weren't there? Nigredo took a breath and cursed. There was no other choice. Getting crushed beats burning alive.
Voices returning. Footsteps, laughter. The breaking of glass, the smell of liquor. The smell of smoke. The sound of something hard and round falling to the floor. The running of feet. Silence.
Time to go.
He closed his eyes and jumped feet first into the tunnel.

Explosion. Collapse. Dirt and stone falling into one. The tunnel was falling behind him, even as he exited the houses' foundation into the true dirt, the only thing keeping him from certain death a few feet of space, the gift of the tunnels' steepness granting it. He gritted his teeth. He was going to make it, he kept telling himself. He had to. The Stone Tunnels, once a sewer system, now an escape route, would save him. It would.
And so, behind him the old, secure, planned life was flattened, destroyed and in front of him was the new, uncertain, unknown. Everything that he thought made him who he was was gone now. He felt the urge to laugh rise from inside him. He was certainly King now. The King of ruins.

A rock tumbling, hitting something hard. Pain. Involuntary limpness. True blackness.

***

Movement. More pain. Life. A voice.
"Oh my God! Look! Is that Nigredo? Nigredo!"
His ears twitched at his name, but he didn't move. Too much pain. He felt his chest rising and falling now. He was alive. His hearing, fuzzy, was becoming clearer. The pain was mounting. His ribs, his leg, his head. Oh, his head. He slowly realized the hot fluid now flowing past his ears and onto the rocks. Panic was still subdued, but it would come.
"Nigredo, can you hear me?"
Urgency. Familiarity.
Who was it? He knew that voice. It was a woman, without a doubt. Was it Sorena, his maid? No. Too young.
"You're bleeding! Can you hear me? Are you in pain? Can you speak?" His eyes opened, painfully. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the thick, baby blue, matted hair hanging above a freckled face. He felt his lips open, and sputter a word through a mass of blood. To his horror, it was hardly understandable.
"Tantianna?" He felt his arm rise to touch her.
"Don't move! You might have broken your back." He let his arm fall.
"My head..." he groaned. "Make the pounding stop."
"Yes, I know." She shuffled to get a better look at it, then hollered, "Someone help me lift him! He's hurt." He heard friendly footsteps now, rushing to his aid. He clenched his teeth, readying himself for more pain. A rush of air beneath him told him he was being lifted, four gentle hands on his shoulders and feet, lowering, soft fabric. Poking and prodding ensued. Flashes of blue light clouded his vision further as the worst of his wounds healed instantaneously. They finished their work quickly, but his head still throbbed. Bandages were wrapped around his chest, his head, his arm. Something long and hard was tied to his leg. He prayed it was a stick, not a bone. Dizziness and the urge to vomit was creeping up, even more so as he was being lifted to a standing position by four hands around his arms.
"Tantianna, you don't have to help carry him. He's bigger than you." This voice seemed familiar to Nigredo, but he didn't care. His eyes pried themselves back open. Tantiannas' face was close, her expression scowling at the person beside her.
"No. I'm carrying him. He's mine. Let me alone if you don't agree." The other gave a snort.
"Fine. You'll get tired, though."
"I won't," she argued. Nigredo saw her move closer, her voice soft now. "Nigredo, we have to leave now. We're leaving now, okay?" She looked at his face. He seemed to be listening. "Through the passageways there. Some of us will be split up. We won't all fit in one. There must be a few hundred of us. They will find this place eventually. The Tunnels will be closed off behind us so they can't follow." She touched his face lightly. "Do you understand?"
His hearing was going again. What she said was jumbled. It didn't matter. A strange calmness rushed over him as his vision became for a moment, clear. It sounded like a grown man speaking when he said,
"Tantianna, you're beautiful." It hurt to smile, but he did. He got a glimpse of the stubborn tears that sprung from her eyes, then he fell again into the pure and silent darkness.
She kissed his head.
"I love you, King," she whispered only to him. Slowly, painfully, the three of them, Tantianna, the apple vendor and Nigredo too made their way into the true blackness, the unknown, the dark passage to the dim future thrown before them.
Freedom.
Yet condemned to a life alone.

So was the fate of the last people of Hytheira.




As the ancients said,
Every legend comes from truth.