Celia Friedman: Black Sun Rising

And then the worst of it struck. Not nearly as violent as its predecessor—but such violence was no longer necessary. The supporting structure of the tunnel had already been weakened, and its walls were riddled with gaping holes. It didn’t take much to shake loose what was left, so that the remaining ceiling fell in huge chunks behind them, on top of them, directly in their path. Damien threw himself at Ciani just as a massive shard of stone hurtled down from the ceiling above her; he managed to roll them both out of its path, barely in time. Gravel pelted them, and earth that had been packed to a bricklike consistency. He sheltered Ciani with his body and prayed that the other two were all right. And that their enemies weren’t. Wouldn’t that be convenient, if the earth itself swallowed up Ciani’s assailant?

But when he finally raised himself up from where he lay, and looked at her, he knew that they’d had no such luck. Her face betrayed none of the joy—or the disorientation—that returning memories would have brought.

He felt sharp nails bite into his shoulder, heard Hesseth hiss softly. “I think you’d better look at this,” the rakh-woman told him. She nodded toward the east, down to where the tunnel turned. He paused for a second to make sure the tremors had ceased—they had—and then got to his feet and followed her. The space remaining was barely large enough to admit him, and his shoulder pressed against damp earth as he forced his way through. To where the passageway turned, just prior to its ascension . . .

It was filled. Completely. The weight of the earth had collapsed a whole segment of the tunnel, rendering it impassable. Damien felt despair bite into him, hard, as he regarded the solid mound before him. They, might dig through it, given enough time and the right tools . . . but they had neither, and there was no telling how far the blockage went. If the whole tunnel between here and the surface had caved in ahead of them, then there was simply no way to get through it. No way at all.

He made his way back to the others and prepared to tell them the bad news—and then saw that it wasn’t necessary. Tarrant had read the truth in the currents, and Ciani’s eyes were bright with despair. The single lantern which remained to them shed just enough light to show him that her hands were trembling.

“We’re stuck,” he muttered.

“Can we dig out?” Ciani’s voice was a whisper, hoarse and fragile. “Dig up, I mean.”

Damien glanced at the ceiling. And then at Tarrant.

“We’re near the surface,” he said quietly. “I can hear the solar fae as it strikes the earth. Can almost feel it . . .” He paused, and then Damien thought he saw him shiver. “If the earth above is soft enough to dig, but solid enough not to bury us when we begin to disturb it . . . it would still take time,” he said. “A lot of time.” He looked back the way they had come. “I’m not sure we have that,” he said tensely.

Damien listened—and it seemed to him that he could hear a scrabbling in the distance, like rodents. “They survived.”

“Enough of them,” the Hunter said grimly. “More than we can handle, without using the earth-fae.”

Damien glanced at Hesseth, but she shook her head. Whatever combination of tides she required in order to Work simply wasn’t available now. It might be, in the future . . . if they lasted that long. If there was any future for them.

Louder, now; the sounds were approaching. Damien heard voices among them, hissing human phonemes. He looked about desperately, trying to think of some way out, or some new way in which they could defend themselves—but there was nothing. They were trapped. Even if they could fight off the Dark Ones for a time, they were still too close to the surface; the next quake would bury them.

And then the Hunter turned away from them. And put one hand up against the dirt at his side, as though he required its support.

“There is a way,” he whispered hoarsely. “One way only, that I can think of. It would save the lady.”

The voices were getting louder. Damien came close to where the adept stood so that they might talk quietly. “Tell me.”

Tarrant looked up at the ceiling, as if searching for some sort of sign. It occurred to Damien with a start that this was how he had searched before, in the moments before he brought down a whole section of the tunnel.

“I could blast a way out,” the Hunter muttered. “There’s enough tamed fae in the sword that I could do it, without having to use the currents. Only . . .”

“The sunlight,” Damien said softly.

Tarrant turned away again.

“You can’t,” Ciani whispered. “Gerald . . .”

“I appreciate your concern,” the adept breathed, “but there’s no real alternative. Other than dying here beneath the earth, our souls gone to feed those . . . creatures. ” He shook his head, stiffly. “Even I can’t Work an adequate defense, without the earth-fae to draw on. There are so many of them, and we have so few weapons left . . . it would only be a matter of time.”

“Until nightfall?” Damien asked.

The Hunter shook his head, grimly. “Not that long, I regret.” He turned to Ciani. “This would free you,” he whispered. “I could open this part of the passage to the sunlight, and if your assailant was here at the time . . . it would free you.”

“And you?” Damien asked. “Could you survive it?”

He hesitated. “Probably not. Sunlight is relative, of course; I’ve stood in the light of three moons, and beneath a galaxy of stars . . . but this is different.” A tremor seemed to pass through his flesh. Damien recalled the fire underground, and what it had done to him. If a mere earthly blaze could wreak that kind of damage, what chance would the Hunter have when facing the sun itself?

Then: “I see no other way,” he said grimly. And he drew the coldfire sword from its sheath.

The voices were coming closer now. Ciani moved to his side, reached out as if to touch him—and then drew back, trembling. “Gerald.”

“Lady Ciani.” He caught up her hand in his free one and touched it quickly to his lips. If she had any sort of negative response to the chill of his flesh, Damien didn’t see it. “I owe you a debt of honor. I’ve risked much to fulfill it. If this succeeds, and your memory is restored—”

“Then I would say your honor is satisfied,” she whispered. “And I free you from any further obligation.”

He let go of her hand. And bowed. “Thank you, lady.”

“If you can find shelter-” Damien began.

“There’ll be no shelter when I’m done.” He gestured for them to move back, clearing the space nearest to him. And studied the ceiling again, looking for a workable fault. “You’ll have to move quickly. Gain the surface as fast as you can, and then get away from here. Fast. You don’t know how long those things will take to die, or what damage they might do to you in their death throes. The best defense is distance. Don’t even pause to look back,” he warned them—and Damien wondered if his concern was for their lives, or that they might see the Hunter burning.

“Now,” he hissed. “Get ready.”

The voices were approaching. Damien stood back, and gathered Ciani to him. Hesseth pressed close by his other side, springbok at the ready. He began to shield his eyes—and saw Tarrant’s pale gaze fixed on him.

“Good luck, Hunter,” he said quietly.

And they came. Climbing over the mounds of earth like oversized rodents, inhuman eyes blazing with hunger. The first one saw them there and pulled up, hissing a sharp warning to its fellows. Then they came into the lamplight as well, swarming about him like hungry insects, filling the far end of the tunnel. Wary, because Tarrant’s sword was drawn and they clearly sensed its power.