Mercedes Lackey - Owlflight

“Is this the place?” the scout breathed into his ear. He squinted, and peered out into the darkness, straining his ears as well as his eyes when the dark bulk ahead of him failed to resolve into anything he recognized.

It was his ears that told him they had reached their goal; a rhythmic splashing, the creaking of wet wood, the steady trickle of water. They had reached the aqueduct, and the water wheel that fed it.

He put his mouth to Snowfire’s ear. “This is the place,” he whispered.

Snowfire nodded, and motioned to him to be silent. He froze where he was, and tried to ignore the three or four insects that decided to negotiate the new piece of territory - his legs - that had suddenly appeared in front of them. He was just glad that Snowfire had given him a handful of aromatic herbs to rub all over himself before they left, for most of the insects had left him alone tonight.

Finally, after what seemed far too long a time, Snowfire motioned him forward, and slipped out into the open himself.

Now, for the first time in days, Darian found himself on totally familiar ground. The wooden aqueduct hung above their heads, dripping fairly steadily; he followed the sounds of dripping until his outstretched hands encountered the ladder that led to the first clean-out door up above.

He took a chance that one word wouldn’t betray them.

“Here!” he whispered harshly, and was suddenly surrounded by seventeen Hawkbrothers.

He scrambled up the ladder and felt for the catch that released the door. The aqueduct wouldn’t have worked for a week if it hadn’t been covered to keep leaves and trash out; nevertheless, things did manage to get in, and moss and algae grew in the trough. Hatches had to be made to permit occasional cleaners - usually older, more responsible children - to scrub the troughs. To avoid accidents with overcurious or adventurous younger children, the catches were reasonably tricky. Darian had already served one stint as a cleaner; that was how he knew where the catches were and how to open them.

He had a moment of panic when the mechanism jammed and refused to open, but after some desperate prying and jiggling, it broke loose and let him lift the hatch up. With a sigh of relief, he lifted the heavy hatch off to the side. Darian listened for a moment to the cold water running inside, and permitting himself a shiver, climbed in.

He was immediately soaked to mid-calf in very cold water, but he knew that before they reached the village, he’d be soaked clear through. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled into the tunnel formed by the trough of the aqueduct and the arch of the roof above it. As he crawled forward into the darkness, he felt someone immediately behind him.

Now they were all relying on him to pick the right branching. The right one would bring them out in the village, to the village cistern house right beside the horse trough. The wrong one would send them out into the fields somewhere.

None of the left-hand branchings, he reminded himself. Those all go out to the fields. As he crawled, he tried not to think about his surroundings. It was so dark in here that he couldn’t see even a glimmer of light. It was cold, there was water up to his chest and the roof of the aqueduct pressing into the back of his head. And someone hadn’t done his job, because the floor was slimy with algae. He tried to remind himself that it could have been worse things, but as he started to shiver, that thought wasn’t at all comforting.

It’s the second right-hand branching. I’m sure of it. But the longer he crawled, the less sure he became. Was it the second? He’d been crawling an awfully long time, and he’d only come to one place where the aqueduct opened up to the right. What if he’d missed it? What if he’d gone too far? What if they were already crawling off over the fields of barley and turnips?

Then, just as he was beginning to panic and thinking about trying to get everyone to crawl backward so he could recheck where they’d been, his hand encountered emptiness and water where the wooden wall had been. He stopped, and reached back with his foot to signal that they’d come to the turning.

He felt a hand grab his foot and squeeze; he moved into the right branch, and continued the crawl forward.

Here, at least, the cleaners had done their job. Slime gave way to clean wood under his palms, and he sighed with relief. This must be the correct branch; it was the only one that got scoured religiously, for it not only fed the horse trough but was the main water supply for the whole village.

But now he had new worries. He froze; suddenly they were no longer alone.

He heard the guards before he saw signs of them; heard their voices echoing toward him down the hollow wooden tube. He froze in place, afraid that they had already caught the sounds of hands and knees shuffling through the water above their heads. In another moment, he saw little flickering bits of light reflected in the water, coming through cracks and crevices in the aqueduct cover. They’re going to hear us. They have some magic, or another Yip Dog, that will sense the Hawkbrothers. They have a real dog that will smell us up here! It was all he could do to keep from shouting in panic as the lights drew nearer, as he felt the walls pressing in on him. He began to shiver even harder, and clenched his teeth tightly to keep them from chattering.

Then, miraculously, the lights and voices passed right on by.

He hardly believed it at first, and only a sharp prod from behind got him going again. Twice more, lights and voices approached and passed, and twice more they all froze in place, waiting, shivering in the cold water.

At long last, his hand encountered the end of the aqueduct. They were in the cistern house, where the aqueduct spilled into a storage cistern which in turn led to the horse trough outside the cistern house. He hung onto the end of the trough, and lowered himself down into the cistern, being careful not to make more of a splash than the water pouring into the cistern already made.

One by one, the rest of the Hawkbrothers followed, first into the cistern, then, shivering and chilled, onto the floor of the cistern house beside him.

“I want you to stay here,” Snowfire said in his ear. “Keep out of sight. You’ve done all you need to.”

He nodded, his teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. He couldn’t have replied if he’d wanted to, for he was shivering too hard, and not just with cold.

“He shouldn’t stay here,” hissed someone else. “There’s no place to hide and only one way in or out, and if anyone comes in here after water, they’re going to find him!”

Snowfire growled, but reluctantly agreed. “Let me have Hweel check the stable.”

Silence then, except for the sound of falling water and occasional voices outside the cistern house. Darian was in a constant state of terror lest some drunkard stumble to douse his head and find them all there. At long last, Snowfire spoke again.

“Dar’ian, go to the stable,” he ordered. “Hweel says that there are no humans quartered in there, nothing but horses. You should be safe enough at this time of night, and it’s halfway between the threshing barn and here. We can get you on our way out of the village.”

Darian just nodded, and waited while the others slipped out, two and three at a time, his gut clenched tight all the while.

How am I going to get out of here? he asked himself, once the last of them were gone. I can’t move and hide like they can! Somebody is going to see me for sure!

As if to underscore that fear, he heard precisely what he had feared most to hear - the sound of three or four drunken men approaching the cistern house, talking loudly in some foreign babble.