Stephen Lawhead - The Realms Thereunder

“To my ear and eye,” whispered Ecgbryt, withdrawing slightly, “they are the kith and kind of the creature whose head and hand I have in my belt.”

“Agreed,” said Swi?gar. “And likely as friendly. We need a path through.”

“I fear they have the whole plain surrounded. We could charge them and try to break through the weakest point,” Ecgbryt suggested.

“Even without the lifiendes, I would fear . . .” Swi?gar’s voice drifted off. “No,” he decided, “we should investigate the Neothstream. Its waters run beneath the city. We may gain entry that way.”

Ecgbryt was silent for a time and then replied, “Very well. Be it so.”

“This way, ??elingas,” Swi?gar commanded. “Follow me. Do not talk; the price of an overheard word may be our lives. There might be guards or patrols at any point, especially as we near the water’s head.”

They turned and crept through the dark, hunching low to the ground. Freya wondered what time it was in the real world. How long had they been walking? Was it as dark up there as it was under here?

She doubted it. There were no stars here, no street lamps, no houselights, only the dingy little campfires of those disgusting creatures. Her breath became short and erratic as her emotions were pulled deeper and deeper into a whirlpool of worry. She wasn’t afraid of the dark but couldn’t help wondering what things there were in the darkness that she couldn’t see, or wouldn’t want to see, or couldn’t even imagine. She felt her eyes grow hot. She blinked a couple times, and then tears were flowing.

She kept her sobbing quiet-sometimes choking back her cries, sometimes drawing breath in wide gulps, but always being careful to move forward at the same pace.

After a few minutes, the worst had passed and she was wiping her wet cheeks with the palm of her hand and drawing in deep gasps.

As she swallowed her third deep breath, she realised that there was another sound, a low, subtle sound that she had been hearing for some time without knowing it, a sound that had been growing in the distance. She concentrated on it, trying to tune out the quiet shuffle of their footsteps as they trudged into the darkness.

She spent a fair amount of time guessing before the answer came to her: water. There was no liquid hissing or crashing to the sound, just the gentle, playful gurgle and burble of water sliding along smooth rocks. It was such a pleasant, beautiful sound. She focused her attention on it, letting the sound fill her head and trickle down her spine in a pleasant rush that reminded her of hikes in hills, of bright skies and fresh air.

The sound grew. They were obviously approaching the source.

The knights slowed and proceeded more cautiously. There was the faint glow of two dim campfires up ahead that illuminated a wet patch of rocks where the trickle of water spilled down over a series of large, water-rounded stones to swirl in a deep pool. This pool then drained into a wide and slow-moving river.

Daniel and Freya stared, trying to take in as much as they could in the poor light. They thought they could see the forms of two yfelgopes sitting slumped against short pikestaffs in a way that reminded Daniel of bored security guards. The knights motioned to Daniel and Freya, and the four of them headed along the river and away from the guards.

There was more activity farther down the river. Shouts and squabbles drifted towards them above the gurgle of the water. The lights grew brighter, the campfires closer together. Foul, burnt smells wafted towards them, accompanied by ugly cackles and squawks.

The knights paused and crouched down; Daniel and Freya drew in close to them. “We must take to the water now,” Swi?gar told them. “Be careful-the river is cold and dark and the bed will be slippery. A short distance along the river there is a rock shelf that divides the waters. It creates an underground stream that feeds many wells of the city. If we dive underneath that opening, and swim on ahead, there will be air on the other side. We will be able to climb into the city through the Western Well. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Daniel.

“I think so,” answered Freya. “But how will you do it in your armour?”

“The river and its underground passage are shallow enough for Ecgbryt and me to stand at any point, though you two may have to swim. Now, I shall go first. Ecgbryt, you will come last.”

“Stay, bro?or . Is it known what awaits us in the city?”

“No, but I do not believe it has fallen. I wist we would have known if that had come to pass.”

“That is much trust without reason.”

“An aye to that. Although I do not think the yfelgop would be entrenched in such a fashion if they had climbed the walls. Judging from their clustered encampments, so close to the wall, this seems a siege.”

“But what of the beacon?” Ecgbryt asked. “If all was well, we would be seeing by its light right now.”

“I know not,” said Swi?gar, a note of anxiety settling into his voice. “We are bound to investigate the city and discover its fate. It is to be hoped that things are not as dark within as without, but to find that we must take the river and enter through the Western Well.”

“Then be it so,” Ecgbryt returned. “I trust your advice.”

The water was very cold, but quite shallow, coming up only to Daniel’s and Freya’s knees. The rocks were large and smooth, slowing them down with staggering slips, softened splashes, and swallowed grunts.

The stream wove gently in large curves, some of which took them much closer to the yfelgop encampments than Daniel or Freya would have liked. Most often they heard sounds of squabbling and snatches of arguments, but around one fire the ugly creatures were engaged in chanting a song that the knights later told them was a rune rhyme-a series of blunt, coarse verses describing the yfelgopes’ alphabet and system of numbering. They beat the dirt with dull thuds and recited the words in a ragged chorus:

“Fyr is First, it burns, it thirsts;

it feasts on flesh and fallen foes.

“Urth is dirt, the Second house

we dig the dead, decayed to dust.

“Thorn is Third, it cuts, it carves;

a cold and cruel crown for kings.

“Ald is age it wastes, it wanes;

want walks Forth; when time wreaks wreck.

“Rech is smoke, the smog that smothers

the Fifth sense, smell. It chokes, it chars.

“Claw is Sixth, it snicks, it snatches;

when sharp, it shivs, and dull, it catches.”

The verses went on, chilling Daniel’s and Freya’s hearts just as the icy water chilled their feet. After a time, Daniel’s legs started to go numb. It was an unpleasant feeling. The water deepened until he was wading in it up to his waist. As he struggled to keep up, Daniel could make out the shape of Swi?gar striding confidently ahead of him. Then, startlingly, the knight bobbed swiftly downwards, the water now up to the large knight’s torso.

Daniel braced himself for what was to come. He made his way cautiously to where Swi?gar had sunk farther in and put a twitching foot forward.

He suddenly felt himself sinking. Gasping as the water enveloped him, he sank farther and farther down. Panicking, he thrashed his arms. If mere exertion and prayer could have saved him from going farther under then he would have stopped right there, but he didn’t. With a terrified glub , his head slipped under the surface of the water.

He strained his head upwards as his hands tore away at the ice water. After an age, dry warmth finally bathed his face and he sucked in a huge gasp of air.