The Darkness That Hunts
Chapter 21

Voices float past me likeghosts. I try to catch them, these ethereal phantoms, but they’re too nimble.Sometimes I think I hear Kamiron and Dace arguing about trusting someone. Andthen a woman screams, and there is a slashing sound and gurgling. Next I swearI’m being dumped into a tub of water pulled straight from a glacier, but Ican’t make myself move, open my eyes, or even protest. Then I’m swaying andthumping down what feels like steep steps. More arguing, this time a voice Idon’t recognize. It sounds angry, the accent is foreign. Arabic. Dace thentells Zakk to let him negotiate.

“We want safe passage, timeto heal her.”

But another ghost voice isthere, whispering that I’m a lobisomem now. Kill me or someone else will.

Time passes and the ghostsrecede. I sleep, I think. And then I feel my body. Heavy but warm andcomfortable. I smell fire and dirt. Mints and incense. There is a weightagainst my stomach and I hear soft snoring.

My lashes take coaxing butfinally I’m able to lift them. I replace myself on a cot made of cloth and rottedgrass taken from the Hallow Wastes. The ceiling above is made of limestone andcompact dirt. I wiggle ten fingers, ten toes.

Okay, I’m still intact withall my limbs in place. That’s always a plus.

I raise my arm and noticethat my forearm is bandaged with a motley assortment of shredded cloth in allshades. I’m sure I recognize part of a faded Old Navy logo buried in thepatchwork bandage. Expecting to feel sore, I attempt to sit up but replace Icannot. A glance reveals Kamiron snoring against my belly.

That explains the pressureon my stomach.

I am reluctant to wake himso I scrutinize our unexpected surroundings. We seem to be in a cell. There isonly one cot and a squat stool on which Kam slouches. Fat iron bars welded intothe limestone prevent all escape and torchlight glimmers just beyond the bars.I cannot see any further into the dungeon.

There’s no sign of Zakk orDace but surprisingly our weapons rest against the far wall near what lookslike a hole for bodily waste. Wrinkling my nose, my gaze shifts back toKamiron. He looks oddly peaceful as he sleeps, though the angle he’s contortedhis body can’t be comfortable. His messy ink-black hair falls across hisforehead, brushing against his long lashes. Dirt mars his sharp cheekbones andhis full lips are slightly parted as he snores. I replace dried blood staining hisneck and shirt and suddenly I remember our battle with the lobisomem. Iremember how he took down the first werewolf, the grace and power behind hisattack. He moved with confidence, his expression one of boldness anddetermination. He is a natural warrior, and I wonder about his Japaneseancestry. I can imagine he’d fit in perfectly amongst the samurai of feudalJapan.

I must have shifted becauseKamiron springs to his feet. He whirls, searching for the threat that startledhim. He blinks at our empty cell in a brief moment of confusion. Gray eyes thatlook silver in the firelight land on me. The tension leaves his muscularshoulders and he wipes the drool from the corner of his mouth before returningto the stool.

“How you holdin’ up?”

“Fine, considering. Whereare we?”

I attempt to sit up, butKamiron places a hand on my shoulder and holds me down. His fingers then driftup to my cheek, trailing my brows before smoothing back my hair. I imagine I looka fright, but his expression is one of wonder. “You’re incredible, you know.”

My heart patters. It’s notoften a handsome guy calls me incredible. Especially not one who watched mekill his girlfriend. Instead of taking the compliment with grace, I blurt out,“Have you been drinking?”

Kamiron chuckles. “I couldgo for one, actually.”

He allows me to situp--slowly. The room spins a little. I rub the sleep from my eyes and adjust tothe sudden vertigo. Kamiron joins me on the cot, drapes his arm over myshoulder and answers my earlier question. “We’re in a dungeon somewhere. Idon’t know exactly where, but it’s a series of underground tunnels and caves.”

“Then . . . what . . .?” Itry to remember what happened after the firewall. I’d heard voices and anargument.

“Yeah,” Kam acknowledges,“It was me and Dace. When I opened up the ground with my sledgehammer, ituncovered this tunnel entrance. There was a girl standing there, told us tofollow her. Dace didn’t want to, but we didn’t have a choice. You were burningup in my arms. I had to do something. Then more werewolves showed up, only two,they made it through the fire.”

He takes my hand in his, hisgolden skin gleams in the ambient torchlight.

“Why would Aterians help us?Are they Blood Shield?”

“I don’t think so. We didn’tsee any brands on them. Their leader claims they’re refugees. Survivors of ‘TheHunt.’”

“The Hunt?” I whisper, and achill flickers across my skin. “One of Andy’s games. He releases a few dozencaptives into the tunnels that weave beneath his keep, claiming that if theycan escape the labyrinth, they will be free.”

“Sounds too good to betrue.”

“It is. He lets his houndschase the captives throughout the tunnels, killing any they encounter. The restare flushed from the depths of the labyrinth and most end up in some region ofthe Hallow Wastes.”

Kamiron pales and his handsqueezes mine so tightly I wince. He immediately loosens his grip. “Where the lobisomem wait for them.”

“They think they’ve gainedfreedom, but they’ve only succeeded in escaping The Darkness-That-Hunts. No onecan escape Ater.”

Kam’s look is appraising.“You did.”

My fingers trace the pendantat my neck. “I had help.” The memory of Gjinna vanishes in a puff ofblood-colored smoke. “For all the good it did me. I’m right back where Istarted.”

We stare at the iron barsand listen to the fire. The air feels closed, stale. I wonder how long theyintend to keep us down here.

“Guess we were just at thewrong place at the wrong time.”

I tilt my head at Kamironbut he doesn’t look at me. He stares beyond our cell door to the darkness thatswallows our dungeon.

“The werewolves werefighting over territory,” he continues. “Control more of the entrances to thelabyrinth . . .”

“Get a better harvest fromThe Hunt.” I feel sick and am relieved when Kamiron changes the subject.

“The survivors weren’t goingto let us stay. Dace negotiated with their leader, a guy they call Scalpel.”

I vaguely recall that partof the conversation, the gruff voice I’d never heard before, the thick Arabicaccent. “Scalpel thinks I’m a lobisomem?”

Kamiron licks his lips andglances at my bandaged forearm. “If you are bitten by a werewolf and survive,the fever eats you up and you either die or become one of them.”

My body tenses. “I thoughtthat was just in movies.”

“So did I, but apparentlythat’s what makes them so feared here. They can change anyone. Unseelie,vampires, mages, anyone.”

No wonder The-Darkness-That-Huntsuses them as his personal guards. “Then they replenish ranks by infectingothers and transforming them?”

Kamiron nods.

“And Dace stopped them fromkilling me?”

“He got them to spare yourlife for twenty-four hours. In return, they split us up and put us in thesedungeons. For our protection.” The faint anger that laces his tone lets me knowthat “our protection” had little to do with the decision.

Fear makes itself at homebetween my ribs and I force myself to voice the one question I don’t want toknow. “Am I . . . changing?”

“It would have alreadyhappened if you were going to. That’s why you’re incredible.” Kamiron’ssidelong gaze is admiring and he squeezes my fingers again, though this timemore gently. “First you save us from the outpost werewolves, then you made afirewall that took out the war party and you even survived the werewolf’s bite.Do you not realize how amazing that is?”

I can’t help my own flush ofpleasure. “But you couldn’t have known that. I could have changed while we werelocked up in here.”

His chuckle is dry andbitter. “I think they were counting on it, since I refused to let them give youa merciful death. They wanted me to be forced to kill you if you changed, or getkilled in return and they’d come down here and finish the job.” His frownloosens and gray eyes meet mine solemnly. “I doubted you once, Shari. Neveragain.”

We sit in silence, our armsand fingers tanged, our bodies drawing warmth from one another. I think aboutall he’s been through, how I literally stumbled into his life and turnedeverything upside down. Even killed the girl he loved, and yet he’s still willingto stay by me and put his life on the line for mine . . .

Before I can lose mycourage, I tilt my head toward him and plant a soft kiss against his cheek.“I’m sorry about Sandra.”

Kam stiffens and draws ashaky breath. His fingers untangle from mine. “You did what you had to do. I .. . would have done the same. I’m sorry for holding it against you.”

The fire from the torchcrackles and shadows play against the curves of the empty stool. I feel ourcell settling around us with minor sighs of stone and earth. I want to saysomething to break our awkward silence, but my tongue cleaves to the roof of mymouth like it’s become taffy. Taffy . . . The thought of food makes me realizehow hungry and thirsty I am but Kamiron distracts me with an unexpectedquestion.

“Want to know something that’sbeen on my mind lately?”

I lean my head on hisshoulder and his palm slides up and down my arm. The sensation of his roughskin smoothing out the wrinkles and tears of my aketon is comforting. “Ofcourse.”

“For the longest time, mymother wanted kids.”

“But she was barren.”

“Exactly. She and my dadwent to dozens of fertility clinics, consulted specialists, adhered to strictdiets that were supposed to promote fertility, nothing panned out. She’dfinally given up having a child of her own by the time she met the kami.”

“Kami?” I fumble with the pronunciation. Kah-me.

“Think of it like a spiritof nature, a kind of localized deity.” Kamiron tugs his fingers through hismessy hair in a nervous gesture. “She was visiting my grandparents and stoppedat the local shrine. She’d been there dozens of times, but this time she made awish. She pled for the kami to helpher have a child.

“She said it was like theearth rose up to embrace her. She could feel its presence like cherry blossompetals caressing her skin through her yukata.A male voice said, ‘Chieko, I will give you a child, a true son of the earth,and his destiny will be to change the world.’”

I lift my head to gape atKamiron but he refuses to meet my gaze. I notice a flush of pink darkening hischeeks. I nudge him with my elbow. “That’s pretty incredible.”

“No it isn’t. I’ve alwaysthought she was insane.”

His bluntness startles me.

“Obviously it was thefertility treatments that made her pregnant, not some demigod hanging out at ashrine.” His free hand tugs at the rotted cloth that covers the straw mattressof our cot. His left hand continues to rub my arm as if he, too, replaces thecontact soothing. “I used to be so ashamed. Ashamed of her and her crazystories of spirits and gods, ashamed of my Japanese name. Ashamed she wasn’tmore American. Normal.” He bites hislip and stares at his right hand as if seeing it for the first time. I watch ashe curls and uncurls his fingers into a fist. “But now that I’ve seen thisplace, the things I can do beyond my psi-abilities . . . maybe she wasn’t socrazy after all.”

I don’t know what to sayabout that, so instead I inquire about something he said earlier. “Kamironisn’t your real name?”

“It’s my American name. MyJapanese name is Kamichirō.It’s . . . not a typical Japanese name, and the way it’s written--”

Rusty hinges wail and screamsomewhere above us and I feel the shift in the dungeon’s closed, stale air.Kamiron leaps to his feet and retrieves his sledgehammer. He tosses me mylongbow before approaching the bars and squinting out at the darkness.

My fingers glide up and downthe yew. It nearly hums with power and I’m surprised how much calmer I feelholding it. “For them to be so threatened by us, I’m surprised they allowed uskeep our weapons.”

“I cautioned them that ourweapons were enchanted.” Zakk’s disembodied voice echoes through the dungeonsomewhere to my right. “If they were to touch them, they’d die a horribledeath.”

Zakk’s solemn declarationfreezes the relief I feel at hearing his voice. “Is that true?”

“Oh, it’s complete crap.” Ihear the smile in his soft voice, “But the bluff worked.”

Kam shakes his head, a grinplastered to his face. Dace’s voice, slurred with sleep, floats up to the lowdungeon ceiling.

“Glad you didn’t wolf out onus and eat our Chameleon for lunch, Shari.”

Kam’s smile fades as a successionof boots trample down a staircase hidden somewhere to our left. The torch justoutside our cell dips and twists as eight people clamor into view, eachgripping some sort of makeshift weapon. Mostly handmade swords and axes craftedfrom a combination of stone, bone, or in rare cases iron. A young woman withskin darker than mine steps into full view of the torch. She looks vaguelyPolynesian to me with almond shaped eyes like Kamiron, though they are dark.Her thick black hair curls just below her ears in a severe bob cut.

“I see you’re still alive.”She doesn’t speak to me but to Kamiron.

“I told you I would be.”

Grunting, the woman reachesinto her dingy shirt. Unlike our clothes, it’s modern and I notice that all theguards’ clothes are modern but patchworked. An Old Navy logo mixed withAeropostale stitched with some nameless brand into a new T-shirt. A chest piecemade from slivers of bone and limestone, linked one over the other like scales,guards their torsos. The woman’s jeans are frayed at the hem but clean.

A set of iron keys jangle.“No sudden moves,” she orders. Locks pop and creak as she turns the key. Ourdoor swings open and we step out. Instantly three of the guards form a ringaround us, forcing us to back up against the wall just beside our cell door.The smoke from the torch above my head stings my eyes as I watch the woman andfour other guards surround Zakk and Dace’s cell.

“Well hullo, Gorgeous,” Dacegreets as she unlocks his cell door. She stiffens and a look of irritationfeathers across her face.

“Shut up, put your clotheson, and get out here.”

Kamiron and I raise oureyebrows. A half second later, Zakk strides out of the cell with a three-guardescort. From their furtive glances and tense postures, I realize these refugeesconsider Zakk, with his magic and nine-foot naginata, its blade currentlysheathed in wood, their primary threat.

But my money would’ve beenon Kamiron. His huge sledgehammer and the dexterity with which he wields it isenough to inspire terror. I can still see him sprinting towards the nearestlobisomem, a powerful creature that easily outweighs him by a hundred pounds,and promptly bashing in its head with just the steel shaft of his weapon.

Scary.

Dace finally strolls out ofthe cell with his chakram clanking at his hips. Surprisingly, he’s taller thanthe woman. He dips his head to her and flashes a winning smile. “Thanks for thehospitality, Gorgeous. Now, how about some breakfast?”

She shoves him beforefalling into stride behind him. I notice he only has one guard eyeing him. “Myname is Risa. Food might be providedonce you have explained yourselves.” She motions to her guards and I noticeseveral fingers along her right hand and one along her left appear to have beenchewed off. She catches me staring and scowls.

There are only two cellsdown here, but as we climb a narrow, winding staircase, I count five more atvarying levels of the dungeon. Each are empty. The tunnel we follow is hewnfrom solid bedrock. The work is rough and unskilled. Torches mark the distanceat fifteen-foot intervals and in the darkness that stretches between eachtorch, I notice glowing, rust-colored lichen choking the cracks and crevices ofthe bedrock.

A wrought iron grate greetsus at the top of the stairs. Risa passes through first and we each follow. Dacehuddles close to me.

“All joking aside, GoldenCompass, I really am relieved you’re okay,” he continues. “The refugeeswouldn’t touch you but they provided fresh bandages and salves and Zakk healedyou as best he could.”

“I owe you guys,” I reply,nodding to Zakk who graces me with a half-smile. He then averts his gaze andfocuses on our surroundings. Based on the dungeon, I had expected to replace more depressingand claustrophobic caves, dark except for the light from the torches, with narrowalcoves and dirt that smelled of age-old rot. Instead the area is bright andspacious--a massive cavern of polished limestone swirling with glittering veinsof blue and flakes of copper. Lanterns and torches dangle from the stalactiteceiling or huddle in bowls carved from the thick stalagmites that grace thefloor and look like trapped stars. Small shacks, haphazardly crafted fromlimestone, wood, iron, and tin squat one on top of the other at least threestories high. Bridges of braided rope and wood arc between each level of thestructures and up to the stubby stalactites where the bridges serve as acatwalk complete with more guards.

People, most worse for wearbut alive, go about their duties. Several carry woven baskets crammed with foragedsupplies; some cook over a spit of anemic flame; others wash clothes in thepools of dark water that dot the cavern floor.

We pass by a woman craftingarmor. The clink of her mallet on unformed metal seems overly loud, and atfirst I can’t understand why this troubles me. And I realize what bothers meabout this place: the quiet. For this cavern to be so full of people andactivity, sound is oddly muted. Conversations occur in brisk whispers, quickand efficient. Ground out between stiff lips as if the mere act of speaking ispainful. It’s as if these people are holding their breath, waiting for themoment when the other shoe will drop. I suppose I’d feel the same if I were apart of a secret community thriving right under Andhakar’s nose.

“I never even knew thisworld existed,” I say, not really speaking to anyone in particular but Risaspares a glance over her shoulder.

“We like to keep it thatway. The Darkness-That-Hunts can never know or he will destroy us.”

And then I notice somethingelse troubling: everyone owns a weapon and a necklace made of grass and twinedaround a delicate glass vile. Brackish liquid splashes against cork stoppers asheads turn to stare at us. I count at least forty people of varying ages. Mostin their early twenties. A few as young as eight. All sport some souvenir fromtheir time in Andhakar’s care. Severed body parts, missing eyes or ears, burnedskin, teeth marks.

No way they were going to betaken alive again. If it came down to it, I couldn’t begrudge them wearingvials of poison. “So you all were survivors of The Hunt?”

Risa marches us directlythrough the center of the cavern and the survivors give us wide berth. From therope bridges above, guards glare down at us with open distrust. We pass severaltunnels that lead who-knows-where but Risa doesn’t turn or even glance at them.

“When TheDarkness-That-Hunts first set us free in the tunnels to be flushed out by hishounds and into the jaws of the lobisomem, a few of us were lucky enough toreplace other survivors. Now we form search parties to replace any who are wanderingthe tunnels and, if they are suitable candidates for our community, we bringthem here.”

Kamiron tilts his head tothe side. “‘Suitable candidates?’”

“If they are too damagedeither physically or psychologically, or they are cowards who would turn on usgiven a chance, we leave them to their fates.”

Risa’s callous disregardmakes Kamrion and Zakk bristle, but before Kam can argue, I step in.

“It makes sense. You can’tafford to be altruistic or charitable. You must survive at all costs.”

For once Risa doesn’t lookat me as if I’m a questionable stain on her shoes. “Precisely.”

“Then what are you going todo with us?” Dace demands.

We’ve reached the far end ofthe cavern where a massive door stands. The two sentries protecting it part forRisa.

“That isn’t for me todecide. Through here.”

We are ushered inside a roomwith huge drapes stretched across the walls. Like everything else, the drapesare patched together from different fabric though this time all in shades ofblue like some kind of blue patchwork quilt. It mutes the stark limestone floorand conical pillars that support the second level. Lanterns drip from chainsand cast orange halos across long tables and chairs carved from stalagmites.Votive candles burn on the ground around the pillars and coupled with thedrapes give the room the look of a rustic cathedral.

We glide up a swirlingstaircase to the second level. We pass several narrow doors--perhaps used forstorage--until we come to a strange circular door of black stone with ironhinges and a heavy bar across it. Risa takes out her key, fits it into thelock, and turns it. The bar across the door clicks and slides away. Risa gruntsas she heaves open the black door.

Inside I replace a naked,freshly dead body.