There was a story we studied once, in prewar literatures, in my school complex in Texas. About going down a rabbit hole and finding another world. One minute it was wood planks and dirt streets, fires and roof thatch, the weavers singing at their looms, and now, after a long slide down, I’m standing in a place that is perfume, thick carpet, and flickering silver sconces, polished stone walls reflecting light down the corridor like a deep, dark mirror. I look at Sam, with her amber eyes and black hair. Is this really where she belongs? It’s hard to reconcile it with the Sam of the caves and the Outside. But I am understanding her fear now. If someone comes into this shining tunnel, there will be no place to hide.
Sam moves fast but she doesn’t run. The quiet is heavy, and soon the polish of the walls is broken every now and again by a recess with an arched, wooden door. Samara’s hand is still in mine. It seems like she wants it there. I’m not letting go of it. I check the glasses again but there’s nothing. Nothing that isn’t blocked by this rock, that is. But there is the green light of the power source, much stronger now, pulsing in the corner of my vision, somewhere below us. Then Sam stops in front of one of the doors and pushes down the latch. It creaks very softly as it opens.
The room behind the door is hung with mirrors, lots of them, throwing back images of stone arches and beveled edges that must have taken years to carve. But there’s nothing else. No furniture, no carpets, only musty air and empty space. It’s chilly, a cold that gets in your bones. Sam lets go of me to shut the door with two hands, minimizing the creak. “Where are we?” I whisper.
“Uncle Towlend’s chambers.”
She glides across the black floor in that way she has, opens two doors paned with tiny windows, and beckons. I hear the gush of water. Beyond the doors is a terrace, railings overlooking a rushing river, whitecapping and flinging spray. We’re in a natural cavern, and the place is dotted with balconies on both sides of the water, lamps hanging from some of them, points of light in a huge dark.
“I need to get to my room,” Sam whispers. “Without going through the front door.”
“Where?”
She points. “Three levels, straight up. I … ” Then she stops, staring.
“What’s wrong?” For a second I thought she was going into a memory. But she just says, “My lamps are lit.”
I lean to look three levels above us. The cavern wall slopes back, and I can just see two lamps shining in the window.
“Do you see the second balcony over there, same level?”
I do. Two lamps, hung exactly the same.
“That was Adam’s room. My father has lit those lamps every night for twelve years. I never thought he’d light a lamp for me … ” She blinks. “He thinks I’m dead.”
I blow out a breath, use the glasses, and I don’t think there’s anyone in Samara’s room, though with this rock and all the burrowed-out chambers, it’s hard to pinpoint.
“How bad do you need to get into your room?”
“We might as well crawl back Outside if I don’t.”
I don’t like it. And I like it even less when I see how she means to go up. Sam gets onto the railing and stands, stretching up for the natural rock of the cavern in the space between the balconies. I look over my shoulder, at all the lamps across the water. The light doesn’t penetrate far into the dark, and I don’t think anyone could see us, unless they’re looking close. But that also means Sam wouldn’t be able to see them.
“Put your hands and feet where I do,” she whispers. The roar of the water is loud, but she’s barely speaking. “And”—she points at the second balcony up, one over—“Thorne Councilman.”
Great. And his lamps are lit, too.
She starts up the tumbled rock face of the cavern. She’s fighting her memories. Distracting herself with this climb. I wish she would’ve let me go up. Just told me what she needed, because if I’m remembering her book right, then I think we’re climbing to the room where Nita died.
I get up on the rail and go after her. It’s easier than it looks. The cavern’s slight slope means that gravity isn’t quite as much of an enemy, and there are only one or two places that are a stretch for her, and not even that for me. What I don’t get is how she’s doing it in the dark. I’ve got the glasses and it’s still careful going. And then I realize. She doesn’t need light. She’s Knowing, and she’s done it before. She remembers every rock and handhold.
I’m up half a level, and she’s passing the second balcony, the one she said belonged to the Head of Council. The lamps are blinding in the night vision, so I switch and scan it, just to be sure. The balcony is empty. But the double doors beyond it aren’t. There’s a shadow of a figure there, a head and shoulders moving back and forth behind the glass panes, as if someone is pacing, staring out into the cavern.
Samara goes on climbing, already level with and passing the balcony. I don’t think she can see from her angle, which means the person behind the door can’t see her. But they could see me, if it wasn’t so dark. I stay still, watch the pacing head slow, and then stop, facing me squarely. I wait, pulse ramping. And then the balcony door begins to open.
I reach up and jerk the glasses off my face. The lenses. They were catching the lamplight. Probably winking out in the dark as much as the rappelling gear would’ve done. I hear the click of a shoe on the stone, and Samara freezes, her feet maybe half a meter above the level of this man’s head.
His hair is braided, long like all of the Knowing I’ve seen, robes to his ankles, a close-cropped beard, and eyes that are intense, looking through the dark in my direction. I put my face to the cold rock, hoping the black of my hair might camouflage me better than the brown of my skin, waiting, sweating in the chill. It feels like I wait forever. When there’s no noise, no call, no footsteps, I chance a glance up. The balcony is still lit, and there’s nothing. No body at the rail, no shadow of a head behind the door glass. I slip on the glasses, and no, there’s no one, and Samara is two levels up, throwing a leg over her own balcony.
I switch back to night vision and go much faster, ignoring the thought of the rushing river and what’s becoming a long fall below me, past Thorne Councilman’s railings, up another level, and then I’m over and on Samara’s terrace. I stay on my hands and knees for a minute, letting out my breath. I was more scared than I realized. I’ve got the shakes.