Page 163 of The Cradle of Ice

There’s no turning back now.

65

THOUGH A FIERY map glowed behind his eyes, Daal felt deeply lost. He could have never imagined such a strange, unsettling landscape.

Every turn brought new wonders and horrors. They had passed channels that roared with rushing waters. Others billowed forth with clouds of steam, burning skin and searing lungs, reeking of sulfur. They had hurried past those, chased by the torrid bubbling of boiling water. Some sections were so cold it frosted their breath and chattered their teeth.

As they continued onward, they crossed through routes that required ducking their heads from low ice-blue roofs. Another had them sailing across a great cavern, so vast and tall that the small flame from his lone firepot could not reach the roof or the walls. It was as if they had discovered another sea.

On and on they traveled, guided only by the map in his head.

By now, they must have traveled deep into eventide—though he couldn’t say for sure. The timelessness of the endless tunnels challenged his senses.

Behind him, the others occasionally whispered, mostly generated by the nervousness of Jace, who likely staved off his terror by commenting or questioning every new discovery. Daal tried his best to ignore them, to let that chatter fall from his ears. He concentrated on the winding, tortuous path ahead of them. His memories overlapped with the journeys of the many explorers, shown to him by the Oshkapeers.

Hundreds of deaths, even more despair.

As the skiff coursed through the ice, the past and present overlapped. He heard the ghostly screams of the many who had lost their lives down here, while also noting the grunts and whistling exhalations of Neffa and Mattis. The orksos were nervous, too, chuffing and rubbing against one another, though it was mostly a father comforting a daughter.

He hummed to them often, reassuring them with his voice, his presence. As he did, he noted the slight glow from his skin in the darkness. But he didn’t know if he was seeing it with his own eyes or if Nyx’s memories were blurring with his.

After communing with the Dreamers, he better understood what he had been doing innately all his life. He even had a name for it now: bridle-song. It was likely a gift passed to him from his Noorish ancestors, a talent further strengthened and molded by the Dreamers. Knowing all of this, he now found this ability unnerving, whereas before he had given it no thought. A part of him wished he had remained oblivious.

Still, his efforts helped settle the two orksos—if not his own trepidation.

“Look!” Jace called out, while trying to stay hushed.

He pointed to a shelf of ice protruding into the tunnel. It looked like a frozen beachhead covered in scores of white rocks. Then, as if hearing Jace, large black eyes popped open—disturbingly only one per rock. Legs unfolded and the creatures hopped with great bounds into the water.

“Steer clear of them,” Graylin warned.

Daal followed this instruction. He had never seen such creatures, but when it came to these waters, it was best to be cautious. As they slipped past the icy shelf, a lone beast crouched by a clawed hole. A clutch of crimson eggs filled it. It hissed as they glided by, showing rows of needlelike teeth.

Such strangeness was not the first. Even in this inhospitable and changeable world, life had taken a foothold. Earlier, they had crossed a domed cavern draped with glowing fronds. The foliage waved and shone. But it was not because of the constant breezes. As they skimmed under it, long tendrils unfurled, lined by thorns. Graylin had used his sword to part them aside so the skiff could pass through. As they skimmed under the weedy growth, Daal had noted hundreds of fish skeletons clutched in curls of those spikes above their heads. A few carcasses had scraps of flesh and scale, and one karp still thrashed in that deadly embrace.

They had hurried past, but life was everywhere. Flitting, crawling, scrabbling, splashing. One passage was overrun by thumb-sized spiders that fled from their path, even skirting atop the water’s surface to escape. Luckily, that horde appeared to be as scared of them as they were of the spiders.

Some sights, though, were stunningly beautiful, haunting even.

A short time ago, a huge ray had glided under the skiff, four times the breadth of their boat. Its skin had shimmered and flashed, reminding him of the Oshkapeers. But this giant left behind a glowing trail in its wake. It shone long after the ray had fled.

Graylin shifted closer behind Daal, eyeing Nyx, too. “Do either of you have any idea how much farther we must go?”

Daal glanced at Nyx.

She answered, “We’re about halfway.”

Daal nodded, knowing she was right, picturing the fiery path ahead.

Graylin’s brows lowered sternly at this report, but Daal didn’t know if his grimness was due to how far they still had to travel or about how close they were to getting there.

Daal still had trouble reading the knight, especially when clouded by Nyx’s conflicting feelings for a man who could be her father, a man who had abandoned her in a swamp. Daal could touch Nyx’s prickly irritation for the man, but also a deeper warmth that had been growing steadily—which oddly only stoked Nyx’s exasperation, as if she were angry at herself for any tenderness toward the knight.

Daal gave a shake of his head. It was all too confusing, but the heart was never a seat of sensibility and prudence. He knew that all too well.

He shifted his gaze to the others, where there was less conflict. Nyx’s love for Jace was rooted deep. Her appreciation shone for Vikas’s steadfastness. Even Nyx’s wariness of Shiya jangled through him—though some of the latter might have been inspired by the Dreamers.

Somewhere far away, a great beast rumbled.