She weighed whether to leave or not, to abandon this hunt. She shook her head and crouched lower. It wasn’t pride that kept her fixed. If she ran, Seichan would follow. And Valya had no knowledge of how many of the woman’s allies had taken flight down the other tunnel, or how they might be armed. She pictured Sychkin. Plus, twospetsnazsoldiers had never returned with the wounded priest. That was enough reason to be cautious of those others. She dared not get pinned down, between Seichan behind her and an unknown enemy ahead.
Valya grimaced, having another reason to continue her hunt.
She pictured her brother, cold in an Arctic grave in Greenland, and tightened her grip on her rifle.
It was time to end this.
She set off, moving silently toward the light. It had stopped retreating. Her ears strained for any telltale warning. She breathed softly through her nose. She edged around the corner and spotted a flashlight, again abandoned on the floor. But it was not a delaying tactic. Seichan had no more need of a light. The end of the tunnel lay ahead, opening into a cavernous chamber that shone with a wan glow.
Valya increased her pace, fearing she would lose her target inside there.
Still, she kept her rifle pointed, her eyes searching for any movement. Then a small metallic ringing reached her. She tried to imagine its source but failed. Its distance was also hard to discern, like a faint bell chiming over hills.
This mystery slowed her again.
As she reached the abandoned flashlight, she flicked it off. She did not want her shadow to be cast ahead of her, giving away her approach. Paused there, she heard a strange rustling. It was not the brush of cloth. It sounded expansive and stretched far across the next cavern.
Frowning, suspicious, she slunk lower and hugged the wall, cautious of those stony spikes. Finally, she could see into the cavern.
The sight froze her.
Under a cracked roof, shining with sunlit ice, a vast garden spread across a steaming mudflat, which burbled and spat in accompaniment to that rustling. The landscape stirred and waved, as if swept by winds—but there was no breeze down here. She remembered how Sychkin had wanted a botanist to aid in the search, one with experience in carnivorous plants.
Valya now knew why.
Movement drew her eye to the left.
A tarnished skiff drifted rudderless across a skim of acidic water and mud. It looked made of copper. She recalled the metallic ringing.
Copper over rock, she realized now.
From the distance and angle, she could not tell if anyone was aboard, sprawled flat and out of sight. She leaned farther into the cavern, trying to get a better view. Another boat lay overturned on the shore, as if inviting Valya to tip it over and follow.
Then she spotted the trap.
A glint of light revealed the muzzle of a weapon hidden under that overturned boat, which rested crookedly on a rock. The shotgun pointed directly at her from that copper bunker.
She had a fraction of a moment to react, less than a single clench of her heart.
She dove headlong to the side, crashing across a pile of pottery jugs. She hit her wounded shoulder. Agony burst through her, narrowing her vision to a pinpoint. Sliding on that bad shoulder, she strafed under the lip of the overturned boat. Rounds pinged and sparked fire off the copper. The boat shifted and rattled under the barrage.
She did not wait, ready to leap for another angle of attack. She shoved to a leg, extending the other for balance. She never stopped firing.
Then a snake bit, just above the back of her boot. The pain was sharp. Her foot wobbled, suddenly unable to support her weight. She sprawled forward, striking her forehead against the rock.
Then a weight landed on her back, pounding her flat.
She twisted enough to spot Seichan straddling her.
How...?
Behind Seichan, a drape of leather waved and answered Valya’s question.
Seichan hadn’t been hiding out on that drifting boat, or under the one on shore, but behind a rack of old clothing. The muzzle of the shotgun had been a decoy to hold Valya’s attention.
Valya struggled, but one arm was deadened after the crash onto her wounded shoulder. She had no purchase with the opposite leg. She knew why. The pain by her boot hadn’t been a snake strike, but the slice of a knife—across her Achilles tendon—hobbling her.
Still, Valya kicked with her good leg, trying to roll from under Seichan. With her rifle pinned beneath her, Valya grabbed for her pistol. She managed to free it, but before she could bend an elbow and fire behind her, a blade slammed into her forearm and drove her limb down. The steel twisted, severing tendons. Her pistol clattered free.
