CHAPTER 47
Keldarion
The only light in the Great Chasm comes from the lantern Uncle Irahn carries. It burns valiantly in the pitch-darkness, causing shadows to flicker along his and George’s faces. Our elevator continues its creaking descent down, down, down into the deep. We’re long past the torches held by the other Voidseal workers. No one’s mad enough to go this far down.
But no one’s ever tried to rescue someone from Sira’s prison before, either.
George and I spent yesterday traveling from Frostfang, with George riding atop my wolf’s back. The old man proved himself a keen rider. “No harder than riding the ostriches down in Jacksonville! Mr. Fraser opened up a farm. I was quite taken with it.”
In the time we’ve been traveling together, I’ve learned, much like his daughter, George has a story for everything. Though, where Rosalina’s stories come from her books, George’s all come from his own history. Crossing the Anelkrol Badlands reminded him of a failed expedition he and Anya were a part of on the HMCSKarluk. The massive bridge across Voidseal prompted a memory of fastening a lock to the Ponte Milvio with his and Anya’s names on it to symbolize everlasting love. Though I’ve poked my head into the human realm from time to time, these places and names mean nothing to me. Yet, it’s as if I can see everything play out in my head; George speaks with such vivid imagery, his mind as sharp as ever.
The one common theme in all of his tales is Anya. She’s always with him, the focus of his attention. It’s as if just by saying her name, something within him alights.
Now, George leans over the edge of the elevator, trying to peer into the murk. Uncle Irahn grabs him by his coat and yanks him back. “You’ll lose your nose that way, boy,” Irahn says gruffly.
George gives a sheepish grin and taps his foot impatiently. Despite being a human and traveling with a giant wolf for days in the most unforgiving place in the Vale, he’s shown no fear. No nervousness.
I, on the other hand, am filled with dread. There’s nothing to distract me here with the dark so consuming. Only the irritating rattle of the elevator and the cold. The dread sinks deeper into my bones.
I’m not afraid of the Below or whatever Sira throws at me in her labyrinth. But I’m responsible for Rosalina’s father, the most important person in her life, and possibly—if things go according to plan—I’ll be responsible for her mother, as well. I have to bring them home safely. Have to give Rosalina a chance to see both her parents again.
The elevator creaks to a halt. We’ve been descending for what feels like hours; the stillness unsettles me.
“This is as far down as it will go,” Uncle Irahn says. “You’re on your own now, boys.”
He opens the door, and we step out into an icy tunnel. Uncle Irahn hands both me and George a lantern, though they do little to help. It’s as if their light is swallowed immediately.
“Thank you, Uncle,” I say.
To my surprise, my uncle hugs me. “I don’t know what’s so damned important down here, boy, but I better not randomly wake up one morning with a Blessing in my chest.”
“I’m not going to die,” I say. For the first time in so long, I’m confident in that. There is too much future for me. Too much for Rosalina.
Uncle Irahn nods. That’s as much emotion as I’ll get from him.
George and I walk into the tunnel. The elevator creaks as it ascends back toward the light.
“Only one way out now,” I mutter.
With each step, I sense we’re leaving Winter behind and entering the Below. The air is warmer, and I shed my large coat. Eventually, we don’t even need our lanterns. Glowing green scars cut across the walls: remnants from when Caspian created the Great Chasm in the first place.
“What is this place?” George asks, running a hand along the stone.
“The result of a temper tantrum,” I mutter. “Now, it’s an entryway. Sira could send an army through this gap if she wanted to. The only thing standing between her and Winter is the Voidseal Guard.”
“A temper tantrum. I do believe you’ll have to explain further,” George says.
My voice is raspy. I don’t want to tell this tale. But all my stories seem to be filled with tragedy, and George has given me so many, I suppose I owe him one. “Before the realms existed, there was only the Above, home of the first fae. Many legends have been passed down about what it was like, but all agree it was a place of light, of hope. It was lit by a magical rosebush known as the Gardens of Ithilias.”
“So, heaven exists,” George mumbles. “At least, a version of it.”
“Whatever it was, it doesn’t exist anymore. Sira stole a rose and created the Below. She waged war on the Above and eventually destroyed the rosebush. Everything would have been lost if it wasn’t for Aurelia’s courage. She saved four roses from the bush before Sira destroyed it and used those to make Castletree and the realms.”
“Aurelia,” George whispers. “Aurelia. Anya. My Anya.”
Green light glows off my skin as I talk. “Years and years after Aurelia left the Vale, the Below was still waging war on the realms. Everyone knew Sira was using the rose to create her monsters, so a plan was put in place by my parents to retrieve the rose. Unfortunately, they were ambushed while escaping the Below. My parents eluded capture, but the rose was lost in the attack. Neither the surface realms nor the Below had control over it.”
One step in front of the other. One word after another. I can’t let myself get tangled in the memories of my parents.
