“Well, Delia Wildheart,” Marshen bellowed as he bowed in my direction. “It seems that you are right. The Unnar Caves are no myth.”
“Thank you,Mercy,” I mumbled, tapping its hull. And as we abandoned the boat, hope and fear returned like an unexpected bolt of lightning, tearing through a clear blue sky. It deprived me of theI told you sothat I more than once imagined myself boasting to Marshen during this exact glorious moment.
CHAPTER 51
The first few steps felt as heavy as lead, and it had nothing to do with my fully packed backpack. I strapped on Marshen’s dagger.
Marshen took out the lantern and knelt, trying and failing to light its candle. I knelt next to him and opened the pocket flame.
“What in Boreas’s name is that?”
“It’s an immortal flame. I’m not exactly sure how it works, but it ignites every time I open it.”
“And you care to share this with me now?” he complained, lifting the lantern between our faces. I only shrugged.
The cave entrance consisted of an uncomfortably long and narrow corridor. There wasn’t a banner or a sign to advertise it as theUnnar Caves, so a throb of doubt lingered as we walked for long minutes through this dark alleyway. The entrance behind us seemed like a tiny star trapped in the middle of an inky universe. I wondered if our journey would be like that, walking along a straight line for hours…for days? I couldn’t have been more wrong as the cave before us split into a perfect T. Left or right, I thought, as I shifted my head from one shoulder to the other.
“Look, Delia. There’s something written on the wall over here. I cannot understand what it says.” I moved closer to where he pointed, illuminating the writing using the flame.
“Oh, it’s in Earthen.”
“You understand Earthen?”
“Mmhmm. I told you I was raised by Sand Priestesses.”
“What does it say?”
I read it out loud, slowly, riffling through my mental dictionary to pick the best possible word for translation.
A waveless sea of golden grain,
The drowner’s body soon to drain,
A plea for aid and a weeping cry,
One calls for mercy, the air turns dry.
Hands must reach with hope in mind,
To tether paths through arms tight bind,
When four become two, the fall is brave,
When four remain four, it is to the grave.
“What in Boreas’s name is that supposed to mean? Does it make any sense to you?”
“Not really. But it does sound like a poem or a riddle,” I answered, holding my chin between my thumb and index finger. We looked at it for a while longer.
Marshen shook his head and asked, “You think we should go left or right?”
“I think we should split up.”
“I thought you knew better.”
“What?”
“You’re a book person. You must know that it’s when people split up that the monsters come out to play.”
