The Catalyst

Chapter 22

After being stuck in a dungeon cell for months, his legs ached with the sudden effort of traveling the length of the tunnel at a fast pace, and Matt could only assume Moira felt the same. But a silent determination kept them walking, neither one of them voicing the fear that the other end of the tunnel might be blocked.

"Matt," Moira called, "I think this is it." She broke into a run, torchlight flickering across rough stone walls.

He caught up to his sister as she pressed a pale hand to the wall that ended the tunnel.

She started to despair, "There's nothing . . ."

He touched her shoulder. "Up there."

She followed his gaze to a wooden hatch in the ceiling. Standing on the tip of his toes, his fingers reached it. After a brief struggle he managed to unfasten the latch, then pushed.

Save for some gravel and dirt falling on top of their heads, it didn't budge. Matt yanked off his ragged shirt and gestured for Moira to hand him the torch. Tossing it to the floor, he threw the shirt on the flame and tapped with his foot until it waned off, plunging them in blackness.

He gathered up the torch and knocked it up against the hatch. There was a creak of hinges. He whacking the torch against the wood again and more dirt tumbled down. Coughing, Moira shifted away. Tightening his grip on the torch, Matt thrust it upward once more with a groan.

The hatch flew upward, bathing them in moonlight as Moira gave a little cry of joy.

Matt jumped and caught the edge of the opening. A shiver ran through him at the touch of the cold, slippery ground but he held on strong and pulled himself out. Pressing himself against the ground, he extended a hand which Moira hurriedly grasped. She heaved and struggled while Matt pulled, until she managed to bring one knee to the ground. Panting, she got to her feet as Matt closed the hatch. He tossed dirt and dried leaves on top with hands that still trembled from the effort.

As he got up Moira slung herself in his arms and held him tight. Allowing himself a smile, he hugged back, pressing a hand into tangled red hair. They found themselves in a patch of woods, the tree branches mostly bare in the moonlight. An acute reminder that they'd lost an entire summer of their lives.

"It's so incredible to be outside," Moira whispered. Matt just nodded, peering at the luminous stars, breathing in a crisp air that made him wonder how he'd survived so long in the staleness of the dungeons.

He slowly let go of Moira so he could analyze his surroundings, his breath coming out in white puffs of air. Treading carefully, wary of the slightest crunch of leaves, he surveyed the quiet road beyond the trees. There was a small square building with light spilling from its window and a banner bearing the seven-tipped star attached to a pole, flapping in the wind. A guard post. One could be awake inside, keeping watch.

They'd been so anxious to get out that they didn't actually have a plan for the aftermath. Attempting to sneak past the guard post was too risky. Running the other way was just suicidal in this cold, with no shoes and rags for clothes, and no village for miles. Squinting at the city wall, Matt wondered if they could climb it, to find a temporary hideout. Maybe if she stood on his shoulders . . .

He jumped at the snap of a twig. He exchanged an alarmed glance with Moira, who stood very still. Matt's hand flew up to his sword hilt as a broad-shouldered man in a soldier's uniform approached, with light brown hair that curled at the tips.

"Kemon Clay," Matt breathed, sword hissing from the scabbard as he stepped in front of his sister.

Lowering himself on top of Moira, holding her down as she sobbed, pinning her arms to the floor, bruising her hips, as they forced Matt to watch . . .