Saber (a post-apocalyptic fantasy)

6 - The Dungeon

Vega leads the way down the dungeon corridors, a shoddy torch in hand. I walk with my crossbow drawn and ready to fire. Shades spend their nights in places like this.

The torch crackles and casts fleeting shadows upon the walls. The floor is sandy and hard to walk through.

We reach the end of the tunnel, where it widens to form a sort of room. The dungeon is clear of Shades.

The charred remains of a fire mark the center of the space. Vega hauled a supply of wood the night before, and there's enough leftover for a small fire tonight. The room is far enough back, the smoke shouldn't attract any attention in the daylight.

We eat some venison that Vega stole from the Hollows stores before we left.

"Those Shades were strong," I say between bites of the tough meat. It takes a few dozen chews to swallow, it's so old. But I can't complain. Last night, I felt shaky from hunger. "Stronger than most of the ones I've seen."

Vega nods nonchalantly. "They were well-fed. Reckon they'd been running that scheme for a while. Lure people into that storeroom and jump them."

"Should have been obvious," I say.

"No stores are that well-stocked anymore. Let alone in an ancient place like that. I'm amazed you've lasted this long, falling for a scheme like that."

Shasta scowls. "He was hungry. Could happen to anyone."

"Sure," Vega says. "To the dead ones."

"Hunger makes you stupid," I say, thinking of my fifth rule.

"You fought bravely," says Shasta.

"Thanks," I say. Though, I know she's only being nice. I may not like Vega much, but she's right. I was stupid. My arm is still tender, and it hurts to flex, so I eat with my good arm. "To set up a trap like that, though, those Shades were smart."

"My dad used to say they take after their old selves," says Vega. She seems so hard, so tough. It's the first hint that she's just another kid, with parents, once, maybe even friends. "There's lazy Shades, quick ones, strong ones. Makes sense there could be smart ones, too."

I nod. I think of asking about what happened to her dad, but the glare she gives me tells me she's done talking. In the silence, I realize how nice it is to talk to someone again.

Shasta stretches out her blanket beside the fire. "I'm sleepy."

Vega drops her food and helps Shasta arrange her bed. "Rest," she says, stroking the little girl's hair. "It's been a long day. I'll take the watch."

"You should rest, too," says Shasta, yawning. "You watched last night. Wake me in a few hours."

I wonder what good Shasta's watch would be anyway. Though if she can kill a Shade, I guess, her blind-eyed watch might be as good as mine.

"You need the rest," says Vega. "And we need your dreams."

Shasta nods, then lays her head against her left arm like a pillow. "Saber could help."

"Sure, I can keep watch," I say. "I can take the first shift if you like." I could slip out while they're both asleep, I think. Mami would hate it, and Papi would be proud. But either way, I'd be alive. Alone again, but alive.

Rule #1: Trust No One.

Vega eyes me warily. "There," she says. "You hear? We'll be fine. Sleep."

I wonder what brought them close. Was Vega a part of Shasta's caravan? Did Shasta save Vega, too? Though suspicious of my every move, I sense she would do anything for Shasta.

The little oracle is soon breathing steadily with slumber, and Vega sharpens her sword on a whetstone in the dim light of our smoldering fire, while I stow the provisions.

"You really believe it?" I say. "That Shasta sees things?" I'm looking for an excuse to run away. If all this is bullshit, I don't have to feel bad about it.

Vega rolls her eyes. "She knew where to find you, didn't she?"

"But how?"

Vega wicks the stone against the length of her blade. The slick grind echoes off the walls, but Shasta's chest heaves rhythmically with deep sleep. What she's dreaming of?

"Reckon it's a gift from God or something," says Vega, eventually. "She deserves it. She lost everything else. Her family. Her sight."

"She's got you."

Vega nods. "And now, she has you."

I nod guiltily. "So it would seem."

"You may as well shut up and sleep. No way in hell you're taking watch tonight. You'd skip out the moment I fell asleep. Don't deny it."

"Would it be so bad if I did?"

"I may not like it. I may not like you. But if Shasta saw you in her dreams, then you're important."

"Important for what?"

"For her. For the future. Hell if I know."

What has Shasta seen about me? This way station. This ruined city. This shimmering tower. And what about Vega? Why does she care so much about this little girl? Surely, traveling with her has slowed Vega down, made her vulnerable. Yet, Vega loves her like a little sister.

"She saved you," says Vega with finality, sheathing the blade and holding it over her crossed legs. "You owe her not to abandon her. Now, go the hell to sleep."

I try, but I can't get little Shasta out of my head. How is it possible that she can see me in her futures? Why am I in them?

I want to run. I want to go back to life alone in the Bone Trees. Life is simpler when there's no one to lose. Already I can feel something stirring. Why else would I feel like I owe Shasta something?

And that feeling scares the hell out of me.

Did Mami feel these sorts of stirrings for Winston before her moral obligation got her killed?

In this world, caring for someone, owing someone, loving someone, it always leads to death.

Thank you for reading SABER!

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Discussion: Why do you think Vega is so defensive of Shasta?