Falling Skyward

Chapter Twenty: The Melody of Memory

Lana's eyelashes bounced and shivered, trying to open against the heavy sweep of exhaustion. The shadows had lengthened, losing their crisp edges in the late afternoon sun. Lana could feel Taren's firm chest rise and fall rhythmically against her back. Clutching her head, she cautiously sat up, the exhaustion spreading from her eyes to her brain and down her spinal cord.

"Taren," she croaked, her throat scratched and tender from coughing. "Taren!" This time the sound was loud enough to echo off the tunnel walls as she gently shook him. "Get up. We have to get moving if we want to make some headway before sunset."

Taren placed his right hand on top of Lana's, which rested against his chest. He squinted at her through one eye and groaned. "What are you trying to do, woman? Kill me? You won't give a man ten minutes rest even after he saves your life?"

"I've given you well over ten minutes. It's already getting late in the afternoon, so come on; let's move it." To reinforce her words, Lana grabbed Taren's hand and helped hoist him to his feet. There was no way she could have budged a man as tall and broad as Taren if he hadn't wanted to be budged, but he took satisfaction in making Lana's work as difficult as possible. As Lana hoisted, her breath caught, tight pain radiating along her ribs. Taren placed his arms around her waist.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

With a surgical detachment and efficiency, Lana examined her injuries, pressing her side, testing her muscles. "Nothing is punctured or broken," Lana responded matter-of-factly. "It's nothing to slow us down. Let's get going."

After examining Lana's face for any other traces of pain or injury, Taren began feeling his way along the smooth-cut, mossy stones of the tunnel, toward a dark recess where tendrils of ivy and blossoms dripped in a long sheet from the wall. Taren pushed back the heavy curtain of vines to reveal a jagged hole in the stonework several feet above the ground.

An interlacing gate untouched by rust blocked the passage, the spiraling design mirroring those along the palace walls. Taren placed his palm to the lustrous metal, his eyes closed in concentration. The metal began to shake, then Taren uttered words part poetry, part song, but all a language and melody Lana could not understand. The gate slid back, leaving the passageway exposed.

"After you, my lady," he said with a bow. The hole reeked of decay and mildew, its rim dank, its depths vanishing in a silvery blackness.

"Are you serious? You expect me to go in there? Where does it even lead?"

"Yes to your first two questions, and inside the palace to your last."

"I gathered that much. But what happens if someone sees us? What happens if we are caught?"

"I'm not sure; it's never happened before. Look, just act like you are a member of the staff. Act like you belong and no one will bother you."

"But, what if . . ."

"My goodness, Lana. You were the one who said you wanted to get a move on. Now, are you going to sit here questioning me to death, or are you going to get up the nerve to crawl inside this creepy tunnel?" Lana swallowed her fear and uncertainty. Her pride was stronger than either.

She sauntered past Taren, bracing herself against the serrated edge of the hole. Taren put his hands around her waist, ready to hoist her up, but she nudged his hands away. She almost regretted her stubbornness when she began pulling herself up the wall, her muscles jittery and unreliable with fatigue. But, despite a little ungraceful flailing, she made it inside the damp, tangible darkness only minorly bruised.