Chapter 8: Blackbird

Neal woke up with a start. His last memory was of Sornoth crouched beside him. Was that a nightmare? He could still feel the shilkas licking him. He reached out to stroke one.

A hand stopped him. "Neal, can you hear me? It's Peter."

He opened his eyes. Swimming over his head was Peter's face smiling down anxiously at him.

He gasped with relief. Maybe it had all been a dream. He was back at their camp. He'd fallen asleep while they were stargazing . . . An instant later he gave himself a mental kick. Use your brain. The shilkas are still here. "Tried to warn you . . ."

"I heard you. You didn't think I'd leave you with that leopard, did you?" The worry lines were still on his face, but he felt surprisingly good.

"They said you'd come. I shouldn't have doubted them."

"Who told you?"

"Small animals. They look like lemurs."

"We call them shilkas," another voice said. He turned his head to see Phineas. He looked just like he remembered him at Oxford. Even the same clothes. Why was he with Peter? And how did the shilkas know about him? He'd save his questions for later. They needed to leave before Sornoth returned.

"I know. They gave me reports. They said you and Peter were coming. At first, I thought I was dreaming. Did you see Sornoth?" He remembered the leopard's attack, but he couldn't feel anything. Then again he hadn't tried to move. Something told him that would be a very bad idea.

"We'll talk later," Phineas said. "It's not safe here." He pulled out a small gourd from his knapsack and poured a dark liquid into the cap of the gourd. "Drink this. It will help."

Neal hesitated. Peter wasn't objecting. Never question your rescuers. He started to reach for the cap and immediately stopped as his side erupted into paralyzing pain. He bit down hard on his lip, trying not to cry out, as he rode it out. They'd have to leave him behind. He couldn't go anywhere like this.

Phineas held the cap to his lips. "Drink," he urged. The shilkas scampered over his chest, licking him frantically.

He swished the liquid in his mouth before swallowing. It looked like molasses but luckily didn't smell like it. Mushrooms maybe. He closed his eyes. Already he could feel the pain subsiding. Was it the liquid or the shilkas? Were they magical like Cinderella's mice? They communicated telepathically. Close enough to magic. The liquid was probably made from magical mushrooms. How else could it work so fast?

Phineas was already impressing on him the need for speed. He braced his hands gingerly against the ground to stand up and felt no discomfort. Peter and Phineas gripped his shoulders and he tried to fend them off. He could manage without assistance. His injuries must be minor.

Or not.

When he attempted to put weight on his legs, they prompted buckled beneath him. He would have collapsed on the floor without their support. He looked to Peter. "Why won't they work?"

Peter mumbled something about the liquid and said not to worry. That was hard to do with him looking so anxious. He felt fine. Okay, a little wobbly, but that'd quickly wear off.

Phineas grasped him by the shoulders, forcing him to pay attention. "We have a distance to travel within the ruins before we can escape." He was speaking in slow motion. Why? There was nothing wrong with his hearing.

Phineas's eyes bored into him. "Ghasts are about. No talking. Do you understand?"

"I haven't been—" Neal objected, intending to protest further till he saw Peter shake his head at him. He'd been thinking. Not talking. There's a difference. Only the shilkas could have heard him. Was Phineas a shilka? Why else did he think he'd been talking? And why was Peter biting his lip? Were they telling jokes and not letting him in on them?

They hustled him out of the cell before he had a chance to explain. Why were they holding onto him so tightly? It wasn't like he was going to skip off to visit Sornoth. What would Betelgeuse think of Sornoth? Not much, probably. He'd be more fascinated by the shilkas. He'd have to—

"Neal!" Peter whispered urgently in his ear. "Shhhhush!"

Most of the shilkas had scampered back into the crevices. Two of them darted ahead and were staying a little in front of Phineas. They acted like guides. Maybe they were guides. After all, they lived in the ruins. He turned to Peter to whisper very quietly about them when Phineas shoved a hand over his mouth.

"Where are we going?" he mumbled through Phineas's hand.

"Home," Peter whispered. "We're going home. Now quiet!"

How were they going home? Did they find another wormhole? Before he could ask, Phineas leaned him against the wall, gesturing for Peter to stop too. Funny place to take a break.

Phineas opened his knapsack and rummaged among the contents. He had no problem seeing him even though he'd turned off the light gizmo around his neck. The greenish slime on the walls reminded him of the staircase in the mausoleum. Did all underground staircases have green slime? The one at Abydos had.

Phineas unceremoniously shoved a pinch of some powder into his mouth. Didn't even ask first. Not very polite. But before he could complain, his brain stuttered and stalled. Thoughts blurred . . .

He had a dreamlike impression of being hustled down endless narrow corridors lined with fallen stones and mortar. He had no concept of time. He'd wake up to find they were still slinking through what looked to be the same passageways. He wondered vaguely why there weren't any ghasts. Were they too large to fit? But nothing seemed very important . . .

He awoke to more of the syrupy liquid being poured into his mouth. They were holding him upright against a stone wall. The liquid cleared his head and he became more aware of his surroundings. As soon as Phineas saw his eyes open, they were on the move once more.

They wouldn't let him ask questions, so he didn't bother. He felt hollow inside. One big empty glop. Peter snorted. Why? He hadn't said that aloud. Was Peter reading his mind again?

"Shhh," Peter whispered in his ear.

Again with the shushes. Neal tried to focus on what they were doing, but it made his brain hurt. The world was black. Black as a blackbird. He began to hum—softly—in his head.

Abruptly Phineas shoved him against the wall and clamped a hand over his mouth. What were they waiting for? He'd said they needed to hurry. Neal listened to the drip, drip of water coming from the stones above them. His head slid down till it found something to rest on. Peter had sandwiched his shoulder underneath and Neal settled on it gratefully. He was so tired . . .

Then he heard them. The rapid thuds of marching hooves. They were directly overhead. The din reverberated in the narrow corridor. Ghasts. There must be an entire battalion. He had that sound forever branded into his memory from the previous night.

Were they searching for them? Had Sornoth discovered he was missing?

Slowly the thuds faded away.

As soon as it was quiet, Phineas urged them forward. "The final push. We're almost there."

He had no idea how long that final push was. He could see his feet move but he couldn't feel them. His world was reduced to the arms around him that kept him upright.

With a jerk, he realized they'd stop moving. In front of them was a solid stone wall. He felt Peter's rough breathing on his neck. Had they come to a dead-end? Literally?

Phineas didn't seem to think so. Giving them a broad smile, he guided them back against the wall and then crouched on the floor. His fingers traced the edges of the stone slabs. He began tapping the floor with both hands as if it was a keyboard.

Silently a panel slid back, revealing a dark cavity. Rough steps descended from the opening to the blackness below.

Phineas turned to them. "This, my friends, is our escape from H'nir!" He stooped to stroke the two shilkas who'd been guiding them.

One of them scampered up Neal's leg onto his chest. Safe travels! An image of a waterfall flashed in his mind.

The shilka darted off before Neal had a chance to thank him. Would he ever see shilkas again? He hoped so.

Phineas and Peter inched him down the steps. Once they were beyond the entrance, Phineas sealed the opening by tapping on a bronze-colored plate on the wall. He turned on the light hanging from his neck, but it only brightened a few feet in front of them

Gradually the air became less oppressive. It had a faint fragrance, totally unlike the fetid atmosphere of the upper levels. As he breathed it in, Neal felt a little refreshed despite the heat. Weren't caverns supposed to be cool? This one was a furnace. It was odd because Peter's arm felt cool. Why wasn't he hot too?

After about twenty paces, Phineas stopped. "Ahead lies a trap for any ghasts who might find their way down here." He took the light—Peter called it a light orb—off his neck and held it at arm's length as he crept forward. A jagged chasm had created a cavernous pit in the stairs. Only a narrow border a little over a foot wide was on each side. Without the light, they would have fallen in.

"We'll need to hug the wall till we're past it." Phineas's eyes locked onto his. "You must try to stay upright. I'll go first. If you feel weak, lean on me as you descend. Can you do it?"

He nodded, his head feeling clearer than it had for a long time. The rough stone surface of the wall provided chinks that normally would have been sufficient to skirt the trap. Phineas got in front, faced the wall, then wrapped his right arm around his back. Peter copied the move, gripping him from the other side.

His flinched when Peter's arm tightened over the wounds left by Sornoth, but he welcomed the pain. It made him more alert. Slowly they slid past the pit. His legs started to shake uncontrollably when he tried to flatten himself against the stones. Peter and Phineas provided constant encouragement. No longer any need to keep quiet . . .

Once they'd passed the trap, he longed to collapse, but Phineas wouldn't let him. "We're almost there. Soon you'll be able to rest. Just a few more steps."

He closed his eyes and nodded, zoning out for a while.

An exclamation roused him. It was Peter's voice. He opened his eyes and blinked at the unaccustomed brightness. They were no longer in an artificial tunnel but standing on a ledge near the top of an immense cavern with long stalactites coming down from the ceiling. A track consisting of bamboo-like poles was suspended from the ceiling and descended far below. He couldn't see the endpoint. The stalactites glittered with an inner radiance as if they were lanterns.

"This cavern was used as an evacuation route by my people," Phineas explained. He helped Peter ease him onto a rocky outcrop where finally he could rest.

He slouched against the wall, watching Phineas with half-closed eyes as he approached the track. His orb illuminated a bronze disk that reminded Neal of the disk they'd found in the crypt at Swan Hill Cemetery. Phineas began to tap rapidly with four fingers onto the center of the disk.

"Can you help me?" Neal whispered in Peter's ear. "I need to see that."

"You and me both," Peter murmured back. The disk had been affixed to the cavern wall at a height of about five feet off the ground. When they drew near, Phineas held up the orb close to the disk. A band of writing circled the border. It was a style unlike that on the disk in the crypt.

"I've seen this script among Laban Shrewsbury's materials," Neal said. His words sounded distant and remote like they came from someone else. "Is this Meropian?"

Phineas nodded. "Can you read it?"

He shook his head and swayed against Peter. The temporary burst of strength he'd managed to draw upon to see the disk was gone. He had nothing left.

Peter grabbed him, gripping his wounded side. He felt a dull burn but nothing else. As his eyes closed, he heard rapid footsteps. Phineas slung an arm under his shoulders and helped ease him to the ground.

Neal sagged against Peter's chest. Phineas placed two fingers on his temple. Was he trying to communicate with him?

Phineas held his fingers in place for a long time. It didn't hurt but why did he look so grim? He was just tired. A little rest and he'd be able to continue.

Withdrawing his fingers, Phineas didn't comment on what, if anything, he'd learned. "We constructed gondolas to ferry cargo during the evacuation. The last time I used one was to transport Thaddeus."

For a few minutes, the only sound was of them breathing and the occasional drip of water. He was on the point of falling asleep when he heard a steady low thrum of something moving. He opened his eyes but didn't see anything.

Phineas bounded up and raced over to the tracks. "The system still works!" he exclaimed. "Our transport arrives!"

Neal held his breath as a gondola slowly ascended into view. The sleek craft was the length of a canoe. There were two benches. The prow was carved into the shape of a bird's head. It appeared thin, light, and smooth as aluminum. The gondola was suspended from a living cable—a vine with the toughness of a tree branch and covered with reddish fronds. It came to a halt at a height of about two feet off the ground.

Phineas jumped inside. He ran his hand along the cable, murmuring something in a birdlike chirp to himself. When he noticed Neal watching him, he smiled cheerfully. "It was built to last. It's quite safe."

Leaping out of the gondola in one bound, he darted back to them. Neal had no strength left to help, but they appeared to understand. Phineas placed his arms around him and lifted his torso while directing Peter to lift his feet.

If he weren't so exhausted, he'd be embarrassed to be hoisted like a sack of potatoes onto the floor of the boat. They tried to be gentle. The inside of the gondola was heavily padded and he relaxed into it gratefully. His questions about the construction would have to wait. The jostling made him realize he wasn't hollow after all. His eyes were irritated by sweat. He felt like he was on fire.

"The medication's wearing off," Phineas murmured to Peter.

"Can you give him another dose?"

He nodded and removed the flask from his knapsack. Neal watched as he drained it to the last drop and held the cap to his mouth. "I'm afraid this will have to suffice."

Peter crouched beside him. Pouring water over a cloth, he used it to wipe his face. The cloth felt like it had been dipped in ice water.

Phineas stood up and tapped a complex code on a small bronze panel mounted on the cavern wall next to the gondola. Gently, almost imperceptibly, the craft began to descend but after a few seconds accelerated to a speed he wouldn't have dreamed possible. What energy was driving it?

When Peter asked Phineas about it, the Meropian replied, "You wouldn't understand." He sounded just like Lavinia.

"Rest now," Phineas ordered, clasping Neal's shoulder. "This craft will take us to the wormhole and safety."

If you're wounded, shilkas are powerful friends to have around. I'd read that human saliva contains a natural painkiller that is up to 6 times stronger than morphine. The Meropians haven't disclosed how strong shilka saliva is.