Chapter Thirteen : Underground

This time he knew he was dead. The cool, damp quiet felt different, comforting and closed in. In the distance, he heard water dripping, dripping. It was the most beautiful sound, like music, the endless slow song of droplets hitting a body of blessed wetness.

He lay on his back, that much he was sure of, hands stretched out at his sides. The cloth beneath his fingertips felt rough, but something had give beneath that. He would have stayed there forever if the endless dripping hadn't made him so very thirsty.

Aiden opened his eyes. There was a ceiling above him. It danced and swayed in the near distance, as though alive. Not a cold, uncaring blanket of stars but neither white-painted boards nor pitted tile. It rose in an arc above him, carved stone pocketed with shadow, dull, deep gray where the darkness didn't turn it black. Strange shapes formed and ebbed across it. He groaned as he tried to turn his head and closed his eyes again for a moment.

If this was heaven, or hell for that matter, he carried his earthly aches all the way there with him. His whole body hurt, from his tight face to his rigid joints and burning eyes. His mouth felt like sandpaper had been applied to it before said abrasive was then used on his eyelids. He felt a tickle at the back of his throat and was unable to stop the cough rising from deep within, despite the tearing pain it caused. He tensed his body against the anticipation of the hurt, making it worse rather than better, but he couldn't help himself.

The coughing was harsh but when he fell back, body letting go in exhaustion, he felt better. He tried a deep breath and managed to mostly fill his lungs before the ache came back with a catch, feeling like he imagined asthma would.

Aiden turned his head again and tried to get his bearings without putting any extra strain on his already tortured body. The world appeared sideways but he fit the details he saw in after a moment of concentrating. His mind seemed to be dull, unresponsive. He blamed it on dehydration and hoped it was temporary.

On his left, a solid wall of the same carved stone as the ceiling loomed. He used some precious energy and reached out to stroke it with his fingertips. It felt real enough, solid and substantial, not a dream or a hallucination. The stone was cool to the touch and a bit damp. He enjoyed the sensation for a moment before turning his head the other way.

A fire danced in a low pit across from him, the smoke disappearing up a curved tunnel in the wall and out through a vent in the ceiling. It was the source of the flowing, flickering light. The room wasn't large, but it was plenty big enough he only just felt the presence of the fire itself. He was grateful for that. He had experienced more than enough heat for one lifetime.

The floor looked like stone as well, covered in some sort of dark sand. The blanket beneath him and its mate draped over his body were a dull golden color, a raw sort of shade, unfinished, as if the weaver had failed to dye it. It looked woven, not like modern fabric. More like someone made it by hand. Aiden knew about weaving because it was his job. His family liberated a few artifacts of such rare nature.

He wasn't dead after all. He struggled to remember. At first, he wondered if the prize had worked and he was in a new place. Then he heard the voice again, the girl's voice, and the word "Guardian". Someone found him, obviously, and none too soon.

Whoever the girl was, Aiden owed her his life.

He gave himself a few more moments to gather his strength and nerve before pulling himself to a sitting position. He managed to spin himself sideways, leaning against the cool, wet stone of the wall. It felt wonderful on his bare back. He looked down and only then realized he didn't have on any clothes.

He immediately blushed. The thought of the mystery girl undressing him made him very uncomfortable. He laughed at himself. After all he had been through, being seen naked was the least of his worries.

Aiden reached up and touched his face. His nose and forehead felt crusty and tight. The blisters were gone, leaving hardened scabs behind. He didn't want to think about how much damage the desert inflicted. He did get a closer look at his arms and hands and was surprised by what he saw. It gave him hope about his face. For some reason the skin was very tight and rough with a faint orange cast, but it didn't look scarred. He kept his fingers crossed whoever found him had a remedy to help him heal.

He was distracted from his self-examination by the sight of a large pottery jar near his bed. The outside of it was beaded with condensation. It took every ounce of control he had to just sip the first time. The cool, sweet wetness went down so well he found himself chugging the entire contents.

It was a matter of moments before his poor, abused stomach clenched, a wave of nausea and cramping hitting him. He doubled over and vomited up the entire jug of water onto the floor. He sat gasping over his knotted belly, watching with aching regret as the precious fluid sank through the sand on the floor and vanished.

Aiden sat back against the wall again and groaned. He knew better, trained to be more methodical and not jump into anything. Overtaxed and still at risk, he kicked himself for not having more sense when he heard someone enter the room.

He looked up and into deep brown eyes framed by thick black lashes.

"You're awake at last," she said.

He knew that voice.

"You saved me." He didn't recognize the croak of his own.

Her smooth skin was a deep mocha, but he still caught her blush by the light of the fire as she ducked her head and smiled. Then, she gasped as she saw the telltale patch of dampness in the sand. Her eyes lifted to his, showing great pity. Before he could apologize, she took the jug and ran.

Aiden felt like a jerk. She helped him and he turned around and insulted her or something. He wanted to follow her, but his legs felt too unsteady. Besides, he had no clothes. He wasn't about to run around looking for her without anything on.

He started another round of condemnation, something he was unused to, when she reappeared at his door. She was breathing heavily while the jug dripped and came to his side and retrieved a small bowl, filling it with water and handing it to him.

"Sip," she said.

Aiden felt wary of trying again, but knew he had to get it into him, still desperately thirsty. He did as he was told as the girl watched him, full lips parted as though she were the one drinking. Her waist-length black hair hung straight, tied behind her shoulders in a loose, low ponytail with a twisted red cord. Her pants and shirt flowed, baggy, of the same weave and shade as his blankets, although a fine red line of stitching wound around the open collar and cuffs of her long-sleeved shirt. Her feet were bare, toes decorated with writing he didn't recognize.

Trained to observe, Aiden took in the girl's appearance and guessed she was close to his age. It only took two sips to empty the little drinking bowl. He waited for the pain to come back but it never did. She smiled and filled the bowl again.

A couple more of those and he felt better.

"Thank you." His voice didn't sound quite so harsh.

"My honor, Guardian," she said.

Rather than ask the obvious question, Aiden chose another.

"What's your name?"

"I am Ashala." Her smile deepened to reveal even white teeth and a single dimple on her right cheek.

"Aiden." He looked down at his arms. "I must have looked terrible when you found me."

"You were very close to death," she said. "But the treatments worked. You are much better now."

He didn't feel much better.

"How long?"

"Four days," she said. She refilled his bowl and handed it to him. "You must have more."

He raised it to his lips when his heart stopped and a moment of panic hit him.

"The prize!"

She frowned, looking puzzled.

"The stone," he said. "Pale yellow, covered in writing." He found himself fearing, not just for the stone because of its ability to carry him away, but for the soul of the old woman living inside it. He had to know if she was okay.

Ashala's expression cleared and she smiled. "Your Key is safe, Guardian Aiden." She set down the jug and went toward the end of the bed. She reached down past his line of sight and brought up the backpack. Aiden let out a great gust of air in relief and reached for it. He opened it up and resisted hugging it when he saw what it contained.

Nestled within, cradled by one of his t-shirts, was the stone.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome." She handed him more water.

Before long, in slow doses, Aiden had drunk most of the jug.

"That's a better way to go about it." He grinned at her, trying to put her at ease. His attempts at small talk seemed to make her uncomfortable and when he fell silent, she sat and stared at him with her huge, brown eyes.

"My father would like to see you, when you are ready," Ashala said.

"I just need to get dressed."

She blushed again, looking away, and hurried away for a moment, returning with his clothes. Not only were they clean, but rubbed with some herb he didn't recognize. They smelled great.

"You may need assistance." She hesitated.

No way was he allowing the exotically beautiful girl who rescued him dress him after most likely undressing him. At least then he had been unconscious.

"I'll manage," he said.

She bobbed into an odd little curtsy and left.

It took Aiden some time to get into his clothes. Sweating and exhausted when he was done, he lay on the bed catching his breath until Ashala came to check on him.

"You must start moving now." She helped him to his feet. "The treatment works better if you are mobile."

He might agree, but his body didn't.

"I'll take your word for it, Ash."

She looked up at him, startled at the nickname.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to insult you or anything."

She shook her head, her black hair gleaming in the firelight. "You didn't."

Ashala was strong for someone so small. Aiden shouldered the pack with the stone on one side and accepted her help on the other as she led him out of the room and into her world.

***