Page 102 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure
Level One. The final flight to the surface. Fresh air and rain-scented wind poured down from above. He burst through the door to the pavilion and handed the boys to Tula, who reached for them. "Their parents are coming up behind me."
He didn't wait for her to answer.
Every second counted, and there were more people down there—elderly who couldn't climb fast, more people with small children, some who might be too frightened to move.
He turned and plunged back into the stairwell.
The descent was harder the second time. More people were climbing, and he had to fight his way down against the flow. Shouts of "Wrong way!" and "What are you doing?" followed him, but he didn't have time to explain.
Level Six was worse than before. In the corridor, an elderly couple were struggling through knee-deep water. The woman could barely walk, her husband trying to support her while fighting his own exhaustion.
Without saying a word, Eluheed lifted the woman onto his back. She did not weigh much, and he could feel her frailty, bones like a bird's beneath thin skin. "Hold on to me," he told her. "Arms around my neck."
Her grip was weak but determined. He turned to the husband, evaluating quickly whether the man could walk if not burdened.
"No," Eluheed decided, and before the man could protest, he'd hoisted him under his left arm. It was awkward with the woman on his back, and her husband under his arm like a package, but it was fast and efficient.
"Please, put me down," the man protested weakly. "I can walk."
Eluheed answered with a grunt and kept moving.
The climb this time was a blur of burning muscles and careful balance. Even his strength had limits when it came to endurance, and he was carrying two adults up six flights of stairs through a panicking crowd. The woman on his back wheezed with each jolting step. The man under his arm had gone quiet, perhaps realizing that protest would only slow them down.
Fifth floor. Fourth floor. His legs screamed protest, but he pushed through. This was nothing compared to climbing the ragged mountains of his homeland, or Ararat—the land he'd called his home for over eight centuries. And it was definitely nothing compared to the weight of failure he'd carried for the last two centuries. He could do this. He would do this.
Finally, he reached the pavilion, where Tula was waiting and ready to take over. He put his charges down. "Lady Tula will help you from here."
The elderly woman gripped his hand with surprising strength. "Bless you," she whispered. "Bless you, young man."
Young man. If only she knew. But there was no time for irony. He could hear screaming from below—panicked and desperate. The water must have broken through completely.
He did two more runs, helping three children and two sick adults up the stairs.
This would be his last one because he was operating on fumes. Hopefully, everyone was already on their way up.
Going down again, his legs felt like molten lead, but he forced them to move. The stairwell was nearly empty now. Most of those who could evacuate on their own had done so. But as he descended, he could hear the ones who were trapped.
The emergency doors on Level Six had given way and it was flooding fast, the water rushing through in a torrent. The corridor was waist-deep and rising visibly. But he could hear children crying.
What in the seven hells were they still doing there, and where were their parents?
He dove into the flooded corridor, swimming against the torrent more than walking. The water was surprisingly warm, heated by its journey through volcanic rock, and it carried the mineral taste of deep earth.
The crying led him to a door that was stuck—water pressure holding it closed. Inside, he could hear multiple voices. A family trapped as water rose around them.
Eluheed punched the top portion of the door, breaking it, and whoever was on the other side got the idea and was helping break off pieces to widen the opening.
Inside, a woman stood on top of a dresser holding twin infants with a boy of perhaps five clinging to her leg.
Two men, the ones who had helped him break the door, were already reaching for the children.
"Give me the children," he commanded, already reaching.
A look of sheer panic passed across the mother's eyes, but she handed the babies to the men, and they transferred the children to him through the opening in the broken door.
Eluheed tucked one under each arm and then turned his back to the door. "Put the child on my back."
A moment later, small arms wrapped around his throat with desperate strength.
