Page 4 of Beholden
At the smoothness of his greeting without a trace of a foreign accent, I startled. “Thank you...”
“My name is Tymur.” He switched seamlessly from Scanian to the language of the Great Isle. “But please, call me Ty.” Once again his inflection was flawless, perhaps even more so than my own, although my mother had spoken the native tongue of her people so often it was second nature.
“Very well, Ty,” I replied in the language of my mother’s people. It was as good a time as any to switch, since that’s all I would speak in the months ahead. “I hope you are a fast writer, for I shall give you much to record.”
Ty stared blankly at me, clearly not much for jesting. And I suspected in the dangerous days to come, I would have to do more rescuing of my new companion than he would of me.
As I faced the west and let the cold wind buffet my cheeks, I braced my shoulders for the trials that would erelong be upon me and prayed someday I would be found worthy.
Chapter
2
Gabriella
“Run faster!” Ishouted breathlessly. The sharp claws of rats scraped against the stone, and their bone-chilling squeaks echoed in the narrow cavern, drawing nearer.
Ahead, Benedict’s and Alice’s footsteps thudded as hard as their old legs could possibly take them. But the past months of exhausting labor had exacted their toll on my faithful servants, and they couldn’t move through the winding tunnels with the same agility they’d had after first arriving in the mine pits.
The steep uphill passageway made our race more difficult, as did the gravel that gave way beneath our feet, causing us to slip with nearly every step.
“Make haste!” I urged again, even as a rat lunged toward me and snapped at my leather boot. I slammed my hammer down on its head, causing it to yelp a high-pitched protest as it tumbled back several paces.
The faint light streaming in from the top of the incline meant we weren’t far from the safety of the surface. We needed to persevere until we reached the light, where we would escape the danger.
I had only to picture Molly’s swollen arm from earlier in the week, the skin purplish-blue and stretched taut, to know the consequence of even the smallest rat bite. I had only to picture the blood and severed limbs from the amputations I’d witnessed. I had only to picture those who survived and returned to the mines, attempting to meet their daily quotas with only one hand or one leg remaining.
Alice stumbled and slid down, nearly bumping into me. With wild eyes, she clutched her chest, her breathing so labored she couldn’t speak. Her gray hair had come loose from a simple linen head scarf and was now plastered to her perspiring forehead and cheeks.
“I beseech you, my lady,” Benedict said through his own jagged breaths. “Take Alice and I’ll fight the fiends.”
I swung my hammer at another rat, and he did the same. Could Benedict prevail against the vicious rodents by himself while I helped Alice the rest of the way?
No. With so many, he’d surely be bitten. “We shall slay them together. ’Tis the only way, Benedict.”
While fighting, he continued to push upward, practically carrying Alice. His silence meant he opposed my assistance. I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t the least bit skilled in wielding weaponry and would likely hinder rather than aid him.
But what choice did we have?
“I am growing more proficient with my hammer and chisel.” I ignored the bandages around my fingers, especially the bloodiest one. “You need not worry about me.”
A shadow momentarily fell over the opening ahead, and I took sudden hope from it. “Help! Please, help!”
An instant later, a form dropped into the passageway. “Gabi? That be ye?”
“Yes!” I squinted to see the tall, lithe outline of Curly, one of the many kind people who’d befriended me. “The rats are after us!”
Before the words were out of my mouth, Curly was sliding down the gravel. Like Benedict and Alice, I flattened myself against the tunnel wall to make room for him. At the same time I kicked at a rat, sending it rolling away only to have another latch on to my boot and scurry up the leather.
I batted it with my hammer. But this time I missed, and the rodent climbed higher, clutching my frayed skirt, rending the thin linen with its claws and two protruding front teeth.
I couldn’t hold back a cry of alarm, and Benedict came to my rescue, slamming the rat away. It fell, taking a section of my skirt with it. In the same moment, he booted and swung and fought the others that leapt at us, ravenous for human blood.
With a shout, Curly plowed into the creatures, his sharpened rock blade already flying and sending the skinny creatures tumbling down the incline. Seconds later, dead or injured rats littered the path, and the cavern grew silent except for our labored breathing.
Curly stared down the darkened passageway, his tall body hunched and his makeshift knife outstretched, as though he expected more rats to rush at us. “Go on up with ye now.” He didn’t take his attention from the path. “I’ll see to yer backs, that I will.”
“Oh, thank you, Curly. You are a godsend.”
