Page 43 of Across an Endless Sea

Elatha’s barge was a display of wealth, not simply for the sheer amount of gold, but also because it was made entirely of lumber.

They have leather, so I can assume there aresomeanimals which have managed to survive down here, but I haven’t seen any.

There are plenty of stalls and shops, but we don’t stop at any of them. Caed draws us farther out of the city, still following that same street. We’re drawing closer to the walls of the cavern, and the rushing of water has begun to undercut everything. The utilitarian buildings fall away as we turn the next corner, revealing the source.

A towering white waterfall cascades down into a shallow basin at the end of the street. Above it, a narrow strip of daylight peeks through.

So that’s the entrance to the mountain?I examine it closely, trying to imagine making my escape that way.

There are stairs ascending the cliff, but they look narrow, steep, and slippery—especially at the points where they cross behind the waterfall. Worse, they’re exposed. The entire city will see me if I try to escape that way.

To one side, there’s a massive stone contraption strung with chains. Two large platforms oscillate between the ledge at the top of the waterfall and the ground, but the noise of the clinking and clanking mechanisms is drowned out by the cascade beside it.

“The Great Lift.” Caed waves a hand at it. “Prae made some improvements to it recently. It used to be powered by fae, but now the waterfall does most of the work, and it’s faster than twenty ogres pulling.”

Am I supposed to be impressed? I realised that Prae was smart already. I can see the carefully constructed channels and water wheels hidden behind the shimmery white falls, and I have no doubt it is a masterwork of engineering. I don’t believe for one second that her improvements were aimed at improving the welfare of the ogres. She probably just wanted a challenge.

Caed leads me closer to the falls, steering clear of the crowd which has gathered around them.

There’s a shallow pool at the base, but it’s barely deep enough to get your ankles wet. The waterfall doesn’t end there either. The water from the sea above plunges down into a gaping crack in the rock floor, echoing as it descends deeper into the mountain.

The Fomorian crowd is gathered around the crack, and as I watch, they force a desperate member of their party closer and closer to it. The female scrabbles and tears at them, but the crowd has no mercy. They jeer as she’s forced closer and closer to the edge, reaching out to cut away great hunks of her long white hair. Her blue skin is dark with bruises, and her scalp is bloody where the blades have nicked the skin.

“What are they doing?” I ask.

Caed’s been quiet since we left, so I don’t expect him to reply.

“Banishing her,” he answers, surprising me.

“By cutting her hair?”

“They take the hair as a sacrifice. Fomorians believe hair is symbolic of our status, individuality, and accomplishments—not to mention our connection to the Ancestors. When it’s cut away, so are those things. They’ll collect the hair and burn it in a forge as an offering.”

The female wails as the last bloodied curl is ripped from her head, and throws a blind punch into the crowd, which surges forwards, forcing her back another step.

Caed watches the entire scene dispassionately. “Now they’re sending her to the Deep Caves. If she survives a year, she’ll be allowed to return, take back her life, and grow her hair back. If not…” He shrugs, but there’s a tension underlying his words.

What can make the Deep Caves so deadly that the battle-hardened Fomorians struggle to survive a year down there?

Caed doesn’t move any closer. But nor does he look away as the blue female slips, losing her footing in the water. It’s all the chance the mob needs. In the next second, she’s tumbling over the edge with a shriek.

He tsks. “She should’ve gone down herself,” he mutters. “It’s easier to survive the landing if you go feet first. One knock to the head and you’re fresh meat…”

The crowd laughs and jeers as her screams echo sharply from the waterlogged shaft, then cut off. I glance up at Caed, only to stop when I see the gloomy look on his face.

“This is why you should bow before my father, little queen.”

So there was another purpose to this ‘tour’ besides enjoying Fomorian sculpture. Threatening me.

My hand stiffens in his.

“How many people return after a year?” I ask, instead of responding to his threat.

Beyond us, the crowd responsible for banishing the Fomorian starts to disperse, going back to their business while chuckling like they’re all in on some awful joke.

Caed shakes his head, pulling me closer to the crack in the rock. “Only one person has managed it in common memory. The concept of a year below is a trick. Down there, you have no way of telling time. You could be below for days and feel like only hours have passed. Then there’s the caves themselves. They shift. Once you leave the lake at the bottom of the falls, they’re never the same twice.”

My eyes widen. “Magic?”

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