He cried out, loud and raw, until there was no more breath in him, no more breath in his child. His own heart sped out of control, even as he felt the body he held jerk, once and then again. It slackened.
“Damn you, Band’orán! Curse you to the pits of torment! Burn in eternal agony! Fel’annár!”
Fel’annár.
Tensári shot up, turned, wide eyes blazing.
“Here!” Tensári’s call from beside the bronze statue which stood before a dry river bed.
The others ran to her. Idernon brushed his hands over it, admiring the detail on her dress.
“That’s Handir’s mother,” said Galadan.
“C. The key to this place.” Tensári was thinking, piecing it all together. “C for Canusahéi, the road to the queen.” Tensári bent, ran her hands over the smooth stone to the base. The feet, naked and perfect, and below them, one word.
Eternal.
Tensári’s eyes travelled past the statue, to the ground, along it. Her skin flared as if it had caught fire and been doused with frigid water. Ears ringing, heart hammering against her heaving chest, she reached down and felt the bed of this natural river. It was cold. It was wet. A crack. No … a line, another, and another.
“Quiet! All of you, quiet!”
Her words echoed around them, and she was kneeling, Sontúr at her side, ear to the ground, eyes blazing blue.
A grating sound. No, a grinding sound.
“There’s someone down there.” Her voice was desperate, full of dread. Her eyes searched for a mechanism, a way to open what looked like a hatch, to whatever lay below.
Gor’sadén’s hands roved over the riverbed, Galdith and Galadan doing the same while Carodel and Ramien searched further into the dry bed but it was Idernon’s voice that called out.
“Here!” He pressed his finger into the indentation he had found, identical to the one on the outer wall. A rumble. Something shifted at Canusahéi’s feet. A slab of rock had moved sideways. A shout, of fright and then panic, a hoarse voice and a white hand that reached from the crack. A head, heaving and spluttering for air, a voice hoarse and desperate.
“He’s drowning!”
Sontúr and Galadan held onto the king, held his head above the water while Idernon, Gor’sadén, Carodel and Ramien pushed the stone all the way to the side. Water oozed from what looked like a well, spilling over and rising. Galdith and Tensári knelt, peering into the darkness that was slowly opening before them.
Thargodén coughed, couldn’t speak for a moment as he struggled for breath. He cleared his throat. “He’s drowning! His foot is chained to the floor!” It was almost a scream from an elf on the brink of panic.
“Move it. Move!”shouted Gor’sadén.
Ramien roared and pushed with all his might and then Sontúr and Galadan pulled the king out. Tensári dived in, Idernon right behind.
Below the surface, a body floated, arms out to the side like a bird soaring upon hot currents. Silver tendrils undulated in the current, surrounding a face frozen in time. Eyes open, mouth open.
Tensári was at his feet, one of them shackled to a chain. She tugged on it, looked up at Idernon and shook her head desperately. Idernon surfaced.
“Ramien!”
The Wall of Stone jumped in, water sloshing over the sides. He sunk straight to the bottom, ignored the bones and chains that littered the place. He followed the loops, one by one, knowing what Fel’annár would have tried to do. And then he found it, a rougher link, and then another.
He pulled, Idernon and Tensári helping.
Idernon surfaced, gasped for air, then ducked back in. Tensári did likewise, rolled back in. With a sudden jerk, the chain floated apart. The body rose, free at last and Ramien was under him, pushing him up, and then he was out. Hands grappled with sodden clothes, pulled the inert body to the shores of the rising lake. Fel’annár was free of the water.
And he was dead.
Sontúr threw himself to his knees beside the body, eyes registering the slack, grey face, dull eyes half open.
The king coughed again, sat up. “Gods, no. Bring him back. Bring him back!” He was angry, frantic, could hardly move. He coughed again, eyes wide as he watched Sontúr dig the heel of his palm down, the other hand on top, pumping at Fel’annár’s chest. The prince leaned forward as he worked—didn’t think, couldn’t think. Technique. Pump, breathe, check pulse.
No pulse. He breathed into his friend’s mouth, again and again. Started pumping again.
He stopped and leaned back on his heels, watching the chest for any signs of movement. Checked the pulse at his neck again.
“Don’t stop! Don’t!”
Sontúr ignored the king. Ignored Gor’sadén and Idernon. He didn’t look at any of them, only at Fel’annár’s chest. Inert. He’d brought him back on the battlefield after the bite of the Nim’uán. He could do it again.
He could.
He unbuckled the chest protection, pulled at it. Idernon helped. He started again, pumped hard, breathed into Fel’annár’s mouth.
He sat back, watching the bare chest.
Nothing.
“Damn it, brother!” Sontúr started again, trying not to panic. “So cold …”
Tensári stepped backwards, horrified because she had lost him, because the Ber’anor would die. But then her head shot sideways as Gor’sadén lurched forward.
“I can help.” Ignoring the startled looks from the rest of The Company, he knelt and took a cold and lifeless hand into his own. The memory of Fel’annár’s words played in his mind.
‘I swear, there is something about the Dohai that is mending it …’
As Sontúr continued to pump and breathe into Fel’annár, Gor’sadén searched for his reserves of energy—energy created by the Dohai. Reaching deep inside himself, he beckoned it forth. Energy pulsed through his body, but he did not know what to do with it.
‘… I can almost see it in my mind, like a cauterising fire. Like a soothing balm.’
Gor’sadén let his senses take over. He felt warm and then hot, felt the rush of energy through his veins, transcending skin. A soft translucence seemed to rise from Fel’annár’s body, and The Company watched, speechless and breathless, as they willed his still chest to rise.
And it did, awkward and uneven.
Sontúr lurched forward, ignoring the shouts behind him. He took Fel’annár’s head and turned it to the side, allowing himself the smallest of desperate smiles. It faltered as he watched water run from Fel’annár’s mouth. And then the smile was back as his friend retched, coughing up more water and groaning.
Fel’annár rolled on his side, got a hand under himself, his other hand falling away from Gor’sadén’s. He coughed again, drops of water flying. He cleared his throat and rasped out, “That hurt.”
Sontúr barked out, laughed hard even as he took his cloak off and began to dry his friend. He wanted to weep in utter relief, but instead, he laughed and wiped his face with his shoulder as he worked, briefly catching Gor’sadén’s gaze.