Because I don’t know what the hell being Lunalette looks like.
But it’s definitely not me.
CHAPTER 15
What seems like mere minutes later, I’m shaken out of a deep, dreamless sleep by a panicked Bronwyn. “Veda, get up! We have to go!”
When I snap awake, she’s pulling me up by the arms and I sit bolt upright. “What’s happening?”
“Flooding … In the main cavern and moving fast. We have to get to higher ground now.”
“Where’s Dorian?” I ask, and the minute the words leave my mouth, the way Bronwyn pauses a fraction of a second, I realize it was probably the strangest question for me to ask. “I mean…”
“He’s fine. With the Sindaco and the other officers.”
I nod. Really, Veda? Instead of, How can I help? Or, Is everyone safe? Or, Is there damage? for some Sun-forsaken reason, I ask about Dorian.
Bronwyn and I sprint through the tunnels, the trickling of water growing closer and closer.
“Shouldn’t we be running away from the flooding?” I ask.
“This is the closest way to higher ground.”
Higher ground? “We’re going up to the island?”
“No … It’s not that bad yet. Just to the Crag.”
The rock floor is slippery, at least half an inch of standing water turning the already smooth surface into slick stone, our boots sliding with each quick step. We run into several others along the same route and the narrow tunnel grows tighter and tighter, the air thinner and thinner.
Shoulder to shoulder, our boots collectively slosh through the low flood. There’s a constant low chatter full of “What if the water rises?” and “What if we have to go up to the island?” and “We’re not ready for battle!” Hell, I don’t even know my way to the Crag.
I feel a tug on the sleeve of my shirt. “Will we have to go to the Upper?” one boy asks, looking up at me over the flicker of his lantern as we stumble through the damp darkness. “Is our army ready to fight the Imperi?”
And despite not having the faintest idea how to fight anything other than a fish on the end of a hook, I stop dead, lean down to his level, and lie. “Whenever our army has to go up, whether it’s in five minutes or in five years, we’ll be ready.” I’m literally lying through my teeth because I have no idea.
Doe-eyed, slowly, he nods his head up and down, and I decide the lie was worth it.
Then I realize everyone’s stopped.
All eyes are on me. A few appear near tears. Several smile. Most wear an expression of hardened strength. One I know well. It tells the story of someone who’s fought in one way or another all their lives. I suppose you don’t have to have physically fought to be ready for battle.
We’re all warriors here.
The Sindaco’s words about how I’ve been a part of the Night, their history, their family for years edges to the surface. I’m seeing it firsthand and it terrifies me.
While their belief in their Lunalette is heartwarming, it stirs the nausea already building in my belly, sending signals to my brain that shout, “Impostor!” and “Liar!” and “You can’t do this!”
But before I shrink too small, we’re back en route. Our feet are soaked and our breathing is labored and sharp, but eventually we reach the Crag and an enormous cavern full of what must be the majority of the Night.
It’s cramped, but there’s still room to breathe.
The space—nearly as tall as the volcano is wide—echoes and buzzes with organized chaos. Several officers are calling out orders, rounding people up in groups, assigning them tasks and rotating them out while others sleep.
Bronwyn and I are shuffled into a line with several of those around us. An officer assigns the kids in our group trash duty; the adults are tasked with gathering any and all dry bedding they can find, while Bronwyn, me, and the rest of our group are to refill canteens with fresh drinking water from a nearby spring and check on anyone who’s missing or injured. All of us are told to get a few hours’ rest after we’ve finished.
Only a handful of people were hurt slipping on the wet cave floors or scraped in the dark, but nothing life threatening. No one’s missing, though one little girl claims she’s forgotten her favorite blanket back in her cave. Bronwyn gives her one of Dorian’s tiny glass animals—a cat. Apparently, she grabbed a handful on her way out of her cave where she has an entire menagerie stashed away, which only further endears me to Dorian.
Once we’ve made our rounds through our assigned section of the upper caverns and at least three trips to the spring and back, we’re to rest until the lower tunnels and caves—where most of the living quarters are—are out of danger of flooding further.
There’s one pillow and one mat for Bronwyn and me to share. We end up giving it to a woman with three young children and use our jackets for pillows, lying on the cold stone floor, which, honestly, is welcome after all the back-and-forth we’ve been doing.
Instantly, I drift off, but awaken to a loud crash. I sit up to find the noise was only the rumbling of thunder outside the not-so-thick walls of the volcano and that Bronwyn, who was right beside me when I fell asleep, is now gone.
Worried I must have slept through our next shift, I set out to find her. Why the Sun would she let me sleep?
Only a few days ago, anywhere I went, I caught straying eyes—questioning looks of speculation and longing gazes of admiration, both. Now? Here amid organized chaos? I’m just another member of the Night. But at the moment, no one’s paying me any mind. And it’s nice.
I weave in and out of sleeping bodies on the floor, members handing out food, smaller groups of two and three rushing here and there, carrying buckets of flood water and sand inside burlap bags.
When I return to the officer who initially assigned our tasks, some other soldier’s taken his place. I ask a few people about Bronwyn, but no one knows where anyone is, much less someone not in their group. Though she can’t be that far.
I leave through the same tunnel we used to get water and then head toward the spring.
But when I’m sure I’ll see the small hole of fresh water around the next corner, I hit a dead end.
I retrace my steps, and somehow end up at a fork I know I didn’t encounter before. I flip a mental coin and go right, snake back and forth down a long, narrow cave. This tunnel opens up, then descends down some rocky stairs where I trudge through a knee-deep puddle no one’s cleared yet, making a mental note to tell someone about it once I find my way back.
From there, the cave goes up. And up. And up some more until I recognize where I am by the ladder before me and the mumbling of voices not far above.
The Sindaco’s office.
I freeze, stuck between finding my own damn way out of here and not wanting to be caught looking like I’m eavesdropping.
I try my best to think back to when Dorian and I were here a few days ago … Which way did we go to get back? We definitely didn’t go down where that puddle was, so if I keep going, I should find my way out.
Hopefully.
I’ll chance it. I can always come back and ask for help if I need it.
Decision made. Two steps forward and I’m startled by the whack of metal on stone—a door opening—then, “Sir, you must tell her.” It’s Dorian, his voice raised, an angry edge to it. Surely, he’s not speaking to …