“I won’t let you do this to me—”
“Mya, I’m not doing anything to you—”
“Then for me. However you see it. But I won’t have it. You’re not going to sacrifice yourself for what you think is my good—”
“That’s not what this is—”
“So I can get away and save myself and the others. You think you’re helping me succeed, but you’re still forcing me to fail. Because nothing about this will be a success if you don’t come with me.”
Kol sits forward and I can see the pain in his eyes. The whites are shot through with red, and the always-warm brown has chilled to the shade of cold earth. It’s as if his fever has stolen the warmth from every other aspect of him. Like it’s feeding on the warmth in his eyes, his voice, his smile.
But not the warmth in his Spirit. That’s still there. That’s the thing pushing him to make a ridiculous decision because he thinks it’s for my own good.
“Mya, I’m not as selfless as you think I am. I’m not planning to stay behind to die—I’m not begging you to abandon me. I want my future too much.” He manages a smile, though it’s weak and thin and holds no joy at all. “I’m betrothed to the smartest, most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. Do you think I’m ready to let that slip away?” Kol pauses, and I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking—that now that I will be expected to fill the High Elder role in my own clan, our betrothal may no longer be possible. If we marry, one of us will need to join the other’s clan. One of us will have to step aside. But can either of us do that? Can either of us let our love for each other be more important than our love for our clans?
“I’ll come. I’ll be right behind you.” Kol makes this promise, even as he winces and lies back down, letting out a long, slow exhale through clenched teeth.
I’m not sure if I believe what he says. He’s not speaking the truth about our betrothal. How can I believe that he’s speaking the truth about anything?
“Leave one of the kayaks for me,” he groans, “and I’ll come. As soon as I can—”
“You must think I’m pretty foolish.” I slide closer to him. I want him to feel me, even though his eyes are closed. “You must think you can tell a girl she’s smart and beautiful and she’ll accept everything else you say, too. Say all you want—I’m not leaving you. I know you’re very sick, but I’ve seen you worse. When you came to warn me and my clan about Lo’s coming attack? When you pushed through the storm and came to me, freezing and only half-alive? You were much worse that day than you are now. And yet you recovered. You recovered and came with me, and you’re coming with me now.”
“That was different—”
“No, it wasn’t—”
“I didn’t have to be carried then.”
I notice a twinge of pain ripple across Kol’s face, but I’m not sure if it’s his knee or his pride that’s hurting. “Is this about Morsk?”
“I can’t do it. Mya, I can’t crawl—”
“Then you’ll go backward. You can lie down and slide on your back—”
“Mya!” Kol sits up again, his back arching, his features contorting with pain. I had thought he was sitting forward before in an effort to be closer to me—to speak to me more privately—but now I realize he was moved by his body, not his heart.
Maybe he really isn’t trying to sacrifice for me. Maybe he just can’t go on.
“I’ll follow you. I promise,” he says. “Let me stay here until I get some strength back. You can all crawl through to the beach. I’ll wait. When I can, I’ll come through after you.”
As Kol speaks, I lean closer. For just a moment, I force myself to consider it—I force myself to try to walk away. As the High Elder, I am obligated to ask what course would be best for the clan. What course is the right one for the greater good?
In that moment, the darkness in this cave cannot compare with the darkness that envelops my heart. The darkness I feel when I consider what might happen if I were to leave Kol here. When I consider my future as the High Elder of the Olen, if Kol never made it out of this cave.
Some rewards will never make up for the sacrifices made to achieve them. “We all go home,” I say. “There’s no other option. There’s no option where I decide to leave someone behind. Not you, not Morsk, not anyone.”
“Of course you can’t leave Morsk—”
“What does that mean—”
“You might need him. Someone has to father the next Olen High Elder.”
“Don’t talk that way—”
“Mya,” Kol says, his voice suddenly strong, “don’t hold on to me now, only to let go of me later.”
His eyes are closed. I think about his words as I notice the tightness of the skin across his cheeks. The puffiness of his dry lips.
I lean over him and touch his lips with mine—a kiss to seal a promise. “I’m not leaving the High Elder of the Manu to die. You are needed—”
“And so are you—”
“So we’re going out together. You must try. We can discuss the future of our betrothal and the future of our clans—we can even discuss who will marry Morsk—but not here. We can discuss all of that once we are home.”
Kol struggles up onto his elbows and gives me an even look. No smile—not on his lips or in his eyes. “I can’t go on, Mya. I can’t make it.” For the first time since he told me he wouldn’t come with me, I know he is telling me the truth. “But for you, I promise to try.”
He leans toward me, and seals his promise with a kiss.
I get up and walk toward the passageway, feeling the walls with my hands when it’s too dark to see. Kol comes behind me, sliding across the floor backward, keeping his left leg straight at the knee. I tell him when the ceiling drops down, though it hardly matters to him. When the opening closes to a space barely wider than my shoulders, I stop.
It’s not big, but it will have to be big enough.
Kol slides past me until he can go no farther. Lees calls to him from the other side of the opening, ready to help him through.
“Where’s Seeri?” I ask.
“She’s right here. I just . . . I wanted to be the one to help.”
I almost argue with her—I almost tell her to go back to her place between Morsk and Pek—but then I change my mind. We came to this island together. She wants to play a part in getting us home.
“Can you thread your arms through first?” Lees asks, her voice a soft hum. “It’s easiest if you slide forward, onto your hands. I’ll be here to make sure your knee doesn’t hit the floor.” Lees’s voice shakes as she gives him instructions. Maybe someone else wouldn’t notice—she’s trying so hard to stay calm—but I can hear the strain behind her words. For now she’s trying to stay strong for everyone else. I think we all are, actually. But I marvel that Lees, my impulsive little sister, is able to succeed at it so well.
A sharp groan rolls out of Kol as he pushes his body through the tight space. As his knees rub against the rough rocks that line the gap into the passageway, I bite my lip. I almost pray, but I don’t dare anger the Divine with another request.
Once Kol is through, it’s my turn.
It’s so dark, I can see Kol and Lees only as shadows. Every small sound hits me like a clap of thunder. I thread my arms through the opening. The floor of the passageway is lower than the floor I kneel on, and I tumble forward onto my hands. Lees catches me around the shoulders and I slump onto the stone floor. The thud of my hip is echoed by a low yowl from Black Dog.
“It’s all right, boy.” Noni’s voice is soft and reassuring. “We’re going to get out of here soon.” The dog settles and quiets, and I try to settle too. My pulse hammers in my temples and my thoughts race, but I push those things away.
It’s so quiet and still, and the walls of rock are so close around all of us, even Noni’s hand stroking Black Dog’s fur makes a sound. Shh . . . shh . . . shh.
My eyes have adjusted to the hazy light. We’re in a narrow tunnel of rock. The sides curve and wrap above our heads, rounded and smooth like the inside of a hollowed-out bone. I can feel where flows of water have seeped in and dug channels into the rock—some wide, others narrow. In places, thin trickles still ripple along. A drip . . . drip . . . drip . . . reverberates, faint but persistent, lending us a faltering heartbeat.
The ceiling is too low to stand, but there’s room to crawl—or slide, as Kol will need to do. The dog whines, and his voice sounds like my soul feels. We need to get moving.
“Noni, are you ready to lead us out?”
Her only reply is the shuffle of her pants along the floor, her quiet whisper of assurance to Black Dog. She slides away. I can barely distinguish her outline as she reaches a spot in the passageway that dims. She twists her shoulders and disappears around a tight turn.
I gulp in a sharp, quick breath. How will Kol maneuver that bend in the rock? I say nothing. First we need to get him that far.
In front of us, Pek, Seeri, Morsk, and Lees all follow Noni and Black Dog, disappearing out of view. Kol and I draw closer to the turn, creeping along as he slides slowly on his back, pushing off again and again with his right foot. His eyes are on the rock above our heads—he hasn’t seen the turn yet. But I’m sure he remembers what Noni described, and the sound each person makes as they pass through—grunts and groans mixed with the scrape of elbows and knees against rock—leaves little doubt of what’s ahead.
When his shoulders finally touch the wall—when he can go no farther without contorting and curving to follow the bend—he looks back at me. The light filtering in from beyond the turn illuminates the right side of his face like the glow from a dying fire. He squints at me, as if trying to read my face.
“And now?”
“Like you did back there. You’ll need to thread your arms through first. Then your shoulders. Twist your upper body through, then let your hips follow—”
“Pull my hips through. Like escaping a capsized kayak.”
I think for a moment. “Yes. Like that.”
A long, rippling sigh pours out through his lips. “And you’ll be right behind me?”
“Of course.”
“All right then.”
The yellow glow of light shrinks to a dull gray haze when his body begins to slide through, filling the narrow space. His head and shoulders disappear, and then I hear his voice. “It’s wider in here,” he says. “It’s another room, but smaller than the first one. It’s a bulge in the passageway—like a mouse passing through a snake.”
I bite my lips, suppressing a smile. “Thanks, but I’d rather not think of it that way,” I say.
Kol’s body rolls over, until he’s lying on his right hip. Then his belt, hips, thighs all slide through. When his feet disappear, I know it’s my turn.
Looking around the corner, I see the open room with its higher ceiling and wider floor. Beyond Kol, Noni and the dog huddle against a small opening that I hope leads to the outside.
But I doubt it. If we were that close, sounds would filter in—gulls and wind—and the light would be brighter. If we were that close, Noni wouldn’t be able to keep the dog from running out. “How much farther?” I ask, calling as I take my first crawling step around the turn.
“Not too far. Ten paces . . . maybe twelve.”
“Then start through. Just be careful. Let Seeri go first. She can be sure it’s clear before she climbs out onto the ground. But don’t wait. I’m almost there.”
I try to crawl another few steps forward, but I have to stop. My hips won’t fit. I slide back a half step, sitting back on my heels. I notice Kol’s eyes on me. It feels wrong to go backward—to go away from the only way out—but I have no choice. I slide back until only my head and shoulders are on Kol’s side of the turn. I twist. I angle my torso to slide forward again.
Now I’ve found the right position. Now I can slide my body through. I reach with my left hand to crawl forward, but all at once the ground drops away.
Everything shudders—the walls, the ceiling, the floor as it crumbles and caves into black space. I feel Kol’s feet fall against my hands as they tumble into the ever-widening hole that opens where the ground just was.
Black Dog howls, and Noni screams, but both voices sound muted and far above us. The light goes out, then returns, as a new gap in the rock opens over our heads. Sunlight pours in, and with it, water.
We must be right at the edge of the creek. The gap in the ground above us becomes the lip of a waterfall as a torrent splashes against the folded and crumpled rock.
“Go!” I snap. “All of you—get out before the water rises.”
And they go. I can’t see them—the quake has broken this room away from the passageway—but I hear them moving, shuffling along the stone, the sound fading as they draw farther away.
But Kol doesn’t move, and neither do I. Instead he lunges forward from where he sits, splashing his hands into the water and clawing at the floor.
My arms and his legs are already submerged—hidden under dark water—but I don’t need to see them to know. The pressure of the rock digging into my wrists tells me. The way Kol frantically claws at the ground beneath the water tells me.
The shifting rock has pinned us both in place.
And the water is rising fast.