Air sucked at the flame topping Hugo’s torch. He held it a little above his head. Pitch black receded with every step he took. His breaths were stifling, filling with the taste of burning wool more than the stale air of the narrow passage that squeezed against his broad shoulders. Narrow sometimes. Wide enough that he couldn’t see the walls at all sometimes. The canopy was pointed tips or bulging rocks. Other times it was a smooth ceiling of stone carved by air they couldn’t feel beyond the breaths they hefted on each other.

  He felt Raphael’s cold knuckles slide across his neck to adjust the grip on his collar. He narrowed his eyes. His boots were scraping across layers of dust. Sometimes it felt wet. This time it was dry. Maybe. There was a squishiness to the sound his sliding made. He had stopped trying to tell which.

  When he ducked, extending the torch in front of him, he felt Raphael duck with him. He knew the others were doing the same as they followed. Chain shirts rattled. Boots scraped. Breaths heaved.

  There was nothing but the glow around them. Dim and orange against the darkness, reflecting from the dampness of the stone walls here and there, or casting tiny textured shadows on others. Every now and then, it hinted of a further darkness.

  Hugo’s eyes were darting against their own heaviness. His feet were dragging against exhaustion, slow and heavy. His arm, bent and aching, was hardening to the pain of holding the torch. He straightened and twisted it at the elbow to try to combat that aching. He switched arms. He had to lower himself even further as the canopy closed like a mouth chomping down on them.

  There were breaths being taken in. He bent his knees nearly to walking like a duck. The torch almost touched the dusty ground.

  Did he lead them the wrong way? He winced.

  He was breathing harder. Stale air. Smoke. Not enough air. Too much smoke. He couldn’t cough if he wanted to. His eyes were burning. He squinted at the darkness beyond the glow. Did it open back up?

  He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. He twisted. Not enough room. His shoulders were too broad. His heart began hammering.

  They had already given up so much to get this far. Their shields had been left behind to get through a passage that was so narrow that they had to go through it sideways for nearly an hour. Or at least, what seemed like an hour. Maybe it was longer. Maybe it was less. He didn’t know. How could any of them know? It was darkness. Nothing but darkness. Everywhere, darkness. Small. Touching. Hard. His fingers scraped dust and stone.

  The torch flickered. More wool. He rubbed at his eyes and pinched his nose with his free hand.

  They were running out of coats. His knees were sore. His calves were tender. His arm was…he switched the torch to the other one again with a flinch at the heat across his face. The firelight shifted shadows. Pillars? He rubbed his eyes. They were aching, too. The flame flickered nearly to cinders.

  “Plow it all,” Hugo spat a whisper at it. “Who did it last?”

  “It’s Samma’s turn,” Dalfur from the back of the line, nearly dowsed in darkness. He had one hand gripping Samma’s collar.

  Samma released his own hold on Bruce in front of him to untie his coat from around his waist with an annoyed nod in the dim glimmer. Like the rest of them, he was in his cotton shirt, his thick arms bare beneath the chain shirt already working to cut another strip from the bottom of his coat. He had only one more strip, maybe two, before he reached the holes of where he had cut away the sleeves. He passed it up the line for Hugo to wrap into the torch flame.

  “Why are we stopped?” Dalfur was leaning to see. “Are we lost again?”

  Hugo clicked his teeth. “I…” He stammered with a huff as the torch brightened. The flame was rising upright. He shook his head. “I think we need to go back and check that other turn again.”

  “The one with the drop?” Andre heaved. “Plow me, do we have the ropes to cross it or are we going to go down?”

  “Down? We don’t know how far down is,” Dalfur was sounding more than irritated.

  “Are you sure?” Raphael was wincing sympathetically as Hugo was eyeing the way the torch wasn’t pointing in any direction anymore.

  Hugo took one last look and nodded, his shoulders sunken. “Yeah. It only gets lower from what I can see. I can’t tell beyond that and the torch…” He shrugged.

  “Hugo,” Dalfur called to him.

  Hugo let out a long breath before raising his head over Raphael’s shoulder.

  “I’ll lead us back to that last turn,” Dalfur waved a hand. “Pass the torch. You need to let that arm rest anyway. When we get there, you’ll figure it out.”

  Hugo handed the torch to Raphael with a frown, shaking his head at himself. Raphael squeezed his shoulder as he passed the torch to Andre. The glow of the torch moved from one hand to the next all the way to Dalfur and their heads turned though they couldn’t fully turn their bodies in the narrow passage to follow.

  Hands on collars were switched. Boots dragged, retracing trails through the dusty ground. Shoulders rubbed along damp and grimy walls that already had lines from their passing. When they emerged into the cavern that they had turned from, they crowded together under the glow of the torch between them in a huddle.

  Dalfur handed the torch back to Hugo with a warm grin, “You got us this far.”

  Hugo flicked his brows as he took it back, “Most of us.”

  “Don’t,” Andre shook at him. His eyes were two torch flames flickering in shadowed features. “We can do this.”

  “Where did we go wrong? Think,” Raphael went down on one knee.

  Where they were, the passage they took went left, but it was the wrong one. There were two others that would have gone straight ahead instead. The only other direction was back. He ran his finger in the dust in the middle of them, drawing lines to map out the cavern they stood in. They had gone into the middle one first. That was where the drop off had been. They were certain it was the wrong one. There was only the last one and they thought for sure that it was wrong, too. Follow the torch, Balian said. The torch was no longer pointing them in any direction. They missed a turn.

  Damon took the torch and held it at the edge of the last passage.

  It did nothing. Again.

  They all let out exhaustive breaths. He went to the one with the drop and it flickered. He shrugged at them.

  “Rivers with it all,” Bruce glowered, “How much rope we got?”

  “Not much, really,” Andre dropped his arms to slap against his thighs. “Maybe enough to tie together to climb down a bit. Depends on how far it goes.”

  “Don’t remember if there was anything to tie it to,” Raphael sat with a huff. Through a yawn, “We might be able to climb it.”

  “Only one way to find out, either way,” Hugo took the torch, also yawning, “We need to find out.”

  They were nodding as they clambered back into their line, back to gripping collars, back to following Hugo into the darkness of yet another passageway. This time, it was one that they had been through before.

  Hugo moved a bit faster than he had the first time. He remembered the way it curved between jagged rockfaces and narrowed briefly before reopening to a massive chasm that filled with darkness despite the glow of the torch. The flame was pointing in the direction of their movement like it had before. He stopped as the ground in front of him became a clear line of darkness.

  “Hold me tight,” Hugo leaned to raise the torch as he looked up around the curve of the canopy edge. It curved upward into darkness, the torch flame and smoke reaching. There was a draft of cold air spilling like a waterfall. He narrowed his eyes. Nothing but darkness beyond the glow. He lowered the torch to below their feet. The flame was billowing smoke to sting his eyes, still only darkness beneath it.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  A thought struck him. “Here,” he handed the torch to Raphael, “Pass it back and hold onto me. I want to see something.”

  Raphael blinked at him as he took it. “What?”

  Hugo shook his head as he said, “I’m not sure. I can’t see with the torch.”

  Raphael nodded and passed it to Andre, who handed it to Bruce with a crooked brow. Bruce raised his brows and blinked as he passed it to Damon and Damon to Samma.

  Hugo rubbed his eyes and jerked his head through a yawn. He slapped his cheeks. He rubbed his hands together.

  Over his shoulder, “Hold onto me, don’t let me fall.” And he leaned to look up into that waterfall of cold air.

  There were snow flurries. A lightness in the darkness above them. The cavern wall that rose above them was jagged and glistened with frost the closer it came to the lighter darkness, to the sky that was sprinkling snow. Some tree roots, mostly thin and wiry, jutted from the cliffside.

  “What does he see? Is there a way down?” Dalfur called up the line.

  “No,” Hugo eased himself back from the edge. He bit the side of his lip. “There’s an opening above us. I think we can climb it. Maybe. Andre,” He winced, “You’re our best climber. Take a look. Can you do it? Maybe get a rope tethered for the rest of us?”

  Hugo and Raphael shifted to let Andre pass them. After a moment of looking, he was blinking at it. “That’s not…great. Maybe? But I’d need to carry a spear and rope…that’s steep. And I don’t see many places to hold onto.”

  “We’ll tie you to Dalfur and Bruce,” Hugo waved for them to come forward. “That way, if you fall, we’ll catch you. Samma will heal you.”

  Andre narrowed his eyes at him. “Oh, will they? How’s that arm feel? Like new, right?”

  “Yes or no,” Hugo shrugged at him. “It’s a way out. And you’re the only one who might be able to do it.”

  Andre took another gander, shaking his head. “Fine,” he huffed. “I lost my knife at the river. Anyone else bring one?”

  “Take mine,” Raphael pulled his skinning knife from his belt and handed it to him.

  “Thanks,” Andre pocketed it on his belt underneath his chain shirt. He pulled the rope sling of his spear from over his shoulder and began taking his chain shirt off.

  Hugo and the others untied the ropes from the remaining spears and pulled the ones they had into loops on their shoulders. Damon and Samma knotted them together, being the two who spent the most time fishing. They tugged each end to make sure they wouldn’t pull apart while the others began wrapping arrows with strips of what they had left of their coats.

  “Snow,” Andre scoffed as he slung the spear over his shoulder. “Never thought I’d hate it as much as Pa.”

  Bruce winked at him as he looped the end of the rope around his waist, “You will after you get up there, believe you me.”

  “We’ll be saying ‘To the snows’ after this,” Dalfur laughed as he finished tying the last strips of his coat over his hands. He took hold of the rope dangling over the edge from Bruce’s knot with an iron grip.

  “Well, to the snows with all this, then,” Andre chuckled, edging toward the ledge. He adjusted the spear on his back and stepped up onto a jutting rockface. “Plowing should be changed to climbing after this, too.” He kicked the excess rope over the side of the ledge to let it hang from his own knot around his waist.

  “Climbing snows,” Raphael cursed.

  They all laughed. Andre had to tuck his chin to steady himself from laughing too hard in his search for a good finger grip on the cliffside.

  Hugo slapped his back, “Take as long as you need and be careful. We’ll catch you if you fall. I put extra wrapping on the torch so it lasts longer for you.”

  Andre nodded. He looked up the steep and jagged cliff rising toward the dark as Hugo finished tying the torch to the end of his spear. He lifted himself by his toes for an edge that his fingertips could grip, stretching his arm as far as it could go. His fingers found an edge. He raised himself with another reach.

  Toes and fingertips. Reach and kick. Fingertips searching.

  His cheeks slid against cold, jagged dust that sprayed and scraped as he lifted higher. He kicked into the cliff for grip. He reached. He felt the swing of the rope dangling below. The torch wrapping dripped cinders across his back.

  He put the knife between his teeth when he felt the smoothness of the cliff above him. He prayed when he balanced on his toes to reach with the other hand.

  No grip.

  He took the knife from his teeth. He stabbed into the wall as hard as he could.

  It held. For now.

  He shakily pulled up while reaching for another fingerhold. He found it. The knife pulled free. Back to between his teeth, just in case. He lifted himself to find a good place to put his toes. The rope was bouncing against the wall now. The ceiling was closer.

  “You’re almost there,” Hugo called up to him. “Use the roots to get to it, if you can.”

  The knife blade bit into his lips as he called around it, “Shut the snows up, for climbing sakes, Hugo!”

  “See, it works,” Raphael said.

  Andre looked up to where the opening was. It was across a canopy of drooping roots. He would have to jump for it. There was no climbing, no using those strings to hold him. His arms were beginning to shake. He could feel his back ripping apart at seams he didn’t know he had. He bent his knees to get a better look. It wasn’t as big an opening as he had hoped, barely wide enough for two men to climb through and nearly that many away from his reach.

  “I don’t think I can make it unless I jump,” he said through teeth grinding on steel.

  His bent fingers were starting to slip from the angle he had put his body at to look. The torch was nearly done. It would be gone before he climbed halfway down.

  “Too risky,” Hugo shook his head. “Just come back down, we’ll find another way.”

  Andre eyed the distance to the opening, then the distance to them. He bent his knees, letting his weight rest on the toes of his boot. His thighs were pulling from his knees, his arms from his knuckles.

  “I think I can do it.”

  “Just come back down, it isn’t worth it,” Hugo called up.

  “Don’t be like Chase,” Bruce was already leaning nearly to his back on yhe ground, bracing for him to fall, “Please don’t, I can’t bare to see you go, too. You still owe me a good thumping.”

  Andre took the knife from his teeth and slid it into his belt. To himself, his eyes fixed on the opening, “I can do it.”

  He released one of his fingerholds and took the spear from over his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” Hugo roared. “Come down, Andre! Don’t do it! You’ll get yourself killed!”

  “For Chase,” Andre drew in a breath.

  “For Alden,” he leaned into the cliff-face, “For Maud.”

  He jerked the spear so that his grip slid toward the lower end of it.

  “For Talkro.”

  “No!” Hugo nearly fell over the ledge if Raphael hadn’t tackled him to the side.

  Andre sprang off the wall, his eyes fixed on the opening as he reached with the spear, stretching his arm as far as it could go, kicking his legs through the air as if he were running towards it. And as he neared the opening, with nothing below him but the endless deep and the rope that was near taut, he let the spear fly up through it. He fumblingly caught the rope sling of the spear in his aching grasp and pulled it under his arms.

  The spear rested across the opening, jerking Andre nearly doubled over the sling beneath it, staring at the darkness beneath him. Icy air gripped his bare arms. His teeth chattered as much from that as it did from the realization that he nearly fell into the unending darkness below. Then, he laughed. Shivering, trembling, exalted, he laughed.

  “Plow me, he made it,” Dalfur gaped, looking up. With a wink at Hugo, “I mean, climb me.” He nudged Hugo’s shoulder. He unwrapped his arms and helped Bruce to his feet to let Andre have more of the rope.

  Andre had to maneuver his swing on the sling to reach the spear and pull himself up. A snowy breeze struck his cheeks and whipped his hair as he lifted himself achily onto frosty grass that was damp and sloshy. His fingers burned from the ice and his skin chilled. The sight of the drifting clouds above him and the bluish hue over the sprawling, hilly field of battered rows made him smile. Especially when he saw that there was no one within sight beyond the rolling hills.

  It wasn’t long before the others were up there with him, using the spear firmly pressed into the ground near the hole to tether the rope they used to climb from the deep by, huddled together with smiling, shivering faces. And once the last of them were safely out, they didn’t walk, they didn’t rest. They ran.

  Eyes aching to close, legs begging for relief, arms pleading for warmth, fingers and toes fighting against numbness and cold, they ran. They ran across those fields, over those hills, as the flurries fell over them, as the pink light painted the horizon into shapes and lines, triangular towers and capped rooftops, and a single tower rising high into the sky as if it were pointing to heaven itself.

  Strasbourg.