“I know you’re tired, but you need to keep up, Mira.”
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I frowned in concentration. The weeds had grown thick since our last camp, and the morning fog was so thick, I could barely see in front of me. I held my blackened hand tight to my chest, trying my best to follow Ciro closely, but it seemed he was not having the same trouble as I was navigating the increasingly moist ground. The reeds grew thick, hiding the damp mud beneath, making each step a concentrated effort. I couldn’t help but wonder just what was hiding away, scurrying past my feet, unseen in the thick grass below.
But Ciro seemed unfazed, brushing away what he could with the long halberd handle, making slight swooshing noises over the almost deafening katydids between using it as a walking stick. While my well-worn riding boots seemed to get stuck in the mud at every step, he seemed to glide forward in front of me, his grey cloak an apparition in the thick mist in front of me.
Each step became a chore, and just as I thought it could not get any worse, the thick mud slowly turned to soil-blackened water, almost at my ankles. I grimaced as the dark water found a hole in my boot, seeping to my cold feet, much to my discomfort.
“How much further?” I coughed through the thick air.
Ciro finally stopped, giving an agitated grunt, and turned to me.
“Just a bit. I think,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.
“...You think?”
“Yes… I -” he paused, then shook his head. He then turned back around and continued at the same steady pace. “We’ll get there when we get there.”
“Ciro?”
But he didn’t answer.
I sighed, taking longer strides to keep up, pushing the heavy brush away with my working arm. Each sloshing step sent another cringing chill up my back. If only Nim were here.
“Ciro, wait!” I called, almost losing him to the morning fog in front of me.
I stumbled forward, only to land hard against his still back, pushing him forward and almost causing him to fall if his halberd wasn’t there to catch him.
“Mira, please. I’m trying to concentrate,” he said, rubbing his back in frustration. “Gods, that armor is sharp,” he mumbled to himself.
“Ciro - tell the truth. Do you know where we’re going?”
Ciro looked everywhere but at my face. The katydids seemed louder in the silence.
“Ciro?”
“Yes - I mean. Sort of. They hide the entrance of the camp - for safety. And - it’s been a while since I’ve been here. A long while. Everything looks different. But those -” he gestured in front of us, “Those are familiar.”
I looked to see where he was pointing. Just barely, through the thick of the fog, I was able to make out tall shadows, surrounding us. Tall ancient trees jutted out of the overgrown grass before us, barely visible against the white.
I nodded, and my excitement to get out of the swampy grass overpowered my frustration at the situation.
We trudged forward, and the looming trees grew taller as we closed the distance, and suddenly the thick reeds started to thin. Before I knew it, we were in a shaded meadow, thick tree canopy above us, and we waded through water that now almost touched my knees. The bright morning light darted above in thick beams, reflecting off the remaining mist, and invisible birds brushed through branches above, causing waxy vermillion leaves to float down. Dark, ancient roots weaved like lace around us, raising the trees up on delicate stilts, and I watched my feet as tiny orange specks danced through now clear water as curious little fish darted around us. Each heavy step sent a cloud of soot, newly disturbed after unknown years untouched.
I wanted to stop, to take in this unexpected sanctuary, but Ciro pushed onwards, cursing and sloshing through the water before me. Suddenly, he held out a hand, causing me to pause. I stood quiet, listening for anything other than my own heavy breath or the now-gentle hum of insects around us. I then watched as Ciro placed the post of his halberd in the mud, and brought both of his dirty hands to his mouth, cupping them.
Ciro produced a low whistle through his calloused hands, and it filled the little meadow, reverberating hauntingly against the still water around us. He then stopped and looked around. I listened, and found that the buzzing insects had stopped, and the sudden hollow silence caused one of my ears to start ringing. I watched as Ciro looked around expectantly, but other than the insects, nothing seemed to change.
Ciro sighed and raised his hands to his mouth once more, making the same low whistle as before. I searched the treeline around us, not exactly sure what I was looking for, but could find no difference.
Ciro stopped again, wiping his hands on his cloak in frustration. But before he could bring his hands to his face to try again, there was a low rumble beneath us. Ciro suddenly grabbed his halberd, and with a hearty tug, it was free from the mud once more.
Before us, the thick weaving mangrove roots started to shake, then slowly unwind with an aching stiffness. The tiny golden orange fish darted away as clouds of grey-brown earth billowed beneath the water. I watched, mezmerised as the roots split, contorting into walls, revealing a path dipping down beneath the water. There was a rush as water filled the hole, cascading as waterfalls beside the new path beneath the trees. I looked downwards, to find ancient stone steps beneath the mud, leading down below the moss and into unknown darkness.
I looked at Ciro, unsure, but found that he had a proud smile on his face. He gave a little nod, then proceeded to walk forward, down the steps and into the darkness below.
I ducked, following him, water rushing at my sides as it fell through the roots like a waterfall. The thick mossy smell of stagnant water filled the air as I followed unsteady down the steep steps, downward into complete and total darkness. I reached my hand out, grasping Ciro’s cloak, and we lowered beneath the dripping tree roots above, ducking low to avoid them.
Before long, I could see nothing but black. There was another low rumble behind us, and I heard the groans of the trees falling back to their original state, blocking off any remaining light and stopping the steady rush of water. We continued forward through the darkness, and I clutched warily to Ciro in front of me with my good hand. Nothing remained but the hollow sounds of water dripping around us, echoing off claustrophobic walls of what felt like stone at our sides.
The stairs led down further before plateauing to flat ground, slightly slippery to my still-wet boots. Ciro suddenly stopped, causing me to bump into him, and I held my breath in anticipation.
Was there some sort of magic word, an ancient password, before we would be allowed entrance?
“Hello?” Ciro called, echoing loudly off the stone walls, “Anyone there?”
Ah, yes.
‘Anyone there.’
My favorite spell.
I smiled.
Suddenly, there was a great shutter, and a heavy stone door that blocked our path was slowly pushed aside. Brilliant light flooded before us, blinding me in the dark. A low rumble of a million different conversations, the familiar bustling noise of a busy city street soon followed, filling our little stone tunnel. The damp earthy smell from before was also replaced with bright, exotic spices and what could have baked goods. I strained my eyes and looked over Ciro’s shoulder, seeing a short man, eclectically dressed, standing slack-jawed in front of us.
Behind him was a busy street, candle and lantern lit, filled with vendor carts on winding cobbled roads. People dressed in patchwork clothes jostled by unaware behind the bearded man, who remained frozen where he stood in front of us.
“Ahem -” Ciro cleared his throat, “Excuse me-”
“S-...S…” the man stammered, taking a frightened step backwards, bumping into a small passing cart behind him.
I followed as Ciro made a steady step forward into the narrow street’s lights, head turning back and forth to take in the odd scene.
I looked around in awe. The entire alley area was filled with odd little carts, patched together with parts both ancient and new, manned with vendors with both sizzling food and strange goods. Even the ceiling was strung with antique lamps, crisscrossing with even older handle holders, reflecting off the metal and repurposed wood fixtures below.
There was a tall woman wearing what looked like a lantern fashioned into a hat, selling strange orange and purple roots. Beside her was a blindfolded man, sitting high on a pile of what appeared to be old clothes, using an old metal wagon wheel to rotate cloaks hanging in front of him, having it spin every time he pulled on a chain at his side. Everywhere I looked was something new and strange. Familiar yet outlandish. It was almost overwhelming after the days of near isolation.
“Ss-” the man continued to stammer in front of us, still taking slow backwards steps, until finally stepping into the middle of the narrow street, people cursing to get him out of the way.
I watched as Ciro held up a hand, trying to get the man to stop.
“CIRO!” the man suddenly yelled.
Silence.
What seemed to be every person on that little street suddenly halted, looking at the man who yelled, followed by surprised yelps and hurried whispers.
Ciro, Ciro, Ciro.
His name echoed through the alley like a wave.
I looked around, unsure, as what felt like a hundred eyes stared directly at us.
Suddenly, the heavy stone door shut behind us, abrupt noise causing me to jump.
No turning back now.
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