Читать книгу Rise to the Rahz - Erik van Mechelen - Страница 12

Kaydin turned the pages of his grandfather’s journal, reviewing pages he'd read many times. In the closing moments of the failed escape, it was one of Dag’s final wishes that Ry give Kaydin the journal when he was old enough. Bel rubbed his back with both hands, expertly finding the tightest knots, attempting to unravel them.

“Are you alright?”

“A bit tired,” said Kaydin. “What about you?”

“Fine, but really, are you sure you're just tired?”

Kaydin kept his eyes on the journal. Bel, I love you, but I just need some time to think. “The new kid has got me thinking,” said Kaydin.

“He’s the first in a long time,” said Bel.

“Right, since you,” said Kaydin, turning and pecking her on the lips.

“I can’t believe it’s already been a year since you rescued me,” said Bel, moving her hand to play with Kaydin’s scruffy hair.

“Time flies,” said Kaydin. He looked into her wide, pretty eyes, then back to the journal.

Bel’s fingers traced Kaydin’s hair down his neck and around to his chin, which she twisted back toward her. “Something is bothering you, isn’t it?”

Kaydin sighed. “Another journal phase might be coming on.”

Bel held his chin. “Kaydin, I know you pretty well. And while I don’t like your journal phases, I can tolerate you missing a night’s sleep with me here and there to dig up your your grandfather’s secrets.”

“Thanks Bel, that’s why I love you.” He moved to kiss her again.

But she shifted back to avoid him. “Just don’t lie to me about being interested in the book when what you’re really curious about is the new kid.”

Kaydin started to respond, but Bel put her finger on his lips. He knew not to say any more. Not now, anyway. He watched her quietly leave the room. She'd raised a detail, but there was no need to argue it. With Bel or Ry or the sentinels, he had to pick his battles.

He was alone at the main room obsidian table. The new kid, the one Bel didn’t want him to think about, was in the next room. Although he didn’t feel like watching the operation, Bel had read him well—he was thinking about Abyl, the new addition to Haven. He also knew what it would feel like to be under the obsidian blade. Mav was skilled with the knife; still, tying the skin together was painful. Excruciating, even. He felt the scar above his right eye, wondering for a moment if it had been worth it to rescue Maryn.

Of course it was, you idiot. And still, he wondered if Maryn felt the same, after what had happened. He shook his head, as if to shake the memory, and returned his attention to the book.

There are more secrets hidden here. Even though Ry had given it to him seven years ago, and even though he knew every page by memory, there had to be more to it. It was just a feeling though. He could be wrong. He could always be wrong. Settling on a familiar page, he followed two black lines racing to the bottom. Halfway, they broke like a rope cut in increments, but continued almost to the bottom of the page before stopping.

This meant the route was unfinished.

Kaydin sighed. He wished he had more time to explore. Ry kept him busy. Between watches and collections his days were almost full. If he spent less time watching, he could work on these tunnels and perhaps uncover their secrets.

Ry told him that he and Dag had searched everything. But that wasn’t true, since Kaydin and Gara had found yet more climbing routes and potential tunnels through the rock after Gara joined Haven six years ago. They had simply followed hints of anger-stone explosions and the paths the rodent and reptilian denizens of these Known Caverns took. Kaydin figured Ry was trying to protect him, but he was sixteen years old now and Ry knew he was a great climber. And the best fighter they had. It annoyed Kaydin that Ry insisted on tying him down to their routines.

Whenever he had spare time, he spent it with the journal. Reading the maps was a task in itself. It had taken him several years to work out not only how to read them, with Ry's help, but how to uncover the secrets within. Each line and symbol had meaning, sketched by his grandfather. Kaydin felt the page with his hand, wondering if somehow, somewhere, his grandfather was still alive.

He closed his eyes, bringing the memory a recent conversation with Ry about Dag to the forefront.

They sat together, high on the western wall, preparing to watch the end-of-season descensions. This was one of few chances they had to catch a glimpse of the Rahz. While they waited, Kaydin asked Ry a question he had wanted to ask for years. Each time they watched the ceremony, it ate at him.

“Do you think it’s possible you’re wrong?” said Kaydin. “And that Dag actually got out?”

“I wish more than anyone that he did,” said Ry. “But there’s no way. He descended the next night. I saw it happen.”

Ry paused, then continued, “The day before, as we made our escape, he was cut off from us by sentinels.”

Kaydin continued the familiar story. “And my dad, Dylan, was captured, trying to help him. But why wasn’t Dag taken alive, too?”

Ry shook his head. “I don’t take counsel with the Rahz—I don’t pretend to understand their ways or the habits of their sentinels.”

“You said you watched the chasm for weeks after the failed escape,” said Kaydin. “Waiting to see if Dylan would descend, too?”

“Yes,” said Ry, “I couldn’t figure out why they would send Dag to his death, but not Dylan.”

“Did you take me with you?” asked Kaydin.

“Yes,” said Ry, “I didn’t leave your side in the beginning. I strapped you on my back like Mirai had, and we climbed to this lookout. Several weeks later we watched a painful one together. Mirai and Dylan both stepped into the Abyss…”

“But you are powerful, Ry. You could have stopped her.”

“It was painful, Kaydin. More than you know. Dylan and Mirai meant a lot to me…but I couldn’t stop your mother from trying to save him once we discovered he had been re-inserted into the system.”

You didn’t like Dylan. Why not talk straight about it?

“There was nothing you could do?” asked Kaydin again.

“She wouldn’t listen, Kaydin. She thought I was still jealous of Dylan. She thought I would protect her. I tried to argue that it was a choice between staying with you, or joining Dylan in death. Maybe she wanted that. She may have had her superstitions about the afterlife to comfort her.”

“Dylan wouldn’t have wanted her to save him if it meant she would die and leave me by myself.”

“You weren’t alone, though,” said Ry. “You had me.”

Kaydin opened his eyes. Sweat beaded on his brow, yet he shivered. I’ve got to get my mind off of that.

No matter how much he Subdued the memory, it still gripped him emotionally whenever he chose or happened to recall it. Subdue had worked to dull other memories, at least in emotional strength. And yet he didn’t want to lose the memory altogether. Maybe this one needs a few more doses. Even this memory though wasn’t the most painful of all; it was a mere thread upon which he Reflected often, searching Ry’s answers for any whiff of doubt, either about Dylan or about Mirai. He frowned, staring idly at Dag’s open journal. Finally, he closed it.

I may as well do some digging.

He stepped into the hallway past Mav’s lab and into the next room on the right. Light shone weakly from glowworm colonies in crevices. Kaydin found an earthlight on the wall and breathed a pinch of turma across its surface; the blue stone sent its light over the room. The truth about these light-giving stones was that they lit up when they interacted with turma; some, like Mav, added playful phrases, sweet-talking them, but all that mattered was that turma was spread over them. It turned out turma was central to what Haven did. To what the Rahz were doing too, if their theories about what went on inside the Spire were true.

From the rectangular portal, the room curved into a shallow oval, stretching out under a low-hanging ceiling. Gara loved adjusting his room in his spare time. When low on turma, there wasn't much else to do. Probably better than burying yourself in memories.

Kaydin found the tool he was looking for in a cubby. A stone pickaxe. All in one piece, a sharp edge connected to a handle. He noticed Gara had taken some time to sharpen it. Good man, that Gara…and a master shaper.