The world blurred. Another explosion of heat knocked them both backwards, sent them skidding into a fallen stalactite. Hendrik swore profusely, some of it in words Dagan didn’t even know. Dagan scrabbled to find him, clutching his arm and trying to get it around his own neck.
“No, Dagan, please, please no—” Hen begged, trying to push him away. He babbled like a brook, semi-lucid and sobbing. “Please, don’t die. You can’t die. You can’t. You have to go, please. I love you. I love you. I love you so much, Dagan, please don’t die—”
The ground shuddered and tore, the ledge where they’d just been standing crumbling into the hole before them.
“Here!” came Innan’s voice from behind them.
Dagan finally got Hendrik’s arm around his shoulders. He stood and looked around, dragging Hendrik with him, dead weight at this point, utterly delirious. Finally, he spotted Innan on the far side of the cavern; the exit hole had gone, caved in completely, but they stood beneath a manmade archway on the far side.
“Why are you here?!” he shouted, dragging Hendrik forward as quickly as he could with the ground threatening to fall from beneath his feet. Each pebble that bounced around his ankles, each rock that fell from above, was a new and terrifying death sentence for all three of them. Dagan focused, breathing in and out, and considered shifting Hen bodily over his shoulders…but no, they were close now. They could get to Innan.
What would happen after that seemed inevitable. But he’d be damned if he let Hen fall into the pit with that creature. He’d rather dive in after it himself.
Innan rushed forward to help, taking Hen’s other arm, and together they dragged him back to the low archway. When they ducked beneath it—it was only about four feet high beneath the capstone—Hen gave a shout of surprise and pain.
“What is it?” Innan asked.
“His leg. It’s mangled.”
“Is it dead?” Hen muttered, eyes rolling back in his head.
“He’s in shock,” Innan said.
They pushed Hen back as far as they could, so his back was against the wall, then propped the tortured leg up as best they could with Hen screaming in pain. This accomplished, they curled around either side of Hen protectively. The arch was sturdy, still, but if the ground went out from under it, nothing would hold. The entire See could be collapsing on them, for all Dagan knew. “What’s happening?” he asked Innan, expecting them to say just that.
“It goes down and down. But we’re on the edge of a stable tunnel here, one that doesn’t have anything beneath it. I think it used to be open here. I can’t—” They shook their head, eyes tearing up, and swiped at the blood trickling from their nose with the back of a hand. “I can’t get us out, though. I tried. I’m just—I can’t do anymore.”
“Hey.” Dagan took the bloodstained hand and pressed it to his lips. “Hey, we’d all be dead if you hadn’t dropped that monster down there. It could’ve taken us all out in one fiery swipe. Why didn’t you leave when everyone else did?”
“I had to make sure you all got out. I can’t live knowing you died because of my earthsinging.”
“Innan…” Dagan looked at Hen, who was utterly insensible, his broken shin black with blood and sprouting jagged bone. And all he could say, as numb as his mind and body were just then, was, “I’m so sorry.”
With a massive crack, the rest of the cavern dropped; the cobwebbed, opulent furniture tilted and disappeared into the dark as the fiery cave below swallowed up everything. The smell of burning oil, tinged with flowers, sweet wood, and that undertone of death and sulfur, rolled over them hard.
Dagan curled himself into Hendrik and squeezed Innan’s hand. Innan squeezed back, clutching at Hen from the other side. And the rest of the cavern disappeared.
Chapter 5: Catacombs, Stone City
For a long time, things were black. The smell of that absurdly hot oil, cloying and suffocating, of char and stone and dust, was everything. It was so black, Dagan wasn’t even sure he’d opened his eyes. He was afraid to touch them and find out; his hands were shaking so badly, covered in grime and blood and the gods knew what else. He pressed his palm against his own thigh, trying to ground himself again, but he was too numb for it to work, just then.
“Dags?” Innan said from nearby.
That brought him back to his senses a little. Hendrik’s chest rose and fell slowly against his cheek. The smell of him was all wrong, except for a barely-there hint of that leafy green sweat-smell he gave off. It was tinged with blood and fire, now.
“Are we…alive?” Dagan wondered, though it felt ridiculous. It’d feel more ridiculous not to wonder.
“So it would seem.” Innan stirred, or at least it sounded like they did. “Do you have your pack?”
Dagan felt for it. Then winced. “My bow.”
“I lost it. Sorry.”
Dagan laughed suddenly, a wild, unhinged sensation. “Innan. Oh, darling. You were amazing. Wonderful. Perfect. Never apologize.”
They had been amazing, except in getting themselves out of the cavern before it all came crashing down. And they would’ve done, likely, if only Hendrik had been able to move. Speaking of— “Hen?” Dagan wondered aloud. “Are you awake?”
“Not sure,” Hen responded around what sounded like a ton of gravel in his throat. He shifted, then shuddered. “Fuck. Ow. I think I’m fucking dying.”
“Yeah, yeah you might be.” Dagan undid his pack and dug for his bundle of candles, then his flint and tinder. “Hold this,” he waved a candle in Innan’s direction.
Someone must’ve taken it, because he felt fingers and let it go. After a few tries, he managed to generate enough of a spark to light the wick. When the air didn’t explode from residual oil-smell, he breathed a sigh of relief.
The flame twitched to life, then burned brightly, and their situation became evident. They were still huddled beneath the stone arch on what seemed like a squarish platform of stable stone. Ten feet away, however, the floor dropped into darkness. The tiny, dancing flame couldn’t penetrate much further, or, if it did, there was nothing to illuminate. Just dark emptiness.
Dagan set down the candle nearby and started digging for his healing kit. Innan had a crust of blood beneath their nose and a large cut across their forehead that was almost black with grime and blood. Hendrik’s head wound was less intense-looking, but had bled extensively before clotting up. And his leg… Yeah. That was bad. Really bad.
“Why didn’t you go?” Hen muttered, eyes fluttering closed. “Dagan. I wanted you to go.”
“Well, I wanted to spend a nice, quiet holiday in the City at Jak’s sex house riding you senseless, my love, but sometimes we don’t get what we want,” Dagan said, more sharply than he intended. He didn’t know where it was coming from, but he felt something hot and sharp in his middle, not pain but a twisting up of emotions that had grown heavy there while he dozed in the dark:
Fear.
Resolve.
Anger.
Innan laughed at his quip and then gave a little moan of pain. “Ow.”
