Page 21 of Season of Naga: Volume 2
"No," I breathe, panic rising in my throat like bile. "No, no, no."
I rush back to Lurok's side, setting the lantern on the edge of the wagon. Its light casts long shadows across his face, making him look more corpse-like than ever.
"Lurok," I say, gripping his uninjured shoulder. "Lurok, please. You need to wake up." I shake him gently, then with increasing urgency. "Please. The tunnel splits ahead. I don't know which way leads to Vessan-Kar."
His eyelids remain tightly closed.
"Lurok!" I whisper harshly. "I can't do this without you. I don't know which way to go."
I press my fingers against the pulse point at his throat, feeling for the steady beat that means life still clings to his massive frame. It flutters beneath my touch, weak and erratic. He's not just unconscious, he's dying. The realization hits me like a physical blow. My vision blurs, and I blink rapidly, fighting back the tears that threaten to fall.
I force myself to breathe deeply, to think past the fear clutching at my throat. If we stay here, Lurok will die. If I choose the wrong path, we may never reach Vessan-Kar in time to warn them about Father's plan. Lives hang in the balance, teetering on the edge of my next decision.
A sound drifts from the left tunnel, faint, almost imperceptible. I freeze, straining to hear. There it is again. The soft echo of voices, the distant scrape of movement against stone.
My blood turns to ice in my veins. Are they human or naga? Either possibility means danger. If they're Father's soldiers or his naga traitors, we'll be captured or killed on sight. Without Lurok’s help, I can't distinguish friend from foe among his kind. Better to reach Vessan-Kar and find Leira or Varok rather than gambling our lives on strangers in these tunnels.
The voices grow louder, though still too distant to make out words. They're approaching. Whoever they are, they're coming this way.
My hand touches the knife I tucked into my belt. The blade is painfully inadequate, but it's the only defense I have.
I look again at Lurok's still form, at the blood darkening his bandages, at the labored rise and fall of his chest. I've come too far to fail now.
I return the lantern to the hook and grab the handle of the wagon and heave, taking the tunnel to the right, my muscles screaming in protest. The wheels groan as they begin to turn again, leaving a trail in the dirt that anyone could follow. There's no hiding our passage. Our only hope is speed and distance.
Fear floods my veins as I lean forward and run, actually run, dragging the wagon behind me like a woman possessed. My lungs burn, throat raw from the dusty air, but I don't slow down. Every shadow behind us could be a pursuit, every echo a threat closing in.
"Just hold on," I whisper to Lurok's unconscious form, the words a prayer as much as a command. "Just a little longer. We're going to make it."
Hope tastes bitter on my tongue, but I cling to it anyway. I have to believe we'll reach Vessan-Kar, and I haven't doomed us both by turning right instead of left.
Behind us, the voices fade, swallowed by distance and the winding passage. I lean into the handle, tightening my grip as my blood slicks the wood. My shoulders scream, muscles stretched beyond capacity, but I don't stop.
Time loses meaning in the endless black ahead. Minutes might be hours; distance becomes impossible to judge. The lantern's flame gutters, the light growing weaker with each passing second as the oil runs low. Soon we'll be in complete darkness, guided only by touch and desperate hope.
"Stay with me," I pant, glancing back at Lurok's still form. "Just stay alive."
I stumble over a jutting stone but catch myself before I fall. The momentary hesitation sends pain shooting up my arms. I've been gripping the handle so tightly that my fingers have locked into position, curved like claws around the rough wood.
"Leira and I used to explore this tunnel when we were children," I tell him, the words coming between ragged breaths. "Not this deep, of course. We never got as far as the junction. We pretended we were searching for buried treasure."
My whispered words echo in the void, bouncing from unseen walls. Talking hurts my dry throat, but the silence hurts more. As long as I'm speaking, I'm moving, breathing, alive—not imagining Lurok's final breath.
"She was always braver than me," I continue. "Always went first. Always pushed farther.”
The wagon catches on something else, jerking against my grip. I pull harder, my body bent almost double with the effort.Sweat stings my eyes, salt mixing with dust to form a gritty paste that blurs my vision. The lantern sputters, the flame shrinking to a tiny blue point before flaring briefly back to life.
"We must be getting close," I lie, because the alternative is unthinkable. "Soon we'll see the naga city. Your home."
Another stumble. This time, my knee buckles, and I barely catch myself with one hand against the wall. The stone feels strange beneath my palm, smoother than it should be, almost warm to the touch. I pull away quickly, fear of the unknown stronger than curiosity.
"Tell me about Vessan-Kar," I beg the unconscious naga as I force myself to keep moving. "What does it look like? What will I see first? Will there be guards? Hopefully, they won’t kill me before I can explain who I am."
The questions tumble from my lips, a litany of fears dressed as curiosity. I don't expect answers. I don't even know if Lurok still lives, if his spirit clings to his battered body, or has already slipped away while I drag his corpse through endless darkness.
The packed dirt ground gives way to uneven stone, and this time I can't catch myself. I fall hard, knees hitting with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. Pain explodes through my body, bright and sharp and clarifying. Crumbled on the stone floor, I drag in ragged gasps of air. The wagon's handle still clutched in one bloody hand.
The lantern, knocked from its hook, rolls across the smooth ground. Its light flickers wildly, painting the tunnel walls with dancing shadows that seem almost alive in their frantic movement. I watch, transfixed, as the flame shrinks, gutters, and finally dies with a small, pitiful hiss.
