It had forgotten her. At the realization Reive began to cry. Hugging her arms she floundered through the water, knee-deep now and swirling hungrily about her legs. Somehow she made it to shore. She turned and looked back out to sea.
The Redeemer had stopped, not more than a hundred yards from where she stood. Dark waves battered at its sides, and once it dipped beneath the surface, then rose again a few yards to the left. Reive could just make out its wail above the wind, a shrill cry now and fearful. A deeper note called back to it, louder even than the gale. Reive struggled to see what was out there amid the black and churning waves, the water driving down in glassy sheets. Still the Redeemer struggled through the water, its song curdled with rage and terror.
And then a wave like a mountain erupted above the Redeemer, a wave that somehow separated from the sea until it hung in the air above the other creature’s questing form. Reive heard a booming roar that all but deafened her, and from the shore another sound, a scream that seemed to split the world in two as she dropped to her knees in disbelief.
Zalophus.
Even from where she crouched she could hear the report as the leviathan crashed back into the waves, and somewhere behind her a voice that she knew dully must be Rudyard’s. But Reive could only stare at the water, her hands digging into the sand heedless of stones and shells that cut her fingers until they bled, the rain streaming down her cheeks as she repeated the name over and over again.
Zalophus.
He had not lied. The city was falling.
And there had been a way out.
As the storm raged overhead she watched the two of them struggling in the waves, the great whale roaring gleefully as the Redeemer howled and shrieked, and its song was more awful than anything Reive had ever heard; and more marvelous too. Because it was dying; she could see that it was dying. Its tail thrashed helplessly against the waves and its slender neck wove back and forth as the great zeuglodon threw itself upon its flanks, tearing at it in an ecstasy of hunger and fury. Blinding light flickered on the horizon, and a grave rumbling that would have terrified Reive had she been capable of knowing fear. But now only wonder kept her there, kneeling rapt in the sand while the waves stormed about her and she stared out to sea.
Against the viridian sky the Redeemer’s scaled body gleamed faintly, crimson and jet. It flailed helplessly and seemed to be trying to turn, to swim back to shore; but all around it the water boiled eerily white and yellow, while that other immense shadow flowed through the frothing waves, leaping so that it hung like a great black tear against the sky. She could hear the whale shouting to itself, its voice wild and jubilant as it tore at its prey and the Redeemer’s screams grew higher and more frantic. Behind her she could dimly make out other cries, human voices shrieking in horror and disbelief, but when she turned she could barely see the domes through the heavy clouds of spray slamming into shore.
“Reive—Reive, we’ve got to find someplace, someplace—”
A small hand tugged at the slack wet folds of her shift and she looked up to see Rudyard Planck, soaked and bruised but with eyes feverishly bright.
“Hurricane!” He coughed, bending over as water dribbled from his mouth. “Might escape—go inland— run —”
She shook her head, turned back to look out to sea. The roar of the storm drowned all other sounds and the glaucous air was nearly too heavy to peer through; but she could just make out a slender silhouette moving convulsively in the murk, and then a darker shadow rising from the sea to engulf it. For an instant she thought she heard a voice bellowing joyfully in the maelstrom, a sound like singing from the waves; her own name carried faint as a whisper from the frenzied throat of Ucalegon.
Chapter 10
THE WOMAN AT THE END OF THE WORLD
IN THE DARKNESS AHEAD of them Hobi saw a curl of light, at first so insubstantial it might have been a mote dancing in his eye. But after a few minutes the speck grew to a flickering wisp of green flame, and then to a tear in the black fabric all around them; and finally it became a jagged hole that grew larger and larger as they approached.
Hobi thought he might never forget what that hole looked like. His first sight of anything other than darkness, after so many hours of trudging through the tunnel. Sometimes he closed his eyes to see if there was any difference between what he saw then and what he glimpsed when they were open. There was not, really. Nefertity’s cool blue gleam had faded, until only her eyes glowed, silvery green like a cat’s. She had finished reciting the long story she’d begun back in the chamber with the replicants. Hobi was unhappy with the way it had ended, and since then they both walked without speaking—though he wondered if they would be able to hear each other if they did try to talk. In the distance the sound of explosions continued, but too far away now for him to feel them rock the passage. The rhythmic throb of the ocean roared and shushed, echoing through the tunnel like the breathing of a leviathan. Without meaning to Hobi had begun walking in time with that relentless beat, his feet thudding against the ground. Something softer now beneath his boots—he had paused once, and stooped to find sand, sifting cool and dry as ashes between his fingers.
The air had changed too. A strong wind blew through the tunnel. As they grew nearer to the opening Hobi saw that what made the light appear to flicker were numerous fluid shapes moving back and forth across the entrance, like pennons snapping in the wind. He hesitated, let Nefertity continue on ahead of him.
For hours he had prayed for some kind of light, for an end to this night journey. Now that they were nearly there he was overwhelmed by a terror so strong that his hands shook uncontrollably, and he half crouched, grabbing his knees and squeezing until his fingers grew steady again.
“I can’t, I can’t,” he whispered. The wind pouring through the passage was warm almost hot; still he shivered, drew his hands up, and clasped them around his neck. His hair had matted in heavy clumps against his shoulders. He thought of turning and fleeing back down the tunnel, of leaving the nemosyne to wander out there alone. He knew he would never be able to find his way back again; knew that, even if he did, he might find nothing but ruins, all of Araboth wrecked as Nasrani’s secret chamber had been.
But he could not go on. How could he go Outside, knowing what he did: that to do so would make him go mad, that he would be crushed beneath the waves of light and sound waiting out there? The hot smell of the wind sickened him, thick as it was with other things—brine and dead fish and a sweet fragrance like roses. “I can’t,” he whimpered again, and sank onto the sand.
“Hobi.”
He looked up to see Nefertity. The light weaving down from the end of the tunnel touched her with gold and green. Her fingers as they brushed his cheek were cool. “Hobi, we are almost there. Outside. We will be free.”
“ Free. ” He shook his head. “I can’t, Nefertity, I can’t! I’ll die out there—”
“But why? I detect little radiation, certainly not enough to kill you. And there seems to be lush vegetation at the mouth of the tunnel, so the earth is not contaminated—”
“No!” He drew his knees up and covered his head with his hands. “You go—I would rather die here, or go back—”
Nefertity’s eyes glittered and she shook her head. “I have seen this before. With Loretta. Too much time alone, inside. It makes human beings go mad.”
Hobi gave another croaking laugh. “You’ve got it all wrong—it’s that, there—Outside— that’s what drives us mad. That’s why the domes protect us, why we never go out except at Æstival Tide—”