Chapter 3
It was everything she'd imagined a moment ago, and more. His iron-hard thickness filled her completely, the sudden penetration almost painful in its abrupt completion. But beyond the pain was a pleasure that was past enduring. She screamed and arched upward, flung immediately to an explosive orgasm so intense she lost touch with everything around her for a few minutes, feeling only his body within her own. He held nothing back, pressing himself firmly into her and holding himself still as pulsing jets of seed burst from his surging sex to coat the very entrance to her womb. Her silky sheath convulsed about him in a frenzy, and not a second separated his climax from her own, a rushing roar released to echo about the chamber with her own cries, the mingled sounds that of pure passion. Finally, her muscles failing her, she collapsed beneath him and he fell forward, his face buried in the curve of her neck, her hands still held over her head while his other clutched convulsively at the curve of her hip, his arm wrapped tight about her waist. Only then did he begin to pump his loins against hers, milking the last drops of hot, viscous liquid into her. She groaned weakly as his steely length retreated only to fill her once more, jolting her trembling body over and over again. Little by little his motions slowed, then stilled. Afterwards, neither would remember a stopping point, their exhausted bodies easing into a deep slumber even as his last strokes massaged her inside, even as her body caressed and held him in an intimate, velvet grip. Darkness surrounded them and they surrendered to it gratefully, willingly, holding each other close, their bodies still joined.
* * *
A scraping sound woke him abruptly, and Vincent flew to his feet, facing the source of that sound. The inside bars were lowering once more, and even as they did, the metal door on the rock wall a cage beyond began to open. A large man entered through that door, and Vincent recognized him as the one who had carried the tray earlier. In his arms he now bore what looked like a quilt, with a brass basin sitting atop it. He stood by silently, waiting for the inner bars to close, then the outer bars began to open. Before they had reached ceiling height, he ducked beneath and set the items upon the floor, then quickly retreated. Within seconds of his exit, the status of the doors and bars reversed themselves again, until the outer bars and metal door were shut once more, and the inner bars opened.
His concentration no longer focused on the retreating figure, Vincent glanced across to the opposite ledge, just in time to see Tamara leaving it via the dark opening in a fold of rock. He turned back to the new items sitting within their cage and went to inspect them more closely. The basin was nothing more than that, a deep wide bowl containing a rag. He gave those two only a cursory glance, retrieved the quilted blanket with relief, then turned back to the mattress and froze in shock at the sight which awaited him there. Catherine lay on her back, naked and asleep, her slumber undisturbed by their visitor. One leg was outstretched, the other bent upward and out at the knee, an open space there that begged for his presence. Images filled him and he began to shake as memories of those recent events swept over him. What had he done?! He groaned, burying his face into the quilted mass in an effort to muffle the sound, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. When he raised his head, tears streamed down his cheeks and a haunted, grief-filled panic showed clearly in his eyes. With faltering steps and trembling hands he moved forward and shook the quilt out over her recumbent form. She never woke. He backed up slowly, his eyes still pinned upon her face, until his back was pressed tight to the bars behind him. Slowly he sank down to sit upon the cold stone, his knees drawn up tight, arms wrapped around them. He lowered his face to press it to his knees, muffling the sounds of desperation that roiled within, clamoring to get out. He whimpered, clutching his legs tighter, and felt the boundaries between his mind begin to blur, felt sanity begin to slip away, leaving him naked and raw in grief and despair.
An hour passed, and with each moment he grew more desperate, unable to resolve the terrible conflict within. The cold at his back was more than matched by an expanding internal chill, part physical, part emotional. Nothing left, nothing left, his benumbed mind repeated over and over again. A sound, too soft to be heard by anyone with less than his extremely sensitive hearing, caught his attention in an instant. For the first time in that hour he looked outward from the resting spot of his knees, within the curtain of his hair, his head cocked toward the greater expanse of space waiting beyond the straight bars which lined their enclosure. He listened intently, for a moment his grief and fear pushed back. There it was again.
He stood slowly, silently, and glided toward the bars. Peering over the edge into the pit, he inspected the surroundings there, and finally, just beneath him and somewhat back, pressed against the inward curving wall of rock below, he spotted two figures, standing absolutely still. One was dressed in the more typical tunnel clothing he was accustomed to, while the other wore military fatigues of some sort. Both wore dark beige caps on their heads. Both sets of clothing were in shades of brown and gray, also typical of the traditional tunnel garb, but even more effective in the other's design, which was composed of a sandstone background, with random, mottled streaks of various darker shades, from olive drab to gray, splattered over it. He almost disappeared against the rock, a small part within Vincent noted with admiration. The smaller figure carried a cross-bow and even though he looked down on them from above, in a particularly difficult position, he knew it was Jamie. The other held a bowie knife, and by that and the clothing, he recognized him by default; it had to be James.
James was a new member of their community, his case evaluated and approved just four weeks ago. He hadn't been able to play more than an observer's part in those council sessions, still weak from his illness, but Catherine had played a major role, researching his background from the public records at her disposal, and talking with the man himself, then serving as his secondary sponsor. Her actions during those sessions had made him so proud. It was almost as if she were a part of them, a member of the governing body which provided the central support for their world below. Now and then, as he watched the proceedings, and her preliminary preparations for them, he hadn't been able to stop the vision which placed her soundly in his world, a full and permanent member. Those dreams had been too wonderful for words, but the pain he'd felt each time he had to return to reality hurt all the more for the futile hope they represented, and each time he had put them aside, seeing them as nothing more than a beautiful but impossible dream.
James had been a Gulf War veteran who had experienced numerous medical problems since his return. There was much talk of possible exposure to biochemical weapons while in the Gulf, but ultimately the talk had done nothing to solve his problem. His ability to work on a daily, consistent schedule was reduced, causing him to first leave the military, and then slowly to retreat from much of the rest of life as well. Cullen had first befriended the homeless young man he'd found in the park one day, and little by little, as his story became known below, others had gone to see him, assessing his situation themselves, which resulted in the council review and approval. The invitation had been made and accepted gratefully, with shocked surprise and amazement. He had done well below, the unstructured but close-knit community providing him with the support he needed. So far he was still learning where his place might be there, but he had filled several training positions with a high degree of success, probably due to the disciplined nature of his career in the military. He had been in what was commonly referred to as a special forces operation. Delta Squadron, they called his particular group above, though it was one of many. Vincent had always been a scholar of history, and that was rife with military conflicts of every sort. Though his preference was for the era of the Middle Ages in general, he had studied recent military history as well, and so was aware of the role such special forces played in modern-day military tactics. Navy Seals, Rangers, Delta Squadron, these were among the elite special forces whose success rate far surpassed that of any other in the joint military efforts since their inception in the middle of the century.
He stared down at them, silent and unmoving, but within him a spark of hope now burned. Scratching lightly with one nail upon the iron bars, he wasn't surprised when James abruptly looked upward, though Jamie missed that signal, continuing to scan the open pit before her. There was a momentary look of surprise in the other's eyes at what he saw, but that disappeared in a moment, a look of firm, disciplined resolve replacing it once again. Vincent nodded to the ledge across the way, toward the dark opening there, and the set of levers, then pointed down toward the clothing still strewn there, and back toward the lip of their own shelf.
All of this communication was accomplished in complete silence, in less than five seconds. James nodded, then turned to whisper soundlessly to Jamie, who started and looked up. Vincent had anticipated this, moving back a few feet so that she couldn't see him, but sliding a hand outward to assure her of his presence. He waited with bated breath, calculations and plans running through his mind in a jumbled frenzy. Below he heard a scrambling sound, louder than the previous ones, but hopefully still quiet enough not to catch the ears of the guards who no doubt stood nearby. A moment later a bundle thudded quietly upon the ledge, just against the iron bars of their cage. He reached through and unrolled his cloak to find the remainder of their clothing within, pulling them through the bars quickly. He tugged on his pants before returning to the bars once more, this time to find both Jamie and James standing ready below, looking up to him for instructions. He scanned their surroundings once more, pointed to them both, then to the lower entrance, where they had obviously come in. He traced an upward path in the air to show the way to the ledge above, then pointed to the levers once more, finally raising three fingers to indicate three minutes. James nodded in understanding, then gestured with a slight motion of his head toward his companion, indicating that she should stay behind him. He headed toward the door, circling the perimeter of the chamber to keep tight to the rock wall for camouflage, and in a moment they were gone.
Only when they'd left the area did Vincent turn toward Catherine. He shook her awake urgently, one hand on her shoulder, the other over her mouth. Her eyes opened wide in a flash, but he was able to muffle the startled sound she hadn't been able to stop in her surprise. He handed her clothing to her, and leaned in to whisper against her ear, "Jamie and James are here. Get dressed quickly - we have less than three minutes."
Her eyes widened further in amazement, but she nodded her understanding and he took his hand away. She threw the quilt aside, and if she wondered where it came from, she didn't waste any time asking questions. Nor did she ask how they had gotten their clothes back, immediately beginning to pull them on silently. He did the same, his attention directed outward, straining to hear any sound which might indicate that their plans had been discovered. The feelings of pain, grief, despair and lost hope were still there, but they would have to be dealt with later, when there was time for such a thing. Right now the only objective was to get Catherine and their rescuers safely away. There was at least hope for that, if for nothing else.
Catherine's clothing, stretchy sports wear with no fastenings of any sort, except for the lacings on her shoes, slid on easily and she was dressed quickly. Vincent's numerous layers, with their many clasps, buckles, buttons and ties, were more complex, especially given the heightened state of aggression he had never really retreated from since their captivity, and which had only been increased once the opportunity for their escape had been presented. Some of the ties and buttons had been torn and lost in their original undoing, and others were either too flimsy or too unnecessary to deal with under their current time constraint. Subsequently, though he finished dressing almost as quickly as she, his clothes were in a considerable state of disarray, especially for him. They were looser than normal and generally untucked - something he never allowed under normal circumstances. His shirt was simply thrown on, revealing the thermal shirt beneath in its entirety, and since it had a v-neck cut, a lush thatch of amber chest hair was now exposed. There were no leather wraps left to close the fabric at his wrists, a precaution used by most below to keep out the chill, and by Vincent in particular as an added protection against exposing what he considered to be his differences to the community at large. If those thoughts were present in any way now, he ruthlessly ignored them, thinking only of the situation at hand and what might need to be done to get them all out of it alive. The sleeves of both shirts, lying loose against the backs of his hands, were both an irritant and an unacceptable risk with the potential danger ahead of them, and he quickly pushed both up his forearms, rolling the looser outer fabric in the stretchy weave of his thermal shirt sleeves.
Within two minutes they were done and he tugged her gently back to the corner of their bars, in the shadowed back of their cage, his eyes locked to the ledge across the way. A few seconds later, just as he finished counting down the three minutes, Jamie and James entered the ledge from the dark opening in the rock surface. They glanced across to the prisoners and Vincent moved forward out of the shadows to sweep a finger across the bank of levers, indicating that all of them should be raised immediately. The two turned, and then both began to lift the levers, until all nine were engaged. The silence of their encounter to date disappeared in an instant as four sets of bars and five sets of metal doors, two inside and three in the outer passage, began their ascent. Vincent gripped Catherine's hand and even before the first set of bars was half-way up tugged her behind him as he ducked beneath. They cleared the second set of bars an instant later, and then dashed through the rocky opening now yawning before them. They were out of the cage, but not yet free, as a bellowing, wordless cry sounded, alerting the guards to their escape.
Vincent maneuvered them both through the darkened passageway quickly, his senses tuned to a fine degree in all directions. Adrenaline surged through him and his breathing escalated to compensate for the increased oxygen required by his racing heart. The arteries of his body expanded, allowing for a faster, thicker flow of blood, and it throbbed through his body in a rush, the sound audible to his sensitive ears as it rumbled through his chest, head and groin, filling his limbs with a surge of superoxygenated energy. The rumbling in his chest couldn't be completely contained there, a low but constant growl vibrating upward to escape through clenched teeth. The fight-or-flee mechanism was fully in place now, and his aggression level climbed even higher as he realized that he would have to do both, getting the others to safety while perhaps encountering and dealing with several deadly threats in the process. James was not a large man, of only average height and slender build, but Vincent remembered what he had read of the training required of special forces operatives, and thought that perhaps in this case looks could be deceiving. He desperately hoped so, at any rate.
Despite the danger surrounding them, and the adrenaline filling him, his thought process was amazingly coherent. Everything was streamlined now, distilled down to its most basic form, all unnecessary components left aside. Get Catherine out alive, get the others out alive. That was all there was. He scanned the tunnel before him constantly as he went, looking for any shifting of shadows or rock which might indicate the presence of a threat. The pupils in his eyes had become even more responsive than normal, expanding until they almost filled his iris completely, the blue there swallowed completely by a black which rivaled their surrounding darkness. They gathered every bit of light they could and even in this inky gloom he could discern outlines of rock, thanks to the reflected light from the torch far distant in the chamber left behind, and to some other as-yet-unseen source an equal distance before them. They reached the three-way junction in seconds, and with only a cursory glance to his left, down the passage which he had first entered upon arriving at this spot, he turned right, moving into the major tunnel which led away from their prison and toward the access to the other ledge. He had to find James and Jamie quickly. His pupils expanded dramatically at this spot, a torch now seen about fifty yards straight ahead.
The tunnel was now visible to Catherine in a dim, low light, everything about her nothing more than shades of gray, however it was completely illuminated to Vincent, all shapes, shadows and colors exposed in their entirety. The space before them appeared empty for as far as she could see, but Vincent moved more cautiously now, aware of the many side-paths which hooked up to this main passageway. One of Paracelsus' henchmen might be waiting in any of them, and at least one led to the other ledge, where their rescuers had been a minute ago.
His eyes swept to the left and right continuously, scanning the numerous side-tunnels they encountered, and suddenly he paused, peering down one particular path to their right. Catherine could see very little there, no light apparent down its length, but Vincent could discern some of what was within, and felt sure that was due not only to the torch in front of them, along the main passageway, but also to some other light at some point distant, down this side path. No other side tunnel had shown any such sign. He sniffed the air cautiously, finding mixed scents of many who had been there recently. He recognized both Erlich's and Paracelsus' scent among others not identifiable, though at least one was clearly that of a woman, and most definitely not Catherine. Gripping her hand tighter he turned down that path, moving slower yet, unfamiliar with the layout of this path, yet somehow sure that it led to where Jamie and James were. His pupils expanded once more as the torch light of the main passageway was left behind them. Once again the passage consisted of nothing more than rocky shapes, more shadow than form. They were perhaps fifty yards down the dark length when those shadows began to resolve themselves. There was a light somewhere ahead. Another side tunnel opened abruptly to their right, and the light source was suddenly visible, a torch resting in a wall niche thirty yards down. The sudden presence of the bright light irritated his eyes, but within one rapid blink his pupils had adjusted to the appropriate level, the space before them now completely visible to him without any uncomfortable glare from the bright torch. It took Catherine longer to make that same adjustment, though glare had never been an issue for her. The tunnel was visible to her now as well, but in a fairly low level of light. The area immediately before and after the torch was well lit to her eyes, but the space beyond that, both where they stood and at the other end, was still dim and shadowy.
Vincent froze suddenly, his arm held across her chest as she bumped up along his side. He pushed her back and the low growl from his throat suddenly increased in volume. She stared at him for a moment, then turned her attention forward with dread, in the direction he watched. Something was out there, something coming toward them. She backed up a step, giving him space. The bond remained open to her to an amazing degree, as it had been ever since Vincent's arrival in their shared prison. She had felt the vacillating swings he'd endured, the razor's edge between the dark side and light, upon which he'd balanced for most of the recent hours. She'd felt that balance shift in favor of the protective warrior once again, a moment ago, her own body's responses shifting somewhat to match it, though certainly not to the degree of change he experienced. And she felt that shift yet again, now, moving him further away from the rational man she was allowed to see, to the other he tried so desperately to keep hidden from her. Adrenaline pumped through him and she felt a corresponding sense of urgency and expectation, mingled amazingly enough with a degree of anticipation and excitement that momentarily confused her.
All those sensations flooded her through their bond, and when they did, she suddenly recognized them for what they were, the preparatory stages, both biochemical and psychological in nature, which, when coupled with his atypical physical attributes, made him so efficient at defense. He would do what he had to do, and not back down, not unless some other form of escape presented itself. Everything would fall before him, or he himself would fall, in his determined resolve to get her and the others safely away. Nothing else mattered, nothing. She felt it all, and her breathing intensified to match his respiratory rate. On top of that internal response, she felt the deep expansion and contraction of lungs that were not her own. She felt the surging rush of adrenaline and blood, felt it pumping furiously through a body that had to be his. She gasped as she felt massive muscles, incredibly strong, flex in preparation, felt tendons grown taut, and a swelling pressure at her fingertips. Her hands clenched and unclenched helplessly in response as she stood waiting, balanced lightly on the balls of both feet, in the open-stanced defense position Isaac had taught her. No matter what happened, she and Vincent would meet their dangers together, she was as determined of that as he was in his own objectives.
The bond communicated that to him easily, of course, and he glanced back at her, momentarily taking his eyes away from the advancing threat. His were wide with shocked surprise and dismay, and she met them with determination, telling him through their bond that she would share his fate, whatever that was. A moment later she felt a fine-tuned adjustment take place, felt the balance shift minutely back to allow a bit more of the rational man to share the more dominant primal nature now at the forefront of his psyche. She gasped as she realized that that deep, primal part of himself had consciously made that modification, recognizing that a higher degree of strategic thought might be required to get her to safety considering her sudden obstinacy in this regard. As willing as he was to die for her, he would not allow her own sacrifice. That was out of the question.
The adjustment made, he turned back to face whatever approached, and a moment later that figure appeared, emerging out of yet another side passage to the right, ten yards beyond where the torch sat. Erlich. Vincent's rumbling growl erupted to a snarling roar of challenge and rage, and the giant bellowed back in fury. Catherine was thrust back further with a strong hand and then Vincent moved forward, advancing toward his deadly foe even as the other moved toward him. Catherine hesitated a moment, then followed in Vincent's footsteps, staying a good ten feet behind him so as not to impede his motions, but determined that should he falter, she would be there to do whatever she could, no matter how slight. She shared Vincent's rage, and not only through their bond, but of her own internal making. Some irrational, primal side of her felt that she could kill him with her bare hands, if given the opportunity. She wouldn't hesitate to try, that much was certain, not if Vincent's life were at stake.
The two primary antagonists were just ten feet apart, five feet to either side of the torch, when suddenly Erlich stopped his advance and gasped, startled. A hand appeared around his neck from behind, jerking his head to the side, and before Erlich could react further, another swept up, knife in hand, to slice deeply across the carotid artery just beneath his ear. Blood spurted out in a gushing fountain and the giant's hands came up to cup over it, as if that action could stem the flow of life-force now draining from him. His eyes widened in shock, then began to glaze over as he sank to his knees, finally falling lifeless to the tunnel floor.
Catherine watched, contradictory feelings of horror and satisfaction filling her, while Vincent's clenched fist and arm swung out to slam into the rock wall beside them. Another roar escaped him and this one contained a satisfaction which matched her own, but also some frustration. She understood completely, her gaze drawn to his tense back with sympathy. She stepped forward and stroked a hand soothingly against it, and though he flinched at the first touch of her fingers, he didn't move away.
When she looked forward once more, she found James and Jamie standing there. Jamie's expression was much like her own, but James' face was guarded and unreadable. He wiped the bloodied knife on his pants leg and reached back for Jamie's hand, tugging her forward. They stepped over the fallen foe and hurried forward. Vincent reacted as quickly, taking her hand and turning. They formed a line and moved fast, without a word spoken, retreating toward the main passageway once more, Vincent at the front, James behind, the women guarded protectively within. Turning left at the other side tunnel, they never paused in their traverse. There were no other side-paths here, and Vincent could obviously see well enough to know that no additional threat waited in the immediate space before them. A light ahead grew brighter as they approached the main tunnel. Vincent's head swung to the left, to check the status of the main tunnel on that side, then turned right, leading them quickly down that path. It was well lit here, the torch bright and strong, and they moved a hundred yards further before encountering any obstacle.
When it came, both Vincent and Catherine recognized him as one of the two which had brought supplies into their prison, led by Tamara. He wasn't quite as big as Erlich had been, but he was big enough, and snarling with rage. He carried a blade, shorter than a sword, but longer than a knife, and appeared more than ready to use it. Vincent roared and rushed forward to meet the foe without pause. Catherine watched with shocked horror as the machete-like blade swung up and began its downward motion. It was stopped almost at its zenith by Vincent's left hand, which flew up to grip the other's wrist, pushing it back to hold it tight and high. His right hand swung up simultaneously, slashing down an instant later to rip through the soft flesh of his enemy's throat. It finished its motion and continued downward, catching the menace by the back of the knee and flipping him up and back to the tunnel floor. There was no resistance there, a gurgling sound all that was left as oxygen and blood escaped through the massive openings in his neck. The blade clattered out of his lifeless hand, but Vincent ignored it, reaching back with his left hand to pull her forward. It was all over in less than ten seconds. They jumped over the figure now filling the floor of the tunnel in the same order they'd been in before, and continued on forward. James swooped low as he passed, grabbing the fallen blade and tucking it into the woven belt at his waist, his own more serviceable knife held ever at the ready. Only Catherine was weaponless, Jamie's cross-bow still held in tight if trembling fingers. A cry of rage wailed behind them; "Vincent!", and three of the four recognized the voice as that of Paracelsus. They didn't turn back, hurrying forward, the sound trailing away to nothingness until at last all was silent.
* * *
Paracelsus' deepest lair was a good eight hour's journey and many levels down from the home tunnels. Most of that time was due not to the actual distance, but to the difficult traverses required to maneuver to that hidden spot. You had to move slowly and cautiously, many traps waiting to spring into effect upon the unwary. Erlich had appeared via such a mechanism, his surprise attack resulting in Winslow's death. Vincent had found the lair once before, and Paracelsus had used that knowledge to draw him there again, with the same bait. He hadn't anticipated that there was one now ensconced in those tunnels above who might be able to track through such an intricate terrain. James' skills, combined with Jamie's, were sufficient to accomplish that goal, or so Vincent speculated to himself as he led the others back the way they'd come. He knew, too, that this lair was only one of several, that Paracelsus had other spots, far closer to the surface, from which to work his evil. This one, however, was the one least likely to be disturbed, though things had gone terribly awry there not once, but twice, much to the older man's dismay, if the sound of his final cry had been any indicator.
Focusing on John Pater's thought process kept one small part of his mind occupied, trying puzzle out the details, while the rest was firmly in place guiding the others to safety. The ability to think in this way was something he'd long grown accustomed to. It had been of tremendous help when, as a youth and then teenager, his insatiable curiosity had led him to tackle far more subjects of study than any of the rest of his peers willingly chose to take on at any given time. There was a second benefit to this skill right now; by concentrating on those two things, he could forestall, at least for a while, thinking about what had occurred just hours ago, back in that cage. If he thought about that he would be of no use to Catherine and the others, and far too much was at stake for him to allow such a thing to happen. There would be time for that later, time enough to view the end of all things. And he had no doubt that such an end was coming, though he ruthlessly pushed that awareness back as well, knowing that now was not the time, that Catherine needed him for this one last thing, if for nothing else.
And so he led the others unopposed in an eerie silence for two hours, never pausing, all of their senses on a heightened state of alert. Two knew, and the others now suspected, that Paracelsus' boundaries ranged farther than they had previously supposed. All watched their surroundings closely, ready should another threat appear. He moved at a moderately fast pace for himself, and knew that it was a hardship for the others, though luckily all three were in good physical shape. Stopping on this side of the river would be a mistake, he felt it in his bones, and was determined to get them across that barrier as quickly as possible. One thought regarding that body of water plagued him as they went, but those questions went unspoken. He was certain that all would be explained in good time, besides, there was no time now for talk. On they went, and though he rarely looked back, he knew by the sounds behind him how each of the other three were faring, constantly aware of their progress. Catherine's situation was especially clear to him, the bond feeding him her status continuously. Her strength and stamina were excellent - astonishing under the circumstances - and he knew that she would make it at the pace he'd set, but beyond that there was nothing there, as though she'd blocked off her deepest emotional responses from the bond. That didn't surprise him at all, and only by focusing on the objectives at hand could he stop the despair within from spiraling out of control.
Finally, almost three hours after they'd escaped their prison, they arrived at the place he sought. He spotted the raft immediately, though it was anchored in a spot other than he'd left it. He tested its sea-worthiness, and decided that it could handle the four of them together, then gestured to James to settle Catherine and Jamie on board. He knew that he would balance their load to assure a safe crossing, and while this was accomplished, he kept watch on the shore, ready for any threat. None appeared, and when James whispered his name, he scanned the rocky walls once more, then nodded to himself, satisfied they were alone, before turning to board the craft himself. James pushed off with one pole, and in minutes the current caught them, pulling them toward the center of the river. Another pole lay on the wooden surface, but before he bent to retrieve it, Vincent swung the cloak from his shoulders and dropped it down between the two women who sat at the center of the platform.
"Keep warm," he whispered, his voice a husky rasp, directed to both equally.
Catherine took the garment up, slipped it about her shoulders, then edged closer to Jamie, wrapping the far edge around her as well. The two sat huddled in silence, watching the retreating shoreline to ensure that none followed them, though how they would do so without another such vessel - and none was in sight - was beyond them all. Vincent moved toward the front, until his weight balanced out James', then added his strength to the other's. In no time at all they were at the river's center, and then only guidance was needed as they let the current do the physical labor. Only then did he look over toward the other man, and asked the question which had been on his mind for over an hour.
"You used this raft to cross the river, but it was here, on the opposite side from where you came. I left it there," he said, pointing to another spot on the retreating shoreline, some distance from where they'd found it a moment ago. "How did you do it?"
"Jamie told me there was a river, very cold and very fast, that we would have to cross. She told me about the raft, too, and that you had probably taken it across and left it on the other side." He tugged his jacket aside to reveal a black, neoprene covering.
Though Vincent had never before seen such a garment in real life, he had seen pictures, and recognized it instantly as a wet suit, nodding in understanding even before the other finished his explanation.
"I swam across and brought the raft back."
Vincent's eyes met his, then turned downward to encompass Jamie in his gaze as well. "We... I..."
"We," Catherine corrected firmly, knowing where his halting words were going.
"We don't know how to thank you," he whispered, accepting her modification, but not meeting her eyes. "If anything had happened to either of you, though..."
"We couldn't not come, Vincent. You would have done the same thing for us, anyone from home would have. We take care of our family, you know that," Jamie finished, holding his gaze with her own.
Finally he nodded, acknowledging the truth of her words and accepting them gratefully.
The remainder of their crossing was accomplished in silence, the eerie blackness of the underground cavern the river flowed through too dark at times to reveal much of their surroundings. They trusted to the current, though, and to Vincent's preternatural vision, and within about thirty minutes he began to maneuver the craft towards the left bank. James followed his lead instantly, and soon they were moored alongside the opposite shore. It took only two to manhandle the raft out of the water and to the rocky path running beside the river, but all four worked together, none willing to let the others toil alone. When they were through, Vincent led them down the path, but stopped a few hundred yards later, turning toward a small opening in the rocky wall, with a whispered "Wait," as he did. Light flared from that opening a moment later, and then he emerged, a lantern held before him.
"This is one of our deepest waystations. There's dried food here, and canteens. The river water is cold, but drinkable. We should resupply and move on quickly. We're still too close to Paracelsus."
They all nodded in agreement, then ducked into the small chamber. Beef jerky was the only food available, and they took several packages, stuffing them into their pockets while Vincent filled four canteens from the river outside. As they left the chamber he was waiting, handing each a container of water as they emerged. They strung them across their shoulders, arranged themselves in the order they'd been in before, and waited for his next instructions.
"We'll travel for two more hours, then stop to rest. We should reach the home tunnels in three more after that. Can you make it?" he asked the group at large. As one they nodded, and in a moment he had turned to lead them on.
Though all of them felt somewhat more secure, both Jamie and Vincent remembered what had occurred on this side of the river not so very long ago. Erlich was dead now, as was another of Paracelsus' henchmen, but there were others, no doubt, and Paracelsus may have been able to rally his resources once more, though that seemed unlikely. Hopefully his troops were in too much disarray, at least for the time being, to accomplish any further evil at this time. It was likely, however, that there were secret passageways they knew nothing about littered along this route, and they watched warily, ever on the lookout for the sudden appearance of a new threat.
An hour into their trek they reached an enclosed chamber, a large, circular space along their passageway which opened before them. The tunnel continued on through an opening at the opposite side, some thirty feet distant. A rock cairn rose from the smooth floor at one curved edge, and Vincent and Jamie paused beside it, exchanging sad glances before crouching down to touch the rough-hewn stone.
"Winslow died here," Vincent finally acknowledged, turning to look up at Catherine. He knew, painful though the memory of that event was for her, that she had grieved over all that happened as a result of her abduction. Her eyes widened with shocked surprise, then tears filled them and trailed down her cheeks. She sank to the ground beside the burial site and wept, her face pressed to the cold stone. Vincent reached out with a hesitant hand, then finally stroked gently along her trembling shoulders and back, his touch so light she almost didn't feel it. They stayed there for half an hour, Jamie, Vincent and Catherine each deep in thought over their old friend, while James stood guard over them, the newest tunnel member taking care of his family.
Finally Vincent stirred, then turned to the others. "We need to stop soon, but not here," he said, looking sadly down at the resting place of his fallen friend. "Paracelsus has access to this place."
Jamie was silent, the image of Erlich rising out of the mist suddenly fresh in her mind, but James nodded. "Jamie told me. We left our packs further ahead, a little less than an hour from here. She thought it might be a safe place, but I think we'd better reassess it once we get there."
Vincent sighed, and nodded in agreement. "Yes. At least there's pipe access near there - I can get a message to Father to have security increased immediately. Come, the sooner we go, the sooner you can rest." He spoke to them all, but his eyes stayed for a moment longer on Catherine, as she knelt beside the rock cairn, slipping away only when she rose with a sigh and turned toward him. He stooped to rest his palm against the rock once more. "Good-bye, old friend," he whispered. A moment later he rose and the others fell in line behind him. They left the chamber quickly, and soon were making good time, the path before them smoother, and less inclined. But he knew what lay ahead, and spent some time trying to determine an acceptable alternate route. There was one, but it added considerable time to their journey, and right now he desperately wanted to reach the home tunnels, both to get them all to safety, but also to warn the others. Ultimately he held off on any decision, leading them straight onward, until they reached a fork in the tunnels, one path curving to the left, the other to their right.
"Which way do we take?" Catherine asked, glancing in both directions.
James and Jamie exchanged worried glances, while Vincent answered.
"This way leads home," he said, pointing to the left. "But it's a circuitous route and will add several hours on to our journey if we take it."
"And this way?" she said, scanning the path to the right.
"That will not get us there at all, unfortunately," he sighed.
"Damn it, stop treating me like I'm made of glass!" she burst out angrily, surprising them all with her vehemence. Only Vincent knew the true source of her exasperation, and he turned away so the others wouldn't see the distress her words caused him. "Just tell me what we're going to do and I'll do it," she insisted.
He looked upward and she followed the direction of his gaze to encounter a third path, straight up. There was no way to climb such a direct ascent, and the only access way was clear, a rope hanging at the center of the small circular opening which ended just two feet above them. The width of the opening would accommodate only one person at a time.
"How far up?" she asked, trying to discern a stopping point, though unable to peer through the darkness there to find it.
"Forty feet, perhaps forty-five," he replied quietly.
"It's not too hard, Catherine," Jamie interjected. "I've done it before."
Catherine glanced over to the younger woman, then nodded. "Okay, let's go."
"Are you sure?" Vincent asked, probing their bond to assess her strength. Strangely enough he encountered only a few aches and pains, and only a moderate amount of weariness, amazing considering how little sleep she'd had recently, and the traumatic events of the past two days.
"I'm fine, Vincent," she stressed, her eyes meeting his directly, a subtle, second communication there that the others missed, but he did not. She felt his distress over their bond and saw it in his eyes, knowing he didn't really believe her, but finally he nodded, accepting a part of it, at least.
"You go first, James. Do you know which exit to take?"
The other nodded, then jumped up to grasp the rope and begin his ascent, wasting no time in talk.
"Be careful, Jamie," Vincent said, indicating that she was next before he bent down to cup his hands for her use. She slung her crossbow across her back, placed one foot in the palm of his hands then sprang up, catching the rope and beginning her climb.She moved quickly and surely, and in no time she was a good distance above them.
"I'm out," a masculine voice called down, informing them of his success.
Vincent waited a moment longer, staring up at Jamie's retreating figure, until it abruptly disappeared.
"Jamie, too," the same voice came back again.
Vincent nodded, as if to himself, then looked over toward Catherine. She stood waiting calmly. "Are you ready?" he asked, trying not to disclose his anxiety. He would be right behind her, and if she fell he would either catch her or at least break her fall. The chance for injury was really very slight, all things considered, he told himself, but that didn't do much to relieve his apprehension.
"I said I'm fine, Vincent, and I meant it," she said, stepping up to him to stare directly into his eyes, trying hard to hold them with her own. This time he couldn't turn away, and in them she read yet again of his conflict, sighing with dismay. "We need to go. We have to stay together," she said, logic working where emotions had not.
"Yes, we need to go," he repeated, nodding. He cupped his hands again and she stepped into them, then sprang up, light as a feather. She caught the rope with her first try, and he watched her anxiously, waiting until she was ten feet above him before hooking the lantern to his belt and jumping up to catch the rope himself. He wanted to stay as close to her as possible during their ascent, but not so close as to interfere with her ability to climb safely. He maintained that ten foot separation, staring up at her the whole way, willing her safely upwards. Through the bond he never felt her falter, but only when she stopped and two sets of hands reached out to pull her through the exit did he breathe again. Seconds later he stepped through the opening as well, sighing with relief to find all three safely waiting.
"We're not far now," he said, his fears diminished somewhat by their new position. Paracelsus no doubt had access to this place, as he did to many others, but his henchmen obviously hadn't come this way, and if they followed at all, they were either directly behind them, where he would have warning of their approach, or on that other route, hours away. He pulled the rope up so that access could be gained by this side only, then indicated that James should take the lead this time. When Catherine and Jamie moved to take their previous positions, his hand reached out to grip her arm lightly, stopping Catherine's movement forward. Jamie noted that, and after only a momentary pause, moved into position behind James, leaving Catherine the third spot, with Vincent directly behind her. They moved out quickly, everyone now eager to reach the spot where the packs had been left. The pipes were near to there, and that meant home was not far off. That thought comforted them all.
The second part of their journey was as silent as the first, this time not so much through the sense of urgency and fear which had filled them during the hours after their escape, but rather for lack of breath. James moved at a pace somewhere between a fast walk and a jog, and everyone kept up, anxious to reach their next stop. Rest was in sight. They were well rewarded for their discipline when James stopped abruptly, forty-five minutes later, turning to duck through a small opening to their left. It was no new path, but rather a small, enclosed chamber of naturally hollowed rock. The others followed and found two packs there, with bedrolls attached. Vincent scanned the enclosure, noting that no other access was possible except through the one opening, and nodded.
"Keep watch," he said, "I'm going to contact Father."
The others nodded, and he turned to leave. At the exit he paused, finally turning back hesitantly. "The pipes are only ten minutes away. Are you too tired to come with me, Catherine?" he asked.
She easily read the conflict in his voice and eyes. He wanted her to rest, and yet he was afraid to leave her, regardless of their relatively safe location and the presence of the other two. Jamie and James pretended they didn't hear, busying themselves with their packs.
"I'm not too tired," she replied, immediately moving to his side.
He nodded, then turned to leave. Outside he gestured her before him, and she knew he did that not only to protect her should anything come up behind them, but also so that she could set the pace.
"It's straight ahead," he said.
She nodded, then took up the half-walking, half-jogging stride James had set before, a sudden surge of energy filling her at the thought of the pipes so close by. In five minutes he called out to her, halting her progress. She turned back to him and found to her surprise that she had passed the very thing they'd been looking for, the dark metal rod exposed through a chunk of cut pipe, barely visible in the shadowed rock. Tucked behind it, between the stone wall and the pipe itself, rested another, thinner cylinder of metal, and Vincent took that and tapped out a rapid message. He waited a moment, then repeated the pattern, and suddenly they had a response, a fainter message tapped out in reply. He followed with a longer message, and she knew he was explaining the danger, the need for increased security at further outposts, and with doubled sentries. She was sure she knew exactly what he was saying, even though she couldn't follow the tapped code whatsoever. A response came back, and it was over in minutes. He tucked the metal rod behind the thicker pipe then gestured her back the way they'd come, positioning himself in the lead this time.
"Vincent, wait," she called, standing still to catch his attention.
He turned back, a look of trepidation on his face, then slowly approached her again.
"Catherine, we should get back quickly, before Jamie and James begin to worry," he said, trying to forestall the conversation he knew waited.
"You're right. But we have to talk about this eventually, Vincent," she insisted, reluctantly moving forward to meet him. The truth was his argument had made a dramatic impact. She had no intention of putting their two friends through any more anxiety than necessary.
He nodded, his face tight and tense, then turned and led her onward. Though he set a somewhat slower pace than before, they made it back to the small chamber in less than ten minutes.
When they ducked through the low opening, they found four bedrolls unrolled, the cozy space lit by several candles, set in naturally occurring niches in the rocky wall. Jamie and James each sat upon one unrolled set of blankets, boots and jackets thrown off, munching on beef jerky, their canteens sitting nearby. But Jamie jumped up when they arrived, her eagerness only now betraying the concern she felt.
"Did you reach them? Is everything all right?" she asked quickly.
Vincent circled her shoulders and pulled her close, taking the rare opportunity to comfort the young girl who more often than not saw such behavior as a sign that she was considered weak, and so rarely ever indulged in it. "Yes, I reached them, and everything is fine. Nothing unusual has occurred, and if it does before we return, I think they'll be well prepared. I don't believe we have anything to worry about for the time being, though. It's very unlikely that anyone is ahead of us, and certainly Paracelsus himself is far behind."
She nodded, circling her arms around his broad back and burying her face against his shoulder for a moment, relieved at his assessment. She didn't stay long, though, shaking herself out of that weak moment, then returning to her bedroll with a jaunty stride, as if to prove to all that she could handle whatever needed to be done, that they could count on her, as indeed they all had, on more than one occasion.
"We brought extra blankets," she said, pointing out the other two bedrolls before settling back on her own.
"Get some sleep, everyone, I'll stand watch outside," Vincent replied, scooping up his blankets and heading toward the exit. This time it was James who jumped to his feet.
"Let me take the first shift, Vincent," he said, moving to intercept the bigger man.
Vincent shook his head and James stopped abruptly, correctly reading the resolution in his eyes. "I'll wake you later if I'm tired," he finally conceded, reading the stubborn set of his friend's jaw. Finally James nodded, returning to his own pallet.
Catherine stood where she had been since entering the chamber, wanting to follow him, but worried that now was not the time. How could they have this discussion with others so close? Could she possibly do so without becoming emotional? Could he? This wasn't the time, she realized, though her heart ached to know of the guilt and distress he still felt, and at her own inability to alleviate it. Still, what was, was, and there was nothing to be done about it, at least not tonight. She sighed and turned to the remaining pallet, kicked off her shoes and dropped down upon it. Vincent paused for a moment, then turned toward her, but when she tried to meet his eyes, his own slid away, confirming her thoughts with his evasive gaze. She sighed again, resigned to the fact that this would not be resolved, nor even discussed, until tomorrow at the very least. Taking up her canteen, she unscrewed the lid and took a deep drink. The water was icy cold, cleansing her throat of the dust and dryness of these uninhabited tunnels. Settling back against the stone wall, she watched him leave, his own blankets in hand, and wished, not for the first time, that they might someday share the cozy warmth of a bed together. That thought brought an image abruptly to mind, of them lying naked upon the threadbare mattress. There were no quilted blankets there, no flannel sheets, no plump pillows, but despite that they had shared their warmth. Oh yes, they had done that and more. She shook that image out of her mind, determined not to add to his turmoil, then wrapped herself within the blankets. Though she thought she might have trouble resting, in minutes she was fast asleep, exhausted by the events of the last few days. No dreams disturbed her slumber, and therefore none disturbed him.