Healer of Sakkara

Chapter 8 - Shelter

Breathless with fear, Galen sprinted up the curve of the spiral street.

Each level of the spiral was two houses wide, with one house facing the street above and one facing that below. Between every fourth house, a steep, narrow alleyway connected the levels.

Galen hung a sharp left at the first downward alley, leaping clear of an abandoned cart, and then took another left at the bottom.

Behn's house was on the same row as Harrald's, four down, and on the opposite side, facing up. Galen hoped if the strangers had seen which direction he'd run, he could throw them off by doubling back. At the next alleyway, he made a third left and dashed up the steep incline, his muscles burning with the fire of exertion and the tang of rust at the back of his tongue.

Vaulting over the low gate, he ducked down and dashed around the side of Behn's house to the back door. Not daring to call out, he rapped on it with his fist, trying hard to breathe through his nose. No one answered, and Galen cursed as he remembered it was Thrynsday. Behn's father was probably at the temple, and Behn must still be out with Triss.

Like him, Behn was an only child of a single parent, his mother having died when he was young. Children were rare in Dern—in all of Thryn, in fact—and births were cause for celebration. As an unwed man, Harrald had taken great pride in raising a child, and Galen had assumed this was the sole reason for his over-protectiveness.

Now he wasn't so sure, and he prayed to the Seven that the strangers wouldn't hurt him. Harrald was strong, despite his twisted back and missing limb, but an unarmed, one-armed man was no match for five with swords.

Neither—despite Triss's training—was he, and as he heard shouts from the street below, fear spurred him back into action. Quickly, he searched the path for a small white pebble, found one, and set it in the center of the doorstep. Behn would know what it meant. Then he slipped around the side of the house in a low crouch and ducked behind a row of shrubs.

Being built on a steep hill, most houses in Dern had a cellar or a basement cut into the side of the slope. He used Harrald's to store his ingredients and concoct his remedies; Behn's father used his to concoct 'remedies' of a different kind. The rows of mead barrels and brewing tanks offered the perfect place to hide.

When they were younger, he and Behn had often concealed themselves there. It was the one place Triss could never find them during games of 'hound and hare' and, fortunately, there was a secret entrance.

Close to the ground, a small opening covered by a grill of latticed iron provided ventilation for the partially subterranean cellar space. For some reason, the grill had never been properly affixed to the wall and popped out with a good yank.

Galen grasped it and pulled, but it didn't budge. It had been years since he and Behn had hidden here, and the thing was rusted in place.

Desperate, Galen picked up a small stone and knocked it against the side of the grill, wincing at the sharp sound it made. To his relief, the grill came loose with the next hard tug, and he laid on the ground carefully.

The opening was only a little over a foot wide and half as tall. Behn didn't stand a marshmallow's chance in hell of fitting through, now, but Galen still might. Lowering himself to his hands and knees, he stuck one leg through, and then the other, then pushed himself through to the waist.

The floor was another four feet below his dangling legs, and it would be almost impossible to get the grill back in place from the inside, but he and Behn had figured out a trick. Galen picked up the grill, grasped the iron lattice, and slithered the rest of the way backward through the hole. His shirt rode up, and he scraped his stomach and shoulders on the edges of the rough bricks, but he made it through. With his body hanging free, he kept hold of the grill and fit it back in place. Then he let go and dropped to the floor, shaking so hard he could barely stand.