A Cave beneath the Cliffs, to the South of the Rose
For a long time, at least, there was nothing else. He hadn’t known to be grateful for it.
Scrap.
Aremu came to a stop in the dark; he hadn’t meant to. He thought – he thought he would find Gideon on top of him then, but the other man must have stopped too; he could hear him breathing.
Aremu shifted; he twisted, low, crouching, looking backwards in the tunnel, desperate – as if he could make out anything. His wrist balanced him against the ground; his hand reached behind, back, hovered at the waistband of his pants. His breath was coming unevenly now, hesitant; he searched the dark once more.
He never knew, Aremu reminded himself, his heart pounding; as if he’d needed another reminder of that. His jaw worked; it tightened. Why say it now? He didn’t understand; if Gideon had known, all along, then – why now?
The narrow, tight tunnel; Aremu felt something like panic crawl up into his mouth, choking him. There was nowhere to go; there was nowhere to run. He couldn’t run; could he outcrawl Gideon? If the passage narrowed – maybe – he was already conscious of the walls closing in, and he could not even bring himself to hope for it.
So fucking what if I am? He wanted to spit the words between them. I’m no more likely than you to bring this tunnel down – less, godsdammit, seeing as I’m half your size. If you’ve a problem – if you have a problem, then you can go fuck yourself, plowfoot – how do you like it? I’m the one who found this tunnel, I – I can crawl, dammit, just like any man –
It wasn’t me, Aremu wanted to say, choked and desperate. It wasn’t me; it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me. I’m not dangerous in that way; I can’t hurt you with it – if I – would Gideon know the word diablerie? He didn’t know what they said of passives here in Anaxas. Scrap, Gideon had said.
“What about it?” Aremu said, instead, into the stillness of the passage. His voice was choked and hoarse with the rough air of the cave, or so he would have liked to believe; he knew it for a lie. He scooted himself back, just a little, searching the darkness between them for any glint of light, any hint of what might be to come. There was nothing; he could find nothing.