Warrior's Ransom (The First Argentines #2) - Jeff Wheeler Page 0,3

kind of fruit. It had a mottled green rind and pink flesh. The bystanders took wedged slices and ate from them, spitting black seeds onto the marble floor. Other servants came and swept up the seeds.

Ransom continued to walk around, observing the guests and admiring the wealth on display. He wondered who ruled and defended such a place. It was a mystery to him, and it made him feel even more out of place than usual. Although he wasn’t sure what he was looking for, he felt a mental nudge when he saw a set of doors at the far end of the luxurious hall. He walked to the doors and then outside into the gardens. There were others there, merchants roaming the space together. Beautiful dark-haired servants continued to offer delicacies to eat, skewered meat and green olives.

Ransom kept walking. Because of the fall of night, he couldn’t see the mountains in the distance, but he imagined it was a splendid view during the day. Fountains shimmered throughout the garden, seemingly lit from within. His pulse quickened, and he felt a stirring in his heart. He’d come leagues through harsh terrain to reach this place. A pilgrimage to the East Kingdoms was, according to the deconeus of St. Penryn, a way for the Fountain-blessed to understand their calling. If he was lucky, the Fountain might also recognize him with a gift.

He walked past at least three different fountains, but the tugging sensation continued to draw him deeper into the gardens. Soon the glowing water sources were behind him. He wandered down a garden path, following it by instinct, and arrived at a small, nondescript well. A lip of stone surrounded it, and a wooden structure topped it, with a rope securing a jug to the wood. This was where servants came to draw water.

He glanced back, finding himself secluded from the other visitors and servants, and then rested his hand on the wooden structure. At first the only sound was that of distant laughter, but the sound faded, and in its wake came the rushing of waters, the noise of the falls outside the palace of Kingfountain. His skin prickled with awareness. It felt like he wasn’t alone.

Ransom dropped to one knee by the edge of the rim. His chest began to heave as he felt emotions rush through him, unfamiliar, powerful.

Go down.

It was a thought, but it was not his own. Ransom didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the sturdy rope and lowered the jug down into the well until he heard it splash into the water. After securing the rope, he gripped its fibrous length and began to lower himself down. The darkness engulfed him. He felt the strain from the weight of his armor, but he clenched his teeth and went down quickly. The water touched his legs, then his hips, and then he was hanging there, wondering how deep it went.

Let go.

Worry bloomed in his heart. He wore armor. He could drown. Looking up, he could only see the circle of stars in the sky above. Fear wriggled inside him. But he had not come this far only to turn back now.

Ransom let go of the rope, and his body sank into the well water.

He expected to meet stone at the bottom, but he didn’t. The strange flooring was rough, uneven. Holding his breath, he went down, and his hands discovered wooden chests and iron coffers. Because of the blackness, he groped blindly, unsure of what to do, and then his fingers wrapped around a shape he recognized as a scabbard. He felt a strap, so he stuck his arm through it.

Go back up.

This was the gift from the Fountain. The blessing he had been seeking. He reached up, his lungs craving air, but there was no rope. He stood, straining for it, his chest aching with pain. He tried swimming, but the weight of his armor held him down. What was he to do? If he tried to remove the armor, he’d drown before he’d gotten even half of it off.

He stepped up on one of the chests, reaching as high as he could. Bubbles of escaping air came from his mouth. His heart thumping wildly, he tried jumping off the chest, but it toppled over. His knees smashed against something hard, shooting pain through his body. He gasped, and water rushed into his mouth. Ransom twisted, lights flashing in his eyes.

Then he heard the whisper again.

Nesh-ama.

And he knew what it meant.

Breathe.

The mad craving for air

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