Time passes. It is pitch black when my feet cannot find another step. The ground all around is flat. I have reached the bottom. “Calea,” I call softly. I do not know whether she is awake or asleep or unconscious. My back is sticky with blood. “Calea, can you sense any magic?”
She stirs. I sit and untie her, lowering her to the ground. “Calea.”
“Are we there?”
“We’re in the Well. Can you sense anything?”
“It’s gone, it’s all gone.”
“How close do you need to be? There’s surely a little left, somewhere.”
She shakes her head. I catch the movement in the dark like wind upon my skin.
I pick her up and begin to walk. “Tell me if you sense any. Which way should I go?”
“Bron.” She says it three times before I stop. “Bron, it’s no use.”
“There might be some.”
“We both know this ends here. You’ve done enough.”
The words shake me. “Not yet. The steps. They were there for a reason.”
“It had nothing to do with us. Nothing. Set me down.”
I set her on the ground. The stone is as smooth as glass. I sit beside her.
Her breath is ragged. I am empty, unable to feel anything except a deep weight that can’t quite express itself. She tries to speak: “Bron, I…I forgive you.”
The words pierce through the fog of my emotions. She doesn’t understand. She never has, and I have always kept it from her. I mean to keep it from her now, though it pains me. She has done a noble thing in forgiving me, but it is false. She has offered words to me that she would never say in lesser circumstances. I remain silent, wrestling with myself. Should I tell her? I must. I hate the lie, and I do not want her to die with it still left hidden.
“I must tell you something,” I say. I do not know if she is listening. “When I told you that the gate’s failure was my fault, I lied. I was a maintenance man, but the Observation Deck was not assigned to me. I do not do my job out of guilt. I told you that to spare you. I understand now what hurts you most. I did not grasp it at first. It took me a long time to realize how much I hurt you that first night, at the party, when I tried to deflect their insults. But what hurts you is what drives me.
“I might call it pity, but you would misunderstand me. I know you abhor pity more than anything else. But I do not look down on you. I do not consider myself superior. But I do see your weakness, and I want to cover over it. In children’s stories, a dragon can only be injured in the chink in his armor. Pity is that chink, and you hate it. You rage and yell. You make yourself hard and cold. But I want to do what I can to protect you. I need to.
“It’s not about saving you from a knife or a blast of magic. It’s about giving you security, a sense of trust, a person on which to release all your blows. There is no secret motivation. I have no deep psychological guilt. If anything, I have a fault. I want to protect those who most need it. It is an instinct, a belief. Maybe a religion. Who would protect you if not me? Everyone needs someone, Calea. Everyone. I have chosen to be that person, whether you want me or not. Because…I can’t leave you to yourself. Hate me for it if you need to. I will be everything no one else is for you. I wouldn’t change it. I can’t.”
I am exhausted. I have rarely spoken so many words to anyone. I fear I have failed to explain, or perhaps enraged her. She will not allow me to call her weak. She doesn’t understand. Everyone is weak. Everyone.
She says nothing. I hope she has not heard. I have said what I needed to say. If she did not hear, all the better. Her breath is soft, but she lives. For a while, she lives. And I have shown her, the best way I know, what she is worth.
I wait for morning.
I wake suddenly. It is still dark. A hand is around my arm, squeezing gently. The hand contracts again. It is desperate, but it is weak. “Bron?”
I am fully roused.
“Stay with me.” Her voice is a fierce whisper, begging. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to.”
“I’m here.”
She swallows, a drawn-out act. “Look at them. The stars. They’re beautiful. I don’t want to go into darkness.”
I look up. In the depth of the Well, there is no light, and the sky is brilliant with jewels. I have never seen so many. It is almost like looking upon a city from a distance, a city larger than Thyrion, larger than any even in stories.
“What are we?” Calea manages. “So little, so useless.”
I grasp her hand. She needs strength, not words. She will argue words.
She lapses back into silence.
I am out of actions, out of steps, out of time. If I could will her to live, if I could grant her my life, I would. It is an ache in my soul. So little, so useless. The despair in those words move me. I want to lift her to her feet, make her stand–but I can’t.
The steps that led us here were miraculous, but they were false.
The fact is she will be dead by morning. I have done everything possible. There is no regret, no second-guessing. But I still refuse to accept these facts until hope is gone. I refuse to give in. There is nothing left but another miracle.
“Be strong, Calea,” I say. “Stay with me.”
From a distance comes the reply. “I can’t. I’m so afraid. The stars are fading.”
“I’ll be strong for you. Do you understand? I’ll be strong for you. Just hang on. Let me be strong for you.”
“Help me, Bron. Please help me.”
Tears begin to fall down my face. I am willing her to live, physically trembling with a desire to save her which I cannot put into words. I pull her up, into my arms, and hold her tight. She is cold. I want her to feel warmth. I want her to know she is not alone. I want her to hang on, to hold out, until….
“I’m here, Calea. I won’t leave. I’m here. You’ll be all right.” Empty words, but I believe them. I am not deceiving her; if anything, I deceive myself. “It’ll be all right.”
Her body warms as the hours pass. My eyes are heavy, my entire body pulling me down to sleep. She is already asleep, her breathing easy. When she passes, it will be in ease, in a dream. I set her down and lay beside her, almost delirious in my extreme fatigue. I pass into sleep effortlessly.
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