Chains of Gold by Nancy Springer Read Free Book Online

water, up a steep and rocky slope—my arms were locked around Arlen in a clutch as of a corpse, or I would have slid off backwards. Then the horse pushed a way into something that thwarted the force of the wind. Twigs against my face.… The horse stopped of its own accord.
    â€œYew,” Arlen said, for there were small round leaves on the twigs even then, in the deep of winter. “By my body, I know where we are! Rae, get down.”
    I slid off, but my numbed legs would not hold me and I fell into the snow. It was not very deep, there under the trees. Arlen dismounted and dumped the blankets on top of me. I heard him struggling with the saddle and bridle, and he took one of the blankets for the horse, tying it onto the animal’s body with the reins, but I did not realize that until later, for I was half in a stupor.
    Presently Arlen found me, tugged me upright, and put his arm around me to steady me. “This way,” he murmured. “Come on.”
    Out we went into the blast of the storm again, this time on foot. I followed him without question, leaning against him.
    â€œCerilla, walk,” he said sharply. “I cannot carry you. It is not far. In fact, it should be close at hand.”
    The tone of his voice roused me, and I straightened. He was feeling about at what seemed to be the side of a hill. Then with a wordless grunt of discovery or satisfaction he took my shoulders, urged me down into a crouch, and guided me into a sort of cave or hole. I crawled in, silently cursing my long gown, which hindered me; I hitched it up to my hips, careless of the stones against my knees.
    We were in a passage, I realized after a few moments, and it led downward as well as forward, and it was not large enough to stand in or even stoop in; nor did it seem that it ever intended to widen. Therein laired the darkest of all possible darks, and something in me rebelled against it. I stopped.
    â€œKeep going,” said Arlen, behind me.
    â€œWhat sort of place is this?” I protested, an edge in my voice.
    â€œIt is an out-of-the-wind place, and a somewhat-warmer place,” he replied just as snappishly—he was weary, too, and grieving. “Move!”
    â€œIt is a tomb,” I said, and instantly the words sent a chill of fear through me. It was true, though I had not allowed myself fully to think it until I spoke. At any moment I was likely to find bones under my hands. Or any of the things that live in the underground places of the dead, something worse than bones—
    â€œArlen,” I questioned, quietly this time, “have you ever been in here?”
    â€œNo. How could I? We were not allowed on any shore but our own. This is a crannog; it sits in the midst of the river, at a ford—”
    I was not listening to him. “Great Mother,” I muttered, “what is likely to be in here?”
    â€œFor myself, I really do not care.” The despair in his voice wrung my heart. “If I could go before you, Rae, I would, but I came behind to stop up the entry somewhat.”
    But I had already started off again. I crawled doggedly, slapping my hands down hard, trying not to think of what they might find, not thinking at all until I banged my head against something made of stone. I stopped with a small moan.
    â€œWhat is it?” Arlen asked from behind me, apprehensive.
    â€œNothing.” Nothing but a squarish slab of stone, waist high. I felt to either side of me and found nothing but floor and air. Overhead, nothing either. The constricting stone walls and roof of the passage had widened, it seemed. Cautiously I straightened to my knees, then to my feet. There was room to stand. And it must have been warmer down there than I knew, for the pain of my bumped head was as a twinge compared to the pain in my reawakening legs. I gave up standing and slumped to the floor again, whimpering between clenched teeth. Arlen felt his way over to me.
    â€œWhat is it,