Free Call the Rain by Kristi Lea

Xan Segra was shattered. Without him, the Ken Segra were headed for war. With him, the united Xan and Ken Segra tribes stood a chance against Zabewa's army. With him, the Southern Lords would have an early warning. Without him, Illista would be lost. Left behind. Abandoned, once again, by those who were bigger and stronger than she ever would be.
    Without Illista, he would be dead, poisoned and drowned at the edge of the holy lake.
    He released her fingers and turned to shimmy down the hole. He gripped the roots like ropes and lowered himself hand over hand until his feet hit the ground below. The darkness was not quite absolute. Ribbons of light pierced the space like arrow shafts from above, illuminating tiny pinpoints of his tunic, his hair, the ground around him. Like a thousand tiny stars.
    After a moment, his eyes adjusted somewhat and he could make out the contours of Illista's Waki face. The roar of water was much louder here, echoing off the walls of what felt like a cave with its cool stone walls.
    “There is a river not far. Through the tunnel. This way.”
    He stopped her before she could take her second step. “Where are you going?”
    “I think we should follow the water.”
    “But where would it take us?” He blinked into the darkness, trying to imagine which direction he was facing. After the race through the grass, he had mostly lost track of the sun, and there was nothing here he could use to orient himself. He spun in a slow circle and fought a rising sense of panic.
    “I think we should move away from the entrance, in case Mulavi's men find it too. The water will lead.”
    Joral laughed nervously. “I don't know that I trust water. I would rather have a map. Or at least a torch.”
    “Trust me , then, Joral. Please.”
    “Who are you, Illista? What are you? Mulavi calls you a witch.”
    She drew back and he instantly regretted the sharpness of his words. “And if I am all that he claims? What then? Would you turn me over to him?”
    Joral gulped. He had seen the malicious glee in the mercenary's eyes, the hungry glint of his smile, the derisive tone he had used with the Chieftess. His mother did not trust the man, nor did she trust the so-called King Zabewa that Mulavi claimed to serve. “No. I wouldn't give that man a rabid wolf. You have saved my life once already, and I am in your debt. I trust you, Illista.”
    Her fingers found his. Long, slender fingers. Human fingers with a cord wrapped around the palm. She had removed her amulet again.
    She began to walk, slowly but steadily. Joral followed, his fingers laced through hers. At first he shuffled his feet along the ground, not sure what his toes would encounter. The floor seemed to be smooth and dry and hard, like a cave of rock. They left the sprinkling of light behind them and forged ahead into blackness.
    After a few feet he began to relax a bit and to pick his feet up as he walked, but his steps were still short to match Illista's.
    “Can you see anything?” he asked.
    “As a Waki I could see a little. But like this I can hear the water better. We are nearly to the shore.”
    The shore of what? Joral took stock of his other senses. He reached his free hand out to the side and then up, trying to feel for the ceiling of the cave. The entrance with the roots was small, but here there was nothing and the ground seemed to be sloping gently downward in front of him.
    It was cool and the air was growing damper. He could smell dirt and the vague spices that clung to Illista's skirts. And something else. Water. A large amount of water. And the roaring was getting louder with each step.
    Illista halted and Joral stopped next to her.
    “Careful, place your hand on the wall here and stay close to the edge. I don't know if the path is wide enough for us to walk side by side.” She moved one of his hands to the clammy cold wall of rock and the other to her shoulder. Tendrils of soft hair fell softly over his fingers above the rough cloth of her