by Layton Green
“Fascinating,” Dida said, gently pressing his thumb against a wavy bit of line. “This was etched with a sharp object. From what I can tell, these are quite rudimentary carvings, indicative of a very old society. Yet they are utterly distinct in design. I have never witnessed anything like it.”
“They’re so . . . graceful.”
“Yes. Yes. It’s as if they started writing in cursive before they learned to print. Utterly fascinating.”
Val had to almost drag Dida out of the room, he was so intrigued by the find. They continued to explore and found an identical scene at the end of each of the side passages: circular steps leading down to a central basin, rock walls with faded prehistoric art. With no option left, they cautiously proceeded down the straight central corridor. The slope was very gradual and, by the time they reached the enormous ivory archway at the end of the corridor, they had walked a hundred yards past the length of the outside portion of the temple.
Even more bizarre than the existence of the oval archway was the alien scrawl of runes etched into the ivory surface. Runes crafted in a spidery, free-flowing pattern similar in design to—yet far more advanced than—their prehistoric counterparts in the chambers above.
The archway was easily ten feet high, with a similar diameter across its widest point. Kiva floated in the water just behind them, and the rest of the kethropi hung back, spears at the ready.
“Do you recognize these?” Val asked Dida, who was staring in fascination at the runes.
Val’s friend clasped his hands behind his back as he studied the ancient script. “They’re unlike any I’ve ever seen,” he said finally. “Unless I’m mistaken, it is most certainly a language. An advanced one. Even at a glance I can see evidence of grammatical markers, phonemes and morphemes. Yet the differences are profound . . . almost as if it developed out of context with any other known language.”
“You can tell all that already?”
The bibliomancer blinked. “I could be wrong.”
Val tapped the archway. “How long can ivory survive underwater?”
“This isn’t ivory. It’s albalium.”
“What?”
“An extremely rare stone found deep beneath the surface, related to tilectium. So deep only a few samples are known to exist.”
“What do you think that means? Who built this?”
“I don’t know,” Dida said slowly. “But there are obvious similarities between the runes on this archway and the crude carvings in the chambers above. Certain stylistic markers. I get the impression the prehistoric civilization that built the rock temple was trying to . . . copy . . . these runes.”
“These Skincloths won’t last forever,” Val said, feeling a little shiver pass through him as he started through the archway. “Let’s get on with it.”
-26-
“Ye know me can’t stay on de river at de night,” Meru said, as Will and the others disembarked onto a blackened stone wharf at the edge of the Agora. The long shadows of dusk had fallen across the water, bruising the surface.
“Understood,” Skara said. “We’ll meet you here in the morning.”
If we make it out alive, Will thought darkly. He was afraid to use Zariduke, feeling as if the blade might shatter and be forever lost. With no way to combat the abilities of the Nephili or other magical creatures they might encounter, he did not relish the thought of spending the night in the Agora, the Old Town, or anywhere else on the forsaken plateau that rose hundreds of feet above their heads.
As the barge disappeared into the twilight, Skara set down her pack and took out the silk-wrapped box she had brought from the Pagoda. She cut the ribbon on the lid and opened it, revealing six miniature teapots with corked spouts. “Don’t waste a drop,” she said, as she handed them out. “These did not come cheap.”
Yasmina looked doubtful as she held her teapot in her hands. “And these are?”
“According to the journal, the guardians atop the Wailing Wall—the Skinwalkers—are meant to deter all living creatures from entering Old Town. They operate by smell, however, and Master Kuang has developed a potion that will render the scent of a human being undetectable.”
“For how long?” Mateo asked.
“He estimates eight hours.”
“Why do we apply it now, and not at the base of the bluff?”
“First, because I’ve no idea how acute a Skinwalker’s sense of smell may be. Secondly, because the Agora is infested with a particular species of vampire bat that can smell human blood, as well as echolocate their prey.”
“Thank you for providing us with two thoroughly disturbing scenarios to anticipate,” Will said. “Skinwalkers? Have you ever seen one before?”
“I’ve spent the night in the Agora, on more than one occasion. I’ve seen strange lights coming from the Old Town that no one else has seen. I know there’s something there. I’ve also stood at the bottom of the Wailing Wall and heard the cry of the Skinwalkers, who are said to wail for their lost lives for eternity. But no. I have never seen one myself. The journal speaks of faceless creatures who cannot be harmed by normal weapons, but the entry is brief. Even the old explorer who left the journal never made it past the Wailing Wall.” She held up the teapot. “I aim to use it to walk where no one else has tread, at least for long centuries.”
Ever since they had disembarked, a covetous light had entered Skara Brae’s eyes. Whatever happened from here on out, whatever she thought she knew or didn’t know, Will knew she was going the distance.
“Why do you trust this journal so much?” he asked. “What if it’s wrong about the Skinwalkers?”
Skara ran a finger along the blade of her hatchet, as if debating whether to answer. “Because the explorer who wrote it,” she said at last, in a soft voice, “was my great-grandfather. He came to Praha from Moravia long ago, searching for the fabled treasures of the Nephili. My father stayed for the same reason, though he drank himself to death in frustration. I plan to change the family destiny.”
“We should go,” Bartu said, with an intense glaze to his eyes. “The sun sets.”
Skara turned to face him, but he had already started towards the Agora.
“Bartu!”
He turned, expressionless.
“Are you feeling all right?”
“Of course. Why?”
“Because you seem to have forgotten the way,” she said, giving him a long look before starting down a weed-covered walkway that wound through a maze of obelisks and rotundas.
“I must have,” he said, with a grin. “Too many knocks on the head.”
Will had no idea what was going on with Bartu, but all he could do at this point was keep an eye on him. As they headed into the heart of the Agora, Will was reminded of Roman ruins he had seen in photos, though on a far grander scale, and all of it blackened by the plague fire that had ravaged the city. The silent remains of pillars, stela, temples, and other monoliths overshadowed them as they traversed vast stone plazas or crept through narrow passages that Skara had scouted on previous visits. Rodents and feral dogs slunk through empty buildings and scampered over mountains of rubble. A smell of rot and decay lingering in the air made Will question the source of the odor, as there was no sign of habitation.
The base of the massif rose ever closer. As the darkness continued to mature, cloaking the Agora with a Stygian pall that kept the party in a tight line, faces grim as they picked their way through the ruins, a rustling arose in the distance. The sound reminded Will of crickets, except more high-pitched and interspersed with vibrating chirps.
“Bats,” Yasmina said.
Skara swore. “I wished to make the climb before dark. It’s not far now.”
The wilder cocked her head. “They’re still some distance away, and if they stay their course, will pass to our left.”
“I hope you’re right, wilder.”
“Why don’t we just wait for morning?” Dalen asked, nervously eying the sky. “Send someone back for more tea?”
“My grandfather speculated the wafers would disintegrate if carried too far from their source. It’s best to try straightaway for the wall. Hurry, now.”
They soon emerged into a large courtyard that stretched to the edge of the massif. Pillared rotundas, concentric archways leading to smaller plazas, and a host of long buildings that looked administrative surrounded the plaza. Though impressive, none of the buildings had the same grand, otherworldly feel as the rest of Praha. Had there been a human population that served the Nephili and called the Agora home? If so, why had the plague affected it?
When the party tried to skirt the edge of the courtyard, following Skara’s lead, a high pile of rubble between two buildings blocked the way.
“That wasn’t here before,” she said.
“How long ago was your last visit?” Mateo asked.
“A few months. Something piled these rocks together.”
Mateo turned over one of the stones. The ground underneath was dry and free of insects. “I don’t like the idea of climbing over this barrier in the darkness, without knowing what awaits.”
They all agreed, though no one liked the look of the hidden interiors of the buildings surrounding the courtyard. Skara decided to save time and risk exposure by pressing through the center of the plaza. They abandoned the single file line and bunched together, creating a ring with Dalen in the center.
Halfway across, with the base of the massif tantalizingly close, Will heard the slap of boots on stone, and whipped around to see a group of people dressed in rags pouring out of the buildings. At first he thought they might be ghouls of some sort, but as Skara ignited a glow stick and Dalen expanded the light to encompass the plaza, Will realized the forms sprinting towards them were human, though some of the filthiest he had ever seen. They brandished knives and clubs and swords which they held like thugs instead of trained warriors, and desperation was etched into their faces. They also had numbers on their side. At least a few dozen were rushing towards them, with more pouring out of the buildings.
Will and the others fanned out, surrounding Dalen and creating space to move without breaking the circle. Will was unused to the weight of Skara’s cudgel. Zariduke could have cut through these untrained ruffians like a scythe through tall grass.
Sensing they could overwhelm the small party, the ragtag group of thieves and beggars rushed forward. Skara threw a pair of daggers that stuck in the throats of the first two. Though weakened by the absence of natural light—creating illusions in dim lighting required advanced techniques—Dalen managed to sow confusion with muted bursts of color, as well as shadows that took shape and leapt at the assailants.
Yasmina and Mateo kept the first wave at bay with their lengthier weapons, Yasmina’s long staff cracking skulls and kneecaps, Mateo’s urumi sword snapping like a whip as it bit deep into the flesh of any who came near. A quick glance to the side told Will that Skara and Bartu were holding their own as well. The tall warrior had lost one of his scimitars in the storehouse, but he swept his remaining one back and forth with expert ease, cutting the throat of one attacker, then blocking the weak thrust of another and spinning to slice him across the back.
As the screams of victims shattered the night silence, Skara went to work with even more efficiency. After throwing her knives to deadly effect, she swung her hatchet by its chain and let it fly into the face of the nearest assailant. She jerked it back and felled another, and whenever an attacker pressed too close, she jabbed with the bladed cane.
Yet the ragtag group kept coming, driven by greed and hunger, knowing precious few targets ventured out to the wasteland of the Agora. Will’s turn came when two of the assailants charged him, one wielding a rusty spear and the other holding a club above his head.
Lesson the first: always be aware.
Without time to think, he moved swiftly to his left, cutting off the holder of the club from the burly man with the spear. Will blocked the club with his shield, but didn’t see a good opening to swing the cudgel. Instead he dropped the bulky weapon and whipped his dagger out in one smooth motion, stepping inside to thrust into the man’s gut. He ripped through muscle and pushed the man away in time to blade his body to the side to deflect the spear thrust of his other opponent. He snapped a kick to the man’s groin, causing him to double over, then followed up with a fierce blow to the head with his shield, knocking him senseless.
Someone jumped on Will’s back. He roared in fury and spun, then bent and threw the person over his shoulder without using his hands, as Mala had taught him. The woman who had jumped him lay gasping for breath as Will heard footsteps to his left. He moved fast enough to avoid the sword thrust, but the woman on the ground grabbed his ankle and jerked, causing him to stumble and lose his grip on the handle in the middle of his shield. Someone else tackled him from behind and managed to knock his knife away. Weaponless, Will found himself fighting for his life on the ground, with no idea how his friends were faring. He could only concentrate on staying alive.
The woman screeched and dove across the ground, trying to claw out Will’s eyes. He met her with a head butt to her nose, knocking her back. Someone was still on his back, trying to pin his arms for the swordsman taking aim in front of him. The man on his back was quite strong, and he rolled once, leaving Will belly-up and exposed to the sword. Will worked desperately to free himself as the swordsman moved into position, but Will couldn’t free his arms. The man had him caught in a bear hug and was enormously strong.
Lesson the third: cheat.
Though Will’s arms were trapped, he managed to reach behind his back with one hand, found the man’s groin, and squeezed with all his might. The grip lessened as the man gasped in pain. Will jerked his head back, impacting soft facial tissue with his skull, and the man’s arms fell away just in time for Will to roll off him and avoid the downward thrust of a sword.
He leapt to his feet without using his hands. Lesson the second: strike first, and with intent. Before his opponent could recover, Will grabbed the hilt of the sword with both hands, covering the man’s wrist. As his opponent tried to pull the sword back, Will summoned the power in his muscular forearms, stepped to his left, and made a bowing motion as he bent the man’s wrist towards the ground.
The man made the mistake of trying to hold on to his sword. Unable to resist the force of Will’s maneuver, trapped by his own grip, the brittle wrist bones snapped like dry twigs, and Will jerked the sword away as the man screamed.
Two more people rushed towards him, one with a dagger and one with an old hatchet, but he squared his feet and prepared to engage with his captured sword.
It didn’t take long. Will batted away the hatchet thrust, slicing an arm on the backswing before using the superior reach of his sword to stab the man with the dagger before he had a chance to engage. Will turned to finish off the man with the hatchet, but found him running away.
A quick glance told him no one else was coming for him. All of his companions were still standing, and a mass of thieves were dead or writhing on the ground, the rest dashing for the safety of the buildings surrounding the plaza.
I survived, he thought, as he retrieved his shield.
I survived without Zariduke.
“To the stairs!” Skara said. “There could be more on the way.”
Though everyone had nicks and wounds, no one cried out as they raced for the side of the courtyard abutting the bluff. Skara jumped onto the raised base of a rotunda and off the other side, then sprinted to the bottom of a set of stairs cut into the cliff. It would be an arduous climb but he knew they could manage.
That was, until the vampire bats arrived.
A third of the way up the staircase, the rustle and chirp of the bat swarm returned, increasing in intensity. As they drew closer, he heard a new sound, the scratching of nails back and forth on leather, amplified to the millionth degree. When he glanced behind him, the darkness seemed to have congealed, somehow deeper than the night—and was moving towards them. Wit
hin moments the outline of furry bodies took shape, thousands of them, beating their wings in a furious rhythm as they flew towards the exposed party.
“Lucka, I thought they couldn’t smell us!” Dalen called out.
“The blood from the battle must have drawn them,” Skara said. “They’ll eat us alive up here!”
For the first time since he had met her, Will heard desperation in the voice of the hardened adventuress. He understood. They couldn’t fight something like that.
A voice rang out above him, clear and commanding. “Hold still!”
Yasmina’s voice.
“Wilder, what are you—”
“Silence! No one move a muscle.”
Will craned his neck and saw that Yasmina had turned to stand with her heels planted on the steps in a precarious position, arms raised to the sky with fingers spread, as if making her presence as large as possible.
The flap of leathery wings was deafening, driving a stake of fear into Will’s heart. As the swarm drew closer, less than a hundred feet away, chittering and shrieking, Yasmina made a call of her own, a shrill and piercing cry that reminded Will of an eagle. She prolonged the cry as the bats flew into them, landing on the rock face and perching on the bodies of the party members. One landed on Will’s head and dug its claws into his skull to hang on.
“Don’t move!” Yasmina shouted again. “No matter what!”
The stink of the flying mammals, ammonia and urine and musky glands, made Will want to gag. He winced at the pain of the claws and it was all he could do to hold still and not scramble to escape, though he knew it meant certain death.
A number of the bats took turns flying right at Yasmina, turning away millimeters before smacking her in the face. She continued the shrieking cry and upturned her hands above her head, enticing two of the furry beasts to land in her palms. They walked back and forth in circles as they chirped and showed their fangs. After a time they flew away, and then one by one, the rest of the colony peeled off the cliff and took flight, gathering again in a swarm before darting into the night.