“Fine, fine, we’ll go,” Trone said with a toothy smile. “But remember, this is your first expedition. You’ll do as I say.”
“Yes, sir!”
Trone spurred his udai past a small crag and around a pile of rocks, coming to a stop in front of a rise of reddish brown earth. “There it is.”
Wataru didn’t need to look where he was pointing to find the ruins. In a large section of earth where no grass grew, several posts stood supporting nothing, their sides blackened by flame. It was as if a bundle of evil-looking spears had been dropped down from the sky and stuck haphazardly into the ground. You had to squint and look at them from a distance to see how those black spears formed the outlines of what was once a building, and even then it wasn’t easy.
“So the roof burned and fell down?”
“It was still there after the fire, actually. Wind and rain did the rest. It’s been ten years, after all.”
The two slowly rode the perimeter of the chapel ruins. If they had just been passing by without knowing the history of the place, the burnt skeleton might not have seemed quite so ominous, so threatening. But to Wataru’s eyes, every lump of soot on the blackened ground inside those pillars looked like a body, frozen in a final agony. He felt sick to his stomach.
Trone’s udai snorted plaintively and took a step backward. Trone patted the beast on its neck. “He’s scared.”
Wataru’s udai also kept its distance from the ruins, stomping its hooves in place.
“Have there been no reports in Gasara about strange things going on here, or strange lights?”
“Not a one. Most of the folks that come to Gasara have no business coming to a place like this.”
“And you probably would have to get quite close to see the glow of the gemstone anyway,” Wataru muttered.
Trone growled deep in his throat. “We’ve no proof it’s a gemstone, so don’t jump to conclusions. Let’s dismount and take a look around.”
Roping their udais to a protruding rock, they approached the ruins on foot. Trone walked with his hands empty, swinging by his side, but Wataru couldn’t relax without his right hand resting on the hilt of his Brave’s Sword.
“I don’t like the feel of this place,” Wataru whispered.
“Nor I.”
The two stepped inside the outline of the ruins and began pacing its border. Every time his foot fell on something that cracked, or he felt a lump in the soot, Wataru was sure he was stepping on someone’s bones, and it sent shivers down his spine.
“The bodies of the believers were all carried from here and buried in the town’s communal grave site,” Trone said as he looked around. “You won’t find any corpses left here. So don’t worry about stepping on anyone’s remains.”
“That’s a relief,” Wataru said, still walking on tiptoe.
“Take a look,” Trone said, touching one of the blackened pillars. “It’s thin. Your leg could hold more weight than this. When all your builders are women, children, the elderly, and the sick, you can’t carry anything much sturdier than this.”
The sun had begun to angle down in the sky, but it was still quite light. Still, Wataru felt that here, where the chapel once stood, seemed somehow darker than it had been outside the line marked by the scorched ground.
“Wataru, the well.”
Trone called him over, and he hurried to find a small well opening behind the building, half covered by a fallen pillar. The ground around it was littered with rubble, but the well, its rim fashioned of sturdy rock, remained intact. Wataru looked down to find the water level was much higher than he had expected.
“It’s full.”
“Yes. There’s a lot of underground water here.”
Trone cupped one hand and lifted some water from the well. Clear droplets fell through his fingers. He brought his hand to his nose, and sniffed.
“Hard to say, but it does smell a bit odd. Like medicine, maybe.”
Trone poured some water into the leather skin at his waist and firmly sealed the cork. Then, he and Wataru took the rope they had brought with them and ran it around the edge of the well, attaching a small sign that read “Do Not Use.”
“So that traveling merchant came all the way inside the ruins. There’s no other way he would have found this well.”
“Maybe he wasn’t frightened since he didn’t know the history of the place.”
“If he came here with greed at his side, he might have made it this far even if he was scared.”
Trone’s comment reminded Wataru suddenly of his mother. He smiled. He remembered asking her how she always managed to carry so much when she went to a bargain sale at the local department store.
—Oh, I didn’t go alone. I had greed to help me.
“Let’s go home,” Trone said. “No point in lingering. This place is starting to give me the willies.”
After asking the doctor at the hospital to analyze the sample of water they had retrieved from the well, Wataru and Trone returned to the branch. Wataru was relieved to hear that the traveling merchant seemed to have improved greatly during the time they were gone.
In the remaining hours of daylight, Wataru assisted Trone in looking through old records. It seemed that Cactus Vira and the church had given the branch in Gasara quite a deal of trouble. Wataru noticed several handwritten comments on numerous reports detailing these escapades. The church, he discovered, was a constant headache for the authorities.
“In the end, they never did find out who Cactus Vira was,” Trone said, removing his spectacles. “And who knows about these ancient gods.”
“Did the holy water come from that well?” Wataru wondered out loud. “Maybe it wasn’t medicine. Maybe it was poison.”
“If they mixed something in the water at all,” Trone replied, stretching. “Well, this is about as much as we can do today. Go home, Wataru. You must be starving.”
Wataru retired to the lodge and ate his supper. He asked the little lady who brought his food about Cactus Vira and his flock, but she claimed to not know anything about it.
“Have you heard any of the guests here talking about some sort of treasure buried by the church near the hills?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
When the innkeeper arrived he said much the same thing. But Wataru couldn’t let it rest. That light spilling from within the ruined church…what could it be?
What if it only glows at night?
He could investigate the ruins later—tonight! Once the thought occurred to him, he couldn’t let it rest. Wataru packed a small bag, wrapped the Brave’s Sword around his waist, and left the lodge.
It was almost time for the Gasara town gates to close, and the road was busy with darbaba drivers and merchant trains rushing to get in before they were locked out. Wataru borrowed an udai and made his way through the throng, relying on the ruckus to cover his departure. Soon he was riding across the night grassland.
As he neared his destination, Wataru could see, almost on the horizon, a countless number of lights glimmering like fireflies. They appeared to be moving slowly. Perhaps it was the Knights of Stengel returning. Kee Keema might be with them. If Wataru wasn’t home when they arrived, he’d notice for sure. I’ll have to try to get home as soon as possible.
Black oil smoke rose from the lantern at Wataru’s waist. He dismounted at the same place they had stopped earlier that day. The only sound was the faint sizzling of the lantern’s wick.
The burnt remains of the chapel looked like a patch of pure black in the darkness. Wataru picked his way carefully through the rubble, recalling the path Trone had walked.
It seemed to him that there was a burnt smell on the night air. Odd, I didn’t notice anything during the day. Placing his right hand upon the hilt of his sword, Wataru tried to drive all such thoughts out of his mind. Look for the light. That’s what I’m here for.
When he heard a sound like a strangled squawk come from the rocks above the ruins, he nearly jumped three feet. Probably som
e wildfowl having a bad dream, he thought to himself. I hope it didn’t startle my udai. On second thought, he’s probably braver than I am by far…
It was pitch black. Wataru saw nothing even resembling a light. He started to look around the well, but the only thing shining were the stars in the sky above. Wataru chuckled, half out of relief, half in disappointment. He lowered the lantern, lighting the ground by his feet, and turned around.
Just then, something white moved on the border between the lantern’s light and the darkness of the night.
Wataru whirled to see something bobbing in the air, just brushing the edge of his lantern. Wataru looked at it in shock. He felt like he had been punched in the gut.
It was a white arm floating in midair.
The scene was almost too surreal to be frightening. The arm didn’t appear to be severed, rather it looked as if it was somehow growing out of the darkness itself. A long slender arm, beginning just below the shoulder. A woman’s right arm.
Now it waved from side to side, the index finger pointing straight at Wataru. Then it motioned to him. It wants me to follow.
The arm looked like a narrow white fish swimming through the water of night. It slid gracefully through the darkness until it stopped. The arm tilted, pointing down, and quite suddenly, it was sucked into the ground. No sooner had it disappeared than the ground began to glow. The light grew until it lit Wataru’s face. Then it was almost too bright to look at.
Wataru ran to the spot. Suddenly, the ground shuddered and he started to wobble. One of his feet sunk into the ground.
There must be a room under here.
During the day, the hole would have been hidden by rubble. Wataru crouched and began to examine the ground. Soon he found a handle that seemed to be attached to a half-open lid. He lifted it, and the light blazed pure white, and then quickly faded. It was as though whatever lit the ground had scampered away.
Wataru looked to see a ladder descending down into the earth. Fixing the lantern to his waist, he began to descend.
As he climbed down, he counted the rungs until he reached forty—and then he gave up. It was a long way down. Wherever this was going, it was deep. He didn’t want to think about it too much, lest he start to get frightened. Right now, he needed to focus only on the simple act of climbing.
Wataru began to sweat. He was breathing heavily when at last the hard tip of his leather boot touched something that wasn’t a rung. Holding tight to the ladder with both hands, he craned his neck and looked down to see a damp, rocky floor.
It was a cave. From where he stood, he could see a rough winding passage leading off into the darkness. The white light appeared to be coming from far down the tunnel. It had grown much fainter than it had been when he first saw it on the surface.
Moving the lantern to his left hand and holding his sword in his right, Wataru began to walk forward. The color and the feel of the walls around him resembled tombstones. Water seeped through unseen cracks, dripping in the tunnel, and making the walls and floor slick. He reached out a hand to touch it and found it incredibly cold. He lifted a finger to his nose and sniffed, but there was no trace of medicine. Since he had been in a hurry to leave, he had forgotten his gloves. He resolved not to touch things any more than he had to. It wasn’t hard to imagine something living in the crevices in the wall, something with poisonous fangs or stingers.
A little further down, the stone tunnel took an abrupt turn to the right. At the corner, Wataru paused and pricked up his ears. Hearing nothing, he quickly turned the corner, sword held ready.
Nothing—just the tunnel hewn from the rock continuing on into the distance. Wataru stuck his tongue out. See? I’m not scared.
The tunnel had grown narrower, and the ceiling was low over his head. The width of the passage as he walked was irregular—sometimes widening, sometimes narrowing. He finally reached the end, a solid wall of rock, with a hole at the bottom near the floor just large enough for a person to crawl through. The faint white light was coming from the other side.
I don’t like this one bit.
Wataru didn’t fancy going anywhere more cramped than the tunnel he was already in. But if he didn’t go through the hole, this was the end of the road. He looked around but didn’t see any other passageways.
Oh well. Wataru set the lantern down by his feet, and pressing himself to the ground, he peered through the hole. As he expected, the passageway continued on the other side. It seemed to be dimly lit, and he could feel a faint breeze on his cheeks.
Right. Steeling his body, he thrust himself headfirst through the hole. The wall was thin, and he was quickly on the other side.
He took a look around. The place he was standing was significantly different from the previous passageway he came from. A large dome stretched above his head three stories high. The chamber was very wide—about the same size as his schoolyard back home.
Wataru found himself unable to believe that such a large space could exist underground without some visible means of support. He looked around in amazement. On the far end of the chamber, he saw two more tunnels disappearing into the distance. The tunnel on the right seemed larger, and had some long metallic objects lying near it. There was nothing remarkable about the tunnel to the left, except—of course—for that suspicious white light pulsating from its depths.
The sound of a thin trickle of water was coming from somewhere. Wataru felt a sudden thirst in his throat. One thing’s for sure: I’m not drinking any water in this place.
Wait, my lantern! Crouching down, Wataru reached back through the hole he had just crawled through, when, right before his eyes, his lantern was taken away. Something like a long black arm, dried like a mummy’s, reached out and snatched the lantern out of sight. It had happened in an instant.
What was that? What thing has an arm like that? Was that even really an arm?
Was it his duty as a Highlander to crawl back through the hole and investigate? What if that strange arm belonged to some kind of monster? It could even be a thief. A mummy thief! Whatever it is, I have to get that lantern back.
But then again, he was standing in an area that was plainly lit—though Wataru had no idea how. And there was that same white light shining from the corridor on his left. He at least had someplace to go without the lantern. I’ll just keep moving forward. There, I’ve made my decision and I’m sticking to it. It’s not that I’m scared to meet the owner of that nasty, dried-up arm. Really.
Holding his Brave’s Sword before him, Wataru took a few cautious steps toward the middle of the chamber. From here he could see that the metallic objects piled up in front of the right tunnel appeared to be spears—primitive things made of simple metal poles sharpened at one end. Also, he could also see traces of some large platform having been attached to the wall. Here and there along the rock were marks left by some sort of fastenings. In other places he saw the wall was discolored and scorched black with soot—perhaps where torches had been attached. Wataru looked around carefully, tracing the outlines in the rock, finally reaching the conclusion that whatever had once stood there was not entirely unlike an altar one might see in a church in the real world. Maybe this was where Cactus Vira and his followers had worshipped.
Then what are those spears doing there?
Chapter 8
The Dead
Two voices began arguing inside Wataru’s head. One wanted to check out the mysterious, darkened right-hand corridor. The other, a far more persuasive voice, cautioned to let sleeping gods lie, and go down the left, toward the light.
As he stood, pondering his decision, something emerged from the tunnel on the right. It was a person in rags. Somebody lives here! Using one of the spears as a walking stick, the figure came forward tentatively—slowly making its way to the altar remains. Wataru stood rooted to the floor, unable to move.
That’s no person. Though it might have been once. It was a skeleton. A skeleton, wearing rags wrapped around its bony frame, and walking with a spear. Wit
h every step its jaw would rattle.
Relax, I have to relax. I’m not frightened. Wataru closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, repeating those words to himself. I beat the four statues in the Cave of Trials—they gave me wisdom and bravery. I’ve even got the protection of the firewyrm! No bag of bones is going to send me running.
The skeleton, now at the altar, stood clinging to the spear and swaying gently from side to side. Then, with a hollow knocking sound, it collapsed into a formless pile of bones.
Wataru steadied himself and began to walk toward the right-hand tunnel. He noticed right away that the spears by the mouth of the tunnel were baked with grime and rust.
Only the entrance of the tunnel was clearly visible. But when Wataru held up his Brave’s Sword in front of him, the blade began to glow with a wan light. It was almost as if it was catching that white light coming from the other tunnel and somehow augmenting it. It wasn’t as bright as his lantern, but it was more than enough to see by. Wataru held his sword high and began to walk.
He had gone about four or five yards when he saw what looked like wooden bunks stacked three high on either side of the tunnel. He stepped closer and saw that they were full. There were people in the bunks.
Not people—skeletons! Bunk beds filled with bones!
There was a clattering noise behind him. Wataru spun around to see one of the skeletons, wrapped in rags, fall out from its bunk. Arms held out, it began walking toward him.
Wataru leapt backward, too startled to shout. He dodged the skeleton’s bony embrace, but got nicked in the nose by one of its fingers. The skeleton waved its arms like it was doing the breast stroke, then fell to the ground with a clatter.
Wataru heard a sound like a racing locomotive. It was his own breathing. He wiped his forehead with his hands and looked up.
Skeletons were rising from every bunk. Some clung to the edge of their beds, others held on to the back of the skeleton in front of them. The sound of their bones rubbing together was like the beating of a thousand moth wings.
Brave Story Page 35