Brave Story

by Miyuki Miyabe

  Their eyes—swimming in empty sockets—were fixed on Wataru. The army of bones made their way toward him. Wataru felt the hair on his nape stand on end.

  Suddenly the strength returned to his legs, and he fled. He didn’t think he had come that far down the tunnel, but the distance back to the entrance seemed to take forever. The hall of worship was filled with dim light, and it seemed like the tunnel was even brighter. His escape. His road to freedom. Wataru ran like the wind, and found himself going nowhere. It was like he was running in a dream. Skeletal hands reached out, pleading and grasping. They hooked his clothes, they looped through the belt at his waist, and they yanked at his hair.

  Wataru realized he was screaming. The skeletons were going to charge him, collapse upon him in an avalanche of bone, burying him under their weight. I can’t let myself fall! I can’t fall!

  Wataru was so panicked he couldn’t run straight. He felt his speed decreasing. Bony arms reached out from behind and grabbed his shoulder. He brushed them away with such force he lost his balance and nearly fell to one knee, clawing at the air to keep on his feet.

  That was when he noticed the bars jutting down from the top of the tunnel. A portcullis. If he could get out of the tunnel and drop that behind him, he could lock those skeletons up forever. There had to be a lever somewhere—a trigger he could activate.

  He looked around desperately. There, just inside the tunnel mouth, stretched a length of rope hanging from the portcullis above. With a mighty swing he brought the Brave’s Sword down on the rope.

  There was the slightest bit of resistance, and the rope split cleanly in two. With a great screeching sound, and dust flying everywhere, the steel trap came hurtling down. For an instant, everything went black. It’s falling too fast! I’ll be trapped inside with them!

  Another fleshless hand clutched at Wataru’s sleeve. Its strength was ferocious. Wataru screwed his eyes shut and dove, headfirst, for the tunnel entrance.

  The portcullis nicked the tip of his toes as it crashed down. The metal bars successfully trapped and crushed the skeletal horde.

  Face down on the floor, Wataru crawled farther away before he had the courage to turn and look. Behind the sturdy bars, the skeletons lay in a pile of bones. The force of the impact had shattered them into bits and pieces. But he could see various arms and skulls still struggling to extricate themselves from the debris. Hesitantly, Wataru stood and walked closer to take a look.

  Things were moving. Bony fingers twitched, searching for his boots, and jawbones rattled, snapping for his toes. Wataru’s chest seized up with fear, and he had to take a step back.

  “Who are you guys?” he asked in a whisper. The bones made no reply. “Why are you here? Were you the believers? Did Cactus Vira shut you up in here? Or did you shut yourselves up?”

  Eventually the movements slowed, then stopped altogether. Soon they were nothing more than brittle bones, lying scattered on the cavern floor.

  Wataru took a deep breath and let the tension go out of his shoulders. He then turned toward the tunnel on the left. It sloped slightly downward.

  How far down does it go, I wonder?

  It was more or less straight down, only snaking to the right and left now and again. The further down he went, the brighter the light seemed to grow. It eventually grew so light he could see writing and painting on the damp stone walls.

  Here was a man who looked like he had been crucified. Here was a crowd of people kneeling before an altar. Here was a man cutting the head off an animal that looked very much like a darbaba. Beneath these images was text that Wataru couldn’t read, written in ink the color of blood.

  Above the praying figures stood a single man—more of a silhouette, really—pitch black, its arms spread wide. On closer examination, it didn’t look human at all. Its body was far too massive, and something like horns grew from its head. Behind it a great disk shone like the sun. It was almost as if the darkened figure was trying to block its light from those who knelt before him.

  Was the figure with the horns Cactus Vira?

  Wataru noticed something else as he continued his descent into the earth. There were many sconces set in the wall, and torch fragments scattered about on the ground. They were all quite old, but they did not appear to have been simply discarded. Rather, they looked like they had been broken on purpose. He passed a broken lantern that clearly had been smashed against the tunnel’s wall.

  It was obvious that many people had come here before Wataru. And wherever they were going, they weren’t allowed to bring light with them. They had to discard their torches and lanterns before they were allowed to proceed any further.

  He continued down. The tunnel grew narrower and began to gradually rise and fall until at one point it plummeted in a steep incline. Wataru looked up to see a hole in the rock wall about a foot above his head. The white light was emanating from that hole.

  Wataru jumped, catching on to the rim of the window-like hole with his fingers. Straining, he was able to pull himself up and crawl through. The room into which he emerged was so vast, its ceiling so high, that for a moment it was all Wataru could do to stare, gaping in awe.

  This chamber was at least twice the size of the hall of worship he had found before. Wataru was standing on top of a small rock jutting out of the floor.

  Except he couldn’t see the floor. Everything was covered with water—it was an underground lake. The water was clear, beautiful. The pure white light was streaming from its depths.

  Whoa.

  The underground lake was shaped like a pentagon. Seen from above, the entire room would have looked like a giant gem, breathtaking in its beauty. The more he looked, the more Wataru felt like he would be sucked into its depths.

  Finally, he managed to tear his eyes away and look at the walls for some other exit. Here and there he saw protrusions much like the one he was standing upon. If he jumped and picked his way over the rocks just right he thought he could make it to the edge of the water.

  He moved carefully, measuring each jump. It took quite a while to finally reach the rocks at the lake’s edge. The tension he felt took his breath away. Standing at the edge of the water, the white light was more brilliant than ever, and his ears were filled with the sound of waves lapping at the stony shore. Odd that there should be waves. There isn’t any wind. Wataru thought there might be a spring of some sort toward the middle of the lake.

  Returning his sword to the scabbard at his waist, Wataru got down on his knees and stuck his right hand out to the water’s surface. It was quite cold, and felt like silk. He stuck his hand in, and got the strong impression that he was touching something very holy.

  The source of the white light was definitely coming from the bottom of the lake. Maybe he could find it if he dove in. But if he went into cold water like that without warming up first, he’d probably cramp up and sink to his watery grave.

  As he sat pondering his next move, he realized something. He wasn’t just watching the clear, shining water. He was being watched.

  By what?

  Just beneath the surface of the water, a giant eyeball appeared—the size of a basketball—and it stared at Wataru, unblinking. The pupil was jet black. He could even see red veins running through the white of the eye.

  Thus commenced a strange staring contest that went on for several seconds. Wataru was entranced and stood there motionless. Then, suddenly, he came to his senses and pulled his hand from the water.

  Too late! Something came rushing out of the water and grabbed his wrist. It was the white arm, the one that had beckoned him into the chapel ruins. Water ran in rivulets down its fingers, and glimmering droplets sprayed as it broke the surface. From this close, Wataru could see that it was indeed a slender feminine arm, yet its strength was incredible. Wataru struggled to free himself from that pale grasp. All the while, the huge single eye continued to stare at him.

  “Let me go!” he shouted, but the arm tugged even harder until it felt like his shoulder would
pop. Suddenly, something grabbed onto his leg. Wataru twisted and looked down to see a black mummified arm coming out of the water.

  The arm that took my lantern! Wataru noticed that this arm was a left arm. White and black, the two arms formed a pair. Together, they held Wataru firmly in place.

  “I said let me go!” Wataru yelled. He tried kicking the black arm off his leg, but lost his balance and fell with a thump on his behind. The arms pulled even harder, dragging him into the water directly in view of the giant eye’s unblinking gaze.

  “Help me!” Wataru’s scream echoed off the high vaulted ceiling of the cavern.

  Help me…help me…help me. His words mocked him as they echoed off the walls.

  As he struggled, Wataru reached for his sword with his left hand. Just as his fingers brushed against the hilt, the black hand yanked his leg with ferocious strength. In the same instant, the white hand released him. Wataru fell on his back and was dragged into the water all the way up to his waist.

  Oh no!

  The white hand appeared in the air above him. Fluttering above his face like some evil bird, it grabbed his shirt collar and dragged him down, deeper into the water.

  His left hand found his sword, and he drew it from its scabbard. He swung without thinking, without bothering to aim. Once again, the sword moved of its own will, cutting an arc through the air with dreadful accuracy, slicing the palm of the white hand as it hung twitching like a spider over Wataru’s face.

  A horrible scream assaulted Wataru’s eardrums. It was so loud he feared he might never hear another sound again.

  The cut palm flapped open, revealing pink, bloodless flesh. The wound looked almost like a mouth trying to talk—a mouth with no tongue. Wataru didn’t linger on the sight, but turned his sword toward the black arm clutching his ankle.

  The surface of the water began to stir. A disturbance deep in the lake sent waves rolling toward the shore. Then the water rose into a column high enough to touch the ceiling.

  The water came crashing down on his head like a waterfall, soaking him to the bone. But as a result, his arms and legs were now free. Standing quickly and jumping to the shore, he steadied his grip on his sword. A giant black form emerged from the water, silhouetted against the white light streaming from the center of the lake. It looked like a monk in long flowing robes—save that it was enormous.

  It turned until it was facing directly toward Wataru. Then its eye opened, a single giant eye—the very one he had seen beneath the water—shining from the center of its head.

  “What are you?” Wataru shouted. “Are those skeletons the remains of the ones you killed?”

  The looming black form said nothing as its eye moved from side to side. Then Wataru spotted the two arms, right and left, flying through the air until they were next to the giant creature. Wataru half expected them to attach themselves to its body.

  But that didn’t happen. First the arms waved in the air, then, together, they formed fists so tight Wataru could see the tendons bulging on the backs of their hands.

  What’s going on?

  Then, suddenly, the hands opened, and like a magician producing a rose out of thin air, something came pouring out of the palms—scores of needlethin objects. White needles from the white hand, black from the black.

  They were coming for him. In the split-second before he turned to run, Wataru saw that those countless needles were actually hands—swarms of tiny hands. They came together like a school of piranha descending upon their prey.

  Throwing up his arms to cover his head, Wataru dashed along the water’s edge, the tiny hands in hungry pursuit. The noise as they cut through the air was like the thrumming of a thousand insect wings.

  Wataru ducked and lashed out with his sword at the mass of hands. If he didn’t find a way out of here soon, they would rip him to shreds. They were each only a few inches long, but their fingertips were cruelly sharp. They scratched at Wataru’s skin, poked at his eyes, and wormed their way up and under his clothing.

  I can’t stop running, Wataru thought. And he ran.

  A great roar rose up from behind him. The cyclops was standing at the water’s edge. Without a doubt, Wataru knew that this was the creature that was staring at him earlier.

  The thing didn’t even seem to have a mouth, so Wataru had no idea where its voice was coming from. But one thing was clear: it was laughing. It’s having fun!

  The monstrosity was still howling with mirth as it slid to the edge of the chamber. It pulled back the sleeves of its robe to reveal arms that looked like two giant snakes—ending not with fingers but with fins. Then the creature lifted its arms high into the air and brought them down on the surface of the lake at incredible speed.

  There was a great splash, and water fell in a torrent around Wataru. He couldn’t see. His feet slipped. If I fall now…

  “Hraaah!”

  A yell rang through the room, and an instant later, something long and sharp cut straight through the air of the chamber and impaled itself in the beast’s left arm. The monster howled again, this time in pain.

  “Wataru! You okay?”

  Wataru looked up through the haze of miniature hands. Kee Keema! He was standing high on one of the rocky walls. Directly above him was Trone, a bundle of throwing spears over his shoulder, and above him was Kutz, kneeling on a rock shelf.

  “Hang in there, we’re coming for you!” Kee Keema shouted, bounding down the rocks with surprising agility for his size. The black cyclops pulled the spear out of its arm, and heaved it back toward the waterkin. Kutz reacted quickly and knocked the spear to the ground with a crack of her whip. Trone threw a second spear, which successfully grazed the monster’s giant eye.

  “Hah! We’ll cut you down to size!”

  Kee Keema dashed up to Wataru, and covered him with his arms. He then swung his axe like a hammer thrower in the Olympics, and scattered the cloud of tiny attacking hands.

  “H-how did you know where I was?” Wataru asked, dizzy with relief and excitement.

  “You don’t think I can’t second-guess what you’re up to?” Kutz snapped. She jumped from her rocky perch, and knocking aside one of the creature’s giant fins, she did a flip in midair to land by the side of the lake. Without even looking, she sensed the floating white arm lurching through the air for her throat. A flick of her whip, and it was knocked aside.

  “What is this thing? Something Cactus Vira was worshiping down here?”

  “Or maybe it’s what Cactus Vira himself became,” Trone said, slowly moving into position, his third throwing spear aimed at the giant eye.

  “Who cares? Let’s take it down,” Kutz spat, wrapping her whip around the black hand this time, flinging it against the wall. The arm made a distinct splat and fell to the ground limp as a discarded rag.

  The edge of the lake was now littered with hands—victims of Wataru’s sword and Kee Keema’s axe. There were so many of them, in fact, that it was hard to walk without stepping on one. Kutz and Trone stood alert, facing the towering black creature by the side of the lake.

  The creature’s eye, red and bloodshot, rolled back and forth. Then, with great effort, it blinked.

  When the eye opened, the water of the lake began to stir. The monster’s robes fell from his body and into the water. Wataru and the others could do nothing but stand and stare.

  Now totally exposed, the creature looked like something not quite man and not quite fish. Armor-like scales covered its torso, and giant fins protruded from its side.

  With its good arm, the one-eyed giant tore the remains of the robe from its head, revealing two long horns. Wataru instantly thought of the image he had seen painted on the wall of the tunnel.

  Then the skin beneath that great eye split into a hideous maw. The creature pursed its lips as though to whistle, puffed out its cheeks, and spat a great ball of fire.

  “Look out!”

  Trone and Kutz dodged to the side. The flaming balls smacked into the wall, sending rocks crumblin
g to the ground. That thing exploded like a missile! Wataru tried to run to help Kutz, but the shockwave knocked him off his feet.

  The second fireball flew toward Kee Keema. He dodged just in the nick of time, shouting, “Yowch! That’s hot!” despite himself.

  “Enough of this!” Trone roared, fixing his aim—when another fireball flew straight at him.

  “Gah! What is this thing?”

  As they ran, they did their best to avoid all the fireballs and falling rocks. The creature lunged at them, using its sharp fins as weapons. Kee Keema lifted his axe to block one, and the head of his weapon was sliced clean off. It was like fighting a flying guillotine.

  Now on the defensive, the small team secured its position, and began fighting back. Robbed of his weapon, Kee Keema picked up chunks of rock and hurled them at the giant’s eye.

  The creature’s weak point was obviously its eye. Wataru’s friends had realized this early on. Every one of their attacks had been aimed at that single unblinking sphere. Unfortunately, the creature triumphantly knocked aside every frontal attack they threw at him. Wataru, for his part, tried to distract the monster so his friends could score a decisive blow.

  But the creature never looked at him. Its fins continued to lash out, often slicing through the air inches above Wataru’s head, but the eye never turned away. Instead, it remained fixed on the rocks at the edge of the lake—right where the Highlanders stood. Never once did it glance back toward the white light from the center of the lake.

  Wataru recalled once more the painting he’d seen in the corridor. He also thought about the discarded lanterns and broken torches. Kee Keema, Kutz and Trone were not carrying lanterns. Doubtlessly, the black hand had confiscated whatever lights they brought with them.

  Maybe it doesn’t like light?

  It appeared at first as though the creature were protecting the white light at the bottom of the lake. That’s why it stood steadfast at the shoreline. But what if it’s the other way around? Maybe it couldn’t look at the light, it couldn’t stand it.

  Right!

  Wataru ran to the water’s edge and dove in. Lit by the white light, the lake’s water was incredibly clear. Despite this, the irregular depressions in the rock floor made it difficult to find just where the bottom was. Wataru kicked with all his strength, and once he had the creature behind him, he resurfaced.