by J Jordan
Lorna rested her chin on Joyce. No one said anything.
“You mentioned the name Devon,” said Victoria. “Who is that?”
“Devon is our benefactor,” said Cora. “He works with OMANH to preserve artifacts in danger of being destroyed. Or looted.”
“It’s a code name,” added Tykeso, “to protect his identity.”
Romney caught Lorna’s smirk from her perch on the revolving turret. Then again, she wasn’t hiding it.
“Don’t lie to her,” he said.
“Then you tell her the truth,” snapped Cora. “This is all your fault anyway. All of these lies and deceits were your idea in the first place.”
Victoria didn’t respond. When she looked to Romney, her eyes were equal parts surprise and hurt. He looked down at the beach and scratched the back of his neck. But then he looked Victoria in the eye, drew in another heavy breath, and leveled with her. The plans, the thefts, the collection of artifacts, and everything else. When he was finished, he noticed Victoria’s expression hadn’t changed. It was probably still processing.
“You were going to steal the crown for him. To add to his collection.”
“That isn’t the plan anymore,” he said, looking back at Cora and Tykeso. “Devon can’t get the crown.”
“But now he knows it’s here,” said Lorna. “You wouldn’t go back empty-handed, would you?”
She hopped down from the turret, her feet making small craters in the sand. She rose slowly and approached Romney, hands on her hips and a mere flick of the wrist away from a knife.
“So, what’s your plan?”
This time Lorna’s eyes said nothing. Or maybe Romney couldn’t read anything in them. Perhaps it was sleep deprivation or some other malady that affected his judgment. But Romney was not afraid. He stared back without flinching.
“If he wants the crown, then he knows where to get it. But we won’t give it to him.”
Romney watched her right hand stretch toward the knife at her side, her fingers curling around the hilt. It was natural, practiced over years, fine-tuned into a reflex. Her eyes were speechless.
“I rescued you and followed you all the way up here,” said Lorna. “But do you know why?”
Romney felt the knot tighten in his stomach. His voice didn’t quaver when he answered.
“To make sure we come back with the crown,” he said.
“To deliver the package,” said Lorna.
Lorna made her move. She was on him before anyone else. She wrapped her legs around his waist, locked her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips against his unsuspecting open mouth. There was a tongue involved. It was a unique experience for Romney Balvance, to say the least. He could say, with absolute certainty, that this was the first time he had ever been pounced on by a woman. It was the third time he had a tongue venture into his mouth and the second time it had happened on purpose. It was like kissing a hydrothermal vent, all heat and bubbles. With traces of sulfur.
Romney found it difficult to breathe under her powerful embrace. His knees buckled under the volcanic pressure. He tried giving her a courtesy squeeze in return, but this only encouraged her to tighten her grip. Romney glanced at his companions in a plea for aid, but they were stunned beyond rational thought. Cora, Tykeso, and Victoria continued staring in surprise. Or horror. It was difficult to tell for Romney. His head was floating.
It was probably horror, judging by their slack jaws and their wide eyes. No one moved, except for Lorna.
She planted another heated kiss on Romney’s mouth, then pulled away to gaze at him. Her green eyes fluttered.
“Package delivered,” she sighed.
She released Romney with one final peck on the cheek and moved to the APC. She leaned against it.
“Your deal with Devon is his business,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, the job was to get you here in one piece.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Romney, head still lost in a geothermal stream. “Well, okay, then. All right. Great.”
Cora was the first to stammer. After a failed attempt at speech, she took a deep breath to gather her senses.
“We . . .” she started. “We should start soon. There could be an army coming after us.”
“Don’t worry about them,” said Lorna. “I’ve defended worse with less.”
No one questioned Lorna on this. They knew that whatever came across her vigilant watch would be obliterated by Joyce, Marie, Lola, or Gwen, depending on who was free at the time. They gathered their supplies and prepared for the journey into Hirna Andrea.
Romney Balvance and the Introduction
The path to Hirna Andrea was a straightforward walkway paved with smooth stones leading up the hill. It led to an unremarkable set of archways made of limestone, each arch resting on a pair of smooth pillars. They had no elaborate carvings on them, but Cora pointed out their smoothness. She ran a hand across a pillar as they passed beneath the archway it carried. Romney joined in, swiping his hand across it as he moved behind her. The surface was warm and polished to a near-glassy finish, free on all sides of any blemishes. The structures were most likely shaped by hammers and chisels, Cora noted aloud, and sanded down with a coarser stone. She also noted their pristine condition.
“These have stood since the time of the prophet,” said Victoria, leading the pack under another archway. “The goddess erected this temple to serve as Andrea’s home in her final days. They say Katresa visits Andrea’s spirit every day and tells her the news of her people. At least, that is how the myth goes.”
“We always like to imagine our ancestors didn’t have the means to build extraordinary things,” said Cora. “Instead, we fashion a myth to explain how it got here. Aliens, goddesses, ancient forgotten races.”
“But the myth is important to the place,” said Victoria. “It gives context to the structure.”
“Sure,” said Cora, “but don’t neglect the ingenuity of the ancient world. We had the means to lift stones and set them in place, long before motorized cranes.”
“No one is arguing with you,” said Tykeso, trailing several feet behind Romney.
“Good.”
They passed under a third arch and stood outside the entrance to the temple. The walls of the temple were much like the pillars, tall structures made of smooth stone. Smooth as ice, yet warm to the touch. They seemed to shimmer blue in the light at a closer glance, though Romney had only seen it happen once. A pillar flashed as he walked by. No one else seemed to catch it.
“But it is weird, isn’t it?”
Cora turned, her pained expression saying that nothing was weird about any of it. And that Romney needed to shut up, post haste. He decided to press the matter anyway.
“They went through all of this trouble to get the stones up here and to stack them up like this. But no one thought to embellish anything.”
He pointed to the archways they had passed under. They were simple crescent shapes cut out of stone slabs and stacked onto drab supports. The pillars were artless cylinders. And the walls were like ancient cement road barriers, void of carving or artifice. His finger swept the area around them. There was no fanciful statuary anywhere.
In fact, the only fancy aspect of Hirna Andrea was its domed roof. It had perfect rows of inlaid stone spheres running lines down its sides. Cora nodded, her expression unchanged. Then she leaned into a nearby pillar and examined it carefully.
“You know,” she said, “this is strange. It’s almost like these structures have been standing on a mountaintop for thousands of years. I can only imagine the amount of rain they must have endured in that time.”
“Okay,” said Romney, “but they still look pretty solid to me.”
“And we would see specific wear patterns,” Tykeso added from the rear. “Nothing is collapsed and nothing looks worn. But what do I know?”
His last statement was directed at Cora’s ponytail, with the heat of a blowtorch, but she continued on regardless.
“I’m sure we
could find those patterns, given enough time and study. Or perhaps Dr. Costa would like to show us an example?”
“I haven’t made it a point to examine them,” said Victoria. “I need everyone to remain silent as we approach the entrance. This is a place of great reverence, and I would like us all to treat it that way.”
They approached the entrance to Hirna Andrea in tensed silence. It was another smooth and unremarkable feature. Architects might note the perfection of its arch, if they weren’t hung up on its gray drabness. Cora readied a flashlight from her pack and cased the interior with its bright beam. There were more smooth, gray walls inside, making a large, empty space with a high ceiling, and a perfectly round depression in the center of the room. It was like a large bowl in the ground. A pit, maybe?
Romney stepped inside the room and pointed his light at the bowl. It was perfectly round and concave, as if someone had pressed a sphere into the ground and left a crater. The only other feature was a corridor leading into darkness on the other end.
“No torches?”
He was answered by a chorus of shushes.
Cora and Victoria were joined by an unseen group in hushing him. He could feel the wind of their breath on his face, a warmth that didn’t match the chilled air of the morning outside. At this point, Romney began to feel that the room was crowded by forces barely seen and just beyond the realm of hearing. He could just make out the faint murmur of their voices and the muted rush of their footfalls on the smooth stone floors. He could sense their movements in the dark corners, but his flashlight only revealed more gray stones. Victoria’s whisper startled him.
“It’s best if you don’t look for them.”
“Who are they?”
“You know.”
Cora’s elbow caught Romney in the back.
“The mind is an incredible organ. It is capable of putting words to silent rooms, a sense of moving bodies where there is nothing.”
“Thanks, Cora. We get it.”
Cora pointed her flashlight toward the only way forward and then motioned for Victoria to lead the way.
“No, not yet. We need to introduce you.”
“We don’t have time for every ritual, Vic.”
“This one is the most important. We will each stand in the brazier and be witnessed by the ancestors. Otherwise, we are not welcome here.”
“All right,” said Cora. “On with the arcane rituals.”
She moved to the bowl at the center of the room, made a full turn on one foot, and then bowed.
“Cora Queldin, doctor of Camerran history. The pleasure is mine.”
She stepped out of the cold brazier without ceremony. Victoria’s displeasure seemed to radiate through the large room. Romney didn’t need his flashlight to see her arms cross.
“Who’s next?”
More warm air poured into the room, making the darkness an oppressive curtain. The murmuring voices became a din, rising from the silence like another gust of wind, all from the still air. Romney could only just make out the tones of displeasure, but the words were still unintelligible. Whoever stood at the edge of the darkness didn’t approve of Cora’s display.
“Cora,” he said, “get back in the circle.”
“No,” she said. “We don’t have time for this.”
Cora had returned to the corridor, where she was standing with her flashlight fixed on the group. Romney decided he would set a better example. He stepped into the bowl in the center of the room, laced his fingers in front of him, and spoke politely.
“Hi,” he said, “Romney Balvance here. I’m thirty-two, self-employed, degree in finance.”
In the brief pause, a voice rose from the darkness.
“Why are you here?”
It came from Victoria’s direction, but her mouth hadn’t moved. Also, it sounded nothing like her. Romney decided that it had come from the same place as the heat and the darkness. He had arrived at the conclusion almost too quickly. He took a moment to gather his thoughts.
“Well,” he said, “I’m here to find the Crown of Videra.”
Romney’s grin had become an uncomfortable line as the din of voices rose. Their protests were cut short by the single Voice.
“Why?”
“Because it’s in trouble,” he said. “Your temple, too, and everything in it. All of this trouble is my fault. There’s a man who wants your magic, and he hired me to take it from you. But I’m not here to do that anymore. I’m here to make this right.”
The unseen mob was shouting at him now. Their anger filled the darkness with a tangible heat, like many gusts of a multi-headed blow dryer, right in Romney’s face. But, like before, the Voice spoke and quelled them.
“You play a dangerous game, Romney Balvance. Do you know the troubles of magic?”
Romney’s grin flared, which sparked more protests. The Voice growled.
“Answer.”
“Sorry,” he said, “it’s just that everyone keeps asking that. I get it, magic is dangerous. But where did you all come up with this? Did you get it from Katrese?”
There was a chorus of gasps, followed by a heavier silence than before. The darkness was like a warm blanket wrapped around Romney’s sweaty face. It took a moment for the Voice to respond.
“Did she say that? Does she speak to you?”
“All the time,” said Romney. “Every dream this week, in fact.”
The din rose again, but this time the crowd whispered questions among each other. The Voice spoke over them.
“Do you know the troubles of magic?”
“Yeah,” said Romney, “kinda. You don’t want to overuse magic or abuse its power, unless you’re okay with letting the world fall apart. It stops the natural world to perform the impossible. Kinda like damming a river, I guess. If you keep stopping it, you risk causing a flood. But most people don’t understand that, and so they keep using magic over and over again. They don’t understand what they’re doing. The world needs to flow to work.”
The unseen crowd listened raptly as Romney expounded on his explanation. These were the troubles of magic, as far as he understood them. There was the sound of grinding gears whenever someone used an enchanted artifact, and that was kind of like the pressures of a current against the dam. And then there was the vision of blue fire enveloping the landscape; that was the dam bursting and flooding everything downstream. There was also the whole idea of abusing a good thing like magic, which was like beavers succumbing to dam-lust, building more and more dams until the river was hardly a trickle at the end. The world was once trusted with magic because Katrese thought they could find a balance on their own. But they couldn’t. And everything they did, no matter how noble, came at a tremendous cost.
When he finished, it took the Voice a long beat to respond.
“Wow,” said the Voice. “That makes a lot of sense.”
“She’s pretty vague when she explains it,” said Romney
There was the sound of unseen feet shuffling, followed by a staggered chorus of uncomfortable coughs.
“No,” the Voice stammered, “not really. I thought she did a good job. I understood her perfectly.”
The air sizzled as hidden eyes swiveled to a spot at the center of the room. Two disembodied chuckles echoed at opposite corners of the room. Another voice spoke softly near Romney’s ear.
“Well, if we’re being honest here, she does tend to ramble.”
“I’ve spent centuries in this place,” chimed another. “And that is the best I’ve heard.”
“You can hear them.”
Romney noticed Victoria for the first time. The gathering in the darkness had made it difficult to sense anyone’s approach. Cora was still standing by the corridor, flashlight pointed on the group.
“Come on, Ty.”
Tykeso didn’t move. He was frozen just behind Victoria, his hands gripping her shoulders. His face was ashen.
“Can they hear us?”
“Okay,” said Cora, “fine. Great. Whe
n you three are done with this shared delusion, I’ll be in the antechamber.”
“Who is el guapo?”
Romney could just barely hear Cora’s footfalls moving down the corridor. His focused had returned to the shadows.
“Sorry, what?”
“Silence, Elvira.”
“We will meet your friends in time,” said the Voice, “and your rude friend too. She will know us. Only those who stand in the brazier will hear our words as their own, but know that we are always watching you. Wherever you go within this temple, we will see you. These are old magics, and they are powerful.”
“Hang on,” said Romney. “So, you people are using heavy magic and none of you are worried that the world is going to implode? She covered that part, right?”
“The goddess built this place and the magics that hold it together,” explained a voice from the center of the crowd. “Only the goddess knows the true balance. Only she can understand its myriad facets.”
“Mama Katresa weaves the magic and makes it balanced,” exclaimed another. “We only know how to use it.”
“She is the river and we are mere spigots for her waters.”
Another chuckle rumbled along the edge of the room. It fell silent.
“Everyone stop,” roared the Voice. “We all agreed that I would do the talking. Now, can we please get back to the introduction?”
“And how does it always seem to be you, Reysa? How do we always end up voting for you?”
“Maybe because I have a strong and eloquent voice.”
“Girls,” said a matronly voice from the rear, “not now.”
“They sound angry,” said Tykeso, from the safety of Victoria. “What are they saying?”
“They’re probably sidetracked again.”
“Unless there are any more comments about my being speaker, I would like to continue with the introduction. Without distractions.”
“These are the souls of every priestess and pharaoh who has ever served the goddess and Andar,” said Victoria, inadvertently stepping on the Voice’s next question.