“That’s enough,” he said. There was no tolerance in his voice. Holly gave the guard a handful to mind, but he rough-handled her into submission.
Daring the sword, I slowly stood up and took a step towards him. The guard waved his weapon at me in warning. I don’t think he wanted to hurt us, but I saw in his eyes it was not beyond him.
I unsheathed my stone and concentrated on the chain of thoughts needed to initiate it: my thirst for Holly’s freedom, my hope for our escape from this horrible place. Then I imagined Taradin’s lifeless body rotting away in the bog, back where it belonged. A dazzling flash issued from the stone. Clandt closed his eyes and looked away, but too late. Holly, unfortunately, also had her eyes on me at the exact wrong moment. If only I could have warned her.
In the aftermath of the blinding burst of light, I ran and grabbed Holly’s hand. Neither of them could see, but Clandt would not let go. He and I immediately became embroiled in a desperate tug-of-war.
“Stay right where you are,” commanded the guard, waving his sword dangerously.
At that moment, remarkably, the door to Taradin’s chamber warped to let him pass. The solid stone slab bowed like a lithe young twig. I could hardly believe my eyes. Half a moment later, the corpse-like figure stood in front of the doorway.
“Honor your deal,” he scolded, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You have lost everything… you are both mine, now.”
“Never!” I said, and pulled harder. Clandt gave Holly a forceful tug back. Her hand slipped out of mine and I fell backwards.
Holly, in turn, fought harder to get free. “No,” she grunted, clawing and kicking and twisting and biting. She was getting the better of him. “Let me go!” Holly elbowed Clandt in the groin and broke free. She was as blind as he was from the flash though, and the slope of the floor tripped her up. She stumbled and fell.
“Holly,” I called out. “This way!”
She scrambled to her feet, as did I. She seemed confused though, waving her arms and stumbling.
“Nud?” she said.
At that moment, something changed. I noted Taradin manipulating his scepter. “Very well then, Leatherleaf,” were his words.
The floor beneath my very feet completely changed. It became as slippery as oil, but still dry. Up the slope, where Holly and Clandt stood, the floor remained the same. I began to slide down the hall. I fell on my chest and scrambled on all fours to slow my descent, to no avail. I simply could not dig in or find any kind of hold on the smooth surface. In my frenzy, the discarded cloak became bunched up at my feet as I slid. Down I went into the unlit portions of the corridor. Clandt reached out and grabbed Holly before she could get away from him.
“Holly!” I called out. She grunted in frustration at her captor.
“Take the girl to the holding cells,” I heard Taradin say to Clandt, “and send someone to retrieve the diplomat from the ‘Catcher’… if he survives.”
The Catcher?
Sliding faster and faster, I spun round to face in the direction of motion. I brightened my stone. A huge gaping maw was at the end of the hallway – the skull of some great beast. It was a trap and I was rushing straight for it. Directly to the right of the maw, I glimpsed an open hallway. In desperation, I pulled the cloak from around my legs. I pushed myself up into a crouched position and tossed the hood at an unlit wall sconce near the side tunnel. It caught. I heard an awful tear. Holding tight, my momentum swung me around, the hood acting as my pivot. The fullness of my inertia sent me crashing against the wall, just right of the huge skull. Battered and bruised, I scrambled into the connecting passage. It was level and not slippery.
“What… How?” I heard from above. It was Taradin’s voice.
“He hooked into the tunnel.” That was Clandt.
I glanced over to the gaping maw. As I suspected, it was a pit trap. Shining the light a little brighter, I saw deadly spikes at the bottom, long and razor sharp.
I turned to look up the sloped corridor, to Holly. Clandt had a strong hold on her and appeared to be tying her hands. I noted the two Red Maidens rushing towards the scene from their stations above ground, and more tower guards behind them.
“Run, Nud, RUN!” Holly screamed, still struggling to free herself. She had no hope of doing so, really, and I had no hope of reaching her – I could not climb a frictionless slope. She was right. Her words came in desperation, her advice the only way out of this mess.
“I’ll come back for you,” I promised. “The Trilands, Gan, even Fort Abandon… none of them will stand for this!”
“Go!” she yelled, just before being muffled.
A pang of guilt hit me as I unhooked Holly’s cloak from the wall sconce. The face on the sconce bore a horrified look, with the unlit torch set like a spike through its skull. If anything unbearable were to happen to Holly… if harmed in any way whatsoever, I would never forgive myself. Kabor and I had been adequately provided for during our brief incarceration and were treated civilly. I could only hope that Harrow would extend the same level of decency to her, and for that matter, to Bobbin and Gariff as well… until I got help. Real help.
The walls morphed again. A thousand eyes stared out from them. They all focused on me.
A terrible, yet familiar voice arose. I sheathed the stone and peered back around the corner to confirm my suspicions. Clandt had hold of Holly. She was terrified. And yes, there were others. I jerked back quickly and flattened my palms against the wall.
Damn! Wraiths!… The slave master.
At least two, maybe four of the foul creatures were present.
The next words were faint, but audible. “He’s long gone by now,” said someone – it didn’t sound like Clandt. “Pips are fast little creatures…”
I couldn’t hear all of it.
“He won’t get far,” another seemed to say.
I looked to them again. The wall across from Taradin lit up.
“No, fools,” he said. “Behold! Leatherleaf is still watching us!”
In the distance, I saw images of myself from many angles, projected onto the wall in front of them.
The eyes… of course!
I pulled back and wrapped Holly’s cloak over me, torn and stretched out of shape as it was. I donned the hood and glanced back again, and saw that I had completely vanished from their view. I rekindled the bog stone and turned my attention to the passage ahead. When satisfied that I had it memorized the course as far as I could see, I sheathed the stone once more and, with a heavy chest, made my way along the corridor at a measured pace.
Bleary eyed, I mentally focused on my escape route. When I reached the limits of what I had seen and memorized, I flashed the stone again, briefly, to see what lay ahead. Every time I did, I noted the wall’s searching eyes honing in on my position.
It was stupid to come here, came the first wave of self-loathing. It was stupid to bring Holly, came the next. We should be safe right now, far away. We should be in Webfoot. Someone else – other than me – should be planning Bobbin and Gariff’s rescue right now, and saving the bog for that matter. I didn’t want to think about the consequences. Why can’t he just die already? If anything happens…
“You’ll wish you’d stayed dead,” I said aloud. That was the last thing I said in the dark, for fear the walls had ears as well as eyes.
Padding softly, I kept to the main tunnels and avoided the lesser ones where possible, navigating several divides in the hallways and passing many closed doors. Despite my maneuvering, every so often I could hear faint voices from behind, or footsteps, or clanging metal echoing down the hallway. I’m being tracked. The time had come to start exploring alternatives. The last flash had revealed something… something familiar. But I had to be sure.
I stopped and urged the light to a heightened brightness. A thousand eyes on the wall glared at me, instantly. I accepted the risk and carefully scanned the hallway. Yes… yes… I remember this place, I told myself. Taradin might know exactly where I was, but for th
e last time. I wrapped the stone in its leather sheath, took a long minute to focus my thoughts – on the verge of recall – and then continued on my way. In my mind’s eye, I saw the tunnel as I had traversed it before, when led by the party of Glooms from the forbidden mine tunnels.
I walked a long way in silence and without any light to guide me. Every so often, I would stop to feel along a wall for a particular doorway, so as to recalibrate my position. I met not a soul wandering through the Catacombs as such. Eventually, I came upon an area that I remembered contained a particular room with Glooms working inside. I checked the door latch when I got to it. It was locked and no noises issued from within. I checked door after door. Half a dozen locked ones later I came upon a thick metal door, slightly ajar. Beyond, only darkness. A conversation of soft clicks and hushed trills filtered into the hallway, along with light sounds of metal clinking on metal. I opened the door just enough to squeeze through, quietly.
I uncovered the tiniest bit of the bog stone and directed a beam of light into the room, hoping that none spilled out. Smooth blocks formed the walls and overall, the room had an infirmary’s sterile air to it, as well as that same sense of operational efficiency. Six Glooms worked together at two long, metal tables, busy with small implements and chattering away to one another. They wore the same drab robes as those in the mine. The room was “eyeless,” so to speak, both on the walls and otherwise. Softly, I shut the door behind me.
I recognized one of the Il’kinik from the group I had met near the “Spears of the Gods” cave. The one with the spotted head.
The space was cramped for all of the equipment present and activity within. Liquids and powders in glass containers with embossed markings occupied a short table near to the door, while a similar table held metallic cutting and hooking tools carefully laid out over a white cloth. On yet another stood a washbasin. Unhindered, the Glooms managed to work together flawlessly as one extended body, exchanging tools and coordinating tasks with the utmost grace. The long, metal tables occupied the centre of the room, bearing incised cadavers – the focus of the workers’ attention. The Bound Ones appeared to be so pre-occupied with their work, I doubted they would even notice if I walked right up to them.
With all their chirrs and clicks, the Glooms paid no heed to the silent Pip in their midst. I cannot wander these all-seeing halls forever, I decided. Eventually, someone will find me. And so I set the bar lock down on the door without a sound, and then sized-up the room for hiding places. I couldn’t imagine that Taradin’s wraiths or guards would ever suspect that I was hiding among their own workers.
Compartments along the side walls appeared to hold the most promise for concealment, opening at about table height with doors hinged from above. Only two doors were up at the moment, held so by red, rusty chains fixed to iron rings in the ceiling. They opened into cavities conveniently sized to fit a man lying on his back – quarters for the deceased – and a little on the large side for a normal man, probably to accommodate the local half-giant sorts as well.
I treaded softly to the nearest compartment. Halfway there, one of the workers stopped what he was doing. He held his head up from the table he was working at, mouth clicking and ears twitching. He turned his head and honed in on my presence, then erupted in a chittering blast. They all turned to “look.”
I immediately approached the familiar looking Gloom. “SHHH,” I said. “Please help. Wraiths are coming. You know what they’ll do to me.”
A second worker exchanged a blast of rapid clicks with the first, flailing his arms and stomping his feet before sending a razor sharp trill my way. My Gloom friend, clearly defending me, raised his hand and pointed at me.
“I-so-to-pia?” he pronounced cautiously. He said it like a question. Others turned to one another to nod and click. The Gloom stood there gaping at me in anticipation. Stringy, grey hair fell in thin strands over his face; a thin veil to obscure the empty eye sockets and all but the tip of one ear. The other ear was either malformed or missing altogether. On top, he was bald and spotted with black dots, making the crown of his head appear much like an oversized raven’s egg.
I nodded dumbly, eager to agree to any terms in exchange for safety. “Yes… Isotopia.”
A hard knock to my head from behind sent me reeling. I looked up… from down on the floor. How did I fall? My head throbbed with pain. The room had erupted into chaos, ear-piercing screeches, forceful grunts, pushes, shoves, punches and kicks.
“Stop! They’ll hear,” I said. No one listened.
I reached behind to feel the back of my head. It was wet.
Slowly, I rolled over from my back to my front. I tried to get up. Gloom legs were everywhere pushing, kicking, bracing and struggling. I received a sharp kick to the ribs that sent me back down. Tables were knocked, metal implements clanged, glass fell and shattered.
Wraiths could be along any moment, I worried. I scrambled to my knees, head throbbing in pain. As I gathered the strength to stand, another glass container was knocked over in the scuffle. It landed beside me and broke, spewing its contents. Fumes rose. They had a familiar tang to them. The slavers. Everything went fuzzy, then dark…
*
I came to in utter darkness, lying on my side over cold stone and stuffed into a corner. The air was heavy and pungent, the smell of death all around. It was even worse than the smell of Taradin himself. I had no idea how much time had passed. In the haze of early wakefulness, I wondered where I might be and what possibly could smell so terrible.
The rise and fall of Il’kinik conversation drifted to my ears, muffled and hollow sounding. They were being civil to one another again, by the sounds of it, and going about their usual business. Cautiously with my palms, I felt out the area above me – bare stone. The smell was awful. I reached to my side… something soft on my fingertips… hair. I reached a little farther… supple… skin… someone’s scalp! I retracted sharply. I was with company.
The Gloom chatter suddenly ceased, like crickets disturbed in the night. I pricked my ears. There was a pounding at the main door. A harsh voice followed. “Open up!” the voice commanded. A long pause followed, then some shuffling. The latch clicked. It could only be a wraith.
My body tensed. I was trapped.
Indeed, a wraith’s voice, now from inside the room, lashed out rabidly at the Bound Ones.
“Where is the Outlander?” he said. “You are hiding that pitiful thing, aren’t you? I’ll tear out your tongues and trim the ears off of your ugly heads if you lie to me.”
I’m sure the Glooms did not know they were ugly. They kept their silence.
The mess, I thought. They’ll be suspicious of the mess.
“Search everything!” said the wraith. “If any of these retched Gropers tries to escape, feed him to the rats in thirty pieces!”
Guards with heavy footsteps and strong voices – male and female – stormed into the room. A table was overturned and the glass containers it held smashed to the floor. The contents of drawers spilled out with a clatter. Tools and implements clattered and clanged as they fell. One by one, the cavity doors creaked open and the holdings searched. I prepared the cloak, ducked behind the cadaver, and melded into the back corner as much as I could. I worried deeply about the cloak’s integrity, given the abuse it had taken.
I barely heard the wraith’s soft footsteps when he approached. I dared to peek through a slight opening in the hood, and saw the thing’s black-robed arm. I hid my eyes, and did not stir or breathe. The wraith took his time at my compartment. A lone fingernail, claw-like, scraped along the stone surface of the opening. He grasped the cadaver and tugged at it. His breathing was quick and laborious, and he sniffed the air like a wild animal.
With an unsatisfied grunt, the wraith slammed the door shut, hooked it in, and moved on to the next compartment. After many long minutes, when the search had been completed, there was dissatisfaction and commotion in the air.
“Where are they?” asked one of the wraiths.
“We saw him enter. He must be here! Search everything again!”
I was sure they would find something suspicious this time. Taradin’s dark servants interrogated the Glooms. Someone will break, I thought. How could they not?
This time, the cadavers were pulled out and examined, and the compartments thoroughly poked and prodded. When my turn came, a guard crawled in halfway, reached out and poked the sides and back of the compartment with his sword. For a moment, another guard interrupted, and while he was occupied I rolled into a space he had already tested. When he resumed, he poked where I had been and missed me entirely.
Unable to locate the small Pip tucked away with the dead, and after much cursing, searching and interrogating, the wraiths and the guards simply gave up.
“He must not have come in,” said a tower guard.
“Perhaps the Gropers created the flash without knowing it,” offered a Red Maiden. “They can’t see a thing.”
“That’s probably it,” said her cohort. “A false alarm. We see it happen from time to time when they work the burners.”
Taradin’s men stood waiting, silent, while the lead wraith made his final threats to the frightened Glooms. In a show of the utmost bravery and conviction, the Bound Ones held their tongues.
The wraiths left cursing; the guards left in silence.
Later that day, dogs barked in the distance. The door remained shut. No one else entered the room.
Heaven, to those underground dwellers who call themselves the Il’kinik, is purely metallic and situated somewhere beyond the reachable depths. In the beginning, there was only Hell – the surface world – and the protection of the rock ceiling was absent. Fire from above burned down through thin air.
It is said that, long ago, the fire in the sky became so hot that it burned off the eyes of the original Earth Born, and would have charred their bodies wholly had Kechekenibek not built chambers of rock for them to withdraw to, set with cool waters to quench the flames.
SPARX Incarnation: Order of the Undying (SPARX Series I Book 2) Page 20