The Delving

by Aaron Bunce

  It doesn’t feel right, but I have to, child. I need to find Gor a truly remarkable relic, something that will win us all favor, so we can all walk out of here alive. Maybe…he thought, desperately clinging to hope, with a little something in my pocket with which to feed my family.

  Thorben curled his finger back under the root and pulled. The greasy wood stretched from the pressure, but resisted. He looped another finger in the gap between stone and wood, braced his other hand on the sarcophagus for leverage, and pulled with all of his strength. Crackling, snapping, and finally popping, the root gave way. The fibers broke, the reddish sap spattering large droplets over the stone.

  “See…it is just a plant,” he said, drawing her gaze back to the stone. A strange, grotesque, and horrifically smelling plant, he added silently, and motioned her forward.

  “Let’s break these and see what is inside...for your father. We’ll take what we can carry and leave straight away to find the others,” he said to Jez. The girl stepped forward tentatively, her arms not pulling away from her body.

  “This is the way we keep father safe…keep us all safe,” Jez said quietly, as if talking herself up to the task.

  Thorben quickly moved to the next strand, Jez finally unwrapping and moving in to help. He hoped desperately that he was right…nothing had gone as he’d expected so far, the last thing he needed was more surprises.

  Jez hooked a finger into one of the roots and started to pull, her arms shaking visibly with the effort. Thorben took hold on a thicker stem, a violent tug breaking the root and tearing away a bit of stone in the process. He moved on to the next, rubbing the strange, sickly sap between his fingers. There was something about the plant – beyond its greasy, stringy texture and foul odor. It was the way it pulled apart. It reminded him more of cutting tendons and sinew when butchering a kill, than snapping wood.

  The sickly sweet smell intensified as the next root broke. Jez finally managed to snap one, almost falling back in the process. Thorben reached for the last root on his side, his fingers now completely coated with the stinking fluid. He pried the root up, the wood snapping free from the stone. One full side of the rectangular box was now free from the brambles, its sap running like dark blood down the gray stone.

  Thorben hooked his fingers under the lip and gave it an exploratory tug. The slab broke free from the base, bits of dust and rock rattling into the leafy groundcover. Something stretched, refusing to let the slab come free.

  “What’s the matter?” Jez asked.

  “In some burials, the lids were mortared into place. That isn’t the case here, but there is something…something we can’t see holding the lid in place. I just need a moment to look,” he said, trying to wipe the sticky mess on his pants.

  Jez broke another root, nodding quietly, visibly cold and uncomfortable. Thorben followed suit, snapping a few small strands in quick order before his hands crawled over something far larger. He ducked down next to the sarcophagus, the painfully cold mist bubbling and drifting up over his knees and thighs.

  The shadows were heaviest on this side of the burial, the ring of trees scattering the haunting, orange light in a confusing dance of light and dark. Thorben discovered a thick, coiling bramble growing out of the mist, the greasy wood creeping up the side before disappearing through a surprisingly clean hole in the stone. It didn’t feel broken or chipped, but smooth and purposeful, as if it had been carefully drilled through the rock.

  “The plant is growing through a hole in the side of the…box. I think…maybe it has grown up and onto the bottom of the slab,” he grunted, his hands scrabbling over the dark stone.

  Thorben followed a dozen smaller stems growing off the main root, the offshoots all curling up and worming their way into the stone lid. He tried to wedge his fingers between the large root and the stone, but it was too strongly affixed. The smaller branches were tighter yet, affording him no leverage to pull.

  Shaking and teeth chattering, Thorben reached for the rock hammer on his belt, but stopped and cursed his forgetfulness. You really have slipped, Thorben, he thought and pulled open the flap to his bag, and fished out the small knife.

  “You’re taking so long, and it’s not getting any warmer in here. Let me try and lift it. I’m stronger than I look.”

  He heard the girl wrenching on the solid piece of stone, granite grating against granite as the slab shifted ever so slightly. Thorben wedged the knife between the stone and the first small root, the blade sliding easily through the stringy fiber. He ran the knife down the stone, cutting the remaining smaller stems in a single, strong swipe.

  “Hold on for one moment, I am going to cut the large root. Then we will try it again,” he said, as Jez stopped trying to shift the stone. She settled somewhere over his shoulder, watching, grumbling quietly.

  No, Thorben, he thought, answering his own unasked question. He’d never had to work so hard to break into a sarcophagus before. Hells, some were already crumbling open when he found them. Thorben tried not to think about why this one was so different, but more troubling, why the disagreeable plant had grown all over and into the crypt.

  The knife bit into the thick root, the blade cutting easily through the greasy bark, but stopped, the meat of the stem evidently much harder than its exterior. He sawed at it for a moment, the blood-like sap seeping out and around the blade.

  “It’s too tough,” he grunted, putting all of his weight on the blade.

  “Let me try…”

  Thorben pulled the knife away, turned it flat, and wedged it between the root and the stone. The blade slid in with little resistance and he pried up, the wood popping, and with great satisfaction, starting to tear away from the stone. He jammed the knife in again, closer to the hole, and managed to pry the entire length of plant away.

  Jez moved in and took a hold on the plant, and together they pulled. A quick tug broke the plant free from the ground, the long, looping strand lifting into view from the mist. Thorben braced his foot against the sarcophagus and pulled hard. The plant resisted, but he could feel it tearing loose inside…from something.

  “It’s so greasy, I can’t get a good hold,” Jez said, pulling anyway.

  Thorben found a hold closer to the stone and they gave another great pull, his shoulders and side protesting. The plant snapped and creaked before unexpectedly tearing loose. They fell back, Thorben’s boot snagging and sending him tumbling to the ground. The thick mist enveloped him like icy water, but he managed to plant his feet and stand quickly, the thick root still in hand.

  “I got it!” he cried victoriously, shaking the troublesome plant in the air.

  “Finally! Let’s see if there is anything worth taking, so we can go find father,” Jez said, running back to the sarcophagus, and immediately putting her weight to the slab.

  “What is that?” Thorben whispered, his gaze dropping to the end of the dangling root. It branched into dozens of smaller, fingerlike growths, large clumps of something dry and stringy hanging at their ends, trapped and snarled in the bramble.

  “Is that leather…clothing maybe?” He pulled it closer to his face, but cringed. Long strands of wispy, white hair stuck out of the leathery clumps, pulpy chunks of desiccated muscle and fat clinging to the underside.

  “I think it’s…skin.” Why would the plant grow into someone’s flesh?

  “We’ve almost got…it. Are you going…to…help me? It’s so…heavy,” Jez grunted, her mouth screwing as she wrenched and shoved, fighting to move the massive stone.

  Thorben moved to drop the greasy plant just as it contracted violently in his hand, shriveling on itself. An eerie, green fog erupted out of the greasy bark, fizzling into the air as the root dried-up.

  “Hells,” he grunted and let go, the green mist filling the air around him. The strange fog rippled into a dense cloud, pooling around his right hand and the pulsing, green gem in his ring.

  “I think…I’ve almost got it.” He heard Jez, heard the stone grinding, sliding, sl
owing working its way free, but couldn’t see anything beyond the green cloud. Couldn’t she see it? Couldn’t she smell it?

  Panicking, Thorben jumped to the side, flicking his hands to clear away the fog. It burned his eyes, the overpowering odor of overly ripe fruit filling his nostrils. A flash of bright green light caught in his vision, the gem in the ring blazing to life. The strange, stinking fog swirled violently around his arm, his hand, and then abruptly disappeared into the glowing stone.

  “What…what was that?” he said, coughing and sputtering.

  “What was what?” Jez grunted, but her back was turned as she leveraged against the stone slab. “There…it’s moving. I got it!”

  Thorben saw the girl tip forward as the sarcophagus’s lid broke free and slid a handbreadth. He managed a single step in her direction, before the ring on his finger started to vibrate. The metal grew incredibly hot against his skin, just as a bright flash seared his eyes.

  “Goddess,” Thorben gasped and fell away from the burial, the sudden flash washing the dark chamber away, leaving a sea of brightly colored spots in its place.

  Jez cried out and he heard something fall to the ground, the dry bed of leaves crunching under the weight. There was something else there, too – a ringing, humming sound like struck metal.

  “So…cold…c-c-cold. I can’t see. P-p-pushed me…w-w-why did you push me?” Jez sputtered, her words barely intelligible.

  Thorben rubbed his eyes, cursed, and blinked rapidly. He felt the girl at his feet and blindly bent over and helped her to stand, lifting her out of the frigid mist. Jez fought him, her body shaking as she pushed away.

  “It wasn’t me, girl. It wasn’t me,” he whispered, his vision starting to return. The bright blobs of light faded, a dark circling closing in around them, the chamber’s misty gloom materializing slowly.

  Jez silently met his gaze, and together they turned back to the sarcophagus.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Reflections of Life

  “Mani flail me!” Thorben cursed, Jez’s cold hands latching painfully onto his arms. Tears filled his eyes, making his vision horribly blurry, but he could see well enough to identify the bright blob on top of the sarcophagus.

  He blinked and swiped a sleeve across his face. Still a bright, blurry blob. He blinked and swiped again. Less blurry. Then he saw it proper. It wasn’t just a ball of light, an indistinct cloud, or a floating, firefly-sized orb. It was a short, glowing man standing atop the stone box, his back turned to him.

  Not again, he thought.

  “W-w-who…w-w-what is that?” Jez muttered, shoving her body into him, pushing them both back. Thorben grabbed her arms, stilling her, and then lifted a shaking hand and pointed at the glowing figure.

  Jez nodded, her hands clamping around his wrists, her nails biting into his skin. The short, ghostly figure lifted his hands and arms, as if the sight of his own appendages was a surprise. He patted his chest, and then his short, but incredibly powerful-looking legs.

  “Not natural…not at all,” Thorben breathed, just as something moved inside the stone box. It was a quiet noise – a shuffling, creaking, shifting, like a loose floorboard or his wife’s old rocking chair on an exceptionally cold day. The glowing figure looked down, as if drawn to the sound.

  “Is there something moving in…there?” Jez moaned, and tried to tear free from his hold and run.

  The ghostly figure lifted his bare feet, noticing the sarcophagus for the first time. His dark, hollow eyes scanned the stone box, crawling over the broken strands of root, to Thorben’s knife sitting on the corner. He didn’t remember setting it down, or Jez taking it. Then the ghostly dwarf lifted his face, and looked directly at them.

  “No! It’s looking right at me…let me go!” Jez yelled, and twisted violently, her fingernails digging deep gouges into his flesh. The girl broke free, Thorben stumbling out of the way.

  The ghost studied him for a moment, his mouth screwing up under his bushy beard, but turned back to the sarcophagus when something scraped against the inside of the stone box – something dry and hard, taping and scratching against the underside of the stone lid.

  “This is…impossible. Mani, tell me this is impossible,” Thorben mumbled, finally managing to blink and move his feet. The dweorg’s head snapped back around, his face seemingly clarifying with each passing heartbeat. His eyebrows grew, long eyelashes sprouting as shining eyes appeared out of the hollow pits. The mass of beard straightened, the unruly tufts pulling together as large, shiny rings appeared. Several decorative studs appeared on his left cheek, glimmering gems affixed to their ends.

  Thorben shook his head, trying to deny the truth of it, but the dwarf jumped down off the sarcophagus, his feet landing in the misty leaves without a sound. His form continued to change, defining shape and clarity, silken shirt and robes appearing over his naked form, bauble-laden necklaces and scarves encircling his neck. The dweorg lifted his hands, his mouth opening as if trying to speak, but couldn’t seem to find voice. Thorben could smell him, too, the smell of ripe fruit growing stronger by the moment.

  He took a halting step back, his mind screaming at him to run, but his legs refused. He wasn’t just seeing a gods’ honest spirit, a dead dwarf no less, but the dwarf he found seated in the chair by the entrance to the crypt. He was sure of it. It had to be.

  The dwarf tried to speak again, a haunting, eerie noise filling the air. Thorben managed another step back, a strangled cry building in his chest. The dweorg took a step towards him and looked down, his eyes falling on Thorben’s hand, and the ring. The square gem glowed with a healthy light, pulsing in time with the jeweled studs adorning the ghost’s face.

  The dwarf opened his mouth in a mournful cry, the sound broken and distant. He pointed a single finger at Thorben’s hand and spun, gesturing back towards the sarcophagus. Somewhere beneath the strange, haunting cry, he thought he heard the scrabbling scritch scratch scritch of fingernails scraping against stone.

  “No, no, no,” he muttered, and finally broke free from fear’s snare. He lurched back, stumbled on the covered roots in his haste, caught his balance and turned, moving away from the casket. A horrible shiver ran up his back as he turned away from the dweorg, but couldn’t bear to stop.

  “Just run…just run and don’t look. Never look,” he whispered, the cold mist obscuring the ground at his feet.

  Jez ran somewhere ahead. He could hear her moving, hear her frantic, almost strangled cries, but couldn’t see her. Thorben barreled haphazardly through the ring of thorny trees, almost impaling himself on the barbs in the process. The spines snagged his jacket and arms instead, tearing the remnant of his already tattered garment off in the process.

  Free of the trees, Thorben picked up speed. He ran, stumbled, caught his balance and continued. The back of the cavern appeared, a lantern throwing the natural cave wall into deep relief. Thorben turned, despite every ounce of his resolve telling him not to. The dweorg was there, moving silently through the trees, his legs from the knee down simply melting into the thick mist.

  “Leave me be! Be gone, spirit,” he yelled, and surprisingly, it stopped. Thorben turned to find Jez standing just ahead, slumped over and heaving for breath. She spotted him, straightened, look past him, and frantically motioned for him to hurry.

  “Hurry. It’s behind you,” she cried out. “Hurry.”

  Thorben pumped his legs, his side aching, and stumbled up to Jez. She stood in the mouth to what looked like a side chamber, thick stalactites hanging from the ceiling in the opening, reaching like teeth down to chest-level.

  “I t-t-thought you were just trying to scare Gor and the others. I thought you were just going to scare us! Why didn’t you tell me?” Jez cried as he approached, her face bleached of almost all color.

  “It was the…the. I didn’t…I was just telling a story,” Thorben stammered, trying to find the words.

  He stopped and sputtered, heaving to catch his breath. The chamber curved back aro
und to their left before them, the gently sloping wall leading right back to the distant statue, the door still frustratingly closed behind her.

  “What will it do to us? Oh, gods, what will it do?” Jez ducked around him, her eyes going wider, what remained of her color draining away.

  She saw it. Jez actually saw it and not just a spot of floating light in the air, or a reflection on a wall. She saw the dweorg’s spirit. A little while ago that would have been the most wonderful revelation. At least he would have known that he wasn’t crazy, but now…

  He turned and found the dweorg still moving toward them, but not quickly. Hells, the short, glowing figure was walking along casually, as if out for a stroll.

  “I don’t know what it will do to us. I don’t know if it can.” Thorben turned back to the girl, frantically picking through the piles of useless information in his mind. Nothing seemed to help…he’d never actually seen a spirit before, not in all his many delves.

  “Come along then. Please. I hear something in this cavern…”

  “Hear what?” he asked, grasping her arms and pulling her firmly aside. Thorben turned his head at the mouth of the cave, listening to the darkness. There was something there, but it wasn’t what he’d feared. It wasn’t the skittering, scratching in the sarcophagus. It was a gentle rush of air, like a gentle river breeze, with something else…something quiet just beyond audibility. There weren’t any lanterns visible in the cave. It was dark. No, frighteningly dark.

  “It’s better than standing here…” he said, but Jez stiffened next to him.

  “Thorben!” she croaked, and violently ripped at his arm, tugging him towards the dark cave. He staggered forward and turned. The dweorg was standing just a few paces away, practically right on top of them. The ghostly figure lifted an arm and pointed back towards the sarcophagus, his mouth falling open. It wasn’t words, but a wail – a horrible, bone-chilling cry. The ring buzzed against his finger, the metal growing hot.