by Jack Conner
“Never go anywhere without ‘em,” Janx said, patting a pocket.
“Good. Place them where you can reach them after they manacle our hands.”
Janx frowned, studying a group of sacrifices being led across a bridge, then shook his head. “If they search us like they just searched that fella, they’d find a mole outta place. Not even my picks would make it through—an’ they don’t take up much space, believe me.”
Avery’s eyes fell on Hildebrand.
“Fine,” he said. “Then here’s what we’ll do ...” Quickly he whispered to them, and they stared at him in horror.
“You’re mad,” Janx said.
“It’s the only way.”
Reluctantly, they did as he’d suggested, and none too soon. The priests that had taken Avery and the others captive suddenly shook themselves.
“The Great One wanted them placed with the sacrifices,” the lead priest said. “Let us take them.”
Chapter 10
The shackles bit into Avery’s wrists. One of his hairs had been caught when the temple guards snapped it shut, and as more of them prodded him from behind it pinched and pulled. Gritting his teeth, he twisted the hand, and the hair pulled taught, then tore out by the root. Sharp pain came, then relief.
The guards prodded him, Janx and Hildra over a swaying wood-and-rope bridge toward the Temple. Almost directly below, Uthua held court over the Octunggen. Sheridan appeared relaxed and composed as several of her number played strange silver pipes for the amusement or veneration of the Mnuthra. The fish-man looked pleased, perched on an odd metal throne that resembled a trident. Other chairs had been carried up through the trapdoors, and several of the Octunggen delegation sat on them as they played their instruments. Sheridan remained standing. Soon, Avery could feel it, the Elder would arrive. The very air was pregnant with it.
Meanwhile nobles from the city herded droves of captives over the three equidistant bridges that led to the Temple. Uthua noticed, and he could be seen giving a single nod to each patriarch or matriarch that brought his priests sacrifices. They were safe from extermination, it seemed, at least for the moment.
Janx and Hildra cursed and grumbled behind Avery, Hildra loudest of all. The leader of the priests had hit and kicked Hildebrand, sending the monkey away from his mistress. The last Avery had seen of the animal he had been huddling on a nearby stalactite, chittering and hurling feces at the priests.
“Bastards!” Hildra said. “You’ll regret this. I’ll make sure of it!”
The priests ignored her.
The grand façade of the Temple drew nearer, and Avery marveled at the structure. It had been carved out of a massive stalactite, but one would never have known it, so skillfully was it done. Its architecture rivaled any Avery had ever seen, and he felt nauseous to see its towers plunging straight down, each shaped something like a narrow stalactite. Its great stained-glass windows were set within layers of molding, and crenellations and bas-reliefs and fish-finned gargoyles adorned every inch of it. The Temple seemed slightly purple, slightly gray, and Avery supposed it had been alchemically stained. In any case, the fantastic purplish towers stretched away below, half vanishing in the mist, half framing the Arena, where Uthua, Sheridan and the Octunggen could still be seen waiting. Avery pictured the vast Over-City pulling into position in the skies above, drawn by some homing beacon in the dirigibles.
As if the thought was a cue, suddenly there came a great rumble, a huge earthen roar, and all heads glanced in the direction of the sea. Avery saw a shaft of sunlight break through far away, and then he heard a huge splash that must have been tons of rock and earth falling into the water. Many of the citizens of Cuithril screamed, but most just drew away.
A huge dark shape lowered through the opening, dust swirling around it. Avery wanted to stop and stare, but after a moment the guards shoved him forward. Between shoves, Avery peeked.
It was a zeppelin, massive and unwieldy, almost ridiculous in the tight spaces it found itself. Bloated and slow, but moving with eerie grace and majesty, the great airship sailed above the underground sea, threading through drooping stalactites, sometimes actually scraping off them with little explosions of dust. Relentless, indomitable, like an oversized worm wriggling through the earth, it plowed for the city.
Many of the citizens of Cuithril fell to their knees and prostrated themselves before it, and Avery didn’t have to wonder why. The Elder is aboard. Damn it all, it’s the Elder.
Below, Sheridan turned and watched it come in. Avery could only see the back of her head. Part of him thought, Ani. A pain burned in his chest. He tried to will it away, but it remained, and his head felt full of cotton.
As he and the others reached the Temple, the distracted priests accepted charge of them, while more priests searched them (these less distracted and annoyingly thorough), and began to lead them in.
Below, Uthua gazed at the approaching zeppelin, all his attention fixed on it. Sheridan said something, he nodded, and she called several of her troops over. Together they began to board a dirigible. There was some delay, however, as the priests were too preoccupied to cast them off, and it appeared that they might have to wait for the Elder to arrive.
Other priests led Avery, Janx and Hildra into the Temple, down high, cold halls of the same purple-gray as the exterior. Fantastic chandeliers hung from the ceilings, and their glittering light sparkled off walls which undulated like waves on the sea. Indeed, the whole place gave off an aquatic feel, and Avery half expected to hear the groaning of whale songs echo down the corridors. The light danced on the walls like the dapple of sunlight on the surface of the ocean.
If Avery was grateful for anything, it was that Uthua’s priests here practiced much better hygiene than their counterparts in the ngvandi city. Not only did they smell better, but their robes were made of cloth, not human skin. For all that, they were equally as terrifying.
They led Avery, Janx and Hildra down twisting halls toward what sounded like ... yes, it was singing, but in no language Avery knew. The singing swelled in the direction the priests led, then swelled some more. At last the priests ushered them through a fantastic archway and into what Avery could only think of as the Altar Room.
“Holy shit,” Hildra said.
It was a great, cavernous chamber, the walls far apart and arcing gradually upward, like cresting waves. The sound of rushing water filled the room, and to Avery’s surprise four waterfalls, perhaps channeled from underground springs, gushed from high up on the walls to pour into bubbling basins. The basins overflowed into channels that ran to grottoes and streamlets, connected with the other basins, creating a sort of circular perimeter to the room, then curling inwards. Avery and the others were obliged to step over a bridge as they entered, then another. Bodies choked the riverways—mutants, hundreds of them, butchered and defiled, parts of them eaten away as if by acid, others torn apart as if in fits of madness. The salty stench of rot filled the chamber. In the center of it all stood a raised dais, mounted on a series of tiered daises, each smaller than the one supporting it. Sloping rampways led up to the altar—or Altar, Avery supposed—at the peak of the dais pyramid, black and glistening. Bodies littered it as well, heaped and scattered. Blood coated it, running in tacky streams from its sides. Around the Altar, priests knelt and sang.
But that was not the end of the spectacle. Wires ran from the Altar, strange crackling wires threading between singing priests to bulky, odd-looking machinery that surrounded the Altar in a rough circle. The machines looked like metal carapaces of prehistoric creatures, and some flickered with lights. Around them the air seemed to blur. Avery remembered that the god-emperors and their priests had forgotten how to properly use their altars, so it made sense that this one did not function as well as it should, though the priests of the Underworld appeared to know the old ways better than the ones above. Uthua seemed to be leading an effort to, through the machines, correct and augment the Altar, to enable it to commune with the priests’ god
s, just like the Father of their Fathers had once done. Just like the ngvandi had done in their nameless city. Some sort of energy radiated off the Altar, and Avery’s hairs stood up along his arms and the back of his neck, and he could feel the electricity on his tongue and eyes, even his balls. But there was more to it than electricity. He felt as if the world had shifted subtly, as if perhaps a gateway had been opened. A gateway ... to elsewhere.
But what truly shocked him was Layanna. She overhung the Altar, encased in a glowing yellowish gel that filled a cell of some kind, what looked like thick glass with bands of brass holding it together, a type of aquarium prison that sprouted like a multi-faceted, upside-down blister from the ceiling. She floated in the midst of the gel, completely naked, her head thrown back, her mouth opened in a scream, though Avery could hear no sound. Pain filled her face, and her other-worldly self, or pieces of it, churned the liquid around her. Pinkish tentacles smashed against the glass. Flagella, pulsing with light, stabbed at the brass bands.
To no avail. She was securely locked in. Wires and hoses ran from her cell directly down to the great, sinister machines that ringed the Altar, and Avery had to wonder if she were connected to it somehow. That’s what they had come for, for her to communicate through the Altar, but her prison apparently prevented her from having any liberty in the matter. It could commune with her, but she couldn’t commune with it.
Hitching posts and rails stood throughout the room. They looked newly installed, the posts mounted in holes crudely bored through the rock. Hundreds of prisoners had been chained to these stations, all pressed tightly against each other. Some looked as if they had just arrived, and they were fully clothed and showed fewer signs of having been beaten. Those who had been here longer were a ragged lot, horror stamped on their faces and bodies.
Priests trickled throughout the room, tending to the machines and sacrifices. The ones herding Avery, Janx and Hildra led them over to a stretch of railing already occupied by teems of captives. The priests shoved and whipped those already there until a space opened, then snapped the manacles of Avery’s hands around the rail, then Janx’s, and finally Hildra’s—both wrists, at least. The priests had had a tin can mounted over her hook and tied about her left wrist, rendering the hook harmless. They hadn’t done anything about her tongue, though, and she cursed them soundly as they locked her to the rail.
The lead priest seemed immune to her threats. In a voice of disdain, he said, “I wouldn’t be so haughty, girl. You lot aren’t even blessed. You’re practically worthless to the Master.”
“If you mean infected, that’s just fine by me,” she said.
“You will have to partake of the holy flesh,” the priest continued, which Avery took to mean the priests would have to cram their mouths with diseased food before they would make worthy sacrifices.
The cleric started to go, but Avery said, “What are you doing with her?” He indicated Layanna.
The priest paused, as if unsure whether to waste words on one such as Avery, but the opportunity to gush was evidently too great to pass up. “She’s the key,” he said. “She will win the war for us. It’s almost done. We should have the information directly. We already have part of it. We’ve just succeeded in extracting the location of the Black Sect from her, and operatives in Octung are preparing a strike against them as we speak.”
“Damn it,” said Janx, half under his breath. “So fast ...”
“The Great Uthua designed the chamber,” the priest said. “She’s a powerful one, and she’s fighting it, but she cannot last against His arts, and soon her secrets will be ours. First the Black Sect. Then we’ll pull the plans to a certain machine from her, something she devised to hurt us, but which we can use for our own ends—we’re so close. When we have it, we’ll be invincible.” He cleared his throat. “Well, Octung will be, and the Master is a god of Octung, so we are their allies now. The priesthood is now—and always has been, though we didn’t know it—in service to the Collossum. She’s connected directly to the Altar, so the plans will flow straight to them. At any moment! Just think! Lord Uthua will be exalted before the Elder, and praise shall shine down on us all!”
He turned on his heel and stalked away, the junior priests swept up in his wake. Avery shared a dark look with Janx and Hildra.
“This ain’t good, Doc,” Janx said.
“No,” Avery said. “No, it’s not.”
He studied the press of captives all around him, nodding to the tall, thin man shoved up beside him, but the man didn’t respond, just stared off into space, his eyes made blank by exhaustion and terror. He stank of stale sweat and grime. Looking around at the others, Avery saw gloomy, hollow faces everywhere, and he wondered if the captives were to be sacrificed to Uthua or the arriving Collossum, perhaps as some sort of welcoming gift.
“Now what?” said Hildra.
Avery flicked his gaze to Layanna. She still screamed and twisted in pain from some source Avery could not determine. Was it the gel itself? Perhaps the wires and hoses that connected to the cell?
“We rescue her,” he said.
Janx rattled his chain. “Yeah, and how’m I supposed to do that?”
Avery met his gaze. “The plan will work.” Then, suddenly worried, he glanced at Hildra. “It will work, won’t it?”
“Sure,” she said. “Sure, it’ll work.”
“It had better.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
They waited. Avery shifted uncomfortably, horribly aware of Layanna screaming and twisting in the center of the room. He wanted to go to her, wanted to help her, and he couldn’t stand being confined. The captives to the side of him sagged and cursed. The frustration of being so impotent seemed to have broken some of them, but many of the newer ones shouted at the priests and shook their chains defiantly.
Suddenly, Janx stood straighter. His eyes moved to something over Avery’s shoulder. Avery turned. He saw nothing amiss, except for the chaos of the room with its struggling captives, gushing pools, sparking machines, bustling priests ... but there! There, if he was expecting to see it, a small dark shape, scurrying from a rail filled with slaves, to a statue beside a gurgling streamlet, across the floor ...
Hildra whistled.
Hildebrand adjusted his course and made for her, going as cautiously and quickly as he could. Avery’s heart leapt inside him to track the monkey’s progress, from slave station to hissing machine, to swing along under a bridge, then to a low couch slicked with blood and with a bottle of wine sitting to its side, surely Uthua’s absurdly casual lounge. At last Hildebrand scurried toward them—and leapt on Hildra’s shoulder.
Never was Avery more glad to see anyone, man or animal.
“Finally you earn your keep, you mangy bastard,” Janx said.
Hildra’s face was tight and pale, and she used her eyes to direct Hildebrand to Janx’s hands. Hildebrand scrambled across to Janx’s shoulders, then down to his large hands. Into them he dropped a gleaming set of picks.
Looking as tense as Avery had ever seen him, Janx picked the locks—deftly, hurriedly. One snapped free, then another. Avery thought he might pass out from relief. Next Janx freed Hildra and Avery. Avery rubbed his wrists gratefully.
“I told you it would work,” Hildra said, but she sounded almost as relieved as he did. Of course, she’d been the one to most verbally abuse Avery’s plan to give the picks to Hildebrand. That way it wouldn’t matter if they were searched or their hands bound; he could drop the picks right in.
“No sudden movements,” Janx whispered to Avery and Hildra, as they rubbed circulation back into their wrists.
The captives to either side had witnessed their liberation, but they weren’t about to risk unfolding events by drawing attention to them. A few did whisper desperately in Janx’s direction, and he met their eyes and said, “Soon.”
“Alright,” Avery said, eyeing the chamber. “How are we going to do this? Whatever we do, we have to hurry. Sheridan’s coming. Remember
, Uthua said he would send for Layanna, and Sheridan was boarding a dirigible as we entered the Temple. She must be coming to bring Layanna to the Arena—to the Elder—so that it can kill her publicly once they have the information they need.”
“She hadn’t left by the time we came in here,” Hildra said. “She was held up by the Elder.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll get bogged down in some sort of ceremony—but we can’t count on it.”
Janx let Hildebrand scamper to the ground, where Hildra scooped him up.
“Then let’s be about it, already,” the big man said.
“We need a plan,” Avery said.
Janx grinned. “I’ve got one.”
“But—wait—”
Janx moved away from the line of captives, bent over to avoid attention. Hildra went next, ripping off the can that hid her hook.
Avery watched them go, marveling at their boldness. Should he follow?
Janx tapped the shoulder of a passing priest, who spun about. Janx smashed him across the jaw with an enormous fist, and the priest lifted off the ground and flew backward. When he landed, Janx knelt over him, and as he grabbed a set of keys Avery realized why Janx had selected that particular priest. Janx flung the keys to the line of slaves, and a cheer went up.
“Go to it, lads!” Janx said.
Chaos broke out.
The room was large and hectic, but several priests saw what had happened and rushed toward the slaves that were freeing themselves. A couple held staffs that sparked on their ends, like ornate cattle prods. Others reached into their robes and pulled out guns. Several were of odd design and Avery wondered if the priesthood possessed extradimensional technology.
Janx dodged a strike from one priest’s sparking lance, grabbed the weapon in both hands, tore it loose, and kicked the priest away. Another rushed up, and Janx stabbed the weapon at him. It struck the fellow in the chest, and he erupted into green flames—and began to dissolve. Janx hit a third priest in the belly with the butt of the lance on his backswing, then smacked the first one in the face with the shaft, sending him reeling into a pair of priests who’d just been raising their guns. Janx leapt for them.