An unnatural silence surrounds their movement, while they trek through the grass that makes her bare knees itch. Through openings in the fatal mist, Alina glimpses the huge embankment constructed to contain the un-dead. Its bed is occupied by a few feet of putrid, black sludge, from which rise foul-smelling fumes. Alina feels her head spin precariously.
“Stay away from the ditches and we’ll be okay,” Maike commands from behind her, with such a quivering soft voice it sounds like she’s trying to reassure herself more than the others.
In front of her, Kenneth’s back suddenly drops down, Alina freeze’s mid-movement, pistol aimed over the crouching Englishman’s head. The four stop and listen.
“What is it, Allport?” Maike whispers.
He turns, finger to his lips. He then points to the perimeter wall of the compound in front of them. Alina forces herself to look, but the vapor makes her eyes burn and clouds her vision.
“There was someone on that wall.” Kenneth gets up slowly. “But he’s gone now.”
“Let’s go,” Maike says. “Nice and softly.”
An iron gate interrupts the cement wall, almost six yards high. Rust has oxidized all the bolts encircling the jamb. There are no handles or locks. The four adventurers huddle together, checking their back.
“Make way.” Maike pulls a pistol from her sack which, in place of a cartridge, sports a fat tank of reinforced brass. The witch lights the wick in front of the barrel and soon a fork of blue fire blows out of the small opening. Maike makes four holes near the gate’s hinges and, extinguishing the oxyhydrogen torch, she fills them with a plastic, gray material. Alina notices the copious sweat running off the forehead of the East Wind’s first officer while she fits the blasting caps and small fuses into the explosives.
All four move back a few yards. There isn’t any shelter, so they unravel the whole fuse and huddle in the grass. Maike lights it and plugs her ears, the other three following suit.
A crash unsettles the place’s funereal silence; the gate is almost entirely blown away from its post in a concert of shattered and steaming metal plates.
One by one, in the same order they moved in earlier, they slip into the fissure, taking care not to injure themselves on the sharp shrapnel.
They kindle their lamps and brave the dark interior.
Alina brings her light up to the wall of the corridor. All types of writing in an unknown language mar the surface. The floor further ahead is cluttered with trash: two metal cans, with the remnants of candles inside, a broken bottle, and an object Alina isn’t able to identify right away. She kneels down, but an urge to vomit forces her to get back up and look elsewhere. The top of a skull with hair still attached rests next to that junk.
“See that? The barber cut off a bit too much,” Kenneth remarks. “And now?” he asks, turning to the telepath with them for an update.
“The others have left the airship,” Gabriela informs them, her sweet voice distorted by her personal demon sustaining her telepathy spell.
“We should get to the underground.” Maike urges Alina on, looking right at her with her good eye. “There’s nothing here that’s alive anymore.”
They head down the narrow hallway with light brick walls crumbling from wear and bombardment. Cracks a finger wide stick out where the vaults intersect, at times covered by that odd script which seems to follow a track known only to the mind that conceived it.
“I’ll lead the way,” Alina says at the first turn. She’s memorized the map and knows where to look for the passage which leads down a level. She brushes past Kenneth, and he subtly pinches her hip.
She moves the lamp in front of her, lighting up the metal stairs that lead down. Kenneth needs to calm himself. How can he hope to complete his government’s mission under such risky circumstances? Managing to get home with his hide intact is already asking a lot.
She peers over the stairwell appearing deserted. With her eyes, she follows two long, black rails which vanish into the shadows below. Four floors deep. Her light barely manages to illuminate the first landing.
“Shall we climb down?” she asks hesitantly.
“Of course,” the first officer answers. “We’ll spread out across one flight. Go on!”
Maike stays one floor above Alina, a space that could separate life from death. She had to let the Englishman go ahead. The dragon in her heart derides her for her fear, and winds in its tail. Alina places the sole of her boot on the first metal step, slippery from the acid rain that trickles down from the ceiling.
The first basement level is dark as a cavern. The temperature is noticeably lower here and a draft of dank air coming from below brushes against her legs. She looks upward. Kenneth follows a half flight behind her while the two Cerriwdens remain on the floor above.
“What do you see?” Maike whispers.
Alina just answers by shrugging her shoulders and stretching her hands out slightly. “I don’t see a damned thing, scaredy cat,” she mutters. She resumes her descent, challenging those two to follow her.
Having reached the second underground level, all her courage seems to melt like wax on a fire. It’s completely black apart from her little flame and that of the sailor, which lights up a few yards. The walls are stained with long dark stripes, dried splashes of what can only be blood. The silence is broken only by the dripping rain and their shoes groaning on the metal stairs.
The lamps of the two Cerriwdens finally seem to have descended a few yards. It’s madness to continue like this, their using her like a disposable lure. She should stop and wait for the rest of the group, but the rain dragon doesn’t seem to agree. She feels him settling down again inside her, stretching his deadly fangs. Staying there is dangerous. She’s about to turn back, but a surprised scream roots her to the spot. The flash of an explosion lights up the walls. One of the two witches overhead fired into the dark.
Kenneth runs down the stairs at breakneck speed. “Go!”
More gunfire upstairs and a deafening buzz echoes to them as if they’ve freed a hive of wasps.
To Alina this seems the wrong direction in which to escape, but Gabriela tumbles down, her shirt sleeve stained with blood.
Another detonation above, then an agonizing scream—Maike. Alina points both her barrels toward the top of the stairs. Kenneth is right beside to her and grabs her by the arm. “Let’s run! There’s a hundred of them!”
Gabriela gets up again and plunges downstairs, terror in her eyes. Behind her a deformed head peeps into the stairwell, tiny, with opaque eyes like two boiled eggs and dry, green skin, spread on its bones like its body lacks flesh.
Alina fires, but with a buzz the creature retreats, avoiding the shot. Soon two more of those heads peek out from the handrail, writhing toward them. She can’t miss this time; Kenneth too fires over her shoulders and the two abominations end up splattered against the wall, squirting a bit of thick, reddish liquid all over.
“They got Maike!” Gabriela shouts in distress, passing by her, headed down.
Alina turns, but the Englishman’s also spun his heels round and begun the descent. She would like to summon the dragon, but those beings slither quickly, filling up the landing. She fires with both hands until her wrists hurt from the violent recoil. Smoke and gunpowder befoul the air. “Come on!” Kenneth calls to her from below, she empties one last round amid the smoke and hurries down the stairwell.
Allport is waiting for her at the threshold of the corridor which leads inward on the fourth floor. He takes her hand and starts running through the dark. Ahead of them they glimpse Gabriela’s profile illuminated in flashes by the lantern hanging from her belt. At their backs the droning grows ever louder.
Gabriela follows the bends in the corridor, trying to find the sealed chamber. Alina too is trying to recall the map, but the dragon is restless.
She looks over her shoulder as she flees, the sinister creatures are almost at their heels. To summon her power she needs to focus for a few seconds, to master h
er breathing. They turn one last corner and find themselves pressed against Gabriela, her back to the steel door, barred.
Alina, with the strength of desperation, attempts to seize control of her body. She inhales and exhales, her eyes closed. Kenneth’s revolver explodes in her ears while the buzzing becomes unbearable.
Forward, old dragon, Alina urges him.
Gabriela shrieks at her side while the Englishman’s pistol continues to blast.
Alina tries to feel the power of the earth around her, encircled by cubic meters of rock. She moves her feet inside her boots, trying to make the strength climb into her legs again.
Kenneth shouts to her right while Gabriela tries to take cover behind her.
Arise, dragon, don’t leave me now. But the beast tightens its coils, laughing.
Little fingers clutch at her legs. Alina opens her eyes wide and screams. The creatures are everywhere.
Thunder resounds at the far end of the hall and the droning suddenly stops. All the monstrous beings turn toward the source of the noise, losing interest in them. A dim light in the distance paints the walls of the passage blue. Another rumble shakes the stones.
Whispering submissively, the little hybrids withdraw down the passageway, at first hesitantly, then little by little more rapidly.
A human figure advances up the passage. In its hand is a faintly luminous staff, its every impact with the ground producing a ferocious clamor.
When it is only a few yards away, the figure stops to examine them. She is a small woman, very thin, her hair and eyebrows completely white. She has an elegant face, a fine nose and green eyes like two frozen emeralds. Of indeterminate age, like all witches, her skin is soft and elastic like a twenty-five year old’s, but if Alina had to wager, she bet a lot older. She wears only a white corset and short petticoat of the same color. Besides that she’s totally naked, save for the two heavy iron bands around her ankles and also her arms.
“Kas jus etat?” she says in a sugary little voice.
“Do you speak English?” Gabriela tries, still trembling.
“I sp… spoke it,” she responds stumbling over the words. “Many years… ah. Ago.”
“I am Gabriela Cerriwden. We’ve come to save you.”
The woman bows her head a few degrees. “Ha.. have you an… ah. Airship?”
“Of course,” Gabriela answers, taking a half step forward. “How many of you are there, still alive, down here?”
The white haired woman brings her hands up to her face, covering her eyes. Two short sobs rattle her shoulders. “Many years… have passed. Many, many years. I didn’t think… anyone would ever come again.” Then she continues mumbling in her own language.
“What is your name?” Alina asks, trying to use her most polite tone.
“I am Yaga Skaidrs Uden. The last of my clan.” Another tear brims over her eyelid, but the witch raises her chin and lets them run down her cheeks undisturbed.
“Outside here,” Gabriela pushes her, “are my sisters, near the airship, to bring us to safety. However we need to take the Kazakhs records. Are you alone down here?”
“No. There’s also Ramai, my master. And leaving isn’t… easy, same with taking away what you need. You must negotiate with him.”
“Master?” Alina narrows her eyes confused. “What do you mean?”
“He is my master,” the other answers with the flattest tone in the world. “Come, I’ll bring you to him.”
“Wait,” Kenneth interjects. “Is he a man? Or a hybrid?”
“He was a man.”
Alina and Gabriela look at each other and silently decide to follow the mysterious woman.
They walk through the corridors, walls green with mold, covered with cracks from the damp. Those strange hybrids with the small heads have disappeared and their guide doesn’t seem worried about them anymore. After several turns and empty rooms, they reach a steel door, identical in every way to the one which impeded them earlier.
The witch Yaga drums four well-timed beats against the portal with her fist.
After a moment, a bolt runs through its track and the door creaks open.
The chamber’s interior is covered with red and black cloth, the floor dressed in soft carpets. Four silver lamps feebly illuminate the room throwing the complex shadows of their filigree onto the walls. A man with a stern visage awaits them at the door, taller than Allport, with very light blonde hair, almost white. His skin is translucent, it too without wrinkles. He wears a long damask greatcoat and two strange boots with silver heels.
“Guests,” he murmurs. “You are English, aren’t you?”
“I am English.” Kenneth puffs out his chest.
“We were English,” Gabriela says. “But after the war we had to renounce our nationality. I am Gabriela Cerriwden. And you are?”
“Come in,” the man says, and he closes the door behind them. “This place is treacherous, one must be careful. Please,” he adds, showing them the dusty cushions placed on the ground.
The two witches and the English sailor reluctantly situate themselves on their padding, while the master of the house sits on one of the few chairs in the room. Yaga places the luminous staff on a brass rack behind the man and then goes to sit on the ground by his feet.
“So, guests. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
The man passes a hand absentmindedly through the hair of the witch resting her head on his knee.
Alina swallows. She quickly searches out Gabriela with her gaze, but sees she is even more unsteady and tremulous than before. This new acquaintance doesn’t seem like an easy customer, and turning back with their skin still on their bones seems rather difficult. Never mind obtaining secrets and books from him.
“If I may…” Alina starts in the silence.
“No, pardon me,” Gabriela interrupts her. “We are here to save you; my clan, the Cerriwdens, are on a rescue mission since we learned there still might be survivors here and—”
“Learned? From whom?” the man interrupts her.
“I didn’t… Look, my Captain, Jillian Cerriwden, will be pleased to explain it to you, but right now—”
“So you are no longer English?” he inquires, twisting a lock of the witch’s hair between his thumb and index finger.
“I too have come for you,” Kenneth interject. “And my government would be happy to receive you.”
“How strange, Yaga,” the man hisses, distractedly fiddling with his ear, “for centuries no one deigned to come look for us, and now we’re wanted by everybody.”
“Wait,” Gabriela struggles. “He is a prisoner, we—”
“But he is armed,” the man observes. “Prisoners, usually, don’t walk around armed. What is your name, young man?”
“Lieutenant Kenneth Allport,” he rises to his feet, “at your service.”
“I am Ramai Azafejil, one time Regent of Rubishzne, but sit, please.” The man stretches out a hand. “And this little girl then with two eyes like an angry cat?”
“I am Alina Santuini, and I am not a little girl. I am a witch!”
“Oh.” The man tugs the lock of hair a bit more firmly making Yaga’s eyes pull back. “That I had gathered. So you three would like to take us away. Interesting. Do you have an airship?”
“Of course,” Gabriela jumps in. “My clan’s airship. We’re also here because we are interested in the books and records of the experiments. Have you preserved them?”
The man furls his brow and finally lets the witch’s hair go, turning his palms towards the heights. “You may take what you wish, guests. However, a heap of books were burned in these last few years. Winter is cold down here, even though Yaga,” he lightly raps the tip of his boot against the woman’s thigh, “does her best to keep me warm. But I would like to better understand the terms of this… rescue mission. Where do you intend to take us?”
Gabriela narrows her eyelids. “Out of here, mister. And that already seems to me a lot more that you could have hoped
for yesterday.”
“There was also talk of asylum on English soil.”
“Of course,” Kenneth interjects.
“The Captain will decide,” Gabriela tries to cut him short. “Let’s start heading out toward the open.”
“I would like to have some guarantee. Although the idea of seeing the sky again, it entices me.”
“You’ve stayed down here… for all those years?” Alina asks.
“Oh yes, my dear. After the bombs eight of us remained, but unfortunately it is only Yaga and I.”
“What are those creatures?” Alina asks, too curious not to ask.
“Lost souls,” the man says with a twist to his mouth. “Human remnants who no longer have half a wit.”
“How did you manage to survive down here? And not… go mad?” Kenneth jumps in again.
“We received some—special treatments from those who conducted the experiments here don’t need much sustenance. Regarding the other half of your question, perhaps we have gone a tiny bit mad. Right, my dear?”
The witch turns to face him with dreamy eyes. “Of course, master,” she says.
Gabriela breaks the sickening silence of their gazing at each other. “Perhaps we can try to contact my sisters on the airship. If we leave here exposed, could you protect us from those aggressive hybrids?”
“Yaga’s magic only works here, in the underground. That is the reason my other companions have perished over the years: they attempted to leave, to look for help or to find food. So we can defend ourselves to a certain point, but you would have to manage on your own. How many of you are out there?”
“A sufficient number. They’ll throw grenades to clear the way for us to get out.”
“A risky move. However, in truth,” Ramai strikes his hand against the witch’s shoulder, “for too many years we’ve waited for this moment.”
“You’ve been here since the bombing,” Kenneth says. “Why haven’t you grown old?”
“Here below, from level three down, one doesn’t grow old. The Kazakhs didn’t build their laboratory in this area by chance. This region has always been blessed with a special magnetism, suffice that a few clouds gather in the sky and thunder starts to hammer the earth with an unheard of intensity. We’ve always known it as the Bear’s chain. Our grandparents feared it and avoided it. The Kazakhs brought some powerful witches here who harnessed the place’s energy until they formed an underground bubble where time and space are suspended for us biologically, to create the ideal conditions for their research.”
The Codex of the Witch: Fantasy Novel Page 14