by RW Krpoun
“He killed the kyonshi,” Derek explained. “After that he drowns out everyone else’s signal when we are dreaming.”
“Lucky me,” the warder commented.
“Six skulls on this one,” Fred dragged their attention to the business at hand. “All old. I guess the back way doesn’t rate a full court press.”
“There’s still six who didn’t make it back,” Jeff pointed out. “Is the Fang on line?”
Shad touched the cased device. “It’s awake; it will go live once we cross into the Reach proper.” He frowned. “The Reach is something like Death Valley, apparently: remember that the revenants were hard to see clearly by the locals? Something similar is going on here, only not with Undead.”
“Any idea what the potions do?” Derek asked.
“Yeah,” the warder nodded slowly. “Fred, pass them out. They are cures for…venom? Poison? Something toxic.”
“Airborne toxins?” Jeff asked uneasily, accepting a fistful of vials from the healer.
“No.”
“Good. I left my MOPP gear in my B bag.”
“Funny. Everyone ready? Stay close, I’m not sure how wide the Fang’s area of effect is.”
“Got any idea what it does?”
“No.”
“Great.”
“You can stay behind.”
“Yeah, like that would be an improvement.”
The Black Talons slipped through the stunted trees, moving carefully, alert for trouble or traps.
“Guide left,” Shad whispered to Derek, who was on point, long bow ready. “The Fang seems to be homing in on something.”
“Whatever guards this place has to know we’re here,” Fred muttered. “We camped within easy view.”
“I’m OK with them taking the day off,” Jeff grinned.
Shad drew the Fang from its case and studied the glowing gems. “They don’t need many defenders.”
“What?”
“The Fang is neutralizing something, an area effect. I think the Reach is set up to broadcast something.”
“Like what?” Derek asked, keeping his eyes moving.
“Confusion and anger, is my guess,” the warder said thoughtfully, replacing the Fang in its cage. “That’s why it is blanketed against magical sight. By the time you are in position to realize the effect, you are in the effect.”
“How powerful is it?”
“The Fang is getting warm.”
“Damn.”
“So how confused and angry would you get?” Fred muttered.
“I’m betting a combination of dementia and pre-psychotic rage.”
“What about the single warriors who entered here?” Jeff objected, keeping his voice low.
“I didn’t say it was un-guarded. Guide right, Derek. Not that far.”
Another hundred cautious feet and an arrow flashed out of the brush to their left and shattered against Jeff’s chest. All four Talons immediate took a knee behind cover.
“This shell is really growing on me,” Jeff observed a touch shakily. “That was a long bow arrow; it could have spitted me like a kebab, armor charms or not.”
Derek’s bow thrummed in a deep, rich tone and in the brush something screamed and thrashed.
“Wait!” Shad snapped as the Ronin stood. “Even if the scream was real there is no reason to expect them to operate alone. Stay together, and stay on mission.”
“Did you see what you shot?” Fred asked as the four began to move forward in pairs, going from cover to cover.
“Movement, maybe something tan. No innocent bystanders up here.”
“True, that.”
Both Derek and Jeff fired at movement and shadows as the Black Talons moved in bounds, one archer covering as pairs of Texans moved from cover. Occasionally an arrow hissed past, but the combination of the Talons shooting at anything that looked funny and the scrub brush worked in their favor: the enemy archers were unwilling to work in close, so the brush and branches fouled their shots.
“I wonder who the hell we’re up against,” Derek panted as he and Shad got behind a clump of birch. The Ronin let fly at a clump of likely-looking brush.
“Whoever they are, they aren’t too eager.” Shad weighed a coin in his hand as he searched for targets.
“It’s a different game when the targets shoot back,” Derek noted with satisfaction. “Everyone is a hero on the firing range.”
Jeff and Fred trotted past and took cover fifteen yards further on. “How are your arrows holding out?”
“Not bad. How much further?”
“Not far. Two or three more bounds, I figure. OK, let’s go.”
It was three more bounds before they found where the Fang was leading them: a slab of weather-worn granite the size of a tennis court, the bones of the Reach exposed, with a square-ish hole it its center.
“That’s it?” Jeff mopped sweat away despite the cool air.
“So sayeth the Fang.”
“Doesn’t look like much.”
“Nothing ever does. I’m going to hit it with one of my cloud and flashes, and we’ll use the spell’s effect for cover. I’ll lead, then the two fighters, and Fred bringing up the rear.”
“Well, he’s got the most rear to bring,” Derek grinned.
“Especially after I kick yours,” Fred noted without heat. “Derek should lead, not our spellcaster.”
“I need to check for traps,” Shad pointed out.
The healer shook his head. “We didn’t think this group structure through.”
“Shad is the worst possible spellcaster,” Jeff agreed. “Zero connection with the mindset, and no pointy hat.”
“Bite me. Everyone ready?”
“Let’s put out a half-dozen arrows each before we go,” Derek suggested.
“OK.”
Arrows whispered past as the four men raced into the swirling black smoke, which turned out to smell a bit odd but neither choked them nor caused their eyes to water. Arrows blindly probed the smoke as Shad knelt by the rough hole and cautiously felt into the opening.
His fingers immediately encountered a trip line of braided silk and he carefully followed it to one end, which proved to be anchored to the stone of the vertical shaft. Following it to the other end he found it was attached to the release of a bronze blade gone sea green with corrosion.
“You want to hurry it up?” Jeff suggested after firing blindly in the general direction of an enemy archer who was firing blindly at them. “The smoke isn’t stopping any arrows.”
“Found a scything blade trap,” the warder muttered, lying full length on the stone to extend his reach. “Too easily. A double-blind, I think.”
“How bad of a trap could these bozos come up with?” Fred grunted. “It’s not like they can built IEDs.”
“Wait.”
Derek cursed as an arrow raked his side. Fred examined the wound, and shook his head. “Venom. Take one of those potions.”
“Any time now, Shad,” Jeff warned, discarding an empty quiver and hiking his other around to a draw position.
“Yeah.” Working by touch the warder had bound the latch of the blade trap in place with wire and was systematically feeling further into the shaft. “Got it.”
“Got what?” Derek discarded an empty quiver.
“The real trap.” Shad’s questing fingers had found a small timing device made from a tipping jar filled with sand. This led him to a complex release for a spring-loaded pot. “If I cut or we hit the trip line, the real trap kicks a pot out after a delay.”
“What is in the pot?” Fred asked.
“A liquid,” Shad murmured, carefully feeling around the pot for anti-handling devices. Extracting a tool that looked like a bent scalpel from his haversack he carefully cut the pot from the spring-loaded launching plate. Climbing gratefully to his knees, he hurled the pot through the dissipating smoke. It crashed in a gout of sticky flame.
“Shit! That looked like napalm!” Derrek gasped.
“Yeah,” Sh
ad cut the trip line. “Time to go. The rungs are to our right.”
“Tricky bastards, whoever they are,” Jeff observed as he unstrung his bow and followed Derek into the hole.
The shaft went down about thirty feet and ended in a chamber not much wider than the shaft.
“We crawl from here,” Derek observed, kneeling to examine the only way out. Shad cast a light orb on the Ronin, who drew his new tanto and crawled into the opening.
“This sucks,” Fred observed from his position on the rungs.
“You’re telling me. I don’t care for tight places,” Jeff snarled.
“You’re sure we have to take this route? These rungs haven’t seen use in a long time.”
“The Fang indicates it is.” Shad sighed.
“I’m beginning to hate the Fang.”
“I’m way ahead of you.”
The tunnel was smooth and dusty; Derek sneezed a dozen times as he crawled, his eyes streaming continuously. Otherwise traversing the mile-long tube was just rough on elbows, knees, and nerves, as the shaft through the stone slithered back and forth as it descended deeper into the stone. The Ronin expected trouble at every curve, and by the end of the journey was wishing for an ambush just to end the suspense.
Crawling through the narrow passage with no more light than what escaped around Derek, Jeff was not enjoying the trip. Everything he was carrying kept catching on the walls and ceiling, and between the light and the sound of gear banging against the rock the defenders should have no doubts as to the Black Talons’ progress. If they didn’t crawl into an ambush it would be a miracle. The Shop teacher didn’t mind fighting, but getting jumped was another business entirely, especially when they were just four guys without any support structure. So far in their otherworldly travels they had managed to avoid getting caught completely flat-footed, but there was a first time for everything.
Shad was struggling with raging anxiety every struggling foot through the tunnel. Unknown to the others he was moderately claustrophobic, and it was only the fear of being caught in a weakness that had driven him into, and along, the tunnel. As the minutes dragged on he fought the mounting waves of panic, banging his elbows into the stone harder than necessary so that the pain would distract his fears. As the yards passed and the tunnel stretched on his breathing grew shallow and tight; the shaft in the temple hadn’t affected him nearly as much because it was vertical and roomier. Keeping his eyes clenched shut the warder crawled onward, hating every second. Only the others’ calm kept his brain from crawling out of his ears; there was no way he was going to be the only one to express weakness.
Very little light leaked back to Fred, and he was painfully aware that if one or more of the snipers chose to pursue the Talons he wouldn’t have a chance; even with the weight he had lost since leaving home there was no way he could get turned around. This crawl was bringing up dark comparisons to a History Channel documentary on the tunnel rats in Vietnam and the insane dangers those brave men had faced. But there was literally no turning back for him, so the healer crawled grimly on, trying not to think about murder slits and punji stake pits.
Fatigue and stress were taking their toll, and for several feet of crawling in the yellowing light of the dying Orb Derek didn’t realize that what he was looking at, but eventually the significance of the circle of blackness at the edge of his vision was growing finally sank in: the tunnel ended in a larger chamber up ahead.
The Ronin picked up the pace, indifferent to the possibility of guards: a desperate fight would be an improvement on crawling and dreading. Twenty feet later he squirmed out of the tunnel and found himself in a rough-hewn chamber that was more or less oval and thirty feet at its widest, with an eight-foot ceiling and a decaying door in the far wall. The room was bare and undecorated save for a half-dozen coffin-sized blocks of limestone scattered about. Dumping his pack and bow case next to the nearest he stretched out on the cool stone and massaged his aching knees.
Jeff pushed pack and bow case out of the hole in the wall and scrambled after them. “That was rough on my neck,” he observed as he untied the kerchiefs he, like the others, had tied around his elbows and knees. All were friction-shredded rags not worth keeping.
Shad’s pack and haversack shot out of the hole and the warder followed like a torpedo coming out of a sub’s tube, sprawling on the stone floor.
“Something chasing you?” Jeff cocked an eyebrow.
“Cramp,” the shaking Texan advised, white-faced and sweating. Shad quickly climbed to his feet and limped around the room. “Felt like a hernia.”
“Not enough potassium,” Derek commented absently. “Fred, you need a hand?”
“Bite me,” the healer advised, struggling out of the hole. “That was a lot of work.”
“I bet not many people have crawled that far,” Jeff nodded thoughtfully, tucking his hands into his belt so no one would notice how badly they were shaking. “How long were we in there?”
“Days,” Shad muttered, mopping away perspiration.
“Four or five hours I would guess,” Derek stretched luxuriously. “I think we need to find another route out.”
“Why?” Jeff grinned. “Scared of a little tunnel?”
“No,” Derek tried to sound carefree. “But my back did not like the crawling.”
“My knee is still talking to me,” Fred quickly agreed.
“Two very good reasons,” Shad said in a louder voice than usual. “Fred can’t heal that sort of thing,” he added in a more normal tone.
“I’m good with it,” Jeff nodded thankfully. “We would be up-slope the whole way, and I didn’t bring much rope.”
The four rested in the chamber for about a half hour, replacing the Orb with a candle when the spell gave out, each buried in his own thoughts. Finally Shad stirred. “Everyone hydrated and had something to eat? Watch your salt. According to the Fang we’ll be guiding right when we leave here,” he pointed.
“Is it giving any indication of distance?” Jeff asked, slinging his pack.
“No, but the area effect has stopped, so I expect it’s just tactical spells and steel between us and the goal.”
“How come they weren’t waiting for us when we got here?” Derek wondered. “It’s their place, after all.”
“They didn’t try to pursue us, either,” Fred said, hiding a shudder.
“We can ask them when we see them,” Shad said as he began examining the door. “It’ll be a nice ice-breaker.”
“Good, I hate the awkward pauses when you meet new people,” Jeff grinned.
Chapter Eighteen
The door had a smashing-pot style alarm on it, which Shad disarmed after no small amount of work. Rust had welded the hinges shut, so they cut the door free and lifted it out of place.
They weren’t expecting what was on the other side. The four stood in quiet contemplation of the spectacle for a bit.
“Well, that explains why they didn’t pursue,” Jeff observed, breaking the long silence.
“Or why they weren’t in the room defending at the water’s edge, so to speak,” Shad nodded tiredly.
The Black Talons stood at the end of a vast cavern whose size and scope could only be guessed at, although the wall behind them curved up out of sight and beyond their lights to either side. The cavern, at least in front of them, was filled with tan roots spouting from foot-wide cracks in the floor and intertwining as they climbed towards the unseen ceiling, resembling a bed of seaweed frozen in place.
“Those roots are growing upwards,” Derek pointed out. “Towards the surface.”
“How big is this place?” Fred rumbled.
“I’m betting pretty freaking huge,” Jeff said quietly. “One of the things Dave and I came across in our research was reference to a great Tree which is trapped upside down in the earth. It was just a fragmentary bit, a legend of world-building.”
“Crap,” Derek shook his head. “I remember. The tree was the reason of banishment for an evil people. Rather than
destroy it the heroes who banished them made it grow upside-down so it couldn’t threaten the world again.”
“The Norse had a legend about a tree being the material aspect of the world, didn’t they?” Shad rubbed his scar.
“Not the same thing,” Jeff shook his head. “This tree was the focus of the people’s power. More power, the bigger the tree. By inverting it they prevented the evil types from ever harvesting the stored power. This wasn’t about worship or the love of nature, it was a way to accumulate and deploy power.”
“If Jeff’s right, they live here amongst the roots,” Derek dug out the map. “The effect we encountered on the Reach is likely a byproduct of the tree trying to find the sunlight.”
“So just how big is this place?” Shad asked.
“Likely pretty close to the size of the Reach,” Jeff observed, looking over Dave’s shoulder. “Good thing we have the Fang.”
“I’m not feeling very lucky,” Fred commented. “No wonder no one made it back.”
“Midori’s bunch wanted to come here?” Shad shook his head. “More proof they were out of the core loop.”
“Being noble bites us on the ass again,” Jeff shook his head.
“So who are we fighting?” Shad asked Derek, who was frowning at the roots.
“More of a what,” the Radio Shack manager sighed. “I’m not completely certain, but it fits.”
“What fits?”
“I think it is the naga,” Derek said quietly.
“I thought they were Indian,” Fred objected.
“They appear across Asia, but probably originated in coastal China, Vietnam, and Laos.”
“Coastal?” Shad raised his eyebrows. “As in the sunken island this place is named for?”
“Yeah. All that remains on Earth are legends, but if the tree was on the island, it would make sense.”
“Well, this sucks. Are these the snakes with arms?”
“I would say yes, based on the archery we saw.”
“Great. Well, let’s get moving before they find us, assuming they aren’t watching us right now.” Shad pulled the Fang from its case.
“You know, I’ve always wondered if the followers of Set were influenced by the naga,” Jeff mused. “They had a ‘evil snake’ motif going on.”