by Pete Clark
Arnold gave it a minute to set in. “Go on.”
“And, since he’s a dragon, he has lots and lots of treasure. He’s pretty friendly and I think we could convince him to let us have some of it. At least I think. There is always the possibility that he eats us,” Marion said.
“I don’t know this dragon or any dragon, but don’t they generally prefer to keep their treasure?”
“Why, Mr. Arnold, you make a fine point,” Marion admitted. “This dragon did seem very fond of his treasure, but there must be some way we can persuade him. Perhaps we could do him some kind of favor.”
“Like what?” Morgan barked.
“I don’t know, but I bet we can get it somehow. Also, we can talk to Mahrak and get the specifics on how to break the spell if the others get a hold of the last Roanokian or whatever.”
“Fine, seems like a fine idea. We should make preparations to leave immediately. Where is it?” Arnold asked.
“It’s all the way down in the North Carolina territory; it’s a pretty long trip. Oops, heads up. Zombie.” Morgan fired quickly and turned the lone zombie’s head into a fine paste.
“That is quite the travel. And I need to be back as I have military obligations in New York,” said Arnold. “Still, it does sound like we need to go.”
“Fine,” said Morgan. “But this time I’m staying down there. I’m sick of going up and down the whole country every few months.”
“Too bad. I’m going to need you and your riflemen with me in New York,” said Arnold.
“Damn it.”
“You’ll get to shoot a lot of things.”
“I guess there is always a silver lining.” Morgan shot another lost zombie, so at least he had that.
****
Fall, 1776
“Are you sure it’s over here? If we walked through this mud for nothing, I am going to be pissed,” said Dawes. The sun was fading and the sky had churned itself into a collage of orange and purple. Meanwhile, the ground had churned itself into a mix of brown and vomit brown.
“This is the way,” said Boone. “I shot the witch in the face right over here.” He pointed to one of the three billion pools of mud. This particular pool was near a sandy walkway that led to a door. “Aha. And there is the door.”
They approached the door. “It seems pretty ordinary,” said Grant.
“Yes,” said Guyasuta. “But sometimes ordinary can be the most deadly.”
The mud around where Boone had previously pointed was starting to roil and bubble. Then it rose up as a figure began to emerge. First, a hat was seen, and then a nasty face, and then the rest of it pulled free of the mud and floated toward the six men.
Boone would have preferred a giant mudman or some kind of powerful muck dragon. But no, it was the fucking witch.
“Hello there,” said the witch, not yet seeing Boone. “That door is magical and the only way to get through it is the magic way.” She glanced around at the group. “Do you guys know the magic way?”
“Mostly,” said Guyasuta. “But Ms. Witch, we would really like to ask you a couple of things.”
“Oh, but dears, I am not a witch. Only a lost young lady looking for aid.”
“Young lady?” Dawes asked.
“So young and so lost and so not a witch.” She smiled as some residue mud dripped down her face.
“Damn it,” Boone erupted. “Everyone knows you’re a witch. Quit being so stupid about it.”
She recognized him. “Oh, my husband, you have returned to me. When we had our last parting, your kiss left me wondering if you would return.”
“Kiss?” Everyone turned to look at Boone.
“I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t kiss you. I shot you in the face.” Boone was starting to feel as if suicide might be a solid alternative.
“Whatever you want to call it. At least you have returned.”
“We’re going into this door.”
“You mean the entrance to the super bad really mega deadly maze of nasty things and stuff?”
“I guess.” Prescott had wandered over toward the door. “Are there any tips you can give us that would help us out?”
“Most certainly. Popping means fire from above. Grinding means back up. And there are so many others but first - let’s get married.”
“We don’t really have time for that just yet,” said Marchand.
“Shut it. I thought you French were supposed to be fans of love.”
Marchand simply shrugged and strolled toward Prescott.
“Listen,” Boone pleaded. “I don’t really want to marry a witch.”
“But I’m not a witch.”
“Really? How come you’re still alive after I shot you in the face?”
“That was a kiss. Now, marry me.”
“Marry this.” Boone drew his rifle. There were many shouts of argument from the assembled crowd; the witch didn’t look too pleased, either. But he shot her in the face again anyway. “Oops,” he said, in a very non-convincing tone.
“Great,” said Guyasuta. “She was going to give us valuable information to make it through the really long named maze thing. Now, she has no head.”
“Whatever.” Boone shrugged. “It will grow back.”
“We don’t have time to wait,” said Prescott. “We need to find out how to get this door to open.”
“Why don’t we all just stand in front of it?” Dawes suggested.
“That won’t work,” said Guyasuta.
But, of course, it did.
The cave, which is what the entrance essentially was, was dark. They were prepared for this. Each man had an assortment of weapons, light sources, food, and other survival gear in his pack and about his person. They were expecting this to be tough.
“Stay sharp, guys. There is bound to be a Minotaur around here,” said Dawes.
“Don’t be such a racist,” said Marchand. “Just because it’s a maze does not mean there has to be a Minotaur.”
“Don’t forget,” Prescott uncharacteristically chimed in. “That Minotaur that chased you around Concord wasn’t in a maze.”
“That’s true. I hope you guys are right. Minotaurs are bastards.” Dawes nodded for emphasis.
There was a strange popping noise that started quietly and then grew louder.
“Everybody down,” yelled Boone. Everyone hit the floor. And they lay there for a minute, listening to the popping noises as they continued. Nothing else; just popping noises.
“Why are we all on the ground?” Dawes asked.
“Boone said,” said Grant.
“Boone?”
“Well, that witch I shot twice said, before I shot her the second time, that if we hear a popping noise, we should get down.”
“That isn’t what she said,” Guyasuta corrected. “She said popping means fire from above.”
“Okay, so either way, I was right to say get down, wasn’t I?” Boone looked around at the large empty chamber. “Fucking witch.”
“She also said something about grinding meaning to back up,” said Marchand.
“Yes, but that is clearly popping, not grinding,” Grant added.
A huge raging torrent of flame swept through the room at head height. The flames covered the full width of the chamber, which had to be a hundred yards across. The burst was short but very hot, as fire tends to be.
“See I was right. Fine, witch. Sorry I shot you twice. Still not marrying you, though.” Boone stood up. Everyone had still been lying on the ground and thus remained uncooked.
“Who are you talking to?” Dawes and the others got up and listened to make sure no more flesh crisping popping noises could be heard. It seemed clear.
They headed into the cavernous room away from the door that was still open. The passage began to narrow drastically and the passageway was soon only wide enough for them to walk three across; even that was cramped. The walls around them were high. They did not reach the ceiling, however. A space was clearly available at the very top some 200 fee
t above. A bit of light was emanating from somewhere as the ceiling was reflecting something, albeit very dimly. The walls were no good to climb as they were smooth and lacked any kind of foothold. The flicker of Prescott and Grant’s torches lit the way into the first corridor of the maze.
It was not long before they hit a snag. The corridor ended. But it did not end at a wall; it ended at a fissure. There was a large gap between where they stood and the rest of the hallway. The torch light was not strong enough to allow them to see the floor of the gap; this convinced them it was not safe to jump down. Prescott looked from side to side. He could see the outside walls of other corridors to either side. They were not that far away, but they were as tall as the one they were in, which gave them nothing to jump to, either. Although each wall did have a few strange indents. He had no idea if all of the walls had such indents, but they must be there for some reason.
“So,” said Dawes. “Can any of you fly?”
“I can,” said Guyasuta. They all looked at him with less surprise than he hoped. “No. I’m just messing with you.”
“There has to be a way across. Whoever built this would not have bothered making it so big if there wasn’t some way to get across here.” Boone set his eyes to work, running over every bit of the walls and ceilings. His eyes also fell on the indents on the two neighboring walls. Three on each of them and spaced in a staggered way so that they alternated with the opposing side. “Those indents.”
“I see them,” said Prescott.
“They must be the key. Why else would they be there?”
“They could be everywhere,” Marchand said.
“No. Look,” Boone pointed. “They are too evenly spaced. Too deliberate. They have to be here for this. Whoever built this needs to get back and forth right? So they use those things to do it.”
“I guess we just shoot them,” said Grant.
“What if that breaks them?” Guyasuta asked.
“I’ll just throw you at it and hope you can push it or pull it or whatever before you plummet to your death.”
“Perhaps shooting it would be wise,” the Indian consented.
“All right,” said Grant, aiming his rifle. “So there are nine switches.”
“Six,” said Dawes.
“Right. So I will shoot the closest one first.” Grant focused and fired. His shot missed high and wide.
“Let me do it,” said Dawes.
“You can’t shoot at all,” Prescott reminded him. “Let Grant try again; it’s a tough target to hit.”
Grant reloaded and fired again. This time, he was dead on. The switch made a popping noise and retracted.
“Everyone get down,” Boone yelled. “Popping noise.”
They all dropped. The flame arrived a lot faster this time and Grant’s hat nearly paid the price. As it was, there was a small trickle of smoke leaking from the tip of his cap.
“I think I’ll try the next one prone.” He stayed on his stomach and crawled to the edge of the tunnel to aim. “Hey look,” he said. A few yards in front of them, a large pillar had risen from the depths and stood solid in the darkness.
“Great, so the switches work. We can jump to them. Keep shooting and stay down so we don’t get roasted,” Boone warned.
Grant hit the other switches in succession and each gave way with a pop and gout of flame. When they had all been hit, six 8 by 8 foot pillars formed a jumping bridge from where they stood to the next corridor. Each jump was a few yards long. This may not sound like much until you stare at the distance to the platform and then the distance down.
“Holy shit,” said Dawes. “I can’t make that jump.”
“That’s fine.” Prescott patted him on the back. “You can wait here for the Minotaur.”
“I hate you all.” Dawes decided jumping was worth a try.
As it turned out, the jumps were not that bad. Everything was going great for the first few jumps, but when Dawes jumped from pillar four to five, he struck something in the air. His reflexes took over and he hung on to it. After a moment of flustered panic, he realized he was hanging onto a rope that was suspended over the gap. It stretched all the way across from the walls with the switches.
“What are you doing on that,” Grant asked.
“It isn’t by choice. I didn’t see it and I jumped into it.”
“Good thing you hung on. Nice reflexes,” said Boone. “Do you think you can jump forward to the fifth pillar?”
“No way. I could barely make the jumps with a running start. I’m just hanging here. Even if I swing, I don’t think the momentum will be enough.” He dropped his feet off the rope and hung from his hands. He started to swing back and forth to try and gain momentum. Everyone could see that it would be close. Close, but likely not enough. “What am I going to do?”
“What are we going to do? You’re in our way.” Grant chuckled. “Let’s shoot him down, heh heh.”
“That’s hilarious, math wizard. Seriously, how am I going to get out of this?”
Prescott eyed the gap and Dawes’ position. He could shoot the rope and Dawes could swing with it over to the wall. But the rope may be too long and he might just smash into bits on the floor, or he might just swing freely, only to slam into the stone wall at a rather significant speed. Both would result in the tanner’s death. He pondered. “Okay. Now I want you to swing back and forth and gain momentum. When I say jump, I want you to let go and try with all your might to get to that pillar.”
“That’s it?” Dawes whined. “That’s the whole plan? Just try it? Just jump? Awesome. Thus falls Dawes, I guess.”
He started to swing back and forth, gaining momentum. While he did so, Prescott backed up to the far edge of the pillar he was on and had everyone give him a lane. He watched Dawes swing.
“Are you about ready?”
“Sure. Why put off dying until tomorrow when you can do it today?”
Prescott tensed and took a running step forward. “Now!”
Dawes swung forward and released. He managed to get off a much better jump than he expected; he still wasn’t going to make it, though. He was probably going to bounce off the pillar on his way down, so at least that would provide some variety. He felt a powerful jolt in his back and he surged forward and landed on the edge of the pillar. Landing next to him was Prescott, who had leapt into him in midair in order to propel them both across the gap. Dawes turned and looked at Prescott. “Man. You are stupid.”
Happy with that apology, Prescott took a good hard look at the space between the final gaps to make sure there weren’t any more ropes in their way. Boone shot down the Dawes rope so no one else would get tangled in it. A few moments later, they were all safely across the canyon.
“Oh good,” said Dawes. “Another long black passage.”
****
Arnold, Marion, and Morgan thought that it made more sense to visit Mahrak first. That way, if the dragon ate them, they could send a letter to the other members of the Anti-Ripper League and help even in death. They all thought that was a pretty romantic situation. The cabin containing Mahrak was still the same boring slab that Morgan had grown to despise. They had spent months in that boring pile of wood.
Without ceremony, they knocked on the door. A mutter came from within. Without waiting for any more of an invitation, Morgan opened the door. Mahrak was there and he was playing cards with some kind of birdman. It had a vulture’s head and wings, but everything else was man-shaped. Luckily, it was wearing clothes. Mahrak seemed shocked to see them.
“Please do not start shooting,” he cried, which seemed to give the birdman a start.
“Relax,” Marion said, pushing his way inside. “We aren’t here to shoot; we need a bit more information.”
“Ah,” said Mahrak, composing himself. “Then you must first pass the gauntlet. A series of challenges designed to show that you are worthy.”
“We already did the gauntlet last time.” Morgan was starting to reevaluate the idea of not shooting.
/> “Yes, but now you seek new information, so a new gauntlet is required to prove your worth.”
“If we already proved our worth, why do we need to prove it again?” Marion asked. Arnold remained quiet and observed.
“These are the rules of the Croatan and they must be followed.” Mahrak stood and folded his arms.
Morgan drew his pistol and stuffed it into Mahrak’s mouth. “Change the rules.”
Mahrak quickly realized his situation. So did the birdman, who kindly excused himself. Morgan withdrew the pistol from Mahrak’s throat, but kept it pointed at him. “Info.”
“What would you like to know?” Mahrak moved toward the kitchen.
Morgan discharged his weapon, vaporizing a kettle on the stove. “No tea!”
Marion, in the role of diplomat, attempted to smooth the situation. “Let’s just calm down and sit. What we need to know is, once we get the last descendant of Roanoke, how do we cancel the spell?”
“It is difficult. There is not one thing that must be done. Rather several. Among you there must be a hero. A hero who does what the world thinks is impossible. But, after he accomplishes this, he must betray those who consider him a hero. He must sell his name into betrayal and forever become known as a villain. Second, you must confront the vertex of the beasts. You must mix the blood of the vertex with the blood of the last descendant. Once the blood is mixed, the vertex will become mortal. No less dangerous, but mortal. You must then kill the vertex. Legend also says that the vertex will draw a man of darkness to it. One who will try to lead the beasts. This man must also be killed. But he can only be killed by one who thirsts for personal revenge against him. Such are the conditions. Accomplish these and the spell breaks; no more creatures will be unleashed upon your land. But those that remain will not simply disappear. They shall gain the ability to multiply through physical means.”
“You mean, like make babies?” Morgan asked.
“Yes. So if you wish to wipe them out, you will be forced to commit genocide among a number of rare species. But you’re American; that shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you.”
“Whoa. That is a lot to take in. Did anybody take notes?” Arnold asked.
“I got it,” said Marion. “Thanks for the information, Mahrak. You’ve have been very helpful.” Marion shook his hand. As did Arnold.