Master and Apprentice

by Bateman, Sonya

  My warning shout cut itself short when I hit the ground hard enough to drive the breath from me, then bounced a foot and started rolling. The lightless tunnel dove down at a steep incline. Protrusions that might’ve been rough steps battered me into an erratic tumble, preventing me from slowing my descent. I tried digging the end of the flashlight into something to stop the momentum—and only managed to vault myself airborne.

  I finally crashed to a stop with my face in the dirt and one leg jammed against the tunnel wall. Various bruises and scrapes throbbed in sync with my pounding heart, but nothing seemed broken. Except my pride. I groaned, shuffled into a semiupright position, and spat out a mouthful of sludge. “That sucked,” I muttered.

  A blurred patch of light approached me, with Ian behind it. His lips twisted into a crooked smile. “Interesting strategy, thief,” he said. “Did you perhaps intend to beat the steps into submission?”

  “How’d you guess?” I got my feet under me and tried to brush myself off. “At least there weren’t a bunch of spikes at the bottom. Christ.” I directed the flashlight beam back the way I’d fallen. The incline was so steep, I could make out only about five feet of tunnel before the ceiling got in the way. “When Kit said down, he really meant down. How far d’you think that went?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps thirty meters.”

  “And how far is that in plain, normal distance?”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “I believe it would be approximately one hundred feet.”

  I gave a low whistle, winced, and rubbed the back of my head, where a good-size knot had formed at the base of my skull. “We’re pretty far underground,” I said. “Have to be getting close to the place.”

  “Yes,” Ian said slowly. “Though I still do not sense anything.”

  “Well, they did say things were well protected here.” I took a minute to heal the worst of the damage. Without knowing my own limits, I wanted to use as little power as possible until we had to confront Nurien, or the other elders. “We should get going. Um … but let’s slow down a little. I think I’ve had enough falling for one day.”

  Ian declined to comment, but his smirk resurfaced.

  The tunnel stayed fairly flat and even for a while. We didn’t run into any more illusion walls. Eventually, something changed. The tunnel was getting taller and wider. And brighter.

  A faint, distant glow loomed ahead. We slowed by unspoken consent, and soon made out two blue-flamelit torches mounted in the floor, at either side of an opening. Beyond the torches, a dingy gray light revealed part of a cavern and some kind of pattern sculpted into the far wall. It almost looked like a couple of columns. Nothing moved where we could see, and there was no sound. Not a scratch or a scuff or a single breath.

  But that didn’t mean the place was empty. Nurien was expecting us. There had to be guards somewhere. Four elders left. I was sure we’d run into them before Nurien.

  I held a finger to my lips. Ian favored me with the I-am-not-stupid glare and gestured his fireball out. I switched off the flashlight. Pre-soul-bind Donatti would’ve been blind as a corpse in here, but my new sight enhanced the dim glow and cast everything in kind of a blue version of night-vision goggles. I could actually see better without the flashlight.

  Which was how I noticed the smaller tunnel ahead, branching off to the right, and the two suspiciously human-shape silhouettes just inside it.

  Instinctively, I brought the Sig up into position—just as two lockdown spells were shouted simultaneously. Neither of them had come from Ian. My body froze, and the shapes of the scions withdrew. I heard running feet headed away from us. Ian stayed silent, so I assumed he’d been hit with the other lockdown.

  As I worked to undo the spell, panic sizzled through my gut. Why were they running? They should’ve tried to shoot us, or cast more damaging spells, or something. Lockdowns only held for a few minutes. These bastards were willing to die for Nurien—so they shouldn’t have turned tail now. It didn’t make sense.

  I broke free and managed a single step toward Ian before a white flash swallowed the mouth of the tunnel. The blast wave slammed my ears like twin hammers, and the tunnel came crashing down.

  For a few seconds I couldn’t figure out why it was so dark, and why I couldn’t move or breathe. It felt like there was a truck parked on my back.

  Then I remembered the explosion.

  I must’ve passed out, for God knew how long. No point in shouting for Ian. Even if I could speak, he wouldn’t be able to hear me. So the first thing I had to do was get sixteen tons of earth off me so I could breathe. No problem.

  I tried moving various body parts, to see if I had any wiggle room. Both legs were pinned solid. Ditto torso and head. I managed to shift the fingers of my right hand, but the movement sent bolts of pain screaming through my arm. Definitely broken. And that probably wasn’t the only set of shattered bones I currently possessed.

  Crud. How the hell was I going to get out of this? I couldn’t use the blood marker I’d left. It’d mean leaving Ian buried here, and we’d definitely run out of time then. If we hadn’t already.

  I decided it would be easier to think if my head wasn’t being crushed. Just as the idea occurred, the warmth of the earth’s power flooded me, and the dirt pressed against my face receded. Loose earth rained down around my ears, and a sound like sandpaper whispered from the new space as it deepened. Soon, there was a small hollow carved out around my head.

  This earth magic shit really had some kick when I was buried alive.

  I concentrated on digging out the rest of me until I lay in a flat pocket of air with a few inches to spare. Once I relieved the pressure, I could really feel how broken and mangled I was. Damn it. I’d have to use a lot of my power to heal myself, and Ian. I’d almost think Nurien knew that, and had the scions take the crippling explosion route just to force us into expending as much magic as possible. But he thought I was weak. Insignificant Doma spawn.

  Or did he?

  Some of the elders had been with Vaelyn, right up until I took her down the first time. They’d seen what happened with the forest fire and knew I’d done it. Vaelyn had announced it. And they’d wandered off, reported back here—and must’ve filled good ol’ Father in on the new tricks the Doma spawn was learning. So much for the element of surprise.

  I healed myself as quickly as I could. My body was prickled with sweat by the time I finished, and I hadn’t even found Ian yet. I’d lost the flashlight and the gun too. Jazz was going to be pissed—the Sig was her favorite.

  The flashlight was a problem because with absolutely no light to amplify, I couldn’t see a damned thing. Blackness pressed against my eyes like a living thing, actively stealing my sight. The sensation of wide-open eyes that saw nothing—not a shape, smudge, or shadow—creeped me out completely. I contorted my way through my pockets until I found my lighter, and gave myself a mental pat on the back for investing in a butane flip top instead of a plastic disposable. I shut my eyes, sparked it up, and opened them again.

  Endless, suffocating dirt. Much better.

  Ian had been ahead and to the left when I’d faced him just before the explosion. Now, though, he could be anywhere. I didn’t think I’d been thrown with the blast, so maybe he hadn’t either. I shuffled as far left as possible, picked an angle that seemed like an Ianish direction, and started collapsing dirt out of the way.

  The process wasn’t exactly efficient. I’d clear a few feet, scrunch forward with an awkward elbow-driven crab crawl, clear a few more, scrabble forth again. Eventually I passed the point where I thought Ian should have been, and had to form a space big enough to turn around. I started a new tunnel back toward my original position, adjacent to the one I’d just dug and a few feet out.

  I hadn’t gone far when a muffled whump sounded behind me, and a brief whisper of moving air flickered the lighter flame. I twisted to look over my shoulder. The turnaround had collapsed and filled itself back in.

  Great. If I didn’t find Ian soon, I
’d lose what little sense of direction I still had.

  I pressed on. The enclosed space and constant use of magic conspired to raise the heat level to volcanic proportions. Perspiration ran rivers across my skin, mingled with the dirt, and caked in muddy streaks. My elbows stung with the scraping they endured, and my forearms cramped and throbbed under the strain. But I cleared more space, dragged ahead.

  My right arm banged something solid jutting from the dirt, and the lighter fell from my fingers and closed on itself with a tiny metallic snap.

  “Damn!” Resisting panic, I patted the ground ahead of me until I felt smooth metal. I snagged the lighter and fired it up. Had to shimmy backward to see what I’d hit—the toe of a scuffed brown leather boot, almost the same color as the dirt packed around it. Presumably attached to the rest of Ian.

  I shifted earth around until I had him uncovered and made room to crawl up next to him. He was unconscious, and bleeding from the nose, mouth, and ears. I couldn’t tell by looking at him how bad the damage was, but I suspected there were a lot of crushed bits inside.

  At least I didn’t have trouble finding a healing point. But by the time I finished fixing him, I could’ve fried an entire truck-stop breakfast on my skin.

  Ian came to with a full-body jerk that showered both of us in cascades of dirt. “Take it easy,” I said. “This thing’s about as stable as a house of cards.”

  “Donatti.” He turned toward me. “The tunnel collapsed.”

  “Yeah, it had a little help from a big boom. I’m guessing dynamite or C-4.”

  “How long … ?”

  “No clue.” I’d probably been crawling for at least an hour, but if I told him that, he might give up. I tried to remember the approximate direction of the side tunnel the scions had been in. Pretty sure it was forward and right. “So we’d better get moving.”

  He glanced around the shallow space and frowned. “I do not see anywhere to move to.”

  “Got that covered.” I focused in front of me and cleared a few feet. “Follow me. And try not to sneeze or anything.”

  Ian nodded, his mouth stretched in a grim line. “Thank the gods for your new talents.”

  “I’ll have Calvin convey the message,” I said.

  I decided not to tell Ian that I’d already hit four alarm and was on my way to five. One of us had to believe Nurien wouldn’t be able to crush us like flies the second we found him.

  Chapter 36

  Somehow I managed to pick the right direction, or close to it, anyway. I couldn’t see farther than the end of my worm-trail-in-progress, but I could smell the change in the atmosphere—less dirt, more air. I made my way toward the source of the higher air concentration, and after the next few shifts, a small hole formed at the edge of the path.

  The feeble light creeping into that hole blazed like a sunbeam bursting through clouds.

  One more pass, and I tumbled from the dirt into the wide-open spaces of the tunnel. My body sobbed with relief, and I flopped flat on my back. Didn’t want to move another inch. But I managed to slide over and let Ian clamber out. We’d have to get going again soon, but right now if somebody poured gasoline on me and lit a match, I’d just lie here and burn.

  Hell, I was practically on fire anyway. I wouldn’t even feel actual flames.

  I expected Ian to snap at me, tell me to get off my ass and keep moving. But he shuffled aside, sat against the wall, and closed his eyes. He looked awful. Streaked with dirt and drying blood, accidental war paint in brown and red and black where they’d mixed. I probably didn’t look much better.

  “I believe you were right,” he said.

  The defeat in his tone overruled my shock. I was never right. Especially according to Ian. “About what?”

  “Nurien was simply attempting to gain more time.” He let out a sigh. “And he has succeeded.”

  “Maybe. Remember, we don’t know how long we were out. It could’ve been just a few minutes.”

  Ian cast me a doubtful glance.

  “Look, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “Whether or not he finished the damned ceremony, we’re going to find him and destroy him. Right?”

  A fierce light came into his eyes. “Yes.”

  “Good.” I sat up, still hot but not blazing. More like sitting on a Florida beach in August. “I’m sure we’re gonna run into at least a couple of scions once we leave this tunnel,” I said. “And I lost my gun back there. I’m thinking maybe you should go wolf, so you can take them out.”

  “How do you plan to defend yourself, then?”

  “I’ve got these.” I pulled both blades from the ankle holsters.

  Ian raised an eyebrow. “I thought you did not have the stomach for such methods.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s them or me.” I wasn’t sure I did have the stomach for it. But I knew, without a doubt, these guys wouldn’t hesitate. They’d been conditioned. They wouldn’t stop until someone died—and I’d prefer that someone wasn’t me. “So let’s make it them,” I said.

  He smiled. “A good plan, thief.”

  “I always do the smart thing.”

  I stood and waited while he transformed, then started slowly down the tunnel, away from the collapsed part. The passage curved to the left, so I couldn’t see where it emptied out—or who might be waiting at the other end.

  We rounded the turn. The mouth of the tunnel stood ten feet ahead, with no apparent guards, gates, or other obstacles. That wasn’t necessarily a good sign. Like the main tunnel, it opened into the cavern we’d glimpsed before, with the same sculpted pattern on the far wall. I took a breath and headed for the exit.

  Ian padded next to me. When we reached the opening, he let out a low, rumbling growl, and as we stepped into the cavern, I caught the scent he must have found first. Death. The place reeked of it. The ripe stench of ruined flesh and spilled blood choked the air, painted everything with a black brush.

  I couldn’t see the source of the smell. But I did notice the temple.

  The sculpted patterns were columns, six of them in two groups, stretching up what would’ve been three or four stories and blending back into the earth ceiling above. Torches blazed in sconces set into them a few feet above the bases. Behind them, an elaborate replica of a building front had been carved from the wall. Six stairs stretching the width of the temple led to an arched doorway placed between the groups of columns. More torches flanked the entrance.

  The thing looked like something straight out of Greek mythology. A place of worship, and sacrifice, and fear. Somehow I got the feeling that was intended.

  A light pulsed at the corner of my vision. Ian was changing back. When he finished, he snorted and shook his head as if he had something stuck in his nose. “The wolf cannot tolerate the stench,” he said. “And there does not seem to be anyone to kill.”

  “Yeah, looks that way.” I stared at the entrance to the temple, a gaping maw of hungry shadow, and shivered. “So, we going in there?”

  “We are.”

  “Terrific.” I swallowed, gripped the knives harder, and started for the stairs.

  The closer we got to the place, the stronger the awful smell grew. I tried not to breathe through my nose, but the stench still reached down my throat and pulled at my gut. Christ, how could anything stink this bad? We passed between the columns—and found the answer lying on the steps behind them.

  The bodies of the last four elder scions rested in various heaps. Two on the right, two on the left. Their throats had been slit, their torsos split open at the center and pulled apart like gruesome cabinets. No trace of pain or fear showed in their frozen features. They’d died with the slack expressions of cows chewing grass.

  And there was no blood. There should’ve been gallons of the stuff, splashing the bodies and spilling on the ground, soaking into the packed earth of the temple stairs. But only a faint, dark crust of maroon at the edges of the wounds indicated they’d even had blood to spill.

  My stomach jerked and convulsed. I had to bite
my tongue to keep from puking. They hadn’t been dead long, as far as I could tell. The ravaged flesh inside sundered rib cages still glistened moist and pink. Fresh meat.

  Something seemed wrong, outside of the lack of blood. “I’m no doctor,” I muttered. “But aren’t they missing something?”

  “Yes.” Ian choked on the word. “Their hearts have been removed.”

  I blinked slowly and said, “Oh.” Nice and calm. Then, with the same calm, I walked back to the other side of the columns and emptied my stomach onto the ground.

  For a few seconds I stood there, bent and cradling my gut, the taste of bile scalding my mouth. Nurien had killed them. I knew that as surely as I knew water was wet. Not with his own hands, he couldn’t have, so he must’ve made them kill themselves—or each other. He’d drunk their blood and ripped their hearts out, and left their mangled bodies on the steps of his temple like so much garbage.

  Brainwashed killers or not, nobody deserved that.

  I spat, wiped my mouth, spat again, and rejoined Ian. We had a djinn to destroy. And I had no remorse left.

  It wasn’t hard to find Nurien. Ian must’ve underestimated his arrogance, because the bastard wasn’t even trying to hide.

  Inside the temple was one long room with cavernous ceilings and more torch-bearing columns marching along both sides. At the far end was a platform with an altar table, complete with candles. Nurien knelt at one side of the table, Akila at the other—though she was restrained with the blue-black rope spell the scions had used to bring her here. No longer clad in the shirt and jeans she’d had on when she was taken, she wore a sleeveless white gown, dirty and torn where she knelt. On her bowed head was a gold tiara streaked with blood.

  Without the cult robes, Nurien still looked like an embarrassment to drag queens. His clothing was gold—skintight pants, billowing shirt, vest, sash. He wore white boots and white gloves. He had on a tiara that matched Akila’s, except for the blood. His was clean, gleaming. It should’ve looked ridiculous, but he managed to pull off the overall effect of royalty the way fairy tales made it sound. The real deal. His face looked royal enough—narrow and pinched, with high cheekbones and a thin blade of a nose that he couldn’t seem to stop looking down.