The end of the forest was already in sight, and the mage began breathing easier. On the skirts of the wood there was a single bench with a large bag on it. The senior coordinator came up to it. It was a woman. Fiberti, clad in a shawl, two skirts, three scarves, and a coat, watched the approaching mage with hostility.
"How are you?" Larkes seated himself on the bench.
The woman warily sniffed and moved further away from him.
"Do you know where Tangor is?"
"You first!"
"First for what?" the magician did not understand.
"Tell what you know!"
"You are asking too much," the coordinator commented.
Fiberti's fiercely retorted, "I have every reason to believe that a handful of insiders are withholding important information from the public. I will fight this!"
Larkes started coughing - people who knew the senior coordinator would have said that he was laughing. Then he said, "I'm not concealing anything. We study the past on the bones of the deceased. They talk in the hands of necromancers, and for the dark such evidence is sufficient. But ordinary people refuse to believe voices of our forefathers. And who will you blame for your ignorance?"
"I'm not familiar with necromancers!" Fiberti retorted angrily.
The senior coordinator glanced at her and said nothing. They sat together for a while. The short winter day was waning. Prickly snow sprinkled from the sky. Tangor wasn't coming back.
Chapter 31
The fugitives were in Finkaun on Christmas. Six months of permanent anxiety affected Haino: the artisan didn't feel well. Lavender almost pitied the old bastard, who broke the lives of hundreds of people because of his madness. Haino stopped watching his close circle of followers, and two sectarians fled. Something strange happened to Sam: one day he returned to the shelter pale and shaky. Lavender barely managed to engage him in talks.
"I saw a dead man!" the artisan whispered to her.
"A corpse?"
"No, he was alive. But he should have been dead!"
"Look, you did not know that guy closely, did you?"
Sam shook his head, denying: "I knew him well!"
"All the more so. You must have hallucinated. We've been under such pressure."
"Maybe we should tell Haino…"
"Not worth it. Haino isn't well, and you want to pester him with your nonsense."
Sam thought for a moment and agreed. Watching how the scared boy untwisted a tangled thread on his embroidery, Lavender wondered whether she could convince him to part with the sect.
Days followed days; the patriarch stayed in Finkaun, restoring the shattered confidence of his followers. Now and then he went somewhere, followed by bodyguards. Obviously, he had something in mind and realized his plans by himself.
Lavender meticulously recorded the dates of his absence, examined the soles of his shoes, and sniffed his coat. Often his cuffs were stained with a white powder. Her trained senses were catching faint signs of spell casting. Lavender's intuition battered in her chest as a frightened bird, telling her that Haino was about to launch the ancient artifact.
"Let's assume that Derik was right about two worlds joined by elastic threads. Our World is forcibly drawn to the Other World, and the channels of the dark Sources are the threads connecting us with the darkness. Then what does the artifact do? If it cuts all threads at once, then it wouldn't rid our world of the existing otherworldly. And thousands of dark will go mad from losing magic! What if the opposite is correct, and the mysterious artifact opens up the gate into the Darkness? Then why does the patriarch want to kill humankind?" Lavender didn't believe in Haino's common sense; her goal was to break his plans, whatever they were.
Romance lives at the heart of every agent, because neither money nor accolades can compensate them for years spent under disguise. A white mage, saving Ingernika…My name will be on par with Ronald the Bright, Daylash Kibuni, and Ken Arak. Two of them were dark and one white. With me, it will be fifty-fifty!'
Sam hung out before her eyes all the time; either he was drawn to a kindred soul or secretly watched for her. At some point the flow of guests came to an end - Haino isolated himself and his group. He totally cut off all outside contacts. Lavender's intuition alarmed her of a nearing crisis, putting her on the edge of a nervous breakdown.
One evening the patriarch proposed a walk to his dear Kasia. The scout agreed – the monotony of life significantly dispirited her. She wasn't the only one whom Haino took for a walk: there were also two enchanted bodyguards, Sam and Adarik, who nervously jerked his cheek (the latter came with a weighty leather suitcase). Without saying a word, Haino led his strange group through the city. Either he wanted to engage them in the deed of his life or was afraid to lose sight of them.
They went through the gates of the Academy of Empaths – the local man-on-duty was Haino's accomplice. In the evening, the famous Academy resembled forgotten ruins: black buildings without a glimmer of light, littered walkways. The desolation had a simple explanation: most of the white went away for Christmas holidays.
Lavender curiously looked around and guessed what she would do if she was offered a part in the forbidden ritual. Surely, she would refuse and die - she wouldn't cope with the bodyguards, even if Sam maintained neutrality.
A few minutes later the situation became even more intriguing: five tall and muscular guys - white mages in the uniform of "cleaners" with high-laced boots, overalls, and plenty of amulets - met their group in the basement of the former monastery refectory. The fighters cordially greeted the patriarch. Haino succeeded in bringing up the white mages as real warriors! Lavender always considered herself unique in that respect. What a blow…
'Any of them will make a veggie of me with one finger, and all evidence will be lost.' The thought that she would carry to the grave her hard-collected information was unbearable. What if the list of sectarian supporters was more important than the ancient artifact?
A hatch in the stone floor of the monastery refectory was opened; the air smelled of damp plaster and fresh shavings. The unwinking light of blue lanterns indifferently illuminated a hastily fortified mouth of a well in the middle of the hall. Lavender feared the enormity of the scale of preparations made.
"It's the day I've been waiting for all my life!" Haino announced, and the scout's mood plunged even further. "Our faith and patience will be rewarded today. Down there," Haino pointed his finger at the well, "there is an artifact that generates vile perversion - dark magic. The holy goal of our fraternity is to destroy the source of filthiness. We'll worship The Liturgy of the Light in its original, true sense. Our previous attempts failed because we lacked the genuine Keys. Now we have them, and we'll end our fight against evil with victory! On the way to the artifact we'll need to break through the ancient defense system. I didn't find the amulet to disable it, but we'll have some time – the magic guardians won't recognize our presence instantly. Be cautious and prepare to fight back at any moment."
The well led to a cave with a massive polished stainless steel gate of two-man height. Its dully shining metal was thickly dotted with protective signs. Half of the cave was occupied by tools for unclenching the monstrous folds. Lavender glanced around, trying to determine the time when this miracle had been constructed.
Haino interpreted her look in his own way, "Do not worry; nobody has used this way for at least four hundred years. The guarding monsters plunged into a deep sleep. We have two or three hours until they'll wake up."
Haino ordered his servants to watch the gate; Lavender guessed that the patriarch purposely cut any escape routes for them. But her thoughts quickly eroded under the pressure of more urgent troubles.
As majestic and indestructible was the gate, so unreliable and shaky was the tunnel that opened up. Lanterns, swaying to the beat of their steps, snatched real chaos from the darkness: corroded beams devoid of cladding, gaps in the floor, holes in the walls leading to adjacent rooms, or the vast black depths. For half an hour
the group cautiously moved forward, probing the solidity of the floor and trying not to shake it unnecessarily. Soon the walls and floors acquired steadiness, as if the group entered another territory.
Haino confidently navigated the dark labyrinth of corridors; they never reached an impasse or turned back to their tracks. Lavender was fascinated by the underground gallery; now she longed to see their destination. But the catacombs weren't willing to share their secret - their group was attacked.
To Lavender, it looked like an attacking creature literally detached itself from the wall. The next moment she spotted the metallic shining of its humanoid figure near Adarik, and the weak flesh of the alchemist was shredded by its spikes and blades, which appeared from nowhere. The unfortunate Adarik died without a sound, spurting blood, black in the blue light. The white mages weren't taken aback; they made a circle, protecting each other's backs, and attacked the enemy. Bright golden flashes hit Lavender's eyes, and the monster was scattered into dust. One of the fighters took the alchemist's suitcase; its leather upholstery was torn, exposing some metallic parts.
"We have about ten minutes…" Haino didn't manage to finish his sentence, when the scattered dust on the floor started gathering together. The monster was restoring its shape right before Lavender's eyes.
"Too fast! Unexpectedly fast!" the artisan muttered. "Let's go down to the third floor and cut them off with the door. Move!"
Lavender saw nothing but a kaleidoscope of dark corridors and golden flashes. Haino made three attempts to take his people to the lower level and was forced to retreat - the monsters attacked cohesively and did not give the white combatants a break. The amulet disabling the guards proved to be crucial to Haino's plans. 'He made another mistake: overestimated his power.'
Lavender activated her Source and tried to learn, on the go, the basic weavings of white combat magic. It made no sense to hide her abilities any longer - the subterranean monsters were about to tear off her head! At this moment the artisans ceased to be her enemies; they were just people who fell into a trap.
Suddenly Lavender's nerves were hit by a sensation she had never experienced before: it was a movement without an object, a clamp of one hand, a smell to which she couldn't give a name, a wave of something alien and predatory, claiming its right to her mind and will. Her white Source instantly folded up, not wishing to be present near THIS. All fighters writhed on the floor; their resistance was broken.
Oddly enough, the monsters didn't rush to develop their success. They watched the demoralized warriors with some interest. One of them gently poked into the shoe of the crawling combatant and took away his shabby suitcase.
"It's the necromancer," Haino hissed. He pulled himself together and stood up.
The white mages were hastily retreating. Haino did not try to stop them. He stepped back slowly, with dignity. But Sam was in trouble: the young guy fell into a stupor, he did not understand simple words, and Lavender literally had to drag him. The monster-guards followed them in a tight formation.
The escapees reached the galleries with shaky floors; the steps of a dozen beings caused trembling under their feet. Suddenly a section of the floor with adjacent walls fell through, revealing a chasm of an unknown depth. Lavender and Sam started sliding down the inclined plane. Sam fell into the pit, but managed to grab its edge and hung on with his hands. The scout gained a foothold on the floor before the pit. By a miracle Haino didn't follow them.
Lavender grasped the hand of her unfortunate young friend with a death grip. "Help us!"
The floor under Lavender vibrated. It would not hold Haino's weight, and the scout didn't expect him to crawl to her. She hoped he would throw her a rope, at least. But the patriarch's eyes became aloofly pensive, exactly like when he signed off on a death sentence. He seemed to make a decision.
"Come on, Kasia, he cannot be helped."
"No! I won't leave him."
Sam hung like a sausage over a very deep pit with sharp metal debris at the bottom; for his size he was quite heavy, and Lavender couldn't lift him up.
"Sam is your only family, maitre! For heaven's sake, send the fighters back! Ask them to tie a rope from their overalls!" the scout begged Haino.
The artisan paused, a mournful fold gathered on his forehead. In a flash of intuition Lavender understood the underlying cause of all Haino's oddities. The artisan had lost someone very important to him, trying to make his dreams a reality. And his white nature forced him to recognize sacrifice as a precondition of achieving his goals. He didn't even try to avoid them!
For a moment she thought that his madness retreated: it was not an artisan before her, but simply a man. But then Haino's face strangely contorted, he recoiled, and disappeared in the darkness. Lavender remained in the company of the monsters and the sobbing Sam.
The monster nearest to the scout approached the pit. Lavender was about to fall into a swoon, but the monster climbed down the pit and pushed Sam up. Lavender no longer felt Sam's weight, but she couldn't unclench her hands holding the young man.
Chapter 32
My long-awaited acquaintance with the Project went wrong from the start.
At the dump I discovered the same tricky lift as at the cemetery. It brought me down to a place which was literally falling apart under its own weight. Through a breach in the floor I could see five floors down. I wasn't afraid of the thirty-foot depth after climbing down Undegar's one-thousand-foot mine, and I brought plenty of boards and ropes.
Have you ever tried to walk into a house of cards? I experienced the same feeling. The enchanted miner's lamp didn't provide enough light to assess the solidity of the construction to the naked eye; I moved forward, cautiously groping and tapping all around. As soon as I passed a sort of border, the floor no longer bent under my feet. The wall siding, torn in some places, exposed armored plates of the same type that I saw at King's Island.
The catacombs lacked mysterious inscriptions, forgotten relics, or talkative skeletons. Everything down there looked boring, shabby, and pitiful. I needed to accomplish two things: to look at the ancient artifact at a depth of three hundred feet and find my father's cache. The first two trips were unproductive; on my third visit the guards of the Project vouchsafed to react to my presence.
I stood on the crossroad when I heard a clatter of steps - the sound was completely out of place in the abandoned catacombs. Suspecting trouble, I activated the Source. Right on time! Five golems attacked me: four from the front and rear corridors and one from the side. If my reaction had been slower, they would have sliced me into pieces. My thin weavings enveloped the golems, immobilizing them, but that was all I was capable of. Even a mighty necromancer couldn't multiply himself by five. I was barely holding them, sweating from effort. When a glittering blade hangs before your eyes, your brain starts working very fast.
With a trembling hand I pulled out Dad's amulet from under my coat and activated it, on its last legs. And the golems immediately ceased their resistance to my weavings! I waited for a minute and dissipated their fetters. I was right: my father left me the Key to the entrance and the security system of the ancient artifact!
The golems lined up in single file and went to the shaft of an idle elevator; I followed them. The metal walls of the shaft had semicircular recesses of palm size that one could mount up or down. I adjusted the headlamp on my mining helmet and decisively climbed down after the golems.
The shaft doors to the floors were shut tightly; after crossing five sealed levels, I stumbled upon an obstacle below; it was the elevator's cabin, which either lay on the bottom of the shaft or was jammed over the abyss. A hatch was seen in the cabin's roof. The cabin withstood the weight of five golems; I hoped it would tolerate my weight, too. When I got inside, I found the unclenched folds of the cabin's door, leading to a tunnel. The golems left them open for me. I took advantage of their kindness to get to the floor.
There it was, the heart of the catacombs! Time seemed to turn back. It was crystal clear glass, cle
an, untouched by rust. Without a single speck of dust, the corridors stretched before me - quite a contrast to what I saw above. The air was pleasant to breathe. Signs and seals like in the Undegar mine - metal inlays and pictures made of multi-colored glass - faintly winked on the walls in the light of my enchanted lamp, as if someone recently fed them with power.
According to my chronometer, four hours had already passed by, but I just couldn't turn back! I went ahead, looking for an unlocked door. The first one led to a toilet. I imagined myself bringing a bottle of petrified soap to Clara as a trophy and laughed. Rustle joined the fun. I asked if he knew where my dad's cache was hidden, and the monster suggested that I find the biggest door.
I walked along a gradually turning corridor; all the doors were about the same to me; the golems were gone. I suspected that after a victory lap I would come back around to my own tracks.
An opening suddenly appeared on the right. It was a tunnel with a staircase leading to one level below. I cautiously descended (reminding myself that it was built thousands of years ago). For the artifact, the floor was too close to the surface - I passed only halfway to the three-hundred-foot depth, at best. To my luck, on this level I finally found the door Rustle hinted at! Its only gigantic metallic fold was curved, suggesting that it was part of a more complex mechanism. Colorful confetti started dancing in my eyes from an effort to grasp its design and function. Of course, I tried to get behind the door. No way! It seemed to be a few feet thick and closed tightly.
Opposite the grand door the tunnel terminated trivially - in a spacious room with broken chairs and lamps. There were neither luxury finishes, nor piles of gold or artifacts, except for a corpse, whom I was going to ask questions of!
I touched the bones, catching the very last moment of this man's life: a soft chair, the quiet rustling of fans, dim light, black fog approaching from behind, and a short attack of fear. Memory of the deceased unfolded before me, like pages of an ancient book. The monster recalled the man - he proved to be the first victim of Rustle, and the circumstances of his death began to rise in my mind.
The Fixer Of God's Ways (retail) Page 21