by Clayton Wood
“Wake up!” he shouted, shaking Darius. No response. Kyle hesitated, then raised his hand until it hovered over Darius's face. He held it there, knowing that he had to wake Darius up somehow...but slapping the man in the face was something he just couldn't bring himself to do. Then he remembered when he'd first met Darius, how the man had yanked him out of his chair, treating him like a mutt. How he'd called Kyle useless, and laughed when he'd nearly killed himself flying through Kalibar's gravity shield.
Kyle swung his arm, slapping Darius full across the face.
Then he shrieked, launching himself backward against the opposite wall. He grabbed his right hand, shocked at the pain lancing through his palm. He always figured the bodyguard had a thick skull, but that hurt! He shook his hand, massaging it gingerly. Then he stared nervously at Darius, half-expecting the man to jump up and give Kyle a royal beat-down. But Darius hadn't so much as flinched.
Suddenly, the carriage tilted, nosing downward. Kyle braced himself against one wall, feeling his stomach flip. He turned to look out the window, seeing the carriage dip below the treetops.
Kyle knew what the descent signified. It was the end of his flight, and the beginning of his trip into the bowels of the earth.
The carriage leveled off, winding through the forest, until the trees became more sparse. Then it dipped downward again, very gently, until it leveled out once more, and stopped.
Kyle backed up against the front wall of the carriage, facing the double-doors on the opposite side. Then he turned to Darius, sprinting to his side and grabbing his wrist. He pulled on it, straining to move the burly bodyguard, but the man was impossibly heavy...he didn't budge an inch. Kyle tried again, pulling as hard as he could, leaning backward. Darius slid toward Kyle, then rolled onto his side, his head slamming into the metal floor below with a dull thud. Kyle cringed, letting go of Darius's wrist and backing up against the front wall again. But not even that woke the bodyguard.
Kyle felt a subtle buzzing in the air, the familiar sensation of magic being woven. Suddenly, the rear doors of the carriage swung open, bright sunlight bursting into the carriage, making Kyle's eyes sting. He squinted, pressing his back against the cool metal wall. A tall, bald-headed man in a red shirt and pants stood beyond the double-doors. The man wore a black sash with a green diamond in the center, the uniform of a Death Weaver.
“Get out,” the man growled. Without warning, he lunged forward, grabbing Kyle's wrist and yanking him out of the carriage. Kyle stumbled onto the rocky ground beyond, nearly falling onto his face. He righted himself, looking around. In front of him stood the sheer vertical face of a mountain, its tall peak hidden in dense clouds far above their heads. A huge entrance had been cut into the face of the rock wall before them, some twenty feet wide and ten feet tall.
“Wake the man,” a deep voice commanded. The bald Death Weaver let go of Kyle's wrist at once, walking back toward the carriage behind Kyle. Kyle turned about, realizing that there were over a dozen other carriages hovering inches above the ground behind the one he'd emerged from. All of them, save for the one he'd come from, were empty. He turned forward again, and nearly jumped; the Dead Man stood before him.
“Are you hurt?” the dark Weaver asked, gesturing toward Kyle's left shoulder – the one he'd smacked into the ground when he'd fallen earlier. Kyle shook his head mutely, then glanced back at the carriage. The bald Death Weaver was inside, kneeling over Darius's motionless body.
“Your friend will be awake soon enough,” the Dead Man promised. “You've both been sleeping since yesterday,” he added. Kyle blinked, wondering how he'd managed to sleep for so long. The bald Death Weaver reached under Darius's shirt, peeling something thin and white from his chest. It was a white gossamer square, almost translucent, and rippled in the warm breeze. It was, Kyle realized, identical to the one he'd seen at his feet when he'd woken up earlier. It had to be dreamweaver silk, woven by the deadly dreamweaver spider; the substance could make its victims sleep indefinitely.
The Death Weaver threw the silk patch aside quickly, stifling a yawn as he did so, then grabbed Darius's arm, pulling upward. The bodyguard didn't budge.
The Death Weaver stood back, then placed both of his hands under Darius's armpits, bending his knees, then hauling the bodyguard upward. The veins on the Weaver's forehead bulged as he strained, managing with great difficulty to lift Darius into a sitting position against the wall. The Dead Man watched for a few moments, then sighed.
“Lift him with magic, Ethan,” he instructed. The bald man nodded, but before he could comply, Darius's eyelids fluttered open, and he groaned, bringing his hand to his right temple.
“Get up,” the bald Weaver – Ethan – ordered, kicking Darius in the hip with one booted foot. Darius turned his piercing blue eyes on the man, then looked out of the carriage at Kyle.
“I said get up!” Ethan yelled. Darius glanced back at the Death Weaver.
“You need a nap,” he grumbled, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. He glanced down at the metal shackles around his wrists, then at Kyle and the Dead Man standing beyond. Ethan shoved Darius forward, or tried to; Darius twisted his shoulder forward at the last minute, causing Ethan to stumble forward into him. Then Darius snapped his shoulder backward, catching the Death Weaver square in the jaw with it.
The man dropped like a stone.
The Dead Man glanced down at the fallen Ethan, then looked back at Darius.
“Join us,” the Dead Man ordered. Then he shifted his gaze to Kyle. “Come,” he ordered, extending a pale hand. Kyle glanced at it, then back at the Dead Man's black, sunken eyes. Despite every fiber of his being screaming for him to obey, knowing what might happen to Darius if he didn't, he couldn't move. His mind would not let him go forward into the cavern, to that underground prison.
“We both have...unpleasant memories to face,” the Dead Man murmured. “I assure you that mine are harder to bear.” His jawline rippled. “He took everything from me.”
Kyle lowered his gaze, swallowing in a dry throat. He glanced at the Dead man's hands, noticing that the left hand was different than the right; the fingers were longer, the skin slightly darker. He pictured the Dead Man as he had last seen him, his feet crushed by Kalibar's magic, his left arm missing, the left side of his face blackened and charred. Kyle looked up at the Dead Man's face, at the white scars spreading like pearly fingers across his left temple. He wondered what dark power had revived the Dead Man, breathing life back into his shattered body.
“We will face our demons,” the Dead Man stated, “...and our fates.” He gripped Kyle's shoulder with his icy fingers, then turned toward the huge cavern opening, gliding forward silently, his boots levitating inches above the ground. He pulled Kyle with him. Kyle stumbled forward, then matched the Dead Man's pace. He glanced back, seeing Darius step out of the carriage, following close behind. In this way, they made their way toward the cavern together, until the rocky ceiling blotted out the sun above, the cave's shadows swallowing them whole.
* * *
The tunnels were just as Kyle remembered them.
They walked silently through the massive main tunnel, the ground sloping gently downward into the bowels of the earth. Magical lanterns hung on the walls on either side, gently illuminating the massive cavern. Kyle couldn't help glancing back the way they'd come, past a silent Darius, watching as the mouth of the cave retreated in the distance. The sun's rays splashed on the gray rocks jutting out of the cavern walls near the entrance, but none dared venture deeper in. Kyle stared at those illuminated rocks, wondering with a sinking heart if he would ever see the sun again. As the three continued their onward and downward trek, the cave entrance disappeared, hidden by the downward-sloping cavern floor. Kyle turned forward, and he didn't look back again. He felt as if a chapter of his life had just ended, and a new, darker one was about to begin.
No one spoke as they traveled for what seemed like an eternity down the massive underground tunnel, passing countless magica
l lanterns on either side. The air became cooler as they moved downward, and damper, the powerful stench of dirt making Kyle sneeze more than once. His mind wandered, and he found himself imagining being back on Earth, getting picked up after school, telling his dad about his day. Playing with his best friend Ben in the backyard, the sun shining on them as they pretended to be spies on the roof outside Ben's bedroom window, tracking the other kids as they played in their own yards. He pictured himself in his own bed, his mom stroking his hair as he slowly fell asleep.
Kyle jerked himself out of his reverie, realizing the tunnel had suddenly ended. An all-too-familiar stone ramp extended along the rightmost wall, to a small tunnel hewn in the rock. Kyle followed the Dead Man up the ramp and into that dark tunnel. There were no magic lanterns in this tunnel; the Dead Man stopped, turning to Kyle.
“If you would,” he prompted. Kyle nodded, weaving the light pattern rapidly and casting it outward. A bright ball of white light appeared, casting a gentle glow throughout the long tunnel. The Dead Man smiled. “Thank you,” he said. Then he moved forward again, gliding above the smooth stone floor, his black cloak rippling endlessly behind him. Kyle noted absently that the grayish patterns on the cloak were different than they had been before. It made sense, of course; Darius had taken the original cloak and given it to Ariana after beheading the man.
Kyle glanced up at the back of the Dead Man's neck, spotting a thin, purplish line in the pale flesh. He felt queasy, picturing the man's head lying on the ground, black eyes staring lifelessly outward, the body several feet away. He stared at the Dead Man's neck, wondering just how securely it had been reattached. He couldn't help running his fingers over his own neck, imagining what it would be like to know that it had been welded back to his body.
They continued down the tunnel silently, until it opened up into a huge, well-lit cavern. Everything was exactly as it had been when he'd been there not even two weeks ago; the rows of stadium seating, the circular, dirt floor of the Arena below. The twin pairs of dormitories surrounding the perimeter of the far side of the cavern, their walls carved out of the very rock itself. The dark waters of a pond between each pair, underneath which Kyle knew the secret underwater chamber the Dead Man had called “the Void” lay. Even the Timestone was there, a massive glowing sphere levitating halfway between the floor of the Arena and the ceiling a hundred feet above.
Everything was the same...except that it was empty. Whereas before the lair had been bustling with people, now it was utterly deserted.
The Dead Man stopped abruptly, staring down at the Arena, his expression unreadable. Darius stopped ten feet behind them, having said nothing the entire time.
“Welcome home,” the Dead Man muttered. Kyle couldn't tell if the dark Weaver was talking to him...or to himself.
Kyle said nothing, staring at the dormitories below instead. He noticed a dark figure emerging from the leftmost dormitory entrance, moving slowly toward the Arena floor. The figure made its way across the Arena to one of the many stairways traveling upward between rows of seats. As it shambled toward them, Kyle saw that it was an old man carrying a beaten-up wooden cane in his right hand. No, old was an understatement; the man was ancient, his skin as thin and dry as wrinkled parchment. Deep lines crisscrossed his forehead, then fell in sharp crevices cutting into his sunken cheeks. He had a large, irregular white scar running across his forehead, with countless smaller scars running the length of his stick-like arms. Odd bumps rose from his flesh, scattered over his body. The man's clothes were too large for his thin frame, the fabric torn and soiled.
The old man hobbled up the steps of the Arena, until at long last he stopped a few feet before Kyle and the Dead Man. Kyle shrank back, wrinkling his nose in disgust; a foul odor rose from the old man, a stench so revolting that it almost made Kyle gag. The old man's eyes – nearly hidden beneath the folds of his eyelids – were sharp and lively, the only part of him that seemed alive.
“Your remaining children are safe,” the old man stated.
“Thank you,” the Dead Man replied, bowing slightly. The old man paused, then sighed, putting a wrinkled hand on the Dead Man's shoulder.
“Your family deserved better.”
“It was my failure,” the Dead Man murmured, lowering his gaze.
“And that failure led to necessary consequences,” the old man lamented. “Faith in the Chosen must be absolute. I only hope the children can be rehabilitated.” He sighed again. “We are dealing with a force beyond your abilities,” he added, patting the Dead Man's shoulder. “Xanos will see to it that you and your family are avenged.”
“Thank you,” the Dead Man replied, bowing again.
The old man turned to Kyle then, and Kyle shrank under his gaze.
“Ahhh, this is the boy,” he murmured, looking Kyle over. “A remarkable specimen...he would have been exceptional even in Ancient times, as you call them now.”
Kyle said nothing, nearly gagging at the awful stench emanating from the old man.
“And this must be the bodyguard,” the old man proclaimed, turning to Darius, who was standing behind the other two. He reached out with one misshapen finger, gesturing for Darius to come forward. “Come closer...my eyes aren't what they used to be.” Darius complied, stepping forward until he was standing between Kyle and the Dead Man. The old man looked Darius up and down.
“I've heard a lot about you,” he stated, reaching out with one withered hand and patting Darius on the side of the face. The bodyguard didn't react. “I particularly enjoyed the lesson you gave poor Ethan,” he added. “Too many Weavers fail to understand that magic is just a tool. And, like any other tool, it can be taken away. The man makes the tool...and you, my friend, have made great use of what little you have.”
“You have no idea what that means to me,” Darius muttered.
The old man leaned forward, hunching over his cane.
“You look familiar, my boy,” he murmured. “Have we met before?”
“Would've remembered the smell,” Darius replied. The old man chuckled.
“I suspect so,” he agreed. Then he sighed, turning back to the Dead Man. “Well, as much as I'd like to stay and chat, I must be going.”
“Xanos be with you,” the Dead Man stated, bowing slightly. The old man smiled – or smirked. It was difficult for Kyle to tell.
“Indeed,” he replied. He hesitated, then put a hand on the Dead Man's gaunt cheek. “Your faith will be rewarded.”
The Dead Man lowered his gaze, saying nothing.
“The seeds of the future grow from the fertile soil the dead leave behind,” the old man mused, lowering his hand and rapping the butt of his cane on the stone floor. Then he turned away, hobbling down the steps one at a time, slowly making his way back down to the Arena floor. The Dead Man watched the old man leave, saying nothing. Kyle watched as the man crossed the Arena, limping toward the pond between the dormitories. He waded through the water, his knees, then his waist vanishing below the dark surface. Still, he continued forward, until his head had disappeared, only slow ripples marking where he had been moments ago.
The Dead Man stirred, turning to face Kyle and Darius, his expression unreadable.
“Come,” he stated. He glided forward then, down the stairway. Kyle and Darius followed the Dead Man, passing rows of seats on either side until they reached the bottom. They crossed the packed dirt floor of the Arena, the Dead Man guiding them toward the pond between the dormitories, stopping before the gently rippling waters. He turned toward the dormitories on the left, gazing at them wistfully.
“I knew them all,” the Dead Man stated softly. “Every single one of them. And their fathers, their mothers. Their grandparents. I raised all of them. I was there when they were born, and for every birthday they celebrated. But I wasn't there for them when they were sacrificed.” He turned back to Kyle, his pale lips thin and tight on his face. “Six generations, Kyle. My life's work.”
They stood there for a long moment, in comp
lete silence.
The Dead Man tore his gaze away from the empty dormitories, turning to stare at the empty stands of the Arena. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, not so much as blinking. At long last, he stirred, turning to face the pond again.
“Come close,” he ordered. Kyle and Darius complied, flanking the Dead Man. A faint blue gravity sphere appeared around them all, and the Dead Man levitated forward, the globe moving forward with him into the pond. The dark waters parted around the impenetrable sphere, and before long they were descending rapidly. The pond completely engulfed them, faint rays of light shimmering from the now-turbulent surface above. Soon it was so dark that Kyle could see nothing at all. Kyle felt the Dead Man's hand on his shoulder.
“If you would,” he murmured.
Kyle wove the light pattern, and a bright light appeared within the sphere, revealing a sea of blue in all directions. Downward they went, until Kyle spotted gray, irregular stone below. He looked forward, seeing a familiar arched doorway carved into the sheer stone wall ahead. A rippling mirror made of water filled the doorway, a portal into the secret room beyond.
The Void.
They floated toward the doorway, their reflections growing larger and larger, until the magical sphere contacted the silvery surface, parting the water and revealing a narrow tunnel beyond. Soon they had passed all the way through the doorway. The shimmering sphere vanished, and the Dead Man dropped to the floor, his black boots clicking on the metal platform below. His cloak fell limply around his body, its perpetual rippling coming to an end.
Kyle looked down the narrow hallway, seeing huge white crystals lining the walls and ceiling, forming a glittering, pulsing arch above their heads. A narrow metallic platform ran down the length of the tunnel, clanging dully with every footstep. The Dead Man stepped forward, making his way down the tunnel, not bothering to look back. Darius and Kyle followed. Darius, having never seen the tunnel, walked more slowly than the other two, gazing upward at the massive crystals.