Elements 03 - Monsters of the Earth

by David Drake

  Hedia lengthened her strides, forcing the magician to keep up with her. They had almost caught up with their guide by the time Melino straightened and shrugged out of her grip.

  “I’m all right,” he said. He sounded like a man on his deathbed. “I can walk by myself.”

  Until the next time, Hedia thought, but she shifted away from him. Only now did the demon glance over her shoulder and smile—but this time at Hedia, not at the magician.

  Hedia smelled fresh blood, an odor familiar from the arena but unexpected here. The floor had been bare stone when they entered the tunnel. Now it showed cracks crawling across a rime of hoarfrost. They oozed a thick fluid whose red color might simply have been the demon’s glow, the only light in the tunnel.

  Judging from the smell, the ooze was surely blood. Still tacky, it clung to the soles of Hedia’s sandals. She smiled coldly.

  She was probably spattering her lower legs with every step, but she wouldn’t be fit for polite company until she had bathed and changed her whole wardrobe anyway. It was unlikely that she would be meeting polite company until she returned to the Waking World, so her appearance was well down the list of the problems that concerned her.

  She wondered how far they had to walk in this tunnel, but she didn’t ask. She would walk until she got to where they were going—or she dropped. She wouldn’t be ready to drop for a very long time yet.

  Hedia laughed. To her surprise, the demon looked back at her and chuckled pleasantly.

  Melino glanced from one of them to the other without speaking. Hedia and the demon laughed again.

  They walked on.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Alphena sat up carefully. Her head throbbed, but mostly that was bearable. Once a flash blinded her, and she felt as though her skull were being ground between millstones. It was just a flash, though, gone as suddenly as it came.

  She turned her head and threw up, leaving a splash of bile on the baked earth. Immediately she felt better. Enough better—she smiled at herself—that she began to wonder when she next would get a chance to eat.

  On the ground before her lay the idol she had used as a shield. She rotated it so that she could look at its remarkably ugly face, but she didn’t pick it up.

  “You may call me God, mortal woman,” the idol said. Its iron tongue licked, but it had already cleaned as much of its face as it could reach. “So long as you provide me with regular sacrifices, I will continue to spare you.”

  Anger, then amusement, danced through Alphena’s mind. Between them, the emotions brought her back to full alertness.

  “I won’t call you God,” she said. She curled her feet under her, but she wasn’t quite ready to rise yet. “And since I’m not staying around here—”

  Though she didn’t have any better place to go that she knew of.

  “—you’ll have to find someone else to sacrifice to you.”

  Alphena leaned forward, preparing to get up. The horse-headed giant was already bloating. Dead on the ground, it looked even bigger than it had while she was fighting it.

  “Wait!” said the idol. Alphena thought she heard desperation in the raspy voice. “You need me, Alphena. You won’t be able to do anything without my help.”

  That was pretty much Alphena’s opinion too, but she wasn’t sure that a talking stick would help much. She said, “What sort of help?”

  “Will you call me ‘First’?” the idol said. “Or perhaps ‘Chief’? It means the same thing in Ashangi.”

  Alphena made a production of considering. “I’ll call you First,” she said. “If I have any reason to speak with you in the future.”

  Having made the threat clear, she added in a milder tone, “What’s this horse-headed thing?”

  Instead of nodding, she gestured with the sword.

  “And why did it try to kill me?”

  She needed to wash the blood off her sword; mere wiping wouldn’t be enough. And she needed to bathe, because she was as red and sticky as the weapon.

  “A magician set the Ethiopes, your Horseheads, to hunting the Daughters of the Mind,” First said. He sounded relieved and cheerful. “He left one of the Ethiopes behind to kill any of the Daughters’ allies who were following them. And you fed the Ethiope”—he was crowing in triumph—“to me, gracious worshiper!”

  Alphena wasn’t a grammarian, but she couldn’t have grown up around her brother and not found herself noticing the details of words. In sudden realization she said, “First, you said ‘worshiper,’ singular. If I go off and leave you, how long will it be before your Ashangi come back here?”

  “Surely you would not leave me, Alphena?” the idol said. She heard fear, not assurance, in his tone. “I will help you.”

  “How long?” Alphena demanded in a louder voice.

  “They will never come back,” First muttered. “This place will be accursed ground until all things have rotted and the jungle reclaims it. All things, even me.”

  Alphena lifted the idol in her left hand. It felt heavier than it had when she jerked it loose from its base. She rose to her feet slowly, thrusting the sword and idol out in front of her to balance the weight of her torso until her legs straightened. Her head throbbed with the effort, but not unbearably.

  “First,” she said. “If you don’t do what I tell you to, I’ll leave you here. Do you understand?”

  Standing, Alphena felt the presence of the Daughters dancing about her. They weren’t visible, but in the corners of her eyes she sensed them moving.

  “Lady Alphena,” the idol said in a hurt tone. “I am a just god. I would always help my worshiper to the best of my ability.”

  “All right,” said Alphena. “Then take me back home. To Carce or to Puteoli, I don’t care which. I want to go home!”

  The catch in her voice took her by surprise. She had gone through so much today! She just wanted to be in her own room with her mother. She so wanted to see Hedia again.

  “But Alphena…?” First said. “Where is Carce? Where is Puteoli? Show me where these places are and of course I will take you there.”

  Alphena sniffled with despair. She started to hurl the idol away, but the control she was learning from Hedia stopped her. If she was ever to get out of this jungle, she needed the idol’s help even more than she needed the sword in her other hand. There was no chance that she was going to throw away the sword.

  She hid her face in the crook of her right arm and cried. Nobody was here to see her. If somebody did appear, Alphena would be so pleased that the embarrassment wouldn’t begin to bother her.

  She lowered her arm and faced the idol. She swallowed. “I don’t know where Carce is,” she said. “I don’t know where I am now.”

  She hoped the idol might speak. He didn’t volunteer anything, and she was pretty sure that he wouldn’t have an answer to a direct question, either. She didn’t ask, because she wasn’t ready to handle more disappointment.

  Alphena itched and ached all over. Flies were buzzing around her and the dead Ethiope. Both the fresh corpse and the blood caking on her own body were beginning to reek in the hot sun.

  “First,” she said. “Do you know where water is? I need to get this … I need to clean all this blood off me.”

  “I’ll guide you, Alphena,” First said brightly. He really was afraid of being left to rot. “The village is a little back from the river for safety’s sake—the Ashangi travel by canoe. I’ll take you right there.”

  The idol twisted in her hand as though someone were gripping the other end. She remembered the impression she’d had of the wood shifting by itself into the path of the Ethiope’s thrust—and the way the flint spearpoint had shattered on contact. There’d been too much going on at the time for her to have paid attention to the details of her survival. Now, though …

  She began to realize that First had been a friend to her even before she became aware of him as a person. Well, as an individual.

  The idol pointed to the gate through which the Ethiopes had bu
rst. “Ah, Alphena?” he said. “You’ll want to keep your sword with you while you bathe. There are crocodiles in the river.”

  “I’ll keep the sword with me,” Alphena said as she walked out of the ruined village. She wished Hedia could have heard her. Not long ago she would have screamed, “Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course I’m not going to leave my sword behind!”

  She still felt that way, but—First had saved her life, which was one thing; and First was her best hope of surviving and possibly even getting out of this muggy pit, which was an even more important thing. Hedia didn’t seem to temper her—low—opinions of other people, but she had taught Alphena that she didn’t always have to say what she thought.

  New growth was already re-covering the trail. Mostly it was leaves flopping over the track from both sides, but there were also vines dangling down from branches and a blotch of striking purple mushrooms—which Alphena decided to hop over instead of striding through as she started to do. Mostly she brushed by, but once she hacked off a thorny stem leaning across the path.

  She thought of what the idol had said about rot and burial in the returning jungle. The same would happen to her bones unless she managed to get out of this place.

  She came out onto the river unexpectedly, though when she saw brown water through the gap in the undergrowth she realized that she had been hearing its deep whisper even back at the village. The bank was a slope of red mud, partially covered by vegetation. Mostly the foliage trailed from plants rooted above in the jungle floor.

  The opposite bank was only forty feet away, a solid mass of greens and of blacks scarcely darker than the greens. Alphena tried to walk down—and slid instead, because the clay was so slick. She splashed into the dark water and felt immediate relief.

  “You don’t have to keep holding me, worshiper,” the idol said tartly. “Dig my base into the bank so that you have a hand free.”

  Suddenly concerned, he added, “But you mustn’t leave me. You won’t leave me, will you, Alphena?”

  “Of course I won’t,” she said, putting as much assurance as she could into the words. The idol’s base tapered almost to a point, and the wood was as hard as metal.

  Alphena looked at the river. There could be a pack of crocodiles hiding under water that was as dark as the forest floor. “First, will you warn me if something is creeping up on me?”

  “Of course, Alphena,” the idol said. His voice no longer grated on her; she must be getting used to it. “And I will watch when you sleep. I am generous to my worshipers, you see.”

  Alphena ducked her head under the surface. The river was surprisingly cool. Even its grittiness felt good as she rubbed her bare palm over her legs and torso to scrub off the blood.

  Sleep—real sleep, not throbbing unconsciousness—sounded blissful. Though—

  “First, is there anything I can eat around here?” she asked.

  “The Ethiope brought seed cakes to sustain him while he watched,” the idol said. “The food the Ashangi had gathered will have rotted by now. But—”

  With a suddenly hopeful lilt.

  “—can you catch fish?”

  “No,” said Alphena. “And I wouldn’t know what to do with a fish if I did catch it. But I’ll try the seed cake when we go back.”

  One thing at a time. One step after another to the end, whatever the end was.

  But after this bath, Alphena was feeling more optimistic about at least the next few steps.

  * * *

  BREATHING HARD AT THE TOP of the ramp, Corylus faced the sunken entrance to what he hoped was a bridge to the Waking World. He could no longer see the bronze man, but he heard his laughter and the clash of his feet on the stone floor. Though Talos had not followed Corylus and his teacher, neither had he returned to the niche where he had been waiting motionless when they arrived.

  “He never behaved that way before,” Oliva said, her brow furrowed with surprise. “I wonder if there’s something wrong with him?”

  “You knew Talos was guarding the passage?” Corylus said, keeping a rein on his temper. His blood was up for a fight, and running back a few paces hadn’t been enough to calm its surges.

  “Yes, he’s always been there,” the dryad said, still trying to work out what had happened. “But he didn’t move ever. The other automatons tend the garden.”

  “Thank you, mistress,” Pandareus said calmly. “You’ve given a very clear account of the situation from your viewpoint.”

  Corylus laughed and sheathed his sword. Pandareus had provided a neutral summary of what had just happened. It was the sort of thing that the master’s students should have been able to do instinctively themselves.

  Corylus looked at his teacher. “My body reacted without waiting for thought,” he said, “which is good, since it saved our lives. My body was also talking without thought, which is the sort of thing I should have known to avoid even before I became your student, master.”

  He bowed to Pandareus, then to Oliva. “I apologize to you both.”

  The dryad’s brow wrinkled still further. “Why…?” she said. Brightening like a sunrise, she said, “Oh! You mean you do want to have fun with me after all? Oh, that’s wonderful!”

  “I regret that I have forbidden my student to have fun in the fashion you imply…,” Pandareus said in magisterial tones. “Until he has completed the duties which the present crisis have placed on him. Perhaps afterward.”

  He cleared his throat. Oliva blinked, again out of her intellectual depth. From the way she was beginning to pout, she had at least guessed that she and Corylus were not about to make love.

  Corylus was trying to keep a straight face. He bowed to Pandareus and said, “Of course, master. My duty comes first.”

  The problem was that he didn’t see any way of getting past Talos. Unless there were potential allies here in the garden, Corylus and Pandareus would have to find another way of following Alphena.

  “Mistress Oliva?” the old scholar said. “How do your automatons light the fire in their kiln?”

  “I don’t know,” the dryad said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t like fire!”

  “Of course,” Pandareus said, nodding. “I should have realized that. Well, I trust they will allow me to snatch a brand from the kiln itself. That’s probably a better choice anyway.”

  Corylus stood quietly. He didn’t have a plan of proceeding, but his teacher clearly did and would deliver instructions in good time.

  Pandareus turned to him and said, “Master Corylus, can you bring a jar of oil here? I want to pour the oil into the passage and ignite it.”

  “All right,” Corylus said. “I’ll bring a jar.”

  “And while you’re doing that…,” said Pandareus as he set off in the direction of the kiln. “I’ll look for a torch.”

  Pandareus gathered an entourage of dryads as soon as he stepped away from Corylus, but they didn’t seem to be pestering him any more than a flock of chickens might have. Corylus grinned at Oliva and said, “Would you lead me to the sheds where the oil is stored, Cousin?”

  He didn’t need her help finding the sheds that they’d passed only minutes before, but it was a friendly thing to say. Besides, he might well have other questions.

  “Oh, I can do that!” the dryad said, beaming out of her pout. “Come along!”

  She took his hand in hers and skipped off with him. Her grip was firm and hinted of more strength than her appearance suggested.

  “What are you going to do with the oil?” Oliva said. “Are you hungry?”

  Yes, now that you mention it, Corylus thought. Aloud he said, “I believe that Master Pandareus intends to try to burn Talos so that we can reach Vergil’s bridge. Talos won’t let us pass, as you saw.”

  “Here’s the shed,” Oliva said. She pursed her lips, thinking.

  Corylus bent, gripped the end jar in the outer row, and straightened his knees as he lifted it to his shoulder. It was heavy, but it wasn’t a real test of his strength.

 
; The automatons nearby didn’t appear to notice what Corylus was doing. They probably did, as Pandareus had shown, but it wasn’t a problem so long as they didn’t interfere.

  “How will fire make Talos let you go past?” Oliva asked when she had finally formed the question. “He’s not made of wood, you know?”

  Corylus was taking shorter steps than he usually would have because he wanted to keep the jar centered over his feet. There were plenty of others if he happened to drop this one, but he—he smiled at himself—preferred to do things right the first time.

  “I know that,” he agreed. He also knew that olive oil didn’t burn hot enough to melt bronze, at least without a bellows. “Master Pandareus is a very wise man. He has a plan.”

  Pandareus was very wise, but he didn’t necessarily have enough practical experience with metals to know how much heat was required to melt bronze. Corylus didn’t have a better idea. Rather than carp at the scholar’s plan untried, he was going to do his best to execute it.

  Pandareus was waiting with a branch sawn to the length of his arm, burning at one end. It was from a fruit tree, not an olive tree; Oliva eyed it with no more than a dryad’s normal distaste for fire.

  “Ho! Humans!” Talos called from the base of the ramp. His four swords danced in an inhumanly graceful pattern before him, then stilled. “Come down and let me cut you to collops! You cannot pass me!”

  “If you’ll unstopper the jar,” Pandareus said, “the oil will run down the ramp. Then we can light it.”

  “If you want me to…,” Corylus said. “I can pitch the jar to the bottom of the ramp. You can throw the brand into the oil when the jar breaks.”

  The base of the ramp was only ten feet away and downhill besides. Corylus wondered what would happen if the jar’s weight hit the bronze man—and also whether more than whim prevented Talos from coming up the ramp to close with the humans.

  “Yes, that would be ideal,” Pandareus said. He spoke in the same approving tone that he would have used in class for a pupil’s well-turned phrase.

  Talos was laughing again. Corylus leaned back, then pitched the jar outward with both hands. He didn’t run toward the opening to add to the inertia of the throw, because a stumble would take him down the ramp into the swords. The only question then would be whether the bronze man killed him quickly or by slices.