Three of Swords

by Michael Jason Brandt

  He and Kluber sat with their backs to the side of the cavern. Kleo did likewise, using the rough stone to scratch the itch that bothered her. Calla, on the other hand, sat on the edge with her legs draped over the void. She appeared to be deep in thought. Her brow furrowed, and he did not have to guess what she was thinking of. A few hours earlier, she had believed she was getting married. Now her betrothed was likely dead, along with her father and everyone else in the village.

  “Do you figure he’ll find anything?” Kluber asked.

  Not really, Jak thought. “Aye, I think so,” he said aloud.

  “Me, too,” Kleo added, smiling at one boy then the other. “We wouldn’t have made it this far just to be stuck here.”

  “Hey, everyone!” came Riff’s excited yell from the distance. “You won’t believe what I found!” His words were echoed by a loud scraping noise.

  “A man-made bridge,” Kluber said.

  “How did you know?” Riff laughed. He lifted one end of the long wooden platform he had been dragging up the steps.

  Jak wondered the same thing. He looked at the older boy, studying the expressionless face. Jak had always known that Kluber, and most everyone else, was smarter than he, but rarely had he felt the difference so keenly.

  Kluber merely shook his head as he stood. “Here, Riff, slide it over. Careful, now. We don’t want to drop it.”

  The platform reached across the gap with a few feet to spare on either end. Clearly, it had been fashioned for this very purpose. They were in luck that it had lasted for as long as it had.

  Kluber held the upper end as each person crossed. Then Jak added his strength to Riff’s at the lower end as Kluber took his turn.

  “Should we leave it in place?” Kleo asked.

  “Let’s pull it down and rest it against the side,” Jak suggested.

  “There’s a place for it below,” Riff interjected. “Sort of a storeroom, with a hook.”

  “Okay.” Jak saw no reason why it would matter where they left it. They were never coming back this way.

  They soon saw the storeroom in question. It was little more than an enclosure at the location of a switchback. The steps led right to its edge, where a doorway framed this upper entrance. Jak was about to follow Calla through when he felt Kluber tap his shoulder, then point to the top of the aperture, where rusted iron spikes pointed down.

  “A portcullis,” Kluber said.

  “A what?” Kleo asked.

  “Like a gate that drops down,” the magistrate’s son explained. “This is a guard room, not a storeroom.”

  “Why? A place like this would be impossible to attack,” Riff said.

  “That’s why they didn’t,” Jak added. “Supposedly, our forefathers just buried the exits so the Chekiks couldn’t escape.”

  “The Chekican Communion?” Kluber asked. “So that’s who built this.” He peered out at the open cavern and ruined city. “How many years ago, I wonder?”

  “Thousands,” Calla said. “It’s creepy.”

  “It’s amazing,” Riff corrected.

  They were both right, so far as Jak was concerned. There was a time when he would have been just as excited as the other thrall. Eager to explore. He and Kevik would escape from the house for a day, get themselves lost, miss a meal or three, find a way back and return, scraped and bruised yet happy and fulfilled.

  No longer. Now his existence was all about survival. His own and those with him. Two in particular. To one he owed fealty, to the other something more.

  “Let’s keep going,” Kleo said.

  “Aye, let’s,” Calla agreed.

  The lower they descended, the more they could make out the buildings below. One emerged as the largest of them all, or at least of those in sight. It was not tall like some of the others, but quite wide, rectangular and well-preserved. It sat adjacent to a broad open plaza, to which several wide avenues led, and beside a particularly tall, askew monolith.

  Jak’s eyes were continually drawn toward the enormous structure, despite the uneasy sensation the sight of it evoked. And he was not the only one, for he saw Riff frequently steal glances in the same direction.

  “What’s that?” Calla asked.

  Jak assumed she meant the building, then followed the point of her finger to a different location, where a thin curved line traced through the opaque void below. Each of its ends was obscured in mist, giving it the appearance of floating, as if a god had written in the sky.

  As they continued downward, the line became more distinct. A long, slender arch stretched from this side of the cavern out to a half-crumbled tower overlooking the city.

  “What is it?” Calla asked again.

  “A bridge,” Kluber replied.

  “Please tell me we’re not going to have to cross that,” Kleo begged. “It barely looks wide enough to stand on.”

  Kluber shrugged.

  “Hard to tell how wide it is from this vantage,” Jak said. “Or how high. It’s probably not as bad as it looks from here.”

  “Maybe we won’t even need to use it,” Calla suggested hopefully.

  A few minutes later, it was clear that they would. The switchback stairs led directly to the near side of the curved bridge. At the same time, Jak noticed that the fogginess became thicker as the fivesome moved lower. Even the tower across the way was blurry, the buildings and streets below nearly invisible.

  They had reached the tip of the city, that much was clear. Perhaps it was for the best that they not be able to see just how far below the ground lay. He was already a bit unsettled by the bridge itself. Somehow, now that they stood on the precipice, the path looked even narrower than it had from above. Nearly as bad, there appeared to be nothing supporting the ancient, three-inch thick stone. All around them thicker, wider structures had crumbled. What were the chances this would bear their weight without collapsing?

  Yet it would do no good to voice these concerns. They had no choice but to keep going.

  He noted that most of the others avoided looking over the edge. That was good. “Don’t look down and you’ll be fine,” he emphasized, then considered adding that the bridge was not terribly high, or perhaps over water. Something to soften their unease.

  Riff peeked over. “Won’t matter,” he said. “Can’t see the ground anyway.” Then he hocked up some spittle and let it drop into the void, cocking an ear to wait for the sound of impact that never came.

  Jak closed his eyes.

  The best way to do this was to not think about it, of that he was sure. Focus on a point in the distance and walk quickly. He decided to set the example, reopened his eyes, and prepared to take that first step onto the platform.

  “My back itches,” Kleo said. “Jak, do you mind?” She turned for him.

  “Riff, will you take the lead?” he asked as he moved behind her.

  Kleo fidgeted as they watched the others cross, Calla following Riff then Kluber after her. Only when the third shape dissolved into the mist did Kleo speak again, in a hushed whisper.

  “I don’t think I can do it,” she said. “My legs won’t listen to my head.”

  “You can do this, Kleo,” he assured her. “Pretend you’re crossing Washer’s Creek back home. That’s a narrow bridge, like this one. Just put one foot in front of the other—”

  “Nay, Jak, you aren’t hearing me. My legs won’t listen to my head. They won’t move.”

  Jak nodded, finally understanding.

  “We’re all over,” Kluber called from the opposite side.

  “Just a minute, I’m working out a cramp,” Jak yelled back.

  “Do you think you can crawl?” he asked at last.

  “I don’t want...” A pleading quality had entered her tone. “Jak, I’m slowing everyone down. Go tell them to keep going.” She wiped at her eye.

  “Jak, what are you doing?”

  He was already on his hands and knees, and had moved several feet onto the bridge. “This is easy, Kleo. You can definitely do this. Come
on.”

  He knew the girl was following by the sound her bracelet of tiny gemstones made as it scraped on the rock. Within several uncomfortable minutes—after covering the distance of only a half-dozen full strides—his hands were cold and wet from the moisture on the stone, and an irresistible look down was making his balance swim uncannily like one of Kevik’s practice sword blows to the head. Had he been able to simply walk across, he would be safe by now.

  “What’s wrong?” Kleo asked from behind. She was doing her best to keep pace with him.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “Want me to go faster?”

  “Gods, nay!” she exclaimed. “Maybe a little bit slower, though?”

  “Okay.” He wiped a hand on his shirt before reaching out again. His palm was raw, and he felt an uneven knob of stone break the skin as he pressed down. “Be careful here, the surface gets a little rough.”

  The soreness in that palm became irritating, so Jak favored his undamaged left hand. He found himself pulling slightly left and correcting his direction after every few paces.

  Now that they were on the descending half of the bridge, Jak saw the tower entrance in the distance ahead. The terminus of the bridge widened into a semicircular platform, upon which stood the other three companions, watching.

  “You can do it, you two!” Calla yelled out supportively.

  Jak felt embarrassed, prostrate as he was while she watched. He looked up at her and the other boys, hoping not to see amusement in their faces.

  His left hand missed its target, coming down awkwardly on the edge of the bridge, and he found himself falling face-first into the malignant stone. His jaw slammed into the rock, his teeth bit hard into his tongue, and a taste of blood filled his mouth.

  “Jak, are you all right?” Calla called.

  He closed his eyes. “Fine!” he yelled back as cheerfully as he could manage. “Just showing off.”

  Kleo giggled behind him, and he smiled at the sound. That made it worthwhile, quite frankly. They were on the last stretch, and she was going to make it. A little blood and embarrassment was a small price to pay.

  The reminder that this was a city of the dead came in the tower. Inside the structure, the bluish glow from outside was blocked from sight. By the time Kleo stepped from the bridge into the rounded interior, Kluber already had a torch lit and held high. Jak regretted the need, for they had only a dozen between them, and no idea how many they might need in the hours ahead.

  Yet there was no choice. The floor was littered with small, hazardous obstacles—most likely the remnants of decayed furniture and decoration. A circular stairway without a railing led down to another darkened chamber.

  “Riff, lead the way, if you don’t mind.” Jak spoke barely above a whisper, unable to shake the sense of being among spirits better left undisturbed.

  Riff took a cautious step toward the top of the stairs, then another over a pile of broken stones. His foot came down with a crunching sound, and he froze in place while Kluber swung the torch around and squatted.

  “What is that?” Calla asked.

  “A skeleton,” Kluber answered.

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I’ve seen them before. After the shrine burns the bodies.” He ran the torch in a line, exposing a stretch of what certainly looked like bones, although Jak had never seen them together like this. Then the light caught a skull, and they all flinched. Everyone had seen skulls before, of animals if not people.

  Jak was surprised by his own revulsion. One would have guessed that after the horrors of the night before, they would be inured to death by now. He suddenly disliked the idea of an open wound allowing the evil that lurked here to creep inside his blood.

  “Is it human or Chekik?” Kleo asked.

  “Who can say?” Kluber stood up. “There’s more on the stairs. Come on, let’s get moving. Watch your step. Kleo, give me your hand.”

  As the others timidly moved forward, Jak took a moment to tear a strip of cloth from the tail of his shirt with which to wrap his bleeding hand. He tied it securely, then spat a hunk of blood and saliva from his aching mouth.

  “Gross,” Calla said. He had not noticed her waiting for him.

  He looked at her confusedly as she stepped forward wearing a faint smile—or, at least, an easing of the lines of worry. Below, the light from the torch was quickly diminishing, bathing her features in shadow. Without sight to advise him, Jak was left wondering what she wanted.

  She leaned close. “That was nice, what you did,” she whispered. Then leaned closer yet to kiss his cheek.

  He half-expected her to laugh and turn away, hurrying to catch up to the others. But she did not. Instead, she stood still, staring into his eyes. Waiting.

  Jak wished he knew what she was waiting for. He felt a dozen impulses at once, so many that they got in each other’s way. He picked one. “We should catch up before we lose the light,” he suggested.

  Calla nodded, then turned away at last. Jak followed behind.

  “It’s just like foxfire,” Riff said.

  “Foxfire comes from trees, though,” Jak said. “And is green, not blue.”

  The glow of the dead city came from prolific small mushrooms growing on and around every natural surface in sight, but was oddly absent from the cut stone used for buildings and avenues.

  Foxfire was the inexplicable light emanated by a mossy fungus that grew in the dead trees of Shady Glen’s copious woods. Many nights, he and Kevik found themselves out after dark without a light of their own, reliant upon the supernatural greenish substance to illuminate their way home.

  “I’ve heard of such things,” Calla said. “Plants and animals that look the same but live in completely different environments. Related, like crows and nightingales, but diverse.” She looked at Jak, hurt creeping into her eyes. “Da taught me about them.” She sat on a crumbled stone and began to cry.

  Jak sat beside her and draped an arm around her shoulders, wishing he could speak some magical words that would take away her grief. There were so many things in the world that he would change, if only he had the knowledge and power.

  “We’ll call this rockfire, then,” Kluber said, oblivious to Calla’s distress. Or choosing to give her and Jak a moment alone. “Kleo, Riff, let’s see what’s inside.”

  They had exited the tower onto a wide roadway between two rows of buildings. From their vantage point, the sides and ceiling of the cavern were invisible. Yet it was not only the blue hues and ruined architecture that prevented them from feeling they were inside a normal city aboveground. With the exception of a faint trickling and their own muted voices, the silence was unnervingly absolute.

  Jak rubbed her back until the others disappeared inside the nearest intact building, a low squat structure with a colonnade of carved pillars in front of a wide arching entranceway. He did not like the party separating like this, but was reluctant to force Calla to move before she was ready. Having lost both her father and betrothed in a single grisly night was beyond Jak’s comprehension. He wondered how the girl could even still function.

  She took his hand with the two of hers, squeezing his fingers. “I couldn’t do it, if not for you,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. She held his eyes with her own, reflected stars of blue obscuring the green he knew so well.

  Jak looked away from their intensity. He opened his mouth, could think of nothing to say, then closed it again.

  She squeezed his hand once more, then stood. “I’m okay now, I think. Let’s catch up to the others.”

  The building was clearly a vast library, or at least once had been. Now the books were rotted into nothing more than isolated patches of stiff leather on broken wood shelves. Jak could see four immense rooms, each the size of the Archives in Everdawn. The amount of wisdom once stored in this place was awesome to contemplate.

  They found the others in the fourth chamber, examining a stone portal sealed shut. Covered in cryptic writing, its very method of opening a mystery�
��it had no doorknob, only three holes of various shapes spaced a man’s hand apart: a circle, a crescent, and a six-pointed cross.

  “See how there isn’t as much dust and dirt here?” Kluber pointed out. “Could it be a magical door?”

  “Until yesterday, I would have said that’s impossible,” Jak replied. “Today, I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” He turned away. Regrettably, whatever lay beyond would have to stay forgotten.

  “Come on,” he said. “We need to find a way out.”

  “Can’t we take an hour to explore?” Riff asked.

  Feeling like a disapproving parent, Jak shook his head. “Our priorities are escape and food, in that order.” He looked around to see if anyone disagreed.

  “My back itches,” Kleo said.

  “Come on,” Jak said again, before she could order him into more frivolous scratching. He led the way back out to the street. “This way.”

  “But that big one is over there,” Riff said.

  “That’s further into the city. We want to find the way out.”

  Riff hung his head, but followed the others without another word. Soon he was back in front, leading the way, staring at each new discovery with longing.

  The streets were cluttered with rubble, although never enough to block passage entirely. Smaller alleyways led off between buildings, but the group of refugees stuck to the widest thoroughfare, which seemed the least likely to get them lost.

  Calla stopped abruptly. “Did you hear something? I think I heard something.”

  They had been through a lot, and it was only natural for their minds to assume the worst. Jak’s own had played tricks on him at least a dozen times already. “You’re hearing our echoes. No one has lived here for hundreds of years.”

  Kleo put her hand on Calla’s arm. “I thought I heard it, too.”

  Jak looked at Kluber for reassurance. Their eyes met, but the older boy remained silent.

  “Riff!” Jak called out. “Don’t get so far ahead.”

  The farther they moved away from the library, the worse the condition of the buildings around them. The structures also became smaller and fewer in number, which hinted that the group was nearing the city’s outer edge.