by R. Brown
The guards led her to the outskirts of the city. The road took them to a large stone structure atop a hill. Several dozen other Draconian guards, all wearing heavy armor, were already there, waiting for her.
I’ve seen this somewhere, back on Earth, thought Ash to herself. Stone…Stonehenge. She also remembered that it had been destroyed by a meteor swarm in 2092.
The tip of a rifle again poked her hard in the ribs. “Go,” said the Drac.
“Two pokes in one day, and I don’t even get flowers,” chided Ash. “Some boyfriend you are.”
Seeing her hesitation, the guard took a step forward, ready to prod her again.
Ash put her hands out. “I’m going. I’m going.”
The Drac waved her forward, wanting her to keep moving into the center of the ring.
When Ash got to the ramp that led to the top of a large round pedestal, she turned to look at him.
Again, he waved his gun, telling her to go to the top.
“You really aren’t much fun,” said Ash. Standing atop the pedestal, Ash turned to him. “I want to meet your leader. I’ve come a long way to see him.”
Her Draconian escort gave a growling laugh. “He come, but you not like.” He then turned and joined the others below.
The guards around the monument had split into small groups of five and six, stationing themselves beneath each of the archways.
The whinny of a horse drew her attention, the familiar sound comforting. Beyond the pillars—a large herd was hitched to wooden poles staked into the ground. Ash grinned, “You may sound like a horse, but-”
The animal was three times the size of a horse on Earth, and its body was covered in feathers. If not for the head that had a vague similarity to a horse—the creature looked far more akin to a four-footed bird.
Each animal was saddled and wore a suit of heavy, silver armor. Their heads were covered with an ornately carved helmet that bore spikes for charging. They were impressive. Cavalry, thought Ashlyn. Wouldn’t want one of those charging at me on a battle field.
Stretching her mind, she sought out the meld. “Steven, can you hear me. I’m here on Heaven. I’ve come back for you, and no matter what happens … I’ll never leave you again. Fight them, Steven. Find your way back to me.”
Ash listened for a thought, a whisper—anything that would let her know that he had heard her. The returning silence was brutal. Not since her time in the nexus, had she felt more alone.
Chapter 12
Crucible
A trumpet-like instrument sounded, signaling the arrival of their leader, Basilisk. The guards bowed, lowering their heads. Floating in the air, atop a piece of stone slate that moved to his bidding, was Steven in Draconian form.
Ashlyn could see that the people feared him, their lowered heads and eyes not wanting to gaze at him. His form was physically commanding, imposing. He was larger—his horns longer—his armor heavier—his stature fierce and menacing.
He came to a stop, hovering above her. Looking down at her, he put his hands together. In response, the platform upon which she stood turned black, featureless. It was as though she stood upon nothing. Ash shifted her sandaled feet, as though it were a puddle she might swish, but there was nothing—no tell-tale sign of movement of the surface beneath her.
Looking up she said, “Steven, I need to—”
“Silence—if you ever speak that name again, you will die.” Steven’s god-like, raspy, Draconian voice boomed, echoing in every direction. “I, Basilisk, sentence you to Abaddon. You will run the crucible, to be hunted until you are killed.”
He turned to his warriors. “May the stone of Baetylus bring you home to bask in the light of Ra.”
“Baetylus, Baetylus, Baetylus,” the warriors chanted, thrusting a clawed hand into the air. As if it were in response to their chant, Ashlyn started to sink into the black pool. In trying to lift her feet, she found they were stuck, unable to move. As she sank, her anxiety rose. She put her hand out trying to call upon the flame, the simplest of powers within. Nothing.
Steven gave a guttural, evil laugh. “You have no powers here, heretic.” He spread his arms, figuratively encompassing the massive blocks of stone comprising the arches and pillars. “The stones will not allow it.”
The warriors shifted with anxiety, knowing the hunt was about to begin. As she continued to sink, Steven commanded, “I invoke the light of Ra.”
Above Ashlyn’s head a bright orb of white light appeared. Sizzling with energy, a beam shot forth, striking a stone pillar. The beam moved clockwise.
Ashlyn instantly knew what was happening. It was the equivalent of a sundial—a timer that would release each group to hunt her.
“The hand of Ra has chosen. The anointing has begun. May its light guide our brethren through the crucible.”
“Down the rabbit hole,” said Ash as her shoulders dipped below the black void. As her chin sank below the surface, her mind uttered the words in her heart. “I love you, Steven.”
Seconds later, Ashlyn found herself falling fifteen feet through the air to a dirt floor. She landed flat footed, below ground, inside a cavern of dirt and rock. Though it was incredibly dark, the only light coming from somewhere down a small exiting tunnel—she threw a quick upward glance at the hole through which she’d fallen. It was gone. Scraggly, dead roots hung from the ceiling of rock and dirt.
Drawing the sword that hung from her left hip, she tried to bring it to life. Ash gave a huff, disappointed that it was powerless. “This is really starting to get frustrating.”
Holding the sword in front of her, she headed for the tunnel. Pricks of anxiety made her stomach clench, her palms grew sweaty upon the handle. She had no idea what lay ahead of her in what Basilisk had called the crucible—knowing only that warriors in large numbers would be coming down the rabbit hole behind her. By her best guess, the beam of light—the hand of Ra, would be releasing a new group of warriors every thirty minutes.
The tunnel led Ashlyn to a large cavern, that was akin to a small valley. She could see a well-trod path winding down the center, wiggling around boulders and small brush that lined the hillside. The ceiling and walls of the cavern were covered in thick vines, the leaves of which radiated a soft glow. It gave the valley a calm ambiance that reminded her of the long walks she’d taken with Steven along the beach, under the light of a full moon. Ash sighed, her heart aching. More than anything, she wished to be there now, walking barefoot at his side and holding his hand.
The air was cool, but comfortable—having a soft rose-like odor. “It definitely could have been worse,” said Ash aloud.
Knowing that the warriors would soon be coming, and that they would be anxious to claim her as a kill, Ash started a paced run down the trail. Careful not to stumble, she ran deftly, planting each foot with solid precision—occasionally putting her hand atop a boulder in support. The path was uneven, but smooth—for which she was thankful.
As she ran, flying insects took flight, escaping the whipping branches of brush being disturbed. Ash took a small jump over a long, white millipede moving across the trail in front of her. Two beetles, mating atop a rock, turned to watch her as she swept past them. It was a world of subterranean life, not far removed from her own.
Ash came to a stop as she noticed the dirt path beneath her feet softening, a thin layer of mud mushing under her sandals. A trickle of water flowed from beneath a rock on the wall to her right, turning the path where it crossed to mud. Not knowing when she would see water again, she took the opportunity to drink—letting it fill her mouth.
She’d taken no more than a few gulps when she heard the faint, echoing chant of “Baetylus,” from the first arriving warriors.
Taking a deep breath, Ash looked up the trail, gauging the distance she’d traveled. “A mile perhaps, but no more.” She started running.
Moving dangerously fast, she pushed herself to the limit. Up ahead, she could see that the cavern was going to take a sharp turn to the right. Heari
ng the clatter of those chasing her, it became obvious that she could not outrun them. Given their large size, she found it surprising that they could move so fast on the narrow trail. Her best chance was to find a place where she could make a stand.
What she wasn’t ready for was what she found around the bend—a massive graveyard of stacked bones. The cavern broadened out into a flat, open expanse of land that was covered in the corpses of thousands of slain enemies. For those who had come before her, this is where they had met their death.
Ash had always assumed that the Draconians were new to this world, but seeing this, she knew she’d been wrong. This was an ancient place, likely tens of thousands of years old. The skeletal remains of four footed and bi-pedal enemies were heaped atop one another—turning the cavern into a virtual canyon of bone, forty feet high on each side. In front of the piled bones, lined up along the canyon walls, stood hundreds of wooden stakes in the ground with skulls perched atop them. Tied to the skulls were narrow, twisted, and braided leather strips, each intertwined with bits of fragmented bone, teeth, feathers, colored beads, and small bits of precious metal.
Ash saw a noticeable pattern to the skull’s adornments. Each was a staked claim, a signature as to whom the warrior was that made the kill. It was a trophy case.
Small tailless rats scurried amongst the piles of bones, running in and out of tunnels they’d hewn. “Don’t get any ideas, I’m not staying.”
As if in answer, they chittered back at her for daring to intrude into their world. Only a scant few were bold enough to stare back at her. They sat up, resting on their hind legs, and rubbing their noses with their front paws.
Ash turned to look up the trail behind her. Less than a hundred yards away, was a Drac standing tall atop a large boulder. He raised his clawed hand and pointed at her, giving call to the others. “Baetylus,” he yelled. Seconds later, beneath the boulder upon which he stood, five other Dracs came bounding down the trail. Ashlyn also saw why they were so fast. Their stride was long, maybe ten or eleven feet with each jump-like step.
Seeing their agility, Ash realized that the openness of the graveyard left her too exposed to flanking attacks. Her best chance was to limit their range and find a space where their movement would be hindered.
Ash took off running. Each step was precarious, and not well planted. She skimmed sharp boulders, favoring speed over safety. The jagged rocks scraping against her skin leaving harsh, claw-like marks. It was a race for her life.
A few hundred yards beyond the graveyard, the winding trail came to a sudden cliff that she’d not seen, or had time to anticipate. She’d come to the edge of the precipice running at full speed, and all she had time to do was plant her forward foot and turn it into a running long-jump. Her leap carried her to a narrow ledge twenty feet away, and ten feet below. Her off-balance landing took her into a roll that slammed her into a thicket of heavily leafed vines along the cavern wall. The vines were the only thing that saved her from being injured. Ash crawled to the edge and looked over. Between the far cliff from where she’d jumped and the ledge where she landed, lay a sixty-foot deep crevasse. At the bottom were tall spikes stuck into the rocky ground. The long since decayed bodies of others who had not been so lucky, lay precariously stacked, pierced and broken at the bottom. Their bones picked clean by the rats that had dared to make the descent.
Ash realized that if not for her speed, she too would have joined them. She’d been lucky. Turning to look at her small ledge, she saw the advantage afforded her. It was a choke point, a spot where each warrior would be forced to make the jump if they wanted to continue the pursuit. This was the advantage she had been hoping for.
Ash slipped beneath the vines, hiding from the Dracs trailing her. Through a tiny crack in the vines, she watched the top of the cliff opposite her.
She heard the Dracs, before she saw them—their low growls revealing their displeasure at not having caught her before the precipice. As each arrived, they joined the others looking down into the crevasse, searching the darkness for the body that they expected to find. “I no see.”
Their eyes rose, looking at her ledge. “No there.” They looked further down the trail that led away, and not seeing her on the trail, they began to believe that she’d hidden from them back in the graveyard. One of them seemed to be in command, and when he pointed, three of them turned and headed back up the trail to search for her.
The three who remained, again searched the spikes below, thinking that they might be missing her in the shadows. After what appeared to be a frustrating few moments, the leader growled and pointed, ordering the others to jump to her ledge.
The first took a step back and jumped, his strong legs making the jump look easy. He landed heavily, his weight making the ledge shudder. Above the sweet scent of the vines, Ashlyn could smell the warrior lizard’s scent. It was pungent, and not far different from that of rotten eggs. Not wanting the Drac to hear her, she released her breath slowly, hesitant to again fill her lungs with the nauseating scent that might make her gag.
Ashlyn twitched, as something brushed against her ankle. She then felt a tiny paw come to rest atop her foot. It was one of the tiny, rat like animals. She was just starting to think it might bite her toes, when the second Drac jumped. Helped by the first, he landed smoothly.
Standing less than two feet in front of her, the Dracs stood shoulder to shoulder with their backs to her, waiting for the third Drac, their leader to join them.
The paw of the little creature on her foot shifted. He was sniffing her toes, his whiskers tickling her. She felt the rough lick of a tongue when…the third Drac took a step back and jumped.
Ash came out of hiding and with a single strong push, sent the Drac in front of her tumbling over the edge. Distracted by his commander’s leap from the cliff above, and the howl of his falling friend below, the Drac next to Ashlyn didn’t seem to comprehend what had happened.
He’d not noticed Ashlyn standing beside him, and her raised sword that swung through the air. With an eviscerating slash just below his chest armor, she sliced him open. His internal organs spilled out like an unwinding spring as Ash dropped to one knee and raised her sword toward the third arriving Drac.
Unable to change his course as he leapt through the air, he raised his own sword in defense.
At the last possible instant, Ash shifted her weight onto the opposite leg. The Dracs’s sword slid past her, passing through her long mane of hair.
The swing of Ashlyn’s sword was true, and she cut his leg off below the knee. The Drac roared as he tumbled into the wall of vines. As he turned and looked up at her, Ash gave a loud scream and brought the point of her sword down, jamming it through the bridge of his nose and into his head.
Ash took a deep breath and turned around, looking up to the cliff wall opposite her. The three other Dracs stood there, watching her.
From off to her left, she heard a gurgling sound coming from the eviscerated Drac. He’d dropped to his knees and was tottering. Blood gurgled from his mouth and he gasped for air.
Ash, her breath heavy, walked toward him and raised her sword. With a quick swing, she put him out of his misery.
She turned to the Dracs watching her. “You want to do this now?” asked Ash. “Just be warned, you won’t be alive when your feet touch the ground.”
The Dracs growled their discontent at the choice afforded them.
“That’s what I thought.” Ash knew that they would not wait long. They would not want to be dishonored when the next team of Dracs arrived. Kneeling, Ash took a moment to catch her breath, letting her spent strength return.
After a few deep breaths, Ash stood and jammed her sword into the hardened dirt. As she dug, she took occasional glances at the Dracs watching her. They seemed to be genuinely intrigued by her efforts, unsure of what she was doing. Having completed two holes, three feet apart, each about ten inches deep—she turned her attention to the vines and cut down a few of the longer strands. Stabbing the
point of her sword into the ground, she tied the ends of the vines together, fashioning them into a long rope. When she was done, she spooled it and slid it over her head and shoulder.
As one, the three Dracs suddenly turned and looked back up the valley.
Ash bent and picked up the two Draconian swords that lay on the ground. “So—the second-string team is about to arrive.” Jamming the hilt of each sword into the holes she’d dug, she pointed the tip of each sword toward the top of the cliff opposite her, where the Dracs stood. “Still want to jump? Be my guest.”
The Dracs growled with unease, staring at the swords that waited to greet them like staked spears.
“Your friends won’t be happy to see you standing there like cowards.” Ash put her arms out, “So much for Draconian honor.”
Pulling her sword from the ground, Ash put it into her sheath. “See you fellas later.” She thrust her fist into the air and shouted, “Baetylus.”
She had taken but a single step down the trail, when her goading words struck home, getting the desired result. The Drac nearest the edge jumped.
He landed squarely upon the ledge. Looking down he saw blood streaming down the blade from where the sword had caught his upper right thigh. Craning his neck, he saw the tip of the blade sticking out the back of his leg. With a loud shriek to subdue the pain, he swung his sword, swatting the second planted sword away. With the path cleared, the other two warriors took a step back and jumped.
In that brief instant, when the two warriors had committed themselves to the jump, Ash had returned, pulled her sword from the sheath and raised it. She brought it down, splitting the wounded warrior’s head open. With a quick spin, she caught the other two warriors across the throat as they landed, side-by-side. With an awkward tumble, one fell off the edge. The other fell forward, landing on the ground by her feet.