The Progeny of Able (The Burrow of London Series Book 1)

by Peter S. Case

  “Where did you find this Shadow Fox?” Daegal asked. “He is remarkable.”

  “Find him?” Scarlett replied. “It's true Spencer is a genius, but we didn't find him, he found us.”

  The vines became so thick they were a solid wall of green and, as the small Shadow Fox chopped them down, the others gathered the cuttings out of the way. Coming from the other side of the foliage was the crashing sound of water. They continued to hack and toss for another thirty minutes until the makeshift scythe cut through the last layer, and into the dark air beyond.

  Without hesitating, Spencer flung the blade aside, forcing Roe to duck into the wall to avoid getting cut in half. Spencer spun the pack from his shoulders and pulled out a series of smaller bundles, each a wad of fabric rigged with a confusion of straps. He passed one to each of the foxes with an excited grin.

  “Oh god,” said Scarlett. “Not your floating rucksacks.”

  Spencer's smile grew and he carefully showed the others how to fit the rucksack over their other equipment, then tightened down on the straps with a strong tug from his jaw.

  “Okay,” said Roe, poking his head through the gap in the foliage while looking into what appeared to be a bottomless pit. “Any idea how far the drop is?” He turned his head skyward and immediately lost any sense of what was up and what was down for, although condensation rained down upon him, the void above equalled the void below. Leaning out further he could just make out a shape in the centre of the chasm which appeared to be a backbone thrust into the earth at the bottom of the pit and which ascended to a clear spring fed pool somewhere above. Suddenly, a rock came loose under him as he retracted his head back into the tunnel. Immediately he started to slide towards the void. Spencer leapt forward and managed to bite hold of his tail before Roe slipped over the edge.

  Roe fell back into the tunnel with a puppish yelp and a muddy splash, only to see the shaking face of Mercia smiling above him.

  “I've ridden the Spine a few times,” she said. “I don't know how far down we are from the entrance but it takes at least two minutes to reach the bottom from the start.”

  Roe rose on wobbly legs, while the others cleared the rest of the growth from the opening. Taking a flare from her pack, Mercia struck it on the hard rock wall of the tunnel and tossed it as far as she could into the chasm. The sparkling light bounced off the spine and for a brief moment the assembled group could see each vertebrae of the column and its great scoliotic curve below them. A torrent of water could be heard flowing from within. The flare shrunk to the size of a candle flame as it fell into the hole before suddenly disappearing.

  “Obviously that is the Spine,” Roe said.

  “Yes, there is a trough and swift flowing stream within it that curves as the pillar curves. On the surface you need to jump into a pond and trust the vortex of the current to pull you down to the trough. Once you are in, there is air to breath but most tend to hold their breaths as they slide to the bottom of the Spine. You reach the pool at the end safely enough but, believe me, not comfortably.”

  “So what is the point of these rucksacks?” Daegal asked.

  Spencer mimed jumping from the edge, then nodded his head, following a two second count, then pulled on a short string hanging from the side of the sack.

  “You want us to jump?” Daegal squeaked, shaking his head. “Are you having a laugh, mate?”

  Taking up the scythe again he slipped it into a scabbard dangling from his side, looked at Daegal's fat belly before giving him an assured nod, then without hesitating, leapt over the edge.

  “No, Spencer!” Scarlett screamed, diving towards the suicidal fox.

  The rest jumped to the edge and watched his quickly disappearing body, sure that they would have to report his youthful demise to an enraged Ursula. Then, suddenly, where there had been only darkness, a white bulbous mushroom bloomed and began to float around the central spiral. Slowly it was consumed by the void but within a minute they heard his distinctive high pitched chirp indicating that he had reached the bottom safely.

  Scarlett started to laugh with relief.

  “I told you he is a genius,” she said.

  “The Hantsa have these,” Roe added “I've seen them from a distance descending through the sky over Shon's Spring. They call them parachutes.”

  Scarlett was the next to jump, followed quickly by Mercia. They both called out to say that they had landed at the bottom safely, albeit on top of each other.

  “If I go before you I don't think you are going to follow, you big coward,” Roe said, smiling at Daegal.

  “Coward? There is a difference between bravery and stupidity, but I suppose you wouldn't know that, Sky Fighter. Still, I don't want to live forever,” he smiled before hurling himself over the edge.

  Roe waited until a loud grunt from below and laughter from the others indicated Daegal had made it to safety in some undignified manner.

  Roe was excited by this new piece of equipment and was surprised, amongst everything else that was going on, to realize a long held dream. Ever since he had seen the distant shape of the Hantsa gently falling through the sky, he had wanted to try it himself. Taking a few trots back, he ran to the edge of the tunnel and leapt far into the void. He allowed himself to pick up some speed then pulled the cord as he approached the Spine. He couldn't resist a loud 'Woo' as the parachute caught his weight. He was sure that the sound wouldn't penetrate the earth to reach the Guards standing vigil at the pond above, but didn't care all that much if it did.

  Roe spun in a joyful curve several times around the Spine, revealing to him the many worn carvings that decorated its surface before steadying himself as the others came into view on the ground below. He had to twist his body as his descent came to an end in order to avoid one of the many stalagmites which poked up from the earth. He hit hard into one and slid down its side. His parachute tore off and he scraped his shoulder before rolling and coming to rest in a pile close to the others. His parachute drifted to the ground a tail-length behind him undamaged other than the broken shoulder straps.

  “That was amazing,” he said, leaping up to the others, ruffling Spencer's head with his underjaw. “When can we do it again?”

  None of them paid him any attention, as they were all staring at something high above.

  “Where is Daegal?” he asked, following their gaze.

  Hanging from the harness, his parachute draped over a massive stalagmite, was the struggling form of Daegal.

  “Not again any time soon, mate!” Daegal called down, a terrified look on his face. A growl of tearing fabric came from behind the heavy fox and Daegal responded by trying to spin to grab hold onto the mineralized spike.

  Fortunately, the parachute didn't tear all at once but instead controlled his slide and brought him gently to a stop at the base of the pillar. His slow descent gave the others the impression that he was being lowered by a divine benevolent ribbon.

  “Actually, that was quite easy everyone,” he said, gliding to his feet. “What are you waiting for? Let's continue on our way.” He smiled and walked wobbly away, upright and as dignified as possible with his parachute trailing behind him.

  Spencer stopped the large fox with a pounce before he got very far, removed the parachute with a critical and disappointed look at the broken leather straps, then gathered them from the rest before carefully folding them and returning them to his saddle bags.

  His gloom at the damage was quickly replaced by a smile as the others nuzzled him as they passed before crossing through an ornate archway set in the wall at the bottom of the pit.

  “That was pretty foolish, Spencer,” Scarlett said. “Now you are stuck with us. You are going to have to continue with the group. Mother will not be pleased so, if we do return, let's just tell her you got distracted on your way back.”

  He smiled and hopped after the others, leaving Scarlett to consider the fact that this is what his devious little mind had planned all along.

  The tunnel leading
away from Viradec's Spine had at one stage been brightly illuminated by a series of grand oil lamps. They now hung, dead and dark, like dried weeds growing from the walls. The way was paved in small, tightly fitting tiles that were a dusty but dizzying assortment of colours. Many of these had broken away from the floor and had been swept into large piles throughout the tunnel. The path turned upward, terminating in a wide set of steps, at the top of which was a golden arch swimming with a mix of mythical animals. A dragon was eating a whale, who was eating a lion, who dangled a mouse between his smiling jaws looking like a bit of meat stuck to a spaghetti noodle.

  Once up the steps and through the arch, they could see they were now in a tunnel that was more frequently used than the other. The motif changed dramatically as well. Instead of the joyful colours and playful animals, the tunnel was dark and decorated in death. Skulls, carved into the black marble, lined the groove where the walls met the floor and dark obsidian ribs arched just below the full height of the tunnel in a repeating pattern which stretched into the distance.

  “This is the path the dead take,” Roe said. “At least those dead who can afford to be buried in the Burrow Graveyard and not be pitched into one of the communal graves.”

  Ageless ruts had been ground into the path from the countless number of cartwheels which had passed weighted with the bodies of the dead.

  Their light hearts became heavier as the decorations reminded them of the seriousness of their journey and the risks of being back within the Burrow.

  The tunnel inclined in front of them and, narrowing as they went along, the ribs gathered more and more closely together. If it could have been viewed from a distance it would have resembled the assembled skeletal spine of a fox on museum display. Finally they were blocked by a giant black skull of a fox carved from a single quartz peppered block of marble. It filled the tunnel, the jaws shut resolutely tight. There was a rusty iron bell hanging on a worn leather cord which was tied to a freshly polished copper nose-ring.

  “I guess we should ring the bell,” Daegal said, hitting it with his snout.

  It sounded so quietly that Daegal was getting ready to give it a heftier hit when there were two loud claps, like gears begrudgingly set in motion. Slowly the jaw started to open revealing smoothly shaped teeth carved from some sort of white bone. Lolling inside was a wavy obsidian tongue, riddled with steps on the rises and falls. Once fully agape they could see a small black door set at the back of the monster's throat slightly above them.

  Spencer shivered and huddled between Mercia's forelegs as they walked into the mouth, thinking that perhaps not returning to the safety of the island wasn't a good idea after all.

  They examined the black door and discovered it was made from a chunk of charred and ancient oak. They thought they could still smell the burning of it. Hanging from its centre was another skull. This one, made from a tarnished and solid piece of bronze, had a hinge which joined it to a spine running down the centre of the door. Roe lifted the knocker and let it fall back onto a pitted metal plate. A significant single hollow knock reverberated around the tunnel followed by stillness and silence.

  “Perhaps there is no one home,” said Mercia, who already held a small stick of dynamite between her jaws should the door need to be encouraged open.

  “Wait for it,” whispered Daegal, pushing Mercia behind him as he leaned into the door, placing his head against it and listening.

  First there was a slight scratch, then a click, then a bit of a rustle until finally the door started to shake and grind, as if a large rusty wheel was turning inside it. The door seemed to open of its own accord and once it came to a shuddering stop, the five foxes leaned in, trying to see into the black rectangle. Eventually, a gnarled paw emerged against the back of the door. It was bereft of fur except for a slight stain of red.

  They couldn't tell if the creature before them was standing or sitting, since it looked more like a pile of disused rags than a fox, and when it spoke it sounded more like an imperceptible desert breeze blowing over a dry and desiccated bone than it did an individual speaking.

  “This is the gateway to death, to rest, to peace. Who may I ask is moving in?”

  Eorl lifted his head as he spoke and the pile of rags started to separate into a neck and body and a wrinkled jaw jutting out from a hood. He swayed slightly as he spoke, as if the smallest puff of air would turn him to dust.

  “Eorl, my name is Daegal. We have met before.”

  “I have no memory that serves the living, only a memory to keep the dead. For whom shall a place be made?”

  “No one here is going to stay,” Scarlett added. “We are here to visit a grave.”

  “To visit? It is not the time of year to visit. That time is one hundred and fifty three days away. That is the one day Eorl spends away from the dead.”

  “One day of holiday a year,” Daegal whispered to Roe. “And you thought the Sky Fighter had it bad.”

  “We know it is not the festival of the dead,” Daegal continued, “but we would enter anyway. We will pay for the privilege.”

  Eorl ignored the bribe and started to close the heavy door.

  “Return for the festival and all will be admitted. When the breathless welcome the breathing,” he wheezed, as the gap grew smaller.

  Before the heavy wood clicked back into its frame, Roe forced his paw into the opening and pulled the old fox back through the door with his jaw. They stumbled together in a smelly heap and the old fox mustered enough energy to call out, “Do not let the door close! It can only be opened from the inside!”

  Daegal quickly pulled one of the white teeth free from the skull above and shoved it lengthwise into the door jamb, keeping it open wide enough for a single fox to pass through.

  Roe helped the fox to his paws, then turned him so they could face each other. Roe's blue eyes gleamed like two orbiting moons suspended within the black.

  “Oh, its you...” Eorl gasped, looking like he might explode, “Yes. It has been such a long time. Of course you may enter at will,” he said, stunned and trying to kneel before Roe, who confusedly tried to keep the ancient fox standing.

  “Thank you, Eorl,” Roe said. “We will not be long, but we have not met before.”

  “No, Eorl does not know the living, but for one. For one who is breathing, Eorl holds a place in his mind.”

  “He's mad,” Roe whispered turning towards the others.

  “Mad or no, he seems to trust you,” Scarlett barked quietly back. “Quickly, ask him how we can find Audley before he realizes his mistake.”

  Roe turned back towards the heaving mound and tried not to breath in its stench as he spoke.

  “Yes, it has been some time, Eorl, and we have come for your guidance and wisdom.”

  “Yes...yes...I will help you,” the old fox whispered, his breath coming in short gasps.

  “We are looking for the tomb of Audley,” Roe began gently. “He died about fourteen years ago.”

  “Yes, yes...Audley. Scholar's Bay, mound forty-seven. It will take you some time to reach him as he is near the back.”

  The old man seemed to regain a certain awareness of his surroundings as he spoke with Roe and hobbled back through the door with an old but excited trot.

  “There are oil lamps here. Do not rely upon your usual sight in the dark for it will not work within the valley. The Light does not shine here nor do a fox's senses hold any sway. When entering the black, light must be brought with you. Even for one such as yourself,” he said, looking to Roe with a smile.

  One by one they were swallowed by the giant skull and, after Daegal had removed the tooth and the door had swung heavily shut, a great wave of foreboding fell over the foxes. For none of them had ever been in a dark so absolute, so binding and so blinding, other than as pups unborn in the womb.

  A clattering in the dark indicated that Eorl was looking for a lantern.

  “That isn't necessary,” said Mercia as she struck a flare and held the bright sputtering tu
be between her jaws. The smoke drifted high above them along a harsh dark wall of basalt.

  “We will still need some lanterns,” Scarlett said. “Look.”

  The doorway lead out onto a balcony fixed to the side of a massive wall and it was at this railing they fixed their view.

  The vista before them was truly magnificent. Down to the left, the balcony disappeared into descending steps which cut back and forth until reaching the floor of the valley at least one hundred tail-lengths below. An immense valley stretched out before them with a black silky river twisting along its centre. Riddled with mounds and tombs and effigies from countless generations, they were looking at an entire city of the dead.

  There were alleys and streets and varying levels. Each section held a different assortment of graves. Glittering like stars amongst it all were millions of individual flames.

  “The Black Valley,” they said in unison from their perch above it all.

  “Extinguish that horrid thing,” said Eorl, sheltering his eyes with a paw from the sparkling and noisy light of the flare. “Have some respect for the dark and use the lanterns.”

  Mercia gave the others a guilty look then stubbed the fizzling end of the flare into the wall. Darkness covered them again but was gently put to bay as their eyes became used to the soft yellow lights of the tiny lanterns Eorl had produced. They had been constructed long ago and in such a way as to dangle neatly from the end of their tails.

  “I hope you don't have to keep all those lanterns full,” Daegal commented, still ogling the dizzying view.

  “No, no of course not. The flames burn slowly and all they require is a filling of oil once a year during the festival. Each family brings the oil for their relations. There was a time when the Valley was made bright at the start of each new Grave Year and slowly dimmed and died before the next festival so the brightness could be created anew. Now, few families come and the flames you see below you are but a small portion of what could be.” He wore a bitter expression as he spoke, then looked to Roe and smiled again. “But maybe that is all going to change now that you are back.”