It was a dead city, one the companions had no choice but to enter.
The streets below were dimly visible from the same glow that highlighted the cavern’s perimeter, the source of which remained unclear. A hazy mist hung over the city, obscuring details from this distance, but one obvious feature was a long stretch of darkness just beyond the buildings, so black that it looked like a wall of pure evil.
“A lake,” Kluber said, reading their thoughts. “It has to be.”
That was exactly right. A tremendous underground body of water. Perhaps what had carved out this underworld to begin with.
Calla tapped Jak’s shoulder. “The legends we read spoke of these places, but said they were all sealed off.” She spoke quietly, as if worried the noise would carry to the city below and bring forth more demons like those that feasted on the village high above.
“Apparently not entirely.”
“Would you two care to enlighten the rest of us?” Kluber asked in irritation.
“I wish we could,” Calla responded. “We don’t really know any more than you.”
Aye, we do, Jak thought. We know that this city was built by and for devils, that it is one of many, and that our kind don’t belong here.
“We need to find a way out,” he said.
“Can’t we explore a little?” Riff asked.
Jak closed his eyes. Please, Tempus, give me the strength to guide us through.
“Kluber, have you gone any farther?”
“A bit.” He pointed one long arm along the side of the cavern. “This ledge leads to some more steps. I didn’t go down yet.”
“Are there any other options?”
“None that I saw.”
“Okay, I guess we’re going down, then. Single-file, nice and slowly. Riff, why don’t you lead the way?”
The ledge was wide at the overlook, but narrowed considerably by the time they reached the first group of stairs. Those steps led to a lower ledge beneath the first, which in turn culminated in another set. It soon was apparent that the way into the cavern was a series of such switchbacks set into the side, part natural and part crafted. Jak hoped the trail they walked led all the way to the bottom, but his optimism diminished after a half-dozen turns.
“Riff, why are you stopping?” Calla asked.
“Because the ledge is gone,” came the reply.
They huddled closer, and Jak saw that the other thrall was right. The ledge before them became steps, descending for only a few yards. There they had collapsed, leaving a gap far too wide to jump across.
“How do we get over?” Kleo asked.
“Do we get over?” Kluber replied.
The only other option was to go back. “We’ll find a way,” Jak said. He looked back, wondering whether they had missed anything. He did not see how that was possible, however. There had been no turnoffs, and the nearest supplies were all the way back up in the basement of the shrine, and that had been overrun by ravenous demons.
“Riff! What are you doing?” Calla cried out.
“What does it look like?” The boy was already mostly off the bottom step, grasping some unseen handhold along the cavern’s side. Jak sucked in his breath as he watched Riff pick his remaining foot from the pathway and slide it around on the rough wall, seeking some projection to place his weight on. Finding one, he shifted his body, and the thick sole of the boot clumsily slipped off. The hands retained their hold, however, and Jak was able to resume breathing once the young climber found a more reliable foothold.
“Riff, get back here!” Calla stamped her foot once, emphatically. Jak wished she would not do that. The narrow stone felt insecure enough already, and just before them was evidence that it could crumble away.
He placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right. He knows what he’s doing.”
Kluber seemed to concur with Calla, however. “Riff, I’m ordering you… Come back before you fall to your fool death.”
Ignoring his master, Riff worked his way to another handhold. He was nearly halfway across the gap. There he stopped and spent a long moment looking around. Using his left hand for support, he vigorously wiped his right on his breeches. Then he switched hands to wipe the left.
“What’s wrong?” Kleo asked.
“The stone’s wet.”
Jak closed his eyes.
When he reopened them, Riff was leaning left, stretching out as far as his arm could go. He swung the hand down, brushing against a projection but unable to grasp it. He attempted it a second time, and again the fingers brushed rock without catching. Then Riff let go with his right hand, extending his reach as his body went into free-fall. This time the fingers found purchase, and he suspended his sidelong drift long enough for his right hand to join the left. Then his left foot began searching for a corresponding perch.
“Halfway there,” Kleo yelled supportively.
“Only halfway?” Riff replied. “Shit.”
Jak decided not to continue watching. He stared down at the blurry blue city, the blackened lake, the gigantic spiked columns of rock hanging from the ceiling, and anywhere else that did not have a fragile boy clinging to life by a few wet fingers. Then he heard a solid thump and multiple sighs of relief.
“Wait there,” Riff called out, completely unnecessarily. “I’ll see if I can find anything ahead.”
“My back itches,” Kleo said. She awkwardly reached behind herself to scratch.
“Be careful,” Jak warned. “We should probably sit while we wait. I’m sure everyone can use a little rest.”
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?” K
leo 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.
Hearts of Fire Page 4