Bay stood in the darkness, his heart thundering. He had dodged the plasma by seconds. It took a moment for him to realize: I'm still alive.
"Bay, are you all right?" Coral whispered beside him.
Bay couldn't see her, but he felt her clutch his hand.
"I'm fine." He took a shuddering breath, trying to slow his pulse. "Just rattled. That was a close one."
He could hear the smile in her voice. "Is it ever anything else?"
More than ever, Bay wished he had two working hands. He ached to keep holding Coral's hand in his; her skin was soft and soothing. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand free, reached into his pocket, and fished out his minicom. He tapped a few buttons, and a beam of light illuminated the hall.
His eyes widened. "Well I'll be damned."
Coral whispered a few words under her breath, then opened her palm. She cast her own beam of light from a rune shaped like a sun. Her eyes widened too.
"It's an orrery!" she said.
Behind them, the wall rattled.
Both jumped.
Bay spun around. There was no more door, only a sheer wall of stone. But he could hear the muffled shrieks of scorpions.
"They're pounding the statue," he said. "Damn it. They'll nuke the whole place."
Coral shook her head. "No they won't. The scorpions want the Godblade. They can't nuke the guildhall without destroying the artifact." She patted the wall. "It's protected with aetherstone. I can feel the power surging through the wall, filling it. Conventional explosives won't get them in. They'll have to solve the riddle, same as you did."
"You might be underestimating their weapons," Bay said. "They bombed their way through the shield. They can bomb their way through this wall. But we might have a few minutes."
"Or a few hours," Coral said. "Or a few seconds. Depending on how clever they are. Or how powerful their bombs are."
Bay winced. "Even if we can beat them to the Godblade, how the hell do we get out?"
She looked at him, a strange light in her eyes. "Bay, if we find the Godblade, nobody will stand in our way."
He shuddered. "I don't know why, but that creeps me out."
"Me too," Coral confessed.
The wall shook again. The strikers were firing on it. The wall trembled, shed dust, but stood. For now.
"Let's hurry," Bay said.
They turned back toward the hall.
The chamber was as large as a cathedral's nave. Mosaics of stars and galaxies covered the walls, floor, and ceiling, formed from millions of black and silver stones.
But most impressive was the orrery in the center of the chamber.
The clockwork machine towered, rising nearly to the vaulted ceiling. It was a mechanical solar system. Brass gears covered the floor. Rings rose across the chamber, so large that warships could have flown through them. Each ring represented a planet's orbit. Metal planets moved along these rings like carts along rails. Some planets were small, no larger than an apple, while others were the size of watermelons. The planets were studded with shimmering gemstones—there was a yellow planet, a red one, a couple of blue ones. Around each planet spun smaller rings, and little moons moved along them.
A massive sun rose in the orrery's center, as large as a carriage, coated with shimmering red and golden stones.
As Bay stepped toward the orrery, it came to life. Light flared inside the mechanical sun, beaming through the golden gemstones, illuminating the room with firelight. The planets began to move along the tracks, the moons around the planets.
Bay gazed in wonder. "It's our solar system." He laughed. "I recognize it from the Earthstone. I've seen images of it. This planet here, the large one with the ring system? It's called Saturn." He pointed. "That huge one is Jupiter."
Coral gasped and held his hand again. Her eyes shone with tears. "It's home. Our home. Of course it is." She looked at Bay, smiling. "Sage Gadriel came from Earth, after all."
She bit her lip. Bay stared into her eyes. They turned around together and ran closer to the mechanical sun.
They found it.
The third planet from the sun.
It flowed along its orbit, the size of Bay's fist, shimmering blue and white.
"Earth," he whispered.
Coral looked at him, smiling—a huge, bright smile that showed her teeth.
A boom sounded from outside. The cavern trembled, and dust rained from the ceiling.
"That was a bomb," Bay said. "A big one. Our scorpion buddies are going for brute force."
Coral pointed. "Look. A doorway at the back."
Leaving the orrery, they approached the second doorway. It too was locked.
Bay groaned. "Great." He pointed. "Another riddle."
Words were engraved into this doorway too, filled with aetherstone. Unlike the words on the outer door, these were still crisp, untouched by the centuries of wind and rain. The words shone in the orrery's light.
"What does it say?" Coral said.
Bay read the words. "In times of love and war, darkness falls."
She frowned. "That's it?" She tilted her head.
"That's it."
Behind them, a series of blasts slammed against the cliff. The chamber shook. Bay and Coral swayed and fell. Dust flew and cracks spread across the ceiling. Stones fell from above. Bay thought the entire guildhall would collapse. By the time the barrage ended, cracks spiderwebbed the walls.
"I thought you said there's aetherstone in the walls," Bay said.
Coral pushed herself up, hair in disarray. She shivered. "There is. But even aetherstone can only withstand so much."
Outside, scorpions were screeching. He heard a high, whirring sound, and more dust filled the air.
"Great," Bay muttered. "They brought drills. We might only have a few seconds here." He took a deep breath. "Gotta think. Time of love and war, time of love and war . . ."
"This is a time of love and war," Coral said. She slipped her hand into his. "Maybe we do need to have sex again."
Bay let out a mirthless laugh. "You wish." He shook his head. "No, it's not that. The first riddle—the Weeping Weaver wanted us to prove our knowledge. Not our worth, not our love, not the justice of our cause, but our knowledge. This too is such a riddle."
Coral frowned. "In times of love and war . . . I'm lost."
Bay paced. "The sage was a human, right? He made sure everyone who came here would know that. His humanity was important to him. He carved himself—the figure of a human—on the cliff. And inside the guildhall, he built this orrery, showing the solar system humans come from." Bay nodded. "He left clues for the first riddle—the fossils in the cliff, showing evolution. The orrery, Coral! It must be a clue."
He approached the orrery, then swayed and fell as more blasts hit the wall. The enemy's drills shrieked. A drill's tip broke through.
"Bay!" Coral cried. "The drill!"
"I see it, I see it." He frowned, trying to ignore the drills, the blasts, to concentrate. "A time of love and war, love and war . . ." He spun toward Coral. "I remember! Old mythology from Earth. Venus was the goddess of love, and Mars was the god of war."
Coral's eyes widened. "A time of love and war—a planetary alignment! Which ones are Venus and Mars?"
He pointed them out. Coral pulled the planets along their tracks, aligning them with Earth.
Bay and Coral spun toward the door to the second chamber.
It remained closed.
Bay ran toward it. He leaned against the stone. The door wouldn't budge.
"Muck!" he said. "We got it wrong. Coral, we—"
Across the hall, the wall shattered.
Boulders flew, slamming into Uranus, Neptune, and Saturn. Dust filled the hall. Rocks hit the orrery gears.
And the scorpions swarmed in.
Coral screamed.
Bay fired the rifle.
His bullet slammed into one scorpion's head, knocking the beast down. But a dozen more raced across the debris, cackling. Stingers rose and sprayed
venom, and Bay leaped aside, dodging the spray. He fired again, hit another scorpion, but he knew he couldn't fight them all.
"Darkness falls," Coral said. "In a time of love and war, darkness falls."
A scorpion vaulted over the orrery and flew toward Bay. He fired. His bullet hit the alien, knocking it against the orrery sun. The creature burned. More scorpions scuttled around the burning corpse.
Coral raced toward the aliens.
"Coral, stand back!" Bay said.
But she kept running. A scorpion raced toward her, and she raised her palm. A blast of air flew out, slamming the scorpion against the wall. Another beast pounced, and Coral spun toward it, casting a funnel of air, knocking it back. She leaped forward and landed by Earth.
She grabbed the small, round jewel that represented the moon. She tugged it along its track, placing it between Earth and the sun.
"Darkness falls," she said. "A solar eclipse."
The stone door creaked, then slid open. The planets moved along the tracks, rearranging themselves.
"Coral, get in there, I'll cover you!" Bay shouted, loading and firing Lawless.
She ran past him and bounded through the doorway. A scorpion raced after her, and Bay fired from point-blank range, blasting it back. He ran through the doorway, and the scorpion followed.
The door slammed shut, crushing the creature, cracking the shell, snapping the alien in half. The scorpion's upper half twitched and still reached with its pincers, trying to kill Bay.
He fired Lawless into its screeching jaws, silencing the beast.
He shuddered and panted, heart pounding.
"You all right, Coral?"
She was trembling, her hair tangled, her eyes wide. But she nodded. "I'm fine." She flashed a shaky smile. "As close as it gets, as always."
Already, they heard the scorpions slamming at the wall.
"And it won't be long until they break through this doorway too," Bay said. "Not with those drills. Let's find this Godblade."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
As the scorpions pounded at the door, Bay and Coral went deeper into the Weeping Guildhall.
Before them spread a vast, shadowy hall. As they walked, glowing orbs came to life, hovering in the air, casting silvery light.
Their eyes widened.
"It's beautiful," Coral whispered, tears falling. "It's so beautiful."
Bay whistled appreciatively. "Could put the Sistine Chapel to shame."
Murals covered every surface. Artists must have spent years painting these masterpieces. Clouds, stars, and suns covered the ceiling. Mosaics spread across the floor, depicting animal life evolving from fish to reptiles to mammals.
But the walls, Bay thought, were the most impressive. They depicted scenes, larger than life, of old Earth.
He stepped toward one mural. It depicted a family on Earth, gathered around a baby, sheltered in a humble home. As Bay kept walking, he reached another mural. This painting depicted a child playing on the streets of an Earth city. Skyscrapers rose in the background. A few paces more, and the child was a youth, wandering a forest, communing with animals, meditating on a mountaintop.
"What is this?" Bay said.
"It's him," Coral said, gazing with wonder, awe in her voice. "The sage. Gadriel the Good. This is his life story."
Bay nodded. "Not bad. I need one of these when I die. Maybe a comic strip would be more appropriate for me."
The walls shook. Metallic screeches sounded. The scorpions were drilling again.
Bay glanced toward the back of the room.
"I don't see another doorway," he said. "This must be the last room. The Godblade must be somewhere in here."
Coral nodded. "Let's look for it."
They explored the hall, but they found no artifacts. In fact, the room was empty aside from the floating orbs of light.
"There's nothing here, Coral." Bay groaned. "Damn it."
She frowned. "There are murals. The murals must contain a clue—same as the fossils and orrery did. Let's go back to the first mural, then follow them through the room. There's a story here."
The drills were still working.
"Coral, we don't have time for stories," Bay said.
"Pretend it's a comic strip."
"Comic strips have babes in bodysuits."
Coral rolled her eyes. "I'll wear a bodysuit for you later. Now help me find a clue."
They examined the murals again. Once more, Bay looked at the progression of baby to child to young man. Bay kept following the murals. As he walked across the hall, the murals revealed more of Gadriel's story. The young man worked on a lume, weaving rugs. In another panel, he discovered how to embroider runes, to speak to the ancients in the Empyrean Firmament. In another panel, the sage—now an older man, his hair white—was teaching the art to younger weavers.
The walls trembled. A crack raced across the floor. The drills spun.
Bay and Coral hurried. They reached panels that showed the Hydrians, a race of alien squids, attacking Earth. Cities burned. Countless died. Gadriel fled the burning planet, weeping for the fate of the world. In exile, he sought a new world, a place of solitude, a place to meditate, to learn from the ancients. On the distant planet Elysium, he formed a colony, and he taught many weavers there—some human survivors, most aliens.
"Nothing here about a Godblade," Bay said, glancing toward the doorway they had entered. The wall was shaking. Dust was flying. Cracks raced across the stone.
Coral gasped. "Look."
She pointed at another fresco. It depicted Hydrians finding an aging Gadriel on Elysium. Even in his old age, the sage was mighty. He fought them, beating them back. Yet in another panel, the squids grabbed Gadriel's apprentices, held them hostage.
Bay and Coral kept walking, viewing more of the story. They were near the end of the artwork now.
The sage approached the squids, hands raised, face stoic.
"He's surrendering," Bay said.
Coral's eyes filled with tears. "He's giving his life for theirs. He's sacrificing himself for his apprentices."
Indeed, in the next panel, the squids released the apprentices and grabbed the sage.
And they tortured him.
Bay grimaced.
"Awful," he said.
Several panels depicted the torture of the sage. The squids nailed him onto a wagon wheel, cut him open, removed his organs. Gadriel wept, dying on the wheel.
"The Weeping Weaver," Bay said softly.
"He's weeping not for himself," Coral whispered, "but for Earth."
She pointed. Above the images of the tortured sage appeared Earth, now destroyed, the squids gripping the planet with their tentacles.
They reached the penultimate panel, and Coral gasped.
"He's rising again," she whispered.
The artwork here was massive, larger than life, depicting the ancients descending from the Empyrean Firmament and resurrecting the sage. Gadriel rose, healed and whole, clad in white robes.
Drills burst through the far wall.
The scorpions roared.
Bay and Coral reached the final panel. The artwork showed the sage standing upon a mountain, raising a crystal sword. A rune shone on his hand, shaped like a serpent swallowing its own tail. Light flashed from Gadriel's blade, slaying the squids, destroying their starships.
"The Godblade," Bay whispered.
Coral gasped. "That's how the Hydrian Empire fell. The sage destroyed them! It was too late. Earth had already fallen. The last human survivors were exiled. The sage smote our enemies, but too late . . ." Her tears flowed.
"Not too late." Bay inhaled deeply. "We can still go back. We can reclaim our world. We're still here. And the Godblade is here, somewhere in this Guildhall. It will destroy the scorpions like it destroyed the squids."
Coral frowned and pointed at the mural. "There are words there. In ancient human language. Can you read them?"
Bay nodded and stepped closer. The words appeared beneath the s
age with the sword.
"Only one who has died in agony, and who has risen again, may gain the ouroboros rune. Only such a weaver, one who has known the pain of death and joy of life, may bestow life or death upon nations."
As soon as Bay uttered those words, a door at the end of the hall materialized and opened.
At the opposite end of the hall, the drills finally demolished the wall, and the scorpions poured in.
Coral and Bay ran through the new doorway, plunging deeper into the guildhall. The door vanished behind them, leaving only a wall.
They rested for a moment, panting.
"As close," Bay whispered.
"As it gets," Coral said, wiping sweat off her brow.
They stood in a shadowy room. It was too dark to see ahead. For a moment, they just stood still, catching their breath.
"An ouroboros rune," Coral whispered. She trembled. Her eyes dampened. "He had an ouroboros rune."
Bay frowned. "The snake?"
Coral stared at him. A tear flowed down her cheek. "Remember what I told you about artifacts?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Powerful objects. Like your dagger. Like the looms the old weavers used. Like the shield around the planet. Every one requires a special tattoo."
"And the Godblade requires an ouroboros rune," Coral said. "I saw it in the mural."
"All right," Bay said. "So you pray to the ancients, and you get one."
"Bay!" She grabbed his arms. "Weavers have been praying for an ouroboros for thousands of years. I've never seen a weaver earn one! It's the rarest of all runes. As far as I know, nobody since Sage Gadriel himself has earned an ouroboros rune."
He winced. "And without this rune . . ."
"Even if we find the Godblade, I wouldn't be able to use it. Not without dying." She lowered her head.
"What?" Bay frowned. "Dying?"
"You read the words on the mural, Bay." Coral trembled. "That's how Gadriel earned an ouroboros rune. By dying and rising again. To earn such a rune, I would need to die and be reborn."
Bay inhaled sharply. "But—Coral! You can't just die and rise again. You're not some mythical sage."
She clenched her jaw. She looked into his eyes. "If I must, then I will die. A human can die for several seconds, then be brought back. We can stop my heart. Have a doctor restart it. I can—"
A Memory of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 2) Page 23