by Alec Hutson
Slipping her ivory wand into her hand, Alyanna entered the black tunnel.
Keilan’s breath caught as the tunnel they followed emptied into a vast, astonishing space. He had witnessed so many wonders since being dragged from his village, and in truth he had been preparing himself to be awed again by whatever awaited them, but even still he struggled to accept what was before him.
The chamber was much larger than any he had yet seen carved from the Worm’s flesh. It was roughly circular, the walls rising up to curve into a dome that could have contained the tallest towers of Vis. But this was not why he couldn’t stop looking at what was above. At a certain point the solid flesh of the walls transitioned into a translucent membrane, so that it was possible to see what was beyond the chamber. It was like staring up into murky gray-green water while lying at the bottom of the sea. There were shapes drifting through this great emptiness, and bridges of organic matter spanning the void, but what dominated everything else, black and pendulous and distended by bulging folds of flesh, was the heart of a god, swelling above them like a mountain.
It moved, and with every one of its rhythmic pulsings the room trembled, though the sound Keilan had been expecting was muffled, just as in the black-sheathed tunnels.
Probably, he decided, for the benefit of those who had once dwelled here, in the sanctum of the Worm.
Five tall pillars of some glistening green material rose in a circle at the center of the room, each crowned by a jagged chair. Four of these thrones were inhabited by the desiccated husks of strange creatures – Keilan realized with a jolt that he’d seen one like them before, in the stone city, being taunted by a trio of fox-men. These centipede-men were much larger, though. Their insect-like lower halves, bristling with legs, spiraled several times around the pillars, reaching halfway to the floor. The arm-rests of the thrones were broad enough to accommodate the six segmented limbs that protruded from their upper bodies. The single great eye above each circular, leech-like mouth was closed, as if they were sleeping. Vines or tendrils wrapped their bodies, binding them to the thrones and keeping them from toppling off the pillars.
A man sat in the last throne. He looked tiny, as if a small child had climbed up into its father’s chair. The same filaments covered his body, and to Keilan it appeared that some of the strands actually vanished into his flesh. He was naked, except for the blue runes scribed all over his skin and a necklace of what looked to be curved claws. His sandy hair was wild and unkempt, falling down past his shoulders, but the rest of his tattooed face and body was bereft of hair. The thread of sorcery they had followed into this place plunged into the base of the man’s pillar and vanished.
“By the dead gods,” Jan murmured as he stared upwards, his wards flaring.
The man’s golden eyes were open, and he was watching them.
“Keilan, stand back,” the queen said calmly, motioning for him to get behind her. The wards she wove were slightly expanded so that he would also gain some protection from her sorcery.
Slowly, the man on top of the pillar stood. He looked to be in good health, but his movements were stiff and pained, as if he had not raised himself from his chair for a very long time. He stared down at them with his brow furrowed, and then his own glittering wards leapt into existence.
Keilan was no expert in judging the relative power of sorcerers, but from the shining lines of sorcery the man had braided so skillfully he guessed that he was a Talent at least as strong as the queen.
Everyone in the chamber stayed as they were, taking the measure of the other, as the heartbeat of the Worm thundered.
It was the stranger who finally broke the silence. He called something down in a language Keilan had never heard before. From his tone he did not sound angry, or aggressive, which heartened Keilan, though his voice was stern. Keilan truly did not want any sorcerous duels to erupt in this place.
After a brief pause, Jan responded in the same tongue, and Keilan could see some of the tension leak from the man’s face and posture. He said something more, and it almost looked like the ghost of a smile touched his lips.
“What is he saying?” asked Cein.
Jan turned back to Keilan and the queen. “He’s Min-Ceruthan, but his style of speaking is very old. He asked who we were, and I told him. He seems relieved that I’m one of his people.”
“He’s coming down,” Keilan said nervously as the man stepped from the top of the pillar and into empty air. As he floated to the ground, a few of the tendrils remained embedded in his body, tethering him to the throne he had just vacated.
Jan and Keilan took instinctive steps back as the Min-Ceruthan alighted less than a dozen paces away, but the queen remained where she was, her head held high as she met the stranger’s gaze. His golden eyes were unsettling, their shape and color more befitting an animal than a man. The rest of his appearance was just as striking: every bit of his skin was covered in the same style of runes that Keilan had once seen carved onto the Min-Ceruthan saga bones. He wondered what story the blue, squirming writing told.
The sorcerer directed a question towards Jan, though he never shifted his attention from Cein. He did not seem the least bit embarrassed that he was unclothed.
“He asks if you are a queen, Your Highness.”
Cein d’Kara crooked a smile. “Tell him I am.”
Jan said this, and the man nodded in evident satisfaction that his guess was correct. Then he spoke again, with Jan translating when he finished.
“He says you remind him of his own queen.” Excitement colored Jan’s words. “Galiana duth Seraval, of Nes Vaneth.” The bard shook his head in wonder. “This man is very old, Your Highness. When he was born, the Warlock King still ruled in Menekar. Two thousand years ago, at least.”
“He makes you seem positively youthful, Jan,” the queen murmured, her eyes drifting to the shimmering thread of sorcery that terminated at the base of the stranger’s pillar. Keilan swallowed as he realized the purpose of the poor, trapped souls he had brushed against back in the chamber with the sphere.
The man asked another question, his voice hardening slightly. This started a rapid back and forth between Jan and the Min-Ceruthan, until finally the man pressed his fists together and bowed slightly in their direction.
“He asked if we were the ones disturbing the Worm’s dreams,” Jan explained. “This sorcerer . . . his purpose here is to soothe the Ancient back to sleep when it begins to wake. And he says that the Worm has been troubled recently. It must have been the influence of the Chosen. But so long as he remains here, connected to the Worm, it will not rouse from its slumber. I told him we were also trying to keep the Worm sleeping, and that the ones who wished for it to wake are now dead. He is grateful.”
“He has been here for all this time?” Keilan asked, unable to comprehend how this could be true.
Jan nodded. “He says he has been sleeping, sharing the dreams of the Worm. He knows he has been here for a great length of time, but to him it does not feel so long. The chair he sits in nourishes him and brings him into communion with the Ancient.”
Cein raised her hands to indicate the chamber. “Ask him the purpose of this place and how he came to be here.”
The man listened to the bard relay the queen’s question, and then launched into a lengthy explanation that Jan occasionally interrupted for clarification. When the Min-Ceruthan finally stopped speaking Jan stepped back, shaking his head. Keilan thought he looked overwhelmed, but nevertheless he gamely attempted to communicate what the man had explained.
“It’s . . . difficult for me to understand, Your Highness. He says that in his time, the ground began to shake and the sorcerers of his people felt a great disturbance was coming. They traced these . . . emanations back to the Burrow of the Worm. They had been warned never to breach the door by the Vaneshalii, which I believe is an old, old name for the creatures we now know as wraiths. But the q
uakes were getting worse, so Queen Galiana opened the Burrow and found the Worm and the stone city. The man says only a few of the great sorcerers who entered survived the dangers of the city and entered the flesh of the Ancient. They discovered this room, and one of these creatures” —here Jan gestured at the centipede men lashed to their thrones— “breathing its last. The artifact that was sustaining it – the pearl we saw earlier – had exhausted all the lives it had once contained. The Min-Ceruthans realized somehow that a great sorcerous Talent would have to stay here. This man remained behind, and Galiana departed the Burrow to find the lives necessary for him to remain alive as long as possible.”
“And they found them in the wraith kingdoms,” Keilan said quietly. “My grandmother and Alyanna both told me that the wraiths of the Frostlands had once been as civilized as men, but that their race had slipped into barbarism. They did not slip, though. They were dragged down.”
“A sad story,” the queen said. “Yet the Worm has remained sleeping for two thousand years.”
“Does it justify what was done?” Keilan asked bitterly.
The queen turned to him. “I cannot judge them. Many died so countless could live. Sometimes hard choices must be made . . . it is the burden of wearing a crown.”
Keilan bit back on the reply he wanted to make, looking away from Cein so she wouldn’t see the disagreement in his face. Who was he to question a queen? He was merely a—
Wait. Keilan blinked, wondering if what he was seeing could be true. He reached for his sorcery, cold power swelling within him.
Jan had been speaking to the Min-Ceruthan in their tumbling language, but as he felt Keilan grasp his sorcery he suddenly paused. “What is the matter?”
Keilan ignored him, his unease rising as he slowly walked towards the pillar that the sorcerer had been perched upon. He stretched out his senses, hoping he was wrong.
The stream of sorcery flowing from the soul sphere and into the pillar had stopped.
He whirled around just as the Min-Ceruthan sorcerer clutched at his chest, his golden eyes widening. Jan shouted in alarm, rushing closer and taking him by his arm as he staggered and cried out. The queen took a quick step back, her face aghast, as the sorcerer began to change. His hair darkened, then faded to gray, while at the same time wrinkles emerged on his tattooed skin. His broad shoulders sloped, his back becoming more hunched as his muscles dwindled. He clutched at Jan’s arm, his face sinking in upon itself, his eyes receding into his skull and his skin sloughing from his bones in a cascade of gray dust.
Two thousand years passed in the span of a few heartbeats. Skeletal fingers slipped from Jan’s arm as the man collapsed into a pile of bones; the bard could only reach out helplessly as the ancient sorcerer dissolved. He stared in shock at the pile that had been a young man only moments before, and then jumped as something twitched in the sorcerer’s remains. The fibrous tendrils that had been sunk into the man’s flesh squirmed in the dust, as if searching for what had just vanished, and then they retracted with blinding speed back to the throne.
“What . . . what happened?” Jan whispered, staring at Cein helplessly.
The queen said nothing, but then her face paled. She whirled and began running back towards the tunnel. Jan and Keilan shared a glance as they hurried to follow her.
The first tremor hit before they were halfway to the chamber of the soul sphere, sending the queen crashing into the smooth black wall. Keilan had managed to keep from falling and he held out his arm for her, but she struggled to her feet on her own, then continued her headlong dash down the tunnel. Another, smaller shiver struck, cracks beginning to spider along the walls. If the Worm woke fully, would the labyrinth carved from its flesh be crushed? The thought was terrifying.
They spilled into the chamber of the soul sphere, Cein in front, and as she skidded to a halt Keilan had to twist himself to avoid running into her. Jan did bump into him, nearly sending both of them sprawling, but they caught each other before they tumbled into the mess strewn before them. The pearl that had housed the lives of the ancient wraiths had been shattered into countless opalescent shards, the largest as long as his forearm, the smallest no more than a gleaming speck. He quested out with his sorcery, searching for the power he had felt roiling in the sphere, but the artifact was cold and dead. The souls were gone.
Keilan tore his gaze from the ruin on the floor and found that Cein and Jan were already looking at him. For a moment they were silent, and then the queen gave voice to the name they were all thinking.
“Alyanna,” she said, just before the Worm gave a wrenching spasm, and they were smashed violently against the walls.
It felt like the world was shaking itself to pieces.
Vhelan braced himself against a tree as the ground continued to tremble; they had retreated back to the ridge overlooking the valley of the Burrow when the first of the quakes had struck, and there had been a long enough period of stability that he’d hoped the danger had passed. His prayers had not been answered, however, as the tremors had returned. They’d begun as a grumble and had now swelled to the point where he couldn’t stand without help. Down on the plains below, great fissures had opened up in the snow as the ground beneath broke apart. The Burrow looked like it was disintegrating before his eyes: great chunks of stone were cascading down its slopes, and the doorway was so full of rubble he feared it was now impassable.
Keilan and Alyanna had failed. The thing beneath the mountain had awoken. He found Nel a few paces from him, kneeling in the snow. She was staring at the unfolding destruction in shock.
“We need to get away from here!” he cried over the sound of the Burrow collapsing.
Nel looked at him with empty eyes. “Does it matter? They’re dead.”
She began to turn away, but Vhelan grabbed her roughly and spun her back to face him. “We’re not. These men followed us here, and we owe it to them to try and escape what’s coming!”
She nodded unsteadily and let him drag her to her feet. Just then a stronger quake struck, and he had to pull her close so she wouldn’t go sprawling among the roots of the trees they were sheltering beneath.
“Galen!” he cried, getting the attention of the grizzled veteran. The soldier and his men were clinging to trees or rocks, dazed by what was happening. Galen glanced at him with frightened eyes, and Vhelan tried to project as much confidence and calmness as he could muster, given the circumstances. “Gather everyone and order a retreat! I want us moving as fast as we can! Leave any supplies that will slow us down. Understood?”
At first Galen’s face was blank, as if he was indeed having trouble parsing out what Vhelan was shouting over the sounds of the world breaking, but then he nodded jerkily.
“Good. And where is Seril? Have you seen her?” he asked, craning his neck to search for the magister.
Galen nodded again, but now confusion creased his face. “Pardon, my lord, but I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“She ain’t here.”
“What?” Vhelan clutched at the branches around him, steadying himself as a stronger tremor struck. “Where did she go?”
Galen pointed at the Burrow. “She was going the other way when we was headed up here. I asked her why an’ she said she had to try and help. Last I saw she had started climbing the hill towards the door.”
Vhelan’s head was whirling. What had that fool girl been thinking? She knew the Worm’s presence wouldn’t let her enter. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
“Ain’t my place to question magisters, lord. And to be true, I thought you must have sent her.”
“No, I—”
“Boss!”
Nel’s anguished cry made him follow where she was looking, back across the valley at the Burrow.
Fear washed through him, leaving him tingling and numb. The hill was heaving. No longer did it look like it was shaking itself
to pieces; rather, it seemed like something was pushing up from below—
A crack like the world fracturing echoed among the Bones. Stone and dust fountained high into the sky, and then a great white shape lifted from the earth. The size of the thing was beyond Vhelan’s comprehension; a mountain had come to life. Rocks sifted from a massive head as it raised itself skyward, blindly questing – at least, Vhelan thought it was a head. There were no eyes that he could see, just mottled flesh tapering to a blunted point. Perhaps this was the tail of the Worm? Then its mouth opened like a fist unclenching, five great jaws spreading wide, the inside of each covered with thousands of thorny protrusions. The Worm swung its head through the air, and Vhelan saw for a brief moment directly down its throat. The sight numbed him – it was a black abyss that could swallow cities.
At the edges of his vision he could see the soldiers fleeing, stumbling backwards in panic, but he could not tear his gaze from the awesome sight of this ancient creature. The Worm’s head came down, dislodging another great avalanche, and then a shiver went through it as it heaved more of its bulk from the gaping hole it had made in the side of the hill.
Vhelan fell to his knees. He felt Nel’s arm slip through his own, and a moment later her head was resting on his shoulder. Across from them, as the world broke apart, the Worm’s bulk continued to slither into the light.
Keilan fought his way back to awareness.
Dazed, he lay on the ground and stared at the organic strands covering the ceiling. Every part of his body was sore, from the soles of his feet to his throbbing head. He rolled onto his side, moaning, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of the Worm as he tried to push himself to his hands and knees.
What had happened? He remembered being flung about as the chamber shook, smashing into the walls until the darkness had come and taken him away. The Worm had been thrashing as it woke. Now, though, everything was still. He spent a few long moments gathering his strength, and then struggled to his feet. He swayed, glancing around the chamber. The remnants of the soul sphere were still scattered about – he had been lucky he hadn’t been pierced by any of the shards. Where were Jan and the queen?