Blood and Iron: The Book of the Black Earth (Part One)

by Jon Sprunk

  He doesn't deserve to be lied to.

  Alyra shook her head. Emotions were tools to be manipulated. The mission was the only thing that mattered. Focusing her attention, she rolled the empty pouch into a tube and used it to prop open the door behind her. Then, with the light-rod held high, she descended into the secret passage.

  The steps were tall, making her descent even more jarring, but after about ten feet they stopped, and the tunnel continued downward at a steep slope. She tried not to think about the ramifications of what would happen if she was caught, but her life was meaningless compared to the oath she had sworn. She would gladly die for the chance to harm the empire. Akeshia needed to fall. Not just for Nemedia, but for the betterment of the whole world.

  The passageway looked natural, its rounded walls resembling a winding tube. Every so often she passed under a glowing red symbol on the ceiling. Like the sigils on the door, she had no idea what they meant. The air was hot and dank, with a strange odor like the acrid smell after a thunderstorm. As she descended further, Alyra considered the massive weight of the temple above her head, and a twinge of anxiety stirred in her belly. After several minutes of walking, she arrived at an open archway. She approached with caution, shielding the light-rod inside her tunic as she peeked around the corner. Another passageway extended before her, its length broken by several openings. Alyra was considering whether she had time to investigate them all when a dull glimmer from straight ahead caught her attention. Orange light glowed at the end of the tunnel.

  As she got closer, she heard a low rumbling noise that made her think of thunder. Slight tremors buzzed through the floor under her sandals. She slowed her pace as another sound came from ahead, a sharp hiss that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Alyra eased up to the opening but stopped as a jet of blistering air shot past her face. Holding her breath, she peered inside and blinked as her eyes adjusted. The broad aperture overlooked a large chamber that appeared to be a natural formation, at least in part. The rough-hewn walls were craggy with whitish mineral deposits that reflected the orange glow. A series of metal catwalks connected by ramps clung to the cavern walls. Alyra couldn't see the source of the light until she edged out farther and her gaze traveled sixty paces down through a haze of smoke and wavering air. The floor far below was awash in yellow and orange flame. It was only after a moment of staring that she realized she was looking down at a pool of molten rock. Pieces of charred crust floated on the surface around a small island, upon which sat an odd framework of black metal and silver filigree. The metal construction was large, maybe three times the height of a person, and shaped somewhat like an inverted pyramid. Looking at the structure's lattice of beams, Alyra got the impression that it surrounded an empty space at its center. Was this the mysterious device Lord Astaptah and the queen had been discussing? Alyra craned her neck to see more, but she couldn't make out much from her vantage point.

  You know what you need to do. You have to go down for a closer look.

  Alyra put away the light-rod and wiped her damp palms on her cloak. She was inching out onto the catwalk to get a better view when a shadow leapt across the wall not far from her. She ducked back inside the cave mouth and froze, listening for any sign that she had been discovered. After a score of rapid heartbeats, she peered out again. The shadow came from higher up the cavern wall. Alyra's heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she peered up at the seven huge statues ringing the cavern ceiling. Carved from the rock walls, the dark watchers leaned over the cavern with hooded faces.

  Taking a deep breath, Alyra put the imposing statues out of her mind and eyed the catwalk. There was no one else in sight, but the silence—punctuated by the hiss of the bubbling magma below—made Alyra nervous. Steeling herself, she started around the walkway. The metal platform shook a little with every step, and her footfalls sounded unusually loud to her own ears. She hoped no one was listening.

  Just as she was about to step onto the ramp, a horrible scream erupted in the air. High and drawn-out, it echoed off the walls, sounding as if it came from all directions at once. Alyra wanted to turn around and run back up the tunnel, but instead she plunged down the curving ramp. The scream died off after a few seconds, but it echoed in her mind as she reached the catwalk's second tier and made her way to the next ramp, which she started down without hesitation. She swept her gaze across the bottom of the chamber. Now the heat from the molten rock below felt like it was scorching her skin. The ends of her hair curled up into crinkled knots. Even breathing became more difficult as if her lungs were rejecting the super-heated air. Yet she now had a better view of the structure on the center island. There was a narrow bridge connecting the island to a rock ledge that ran around the chamber's perimeter. Dark archways appeared in the walls, leading to parts unknown. Set in the rock between each archway was a glowing red rune as large as a dinner platter.

  Alyra was astounded. She never would have guessed that the passages beneath the palace extended so far. Halfway down the second ramp, a new sound met her ears, a faint sizzle like meat thrown into a hot griddle. Something flickered inside the metal structure on the center island, looking like a cloud of white sparks swirling in a green mist. She paused to watch, and the mist became thicker, the sparks flashed brighter, as a new sound rumbled through the chamber. It was the unmistakable roll of thunder.

  Alyra gasped as she brushed against the wall at her back. The rock was searing hot to the touch. Yet her eyes remained focused on the growing mist inside the metal construction, trying to discern what it could be. She didn't see any moving parts like pulleys or clockworks. Now the flashing sparks reminded her of nothing so much as tiny bolts of lightning zipping through the mist. Like a miniature thunderstorm.

  Or a chaos storm.

  What was Lord Astaptah trying to do down here in the bowels of the palace? Create his own chaos storms? The idea was both absurd and chilling at the same time. No one could create a storm, but if he could…

  Alyra turned around. This wasn't something she could handle alone. She needed to get this information to her contacts so they could funnel it back to their controllers in Nemedia. She started back up the ramp, but froze as the metallic patter of footsteps rang out above her. Voices descended through the smoky haze. The catwalk was made of solid metal sheets connected by thin beams, but through the cracks she glimpsed a pair of shadows walking around the top level toward the ramp. The voices sounded male.

  The only other ways out of the chamber were the five archways around on the bottom level, but she had no idea where they went. For all she knew, they might delve deeper into the earth or wander endlessly beneath the palace with no exit at all.

  Seeing no other choice, she hurried down the last few yards of the ramp. She stepped onto the shelf that ran around the edge of the chamber, and the heat of the stone penetrated her sandals. The magma, though several feet below, seemed frightfully close. One misstep, and she would be cooked in an instant.

  Stop it and focus on the problem!

  She pulled out her light-rod and moved to the nearest archway. The short tunnel ended in a stout iron door. With the footsteps above getting closer, Alyra made her choice. She ducked inside and went for the door. At the same time, she started devising explanations she might use if she were caught. That she was “lost” was too laughable to even contemplate. She could claim she'd been sent here by the queen to summon Lord Astaptah for a conference. That might get her out of immediate danger, but the queen would surely hear of it, and that would begin a line of questioning Alyra did not want to experience. Could she blame Horace? The thought stabbed her through the heart, even as she began to work out how she might make it work. She reached for the door's latch.

  She yanked back her hand with a stifled yelp. The metal was as hot as a stovetop. Cradling her singed fingers, Alyra suppressed the string of vile curses that wanted to tumble off her lips. She wrapped her other hand in her cloak and tugged on the latch until the heat became uncomfortable through the barrier
, but the door wouldn't budge. It was either locked or barred from the other side. Alyra ran back down the passage, hoping she had time to try another archway. Yet as she peeked out into the main chamber, the voices were descending the second ramp.

  Alyra pressed against the passage wall and grimaced as the heat of the stone penetrated her sweat-dampened tunic. The voices approached, now close enough that she could make out their words, but they spoke in a tongue she didn't know. It was harsh and yet strangely lyrical, unlike anything she had ever heard before.

  As she braced herself to be discovered, a powerful emotion sprung up inside her. She might be dead soon, or held captive in this awful place, and two things jostled for prominence in her mind—that her mission would go undone, and that she wouldn't see Horace again.

  Her heart leapt into her throat as a loud squeal erupted behind her. She spun around as the metal door opened and a shrunken man in a gray robe stepped through. Alyra reached for her knife, but the man cringed from her as if she were a fearsome creature. No, he was flinching away from her light-rod. Without a second thought, she hit him in the forehead with the rod and ran past him, into the passageway beyond. After a dozen steps she came to a T-junction. She darted to the left, listening as she ran for sounds of pursuit. For a few seconds there was nothing, just silence, then the distant patter of sandaled feet behind her.

  The corridor curved gradually to her left as she sprinted down its length. She passed another iron doorway on the right-hand side, but it was locked or otherwise secured. Worried that she might get lost down here, she continued her flight. When she came to a fork, she picked the left-hand branch again. Sweat ran down her face. Her lungs ached from breathing the noxious air of these catacombs. Then she noticed light coming from ahead, a steady orange glow. She ran faster, hoping it was a way out.

  Relief poured through Alyra when she arrived at a tunnel mouth and saw that it opened into the main central chamber. A quick glance revealed that she was back on the top level. She poked her head out and spotted the exit tunnel on the other side of the catwalk. There was no one else on the metal walkway. Taking a deep breath, she ran for the exit. A voice shouted from below, and heavy footsteps rang on the ramps beneath her, but Alyra kept running without looking down. She darted into the tunnel and followed its winding upward curve as quickly as she dared. She didn't think any of the tunnel dwellers had seen her face. Her hood was down, and she had chosen this cloak because it was bulky enough to conceal her figure. She just hoped the outer door was still propped open. If not, she didn't have any more of the enchanted sand to open it again, and she didn't want to think about trying to survive alone in these tunnels.

  Fortunately, the big metal door remained wedged by her rolled-up pouch. As she slipped through and the cool air of the upper palace swept across her face, Alyra couldn't help but sigh in relief. She closed the heavy portal and put her back to it. She wanted to rest, but pursuit could be right behind her.

  Ten minutes later, she stepped into the petitioners’ hall on the ground floor of the palace, adjacent to the grand atrium. Because of the lateness of the hour, the hall was empty. She had hidden her cloak and light-rod in a supply room. Walking as if she belonged here, she crossed the hall toward the slave wing. If she could get back to the suite without being seen or stopped, she might be able to clean up and change her clothes before Horace returned.

  Please, Mother of Heaven, let me get back undetected. There is so much I need to tell.

  She was composing a message to her superiors in her head when a shadow detached from the darkness of the corridor in front of her. Alyra's sandals slid on the smooth marble as she stopped. Then she saw a familiar face and let out the breath she'd been holding. “Sefkahet! You nearly frightened me out of my skin.”

  The slim chambermaid drew near and spoke with a low voice. “Alyra, we've been worried about you. Did you…do it?”

  Alyra looked about to be sure they were alone. Sefkahet was one of her contacts within Erugash and a cautious woman by nature, but the queen's palace had many ears. “Yes. I was able to get inside. Sef, you would not believe what I saw there. I'm not sure I believe it.”

  “Later, Alyra. There is something you must know first. The queen's flying ship has crashed.”

  Alyra's relief at escaping Lord Astaptah's lair evaporated. “Where? Was anyone hurt?”

  “Little is known except that they were returning when it happened. A ship has been dispatched to find the queen's party.”

  Alyra juggled the times in her head. “How long ago?”

  “About one turn of a glass.”

  Alyra took a deep breath to calm herself. “Thank you, Sef. You'd better get back to your wing.”

  “What will you do?”

  The question struck Alyra between the eyes as the knowledge sunk in that there was nothing she could do. “I'll be in Master Horace's chambers. Please get word to me if you hear anything else.”

  “Of course.”

  The women touched hands, and Alyra gave her friend, and sometimes lover, a quick kiss on the lips. Then Sefkahet hurried away down the dimly lit corridor, melding easily into the shadows. Alyra went to the stairs and hurried up the cold, stone steps, not caring now if she was seen by anyone. The queen might be dead at this very moment. Or Horace.

  With a pounding heart, she climbed.

  Seven hundred and seven stairs ascended to the temple's summit. Arched windows set in the outer wall every fiftieth step showed glimpses of the city. From some of the views the city was highlighted by the rays of the setting sun, while from others the homes below lay swathed in twilight's growing shadows, as if Erugash were two cities occupying the same space. Out on the western terrace, the holy brothers were chanting the sunset vespers that ushered the sun to its nightly rest and praying for its swift return the next morning. Those same songs were being sung at every Temple of Amur across the empire. Normally that thought brought him comfort.

  Rimesh paused at the top landing to catch his breath. He wanted to approach this meeting with a cool head, but his pulse was racing, and not only from the long climb. Before he arrived in Erugash, he'd heard rumors of the difficulties he might face in the pursuit of his mission, but he didn't lend them enough credence. Now he sensed deeper schemes at work. Between the queen's attitude and the mood of the court, the advent of the foreign abomination, and now this recent news, the city was spiraling out of control. He would include that in his report as well.

  Surely the Council must see the danger. Erugash is the empire's first line of defense against the West. If it should crumble from the inside, it would be a disaster of the highest order.

  Two acolytes, tall and sturdy youths, stood outside the high priest's door. One raised his hand, but Rimesh cut him off before he could speak. “You know my authority comes from the Great Temple. Be silent and stand aside.”

  The acolytes looked past Rimesh and then stepped away from the door. Rimesh didn't bother to knock.

  The chambers of the high priest were as glorious as any king's bedchamber. Pillars of golden marble supported a coffered ceiling. Huge open windows, trimmed with crimson silk curtains, gave entrance to the dwindling sunlight, which glimmered off the acres of gold leaf that encrusted almost every architectural detail and molding. The only furniture in the front room was a pair of wide chairs against the walls. All in all, despite its opulence, or perhaps because of it, the place felt more like a mausoleum than the private quarters of the temple's leader.

  Now that he had entered, Rimesh hesitated, unsure of his next move. He had come to confront a dire threat to the faith, and yet here, on the threshold of another priest's personal space, he wondered if this was a mistake.

  Soft footsteps whispered as a slave appeared through one of the far doorways, her slender frame wrapped in a sheer tunic with a short hem that suggested more of her body than he was comfortable viewing. Rimesh cleared his throat. “I've come to see the high priest. Summon him at once.”

  The slave scurried a
way, her tunic flaring up behind her and giving Rimesh another disconcerting view. He tore his gaze away and focused on one of the paintings on the wall, a fairly unimpressive rendering of a familiar scene from the holy texts: Amur appearing to Nidintu. The artist had given more attention to the young maiden than to the Sun Lord, and had also granted her with a more robust vivacity as she lay sprawled across a bed of grass than in other versions Rimesh had seen. There was also something in the way Amur was leering down at her that he found vulgar. He turned as more footsteps approached.

  High Priest Kadamun wore a long robe of bright yellow, unbound by a belt. Its hem dragged along the floor, and the wide sleeves concealed his hands. He looked disheveled, as if he had been roused from a deep sleep, and something smudged his eyelids. It appeared to be red pigment like the makeup worn by some women of the court. Rimesh pressed his lips tight together.

  “Yes?” said the high priest, his reedy voice echoing off the high ceiling. “What is the meaning of this, Menarch? My secretary informed me of no audience this evening.”

  Rimesh held up a slip of papyrus, now wrinkled and a little moist from his sweat. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Kadamun peered at the message from under his crimson-stained lids. “I am not accustomed to being interrogated in my own chambers like a street criminal. What is that you hold?”

  Rimesh ignored the high priest's icy tone and shook the document. “This message just arrived from the palace. The queen's entourage was attacked over the Iron Desert. Her ship crashed with unknown casualties.”

  “That is…unfortunate. But there was no need for you to bring the news in person. Any of the temple novices would have—”