by Sever Bronny
He searched his robes for every last one, getting pricked multiple times in the process, and dumped them onto the pile.
Then they stared at it.
“Now what?” Leera asked.
Bridget gave a nod at the pile. “Now, uh, we light it.”
“We light it. Great. And with what? Legion’s got all our supplies, including our lamp oil, our flint and—”
“All right all right, let me think!” Bridget began pacing.
Leera crossed her arms and glanced over at Augum. “She’s pacing.”
“But thinking,” he added. Suddenly a loud bell sounded in his head.
Leera uncrossed her arms. “Aug? What is it?”
“The rock—” He did not need to explain.
“We have to get out of here,” Bridget said. “We can destroy them elsewhere—”
“Wait …” It was Garryk. “Help … up.”
Augum and Bridget quickly brought him to a stand. Garryk nodded at the vials. “Let me … see them.”
They carried him over, letting him inspect the shelves of vials. “This one.”
“This black one here?” Leera asked, picking it up.
“Gentle. Yes. If you break it … with enough force … it will make … a small flame.”
“How do you know?”
Garryk winced, adjusted his arms around their necks. “When I was training … as an arcaneologist … there was an … alchemy class.”
“Of course,” Bridget said. “We were supposed to take one too, but the Legion took the academy over before we even got a chance to—”
“Never mind all that,” Leera said, running over to the furnace. “So I just have to smash it hard enough—”
“Use some parchment to get it going,” Augum said.
“Good idea.” She crumpled up an ancient leaf of parchment and stuffed the vial inside. Then she placed it on the ground, picked up a large nearby mortar, and smashed the vial. It instantly burst into a small fire, catching on to the parchment. Leera quickly picked it up by two corners and flung it into the furnace. There was a sizzling sound as the compound caught fire. The color of the flame transitioned from orange to red to blue to a hot white. They heard more sizzling and bubbling noises.
“It’s working,” Leera reported. “I see the iron melting!”
“There goes the only known recipe to make a portal to Ley,” Bridget whispered.
Augum expelled a long breath. “Good, now let’s get out of here—” and that they did, quickly closing the block over the entrance, the door to the room, and then hurrying along the passageway.
“No idea where I’m going,” Leera said, lighting ancient corridors with her pale watery light.
Augum froze. “Do you feel that?”
They stood silent for a moment.
“I do feel something actually,” Leera said. “Some sort of deep and constant rumble.”
“What do you think it is?” Bridget asked, eyes wide.
Augum immediately pictured a giant bull demon plowing through the passageways. But that wouldn’t be a constant rumble …
“Sounds like … wind.” Leera shone her light ahead. “Let’s find it. Might be an exit—”
The rumbling grew louder as they moved from chamber to chamber, until greeted by a pair of great stone doors. They were plain except for a single word inscribed across the face of them, with a thick circle underneath. The rumbling was accompanied by a steady roar, as if a windstorm were right on the other side of the doors.
“Can you read that, Garryk?” Augum asked.
“Closer please …” Garryk studied the word a moment, squinting without his spectacles. “I think it says … ‘Agonex’.”
“Does it mean anything?”
“I think it’s a name … though I don’t know for what.”
Leera highlighted something by the side of the doors with her lit palm. “There’s a rune here. Shall I try to open the doors?”
Augum glanced behind him, still expecting something to crash through the hallway—either his father, or a large and demonic beast. “Definitely.”
Leera placed her lit palm over the rune. “Entarro.” The doors began to open inwards. A fierce wind immediately barreled into them, like an invader breaching a besieged castle. She peeked around the door, hair blowing wildly. “Steps!” she shouted over the roar. “They go down some kind of giant hole! I can’t see far though—”
Bridget locked eyes with Augum, Garryk hanging limply between. “Do we really want to go deeper into the mountain?”
“It’s a labyrinth back there,” he replied. “Someone’s coming after us. I say we go down. Like she said, maybe there’s an exit. The wind has to come from somewhere.”
They moved out into the roar, hugging the walls.
Bridget placed her lit palm over another rune. “Entarro,” but nothing happened. “Do we know the runeword for closing doors?” she yelled above the din.
Leera shook her head. “No! Let’s just keep going!”
Shoot, Augum thought. That wind will be easy to follow and a dead giveaway of their direction.
They began the descent, hugging the gently curving walls. The cavern was a giant round hole carved out of the rock of the mountain, similar to the one they had first seen upon gaining entry to Bahbell. The steps were thin blocks impaled into the wall, leaving spaces between. Augum had to take Garryk as three astride wouldn’t fit. Wind hammered at them incessantly. It was filled with fat drops of water that slammed into their faces from below, like upside down rain.
Suddenly Augum’s stomach jammed into his throat as a step gave way right underneath him and Garryk. He just managed to grab hold of the one in front with one arm and Garryk with the other. The pair dangled in the roaring wind like a couple of ripe apples ready to fall in an autumn storm.
“Aug—!” Leera dove and grabbed hold of his arm.
“Don’t … you’ll make me fall,” he said through gritted teeth. His body shook trying to hold on to the step and Garryk at the same time.
“Telekinesis!” Bridget yelled.
Leera quickly stood and extinguished her palm. “We’ll have to do it together.”
“Hold on, you two!” Bridget extinguished her palm, plunging them into roaring darkness.
Augum felt his grip on Garryk and the step slipping. He was weakening rapidly; if the girls didn’t hurry, they were done for. But could they do it in the dark?
Garryk’s voice was a whimper. “Please … don’t let go …”
Augum couldn’t even respond, fear choking him. He soon felt an arcane force pawing at him, but it was clumsy and ineffective. The more it tried to tug, the more he thought he’d fall, until he felt Garryk’s weight lighten and his body scrape by him, leaving Augum to dangle in the dark. His muscles thoroughly exhausted, he didn’t even have the strength to climb up.
The arcane force soon returned, but it was weaker. It lifted him a little, but suddenly failed. There was a frantic moment where he clawed at the step, but he knew it was no good. There was barely enough time to yelp.
The girls’ screaming was instantly lost in the rushing roar of his plummet.
The Fall
“Centeratoraye xao xen!” It was the only spell Augum could think of. He immediately felt the effects course through his body, sharpening his mind, his senses. Any moment, he’d slam into another set of steps, yet he took one of those precious moments to study his predicament.
What exactly was happening?
He was falling.
It was pitch-dark.
There was rain, but it came from the wrong direction, which was slightly disorientating.
There was a great wind coming from below.
His coat and robe billowed, the coarseness of the fibers scratching at his skin. Would it be the last thing he felt? The question was strange and almost consumed his thinking. Suddenly he thought of birds, soaring through a hot summer breeze. But he didn’t have wings—so what did he have?
He recalled an etching he
had seen in one of Sir Westwood’s books, of a ship in full seas, its square sails full. Under the influence of Centarro, the thoughts came together beautifully. He snatched the coat in such a way as to make it catch the wind, and immediately leaned right. There was a quick thwoom sound as he heard steps fly by—he had actually diverted his fall! Now the trick was to guide himself down somehow. He was aware of every movement, every nuance of his body and the way it hurtled through the darkness.
Then it occurred to him that he needed light.
“Shyneo!” His palm ripped to life. The vividness of seeing walls and stairs flying by at unimaginable speed almost made his heart stop. Yet the light was too feeble to see what came below through the upside-down rain.
He had to slow his fall somehow. He brought all his concentration to bear on one single task—holding on to the two corners of his coat in such a way as to make a sail, and billowing it above him.
The spell would soon expire. The side effects began to take hold—the drowsiness, the dull thinking, the confusion … He roared as he held on to the coat, held it a certain way, a way that allowed for maximum resistance against the wind.
Thank the Unnameables it was a fat coat.
But it was slipping from his fingers …
This was it. All he could hope for now was that he had slowed enough for the wind to compensate.
And then it happened just as his fingers let go—he crashed into something hard and cold. It yielded and took his breath away, freezing his very core. As the light extinguished from his palm, he gave his rapidly dimming mind a final command.
Swim.
* * *
Augum slowly came back to awareness in pitch-darkness. Everything before that moment seemed a hazy dream. At first, the dream was black, harrowing even—a long fall—but then tones of gray entered; some past life lived—a farm, beatings, a burning village, an old woman in a cave, friends, another burning village—until he dreamed in full color—a marvelous old castle, a distant world, a tower … Eventually, he saw the face of a beautiful girl, a girl with porcelain skin, jet hair and almond eyes. He felt her shaking in his arms, dying.
Suddenly his body connected with his mind.
It was he that was shaking—shivering, in fact, and he was soaked through. Below him, he felt a rocky surface, and all around was noise, nothing but great, windy noise. His head throbbed as he sat up, trying to make sense of where he was.
It all crept back, one thought at a time, until he put everything back together. This was the giant hole in the mountain, and he was on the bottom. He had plunged into an underground pool, using his coat to slow the fall.
Centarro had saved him once again. Though he supposed he could just as easily have drowned.
He groped around for the coat but couldn’t find it—probably lost in the water. He drew his robe tight and stood. His back was sore, along with every muscle in his body, but at least he hadn’t broken any bones.
“Shyneo.” His hand fluttered to life, the light pulsing along with the throbbing in his head. His arcanery was weak—that particular use of Centarro had pushed his boundaries.
He glanced around, but his light only reached two things—slippery rock below him, and water, only steps away. There was a trail of wetness to the water from where he had crawled.
It was raining. The drops were fat and tasted earthy. Suddenly he realized how thirsty he was and dropped to his knees, lapping at the water like a dog left out in the desert.
Thirst satisfied, he stood. Now he just needed to get out of the wind and dry himself. He stumbled about, eventually finding a crudely cut wall, and followed it, the wind steadily dying at his back. He sensed a great many passageways, the wind from each uniting to create a massive updraft. Dark oil sconces protruded from the walls, protected by pierced stone mesh. How they could ever be lit in this gale was beyond him.
One particular passageway stood out from the others. It was carved to appear like a great ribcage, as if one would enter the belly of some great beast. At the apex of the entrance was the same thick circle he had seen on the door. He stared into the black depth, feeling no wind come from it. The lack of wind meant it had to be a dead end.
He pushed on, muscles aching, stomach protesting its hunger, body vibrating from the cold. Bridget, Leera and Garryk had to be on their way down still. He should go back and find the spot where the steps met the cavern floor. Then again, they wouldn’t come for some time—that had been a long fall. He might as well explore a little, maybe find some warmth. Besides, he needed shelter for a bit.
His light strengthened as he found more and more relief from the wind, until he entered another cavern, the steady roar distant and muted. His blue light found bulky shapes in the darkness. They were statues wearing matte black sleek armor. The helms were sharp and brutal, the weapons elaborate yet simple. There were axes, staves, maces, swords, but also plenty of other kinds he did not recognize. They, too, were matte black. Moss grew on some, while dust and dirt coated others.
Augum wondered if this was Occulus’ army. He shone his light between the visor of a helm and immediately sprang back. The eyes dilated! And the face … it was ancient flesh long dead! Are these warriors eternally alive as well? Was that part of the witch’s bargain, that Occulus have an eternal army? Or were they just walkers? If so, why weren’t they attacking?
He raised his lit palm, finding rows and rows of these warriors, and no doubt plenty more beyond his light. It appeared they all wore that same matte Dreadnought armor. He thought of taking one of those blades, but decided against it lest the creature awaken.
He strode on to another chamber, finding more warriors, even a great wraith dressed in customized Dreadnought steel armor. There were other creatures he didn’t recognize, ones with bull horns and great muscled physiques. He ran to another room, finding even more, and more and more—entire caverns of them.
Gasping, he leaned against a wall. An entire army, hidden in the depths of Bahbell. Occulus somehow teleported it in and out from the field of battle. He imagined them suddenly coming from nowhere, wreaking havoc on countless towns, Occulus in the rear. Then he imagined his father in Occulus’ place, the flames of a burning village reflected in his cold eyes …
No, the Lord of the Legion mustn’t be allowed to possess an army outfitted so perfectly with Dreadnought steel.
Augum sprang to his feet, forgetting his shivering body. There had to be some kind of controlling artifact, just as the Orb of Orion had a controlling pearl, or just as Osbert had a controlling ring! He ran from room to room, finding thousands more soldiers, every single one armored from helm to boot.
At last, he came upon a different passageway, carved in the same plain stone as above. It led him to a vast room, in the middle of which loomed a great hollow rectangle made of stone, like a giant picture frame missing canvas. It was carved with ivy, demons, windswept trees and hairless forms.
Hairless forms … could it be a portal to Ley?
Augum stepped near. But why the demon carvings? Were there demons in Ley he had not seen? Nonetheless, this had to be the portal Occulus had been working on with the recipe! Augum felt a tinge of pride—thanks to them, this portal would never be finished.
He hurried on through another series of corridors and rooms until he found himself once again back in the central room with the pool. The wind curled around him as he searched for any sign of the others. They were nowhere to be found, but he did manage to find the spiral steps, which were as slippery as soap.
The wind had to come from somewhere, he thought, and that somewhere might be an exit. Then again, he recalled reading about mythically endless caves that stretched for leagues underground without ever surfacing. Perhaps that’s what Bahbell really meant—it wasn’t the entrance to hell, it was the entrance to eternity underground.
“Bridget! Leera!” but his voice was lost to the great updraft. Some of the fat drops made their way back down, pelting him like small stones. The wind sucked up the pool wat
er into the giant vertical tunnel, causing the upside-down rain effect.
He began to shiver again and retreated, huddling in a nook. The wind had helped dry him, but the cold had long seeped into his bones. All he could do was bear it. He kept his palm lit in case Leera and Bridget saw it, yet visibility in the rain was a meager thirty paces or so.
They must surely think him dead, he realized. Oh, please don’t let them fall!
Suddenly he thought he saw a torch reflection in one of the tunnels nearby. He extinguished his palm and listened. Just as he began to think he had imagined it, the flickering orange light returned. It seemed to be retreating. Was it his father? Had he found another way down?
Augum prowled forward, keeping close to the wall. The light turned a corner, but he could still see its dim reflection. He followed at a quick step, feet muffled by the noise of the tunnel. He could smell the burn of oil as he spied the tail end of a robe flicking around a corner. Checking to make sure there wasn’t anyone behind him, he hurried after.
The deafening roar lessened, until he caught up in a quiet room that held some of Occulus’ soldiers. A lone figure turned and the sound of a rattling tongue filled the air. Augum’s skin rose as Nefra spoke.
“It is time to awaken them …”
“Awaken them …” echoed the Occi. They wore their crimson robes and held torches.
“The usurper underestimates us …”
“Underestimates …”
“I must object, Nefra—” It was Peyas—he was here too! But how did they escape his father?
“My patience is wearing thin with you, Peyas …”
“Wearing thin …”
“I understand that, my queen, but the usurper is too powerful. We do not have the forces to defeat him. Our fallen brethren must wait for the full moon to rise again. We only barely escaped the usurper, yet he is on his way as we speak.”
“He stole the recipe, Peyas …”
“Recipe …” echoed the crowd.
“Perhaps he did. But now we have a greater worry—should the usurper gain control of the entire army—”
“We do not fear death, Peyas … We are death …”