by Stephen Hunt
‘A fie on all Rodalians, that is all you will hear from me.’
With the expedition’s attention distracted from the terrified servant, the gad tried to reach the top of the wicker tube, but the other workers swelled forward, forming a line in front of him, their eerie wailing a match for the unhappy newborn’s screams. Jacob used the diversion to snatch the child from the servant’s hands, passing him quickly back into the crowd’s ranks. The babe spirited away through the gathering, swiftly hidden, his mouth covered to silence his bawling. It was as though a game of pass-the-parcel had just been played.
‘And what will happen to me now?’ the servant bleated, waving his empty hands in front of Jacob’s face. ‘Is my life worth any less than the child’s? My master will hear of this. Someone will betray me, they always do!’
Jacob seized the servant by his dirty robes. ‘I suggest you blame the ignorant foreigners.’
The servant was about to reply when the crowd dispersed at speed around them, shrieks and yells as some of the workers were bludgeoned to the ground. A company of soldiers had appeared, two lines of them; the first swinging clubs at the gads, the second standing back and grabbing as many fleeing servants as they could, kicking the workers to the ground and binding their arms behind their backs.
A Hangel officer strode forward, pointing to the gad servant. ‘What is the meaning of this disturbance?’
‘I live on the Road of Eucalyptuses – my master asked me to observe the royal ordinances and dispose of a half-breed here. The mother did not want me to do this.’
‘And where is the female now?’
The servant looked around at the struggling gads on the floor, being tied up. Jacob could not see the baby’s mother among the pacified workers. ‘She has gone.’
‘And the child?’
Shaking his head sadly, the servant raised his empty palms to the air. ‘They took him away – these people…’
The officer noticed Jacob and his companions for the first time, realising that the people in front of him were no passing locals trying to discipline their slaves. His face broke into a toothy grin. ‘Well then, this is a fortuitous morning’s work.’
‘Just trying to break up the ruckus,’ said Jacob. ‘Didn’t realise there were soldiers on the job, nearby.’
‘On the job, that is what we are,’ said the officer. He drew his pistol and took a step back, the captain’s men raising their rifles as they followed their officer’s lead. ‘But we’re not looking for gad troublemakers.’
‘Brave soldiers of Hagel,’ said Sariel, ‘we are simple travellers in your city, passing through on the wings of the aerial traders.’
‘That’s right,’ said the officer to Sariel. ‘A dirty bard with a tramp’s beard; a spiky-skinned man so many twists on the spiral removed from the common pattern he might as well be a filthy gad; a yellow-faced flier and a middle-aged preacher. Foreigners and travellers, all. Can’t be many of you to the schilling in the city. We’ve been searching hotels for you dogs since before dawn.’
Jacob felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut alongside the empty weight of the holster on his hip. Both his pistols down in the outer wall’s guardhouse.
‘Keep your guns trained on spiky, here,’ ordered the officer. ‘Its spines aren’t for show. You shoot one of those in my direction, and you and your friends won’t live long enough to regret it.’
Jacob cursed. Whoever the locals had been communicating with knew exactly what a roused gask was capable of. That meant Weyland knowledge. And he could only think of one group back home who wanted the party dead… but how the hell did the treacherous major have any leverage in this faraway corner of the world?
Jacob tapped his money belt. ‘We could pay you to look the other way.’
The officer snorted. ‘You really don’t know the grand duke. But you will.’ He turned to his men. ‘Bind the foreigners and throw them in the palace cells along with the rebellious gads. The grand duke can have his sport with them later.’
‘Not me,’ pleaded the gad servant, falling to his knees. ‘My master has need of me.’
‘Of course,’ said the officer, tapping the gad absent-mindedly on the shoulder. ‘The price for failing to observe the law against half-breeds is clear. The grand duke would have my head if I dragged you before him unpunished.’ Two of the lobster-helmeted soldiers strode forward from the company and hauled the gad up from his knees, forcing him towards the waste tube. Lifting the slave up by his legs, they tossed the screaming servant over the plateau’s edge. A fading rattle from the pipe as his body collided with its edges, a fatal battering that would kill him before he ever struck the ground.
‘Out with the rest of the slops,’ said the officer.
‘Badly done, you degenerate guts-gripers,’ murmured Sariel.
‘You’re a brave man,’ spat Jacob. ‘With twenty rifles standing behind you.’
‘Save your pieties, preacher. Whatever prayers you know, you and your friends are going to need to keep them for yourself.’ He walked over to the dozens of gads bound on the pavement, kicking the nearest one in the ribs. ‘You all think you’re clever, saving one little half-breed? We’ll balance out that little runt’s escape by culling you for this morning’s mischief.’
‘This is not necessary,’ said Khow.
The officer pointed a gloved warning finger in the direction of the gask. ‘Shut your trap, spiky. This is our law. Hangel isn’t for the twisted; it’s a fully human city.’
‘I struggle to see the humanity,’ whispered the gask.
There was no more wailing or singing among the remaining gads. They were roughly pulled to their feet and made to march down the centre of the street, in full view of everyone, along with Jacob and his fellow travellers. It was amazing how far a harsh example or two stretched when it came to pacifying even the largest of populations. Tales spread like wildfire and grew in the telling. Before the end of the day there would be hundreds of slaves talking about the massacre by the ramparts. An old, long-suppressed part of Jacob recognised the efficiency of such actions. Kill one in cold blood and defeat a thousand without ever fighting the battle, on reputation alone. Was that a sliver of admiration felt by Jacob’s shadow, balancing out the sickness twisting in the gut of a supposedly much-changed man?
‘I’m different; not like them,’ muttered Jacob. ‘We’re not the same.’
The officer snorted. ‘You can say that again; you’re a dead man walking.’
Carter hadn’t expected to wake, groaning, but if he had thought about it, waking with a Vandian’s tall black boot lashing into his ribs is how he might have predicted matters starting.
‘Dirty barbarian slave,’ growled the patrol ship’s officer.
Carter rolled over, trying to recover his breath as the pain of the kick helped fire his body back to life. ‘You not dead yet?’
‘Shut up! You speak when I tell you to.’
Carter’s eyes cleared. His head ached; his body was covered in itching red patches that felt as though his skin was on fire – burns from the fall. The fall that should have killed me. He lay inside a dark space lit by a smudge of light in the ceiling, running above his head like glowing moss. The cave floor was a flat, featureless grey. There didn’t seem to be any way out, which rather begged the question of how he had got here in the first place. It also seemed oddly cool, given he should be swimming in magma. Or maybe roasting in hell. The Vandian officer paced restlessly around the cave. No pistol. No rifle. No short-sword. His helmet and respirator were also missing. Still had his breast armour, though.
‘You’re trapped too,’ said Carter. The officer looked as if he might try and put a boot into Carter again, but Carter managed to get to his feet first and faced him off. ‘First one was free, Captain. You want to try for two, there’s only going to be one of us left in this cell. Might be you, might be me.’
‘It would be me,’ said the Vandian.
‘How the hell did we get here?’
<
br /> The officer rubbed nervously at the neatly clipped goatee beard on his chin. ‘I think we’re still inside the volcano. I remember rolling down the slope and then tumbling into a borehole, falling, before I passed out from the heat. When I woke up I was inside here with you.’
‘And here’s me thinking it was my head that took a beating. How can we be inside the volcano? It’s not nearly hot enough?’
‘There are many legends about this place, myths concerning tunnels in the volcano’s crater, going underground, the gods and spirits that protect the treasure hoarded below the surface. Vandian myths and those of the peoples that lived here before us.’
‘Can’t be that deep underground,’ said Carter. ‘Gravity would crush us if we were. And living inside the volcano would be like setting up home around the middle circle of hell. What kind of spirits would want to do that?’
‘Cursed demons,’ spat the officer.
Carter laughed. He was having a hard time believing this was real, not the end of some fever-induced dream. Maybe he was lying on a ridge inside the crater, magma lashing below him, his brain cooking inside his skull and poisoned by sulphurous fumes. But the cell felt real enough. He brushed his fingers along the silvery survival suit, torn and ripped by the tumble down the crater’s walls. I feel real enough.
The captain indignantly jabbed a finger at him. ‘Do you find me amusing, slave? It’s your fault I’m trapped in here.’
‘What the hell? You’re the one who shot us out of the sky! We were trying to bring in a stake for Princess Helrena when your ship appeared, cannons blazing. We figured you were from an enemy house, trying to even the odds for your own miners by taking us out of the race.’
‘Don’t treat me like a fool! We’re not your house’s troops; we are posted with the sector legion. We were flying with orders to shoot down a transporter full of escaped slaves – your transporter.’
So, someone had snitched on their escape attempt. Carter seethed with outrage. But who? It must have been one of the station workers the group had sounded out. Carter thought he had been discreet, but obviously not inconspicuous enough to avoid being carefully watched… and sold out when the time was right. Carter trusted whoever it was had received a fine price for their treachery, because if he got even half a chance, the traitor would discover what a poor bargain they had struck.
Carter kept his anger off his face. ‘Do I look like I’m insane? A transporter doesn’t carry enough fuel or water to make it across the dead zone.’
‘You look like a cretinous savage, because that is what precisely you are,’ growled the officer. ‘Did you think that flying back towards the sky mines as soon as you spotted my patrol ship would be enough to convince me that you were merely faithful workers? You were trying to run. Your transporter was flying like a brick, loaded down with stolen supplies.’
Carter scowled at the soldier, fiddling with the air mask dangling uncomfortably from his neck. It occurred to him that this cave might be a trick. Maybe the princess was holding him here, and all of this was a ruse to get him to open up to the captain? The Vandians would want to learn all the details of Carter’s escape plan; get the names of any slaves back on the station who assisted the escape. Well, if so, it would be a cold day in hell before he told them about Kerge’s involvement.
‘Every year there is at least one mine transporter that runs out of fuel and crashes in the dead zone, its cage filled with barbarians just like you who think they can walk out,’ said the officer. ‘We only bother catching you fools for the example that must be made of rebellious slaves. Your execution will be your last service to the empire. Reminding every barbarian in the sky mines that disloyalty carries a steep price.’
Carter shook his head. ‘Disloyalty? You people paid for my hide, you didn’t purchase my allegiance. I’m a citizen of Weyland. Long live the king and God grant him wise counsel!’
‘Let’s see how well you mouth your insolent platitudes in praise of your warlords when you are under the supervision of an imperial torturer. They enjoy being given stubborn slaves to make an example of in front of the crowds – the difficult slaves are far more rewarding.’
Carter tracked along the cave’s wall, feeling the cold material with his fingers. Not quite stone, but not quite any substance he was familiar with, either. He looked up at the cave’s ceiling. ‘Where’s the borehole we rolled down through, then? I can’t see any way in or out of here?’
‘This is a larder – the demons’ larder.’
‘You’ve lost your mind, Captain Vandian, sir.’
The officer angrily pushed Carter against the wall. ‘Captain Tybar, sir. But a simple master will suffice, from a dirty mine tunneller from the lower-hostile caste.’
Carter shoved back at him. It was like pushing granite. The captain was strong. A lot fitter, healthier and better nourished than Carter, too. ‘Getting a little lower and more hostile every day I enjoy your empire’s hospitality.’
Carter systematically examined their dimly lit space. No crawl spaces in or out as far as he could see. No water and not even insects to eat. They weren’t going to survive long inside here. Carter approached one of the corners and jumped back in fright as a section of the cave suddenly began to fold away before his fingers, piece by piece, as if the rock was being rearranged by some manic, invisible force. A triangular-shaped doorway was left carved out of the corner. Darkness concealed whatever was beyond. He tentatively touched the edges of the opening, half-expecting to find it a living wall made of insects, the manner in which it had been clicking and chattering a second ago. Nothing but the solid surface of the cave.
‘How did you do that?’ demanded Captain Tybar. ‘I’ve inspected every inch of this space looking for a crevice to crawl through.’
‘It just fell away before me! There was no opening mechanism there.’ He gazed in astonishment at the gap. Wherever he was, this place sure as hell wasn’t an imperial military station or any dungeon owned by Helrena Skar.
‘The demons of the underworld must recognise you as a mere slave,’ said the officer. ‘And unlike myself, judge that you present little threat to those who dwell here.’
Carter glanced witheringly at the Vandian. Without his expensive weapons, the officer wasn’t much of a threat. Just a heavily built thug in a fancy breastplate. ‘I’ll lead the way then, to make sure my mere slave legs don’t open the floor onto a spike-edged pit, say.’
Captain Tybar didn’t protest. He still had his crimson cloak attached to the rear of his armour. Maybe the man should consider dyeing it yellow if he survived this.
A thin illumination glowed around Carter as he led the way, revealing a featureless passage running left and right – no sign of any doors or caves off it. The light of the moss was sourceless, as though the walls glimmered just enough to allow the two men to navigate. It was as cool outside their cave as it had been inside. Surely it should be far hotter if the Vandian solider was correct about where they had ended up? They pushed on, regardless. Carter in the lead, neither of them with anything to say to the other. After a couple of minutes travelling down the tunnel, he spotted a triangular doorway in the wall to the right. Tentatively, Carter stuck his head through, feeling as though he was inserting his head in the mouth of a mountain lion. A chamber, maybe three times the size of their cave. This one had hooks built into the walls that appeared as though they were designed to hang jackets from them. No clothes, but on the floor in front of the wall a pile of human-looking bones lay, as well as something more esoteric. Wings littered the floor, translucent and reflecting a faint rainbow sheen from the light above. Long, folded, torn and ragged, maybe seven wings in total strewn across the floor.
Carter knelt to examine the wings. ‘Those demons of myth, they have wings like this?’
Captain Tybar shook his head. ‘In ancient texts’ illustrations, the demons often resemble giant spiders with the face of men. Such hellspawn were not formed with aerodynamics in mind.’
‘Sa
id the man who flies around in a heavy steel tube with a rocket stuffed up its tail.’
‘A synergetic air-breathing rocket engine, barbarian. These are like the wings of the Kyrie stained in a temple window, the warrior women who escort an emperor’s soul to the lodge of champions when he passes from our mortal realm.’
‘Angels… the ethreaal,’ whispered Carter. ‘That’s what my people call them. But these bones are human and mortal enough; old, too.’
‘This is another larder,’ shivered the large Vandian. ‘It is where the demons store their prey.’
‘Don’t eat regularly if they do,’ said Carter.
Driven by Carter’s gloomy prognostication, the captain turned on his heels and left the room, taking the lead this time. Three minutes of exploring brought them to another entrance. This time the room’s design had been constructed as a series of arches, a tunnel thirty feet long and leading nowhere, terminating at a flat wall. Bone-like ridges vaulted the chamber as though the arches were ribs in the remains of a whale. It was strange, but the feeling Carter had seen something similar to this before struck him. He ran a finger along depressions carved into the ridges, their shapes familiar. They seemed to glow faintly as he brushed them, a trick of the shadows, or the luminescent moss that covered the walls. Then it came to him where he had seen this before! ‘The standing stones!’
‘What did you say?’
‘The stone circles, like the one at the foot of the volcano. The script here is similar to the runes carved on the menhirs.’
Captain Tybar examined the ridge. ‘You have keen, cunning eyes, slave. The script is almost identical. Imperial scholars have never translated the stones’ runes. It is a lost language.’
‘Then these tunnels…’
‘Could we be inside a burial chamber made by the ancients who raised the circles, then?’ mused Tybar. ‘The stratovolcano has always been revered as an ultimate source of power and wealth. To inter great chieftains inside it would be a natural aspiration for savages.’ Tybar sounded relieved, but still jumpy and uncertain. A more pragmatic interpretation of their predicament. Carter liked the new explanation a lot better than being stuck in some otherworldly Vandian realm of the dead. ‘There might be tunnels here with ladders leading to the surface or caves on the volcano’s outer slope,’ continued the officer. ‘Burial parties would not risk life and limb from the magma lake, descending the crater’s walls each time they had to bury one of their chieftains. I will discover that exit.’