London Underground: An Unofficial Legend of The Secret World (Unofficial Legends of The Secret World Book 2)

by Blodwedd Mallory

  Stupid. Freaking. Familiars.

  I took a deep breath to calm down. I was unnerved. I needed to consider if I was going to continue.

  Should I leave?

  No. I couldn’t stand the thought. Mama Abena, the Fallen King, and the grand tree in the park had all conspired to send me here. I’d investigate a little further, to see what I could find. Besides, hadn’t I wanted to join the Templars to have adventures? I was having one right now.

  But if I was going to stay, I definitely would need a better light source. The modern lanterns up the stairs were all attached to power cables. They wouldn’t work. The torches down here all looked to be affixed to the walls in sconces, and I didn’t think I was up for any vandalism to go with my breaking and entering.

  How were they even lit? Their flames burned steadily, but there didn’t seem to be a definite source fueling them. I crossed my fingers that they stayed that way.

  Squinting my eyes, I looked right and left down the hall. In the flickering gloom, I could see there was another giant spider web at the east end.

  Eww. That settled it. West it was.

  I picked my way down the hall to the west. Rubble and dust covered the floors, but the walls themselves were a marvel, at least from what I could see. Shadows from the flickering torches bounced off the walls highlighting the stone columns that lined them on both sides. Every five feet or so there were arched alcoves with a flat bottom that looked almost like shelves as if they had at one point housed statuary or some other ancient Roman trinkets. Now they were barren and dusty, showing their age.

  Another branch led to the north off the west hall, but it was caved in about 10 feet back. Two more dead Roman centurions lay desiccated on the floor, and two of the caretaking familiars were digging at the stone around them.

  Were they trying to bury them?

  My stomach turned at the sight of their ragged and grisly fingers, torn from the attempt. One of the soldiers held an ancient sword—was it called a gladius?—in its skeletal hand, similar to the one I’d pulled from the mosaic. I approached and slid the blade away from its owner, being careful not to attract the attention of the digging caretakers. The blade on this sword was still intact, but it had no glyph etched into the hilt that I could find. I put the broken blade with the glyph in my backpack beside my chaos and blood foci and held the intact blade at my side. I felt a little safer doing so, although I hoped Brigadier Lethe didn’t ever hear about it. He’d make me get a tetanus shot just for holding it.

  Turning back west again, I moved deeper into the hall. About halfway down in an alcove shelf on the left side, I spotted a torch. Success! There was my light source. I picked up the torch and lit it from a wall sconce to my right. That was better. At least now I could direct the dim flickering light toward what I wanted to see.

  I contemplated the purpose of this temple as I moved further down the hall. There were no windows at all, nor any gaps in the walls that might once have been open to the daylight. I looked above me at the ceiling to see if there was an opening there, but the torch ruined my ability to see that far.

  It was possible this temple had always been underground. The wall sconces indicated that it had needed to be lit. I thought back to the Ritual Magick class I took my junior year at Innsmouth. I remembered that there was a whole cult of Roman ritual practice based in underground, cave-like temples. I couldn’t remember what those temples were called for the life of me, but I knew they had been used for initiation mysteries.

  Lost in thought, I continued picking my way through the rubble until I realized I had come to the end of the west hall. To the left, there was again a passageway north, but it was caved in. To the right was an open doorway curved at the top and carved from the same stone, with columns and ornate details framing it. The room behind it was devoid of the wall torches and, as a result, pitch black.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, I contemplated turning around. I listened for a moment. The underground temple was quiet as the grave, except for the occasional screech and chatter of the naked caretakers. It was starting to get on my nerves.

  Should I turn back? I stood there, hesitating.

  Bah. I couldn’t do it. I’d come this far. I had to know what was there in the dark.

  I stepped over the stone threshold and moved inside. From my view at the doorway, I couldn’t see much. Just a broad stone floor. The room was much wider than the hall—30 feet or so across. I moved further inside, the shapes of two large stone pillars supporting the ceiling coming into my view. I could hear the moans of the familiar caretakers in front of me and readied myself for a startle when they came into view.

  The remains of a squad of Roman centurions lay moldering on the floor beyond the pillars. Five caretakers surrounded the bodies. They appeared to be mourning, the one nearest me on the right, swaying back and forth with its face in its hands. Shuddering, I stepped around the remains and continued moving deeper into the room. The fifth caretaker bent over the last corpse, inspecting it and sniffing its body like a dog.

  A set of stone stairs rose out of the darkness before me, and I increased my pace to put some distance between myself and the wailing caretakers. Rubble covered the stairs on each side, and I craned my head up to see if see the source. The ceiling was too far away for the light of the touch to reach. All that I could see above me was darkness. I turned around and looked back toward the entrance. I could see the faint movement of the caretakers as well as the rounded doorway and the flickering torchlight beyond.

  Steeling my nerves, I faced the other direction again and started up the stairs. The open floor area narrowed here. The rubble had filled it as the ceiling sloughed down over time. I was aware that the room might collapse on me and hurried over and around the piles.

  I could see another, taller stone staircase ahead and hurried toward it. Another caretaker shot out of the darkness. I jumped and swore under my breath. It ran in a roughly circular path, down the stairs, around me and back up. Was there was something at the top?

  No. There wasn’t. I got to the top of the stairs only to find still more open floor. This room was huge. I could see that the floor itself became more refined here. Etched tiles replaced the stones.

  The caretaker ran in front of me. I tripped and did a somersault across the tile floor, dropping the sword and my torch.

  Shit.

  Thank the gods it didn’t go out. I picked up the torch and searched around for the sword I’d dropped. I picked it up and oriented myself away from the rounded doorway of the entrance in the distance. Ahead on the floor were still more dead centurions—another squad—and behind them a tall, rounded alcove with a broken stone pillar, or pedestal altar, within it. An unlit sconce was mounted on the wall behind it.

  At last, I’d come to the end of the room. I walked over to the altar. Laying on top was a golden coin. I picked up the coin, listening for evidence that someone or something didn’t want me to do that. The caretaker continued charging around its circuit, paying no attention to me.

  Hmm. That coin seemed odd amid the rubble. Did it have a purpose? I slipped it into my pocket and turned around. The distance now to the shadowy shape of the entrance was plain. This room, whatever it was, was as long as a football field. The ceiling was still obscured, even after I had mounted two sets of steps. I could see there some type of braziers to the right and left of the floor. Was this some sort of rostrum from which a ritual would be conducted? I wasn’t sure.

  And, I’d had about enough of the creepy walk through the darkness. My curiosity had been appeased, and now I just wanted to get back to the relative safety of the torch-lit hallway. I resisted the urge to stab the running caretaker as he ran around me for the umpteenth time and headed back to the doorway in the distance. I considered climbing some of the rubble to get a better look at the ceiling but decided that was too foolish even for me.

  Finally, I stepped out of the room and breathed a giant sigh of relief. I was glad to get out of that cave of da
rkness.

  I made my way back down the hall to the circular mosaic and looked again at the face there. I knew that the ancient Greeks had placed coins, called obuli, over the eyes of the deceased to pay its passage to the Underworld.

  Skull face. Check. Deep underground. Check.

  On that hunch, I pulled the golden coin from my pocket and looked at it in the shadowy hallway, holding the coin up to the light of the torch.

  On one side seemed to be Caesar’s head in profile, with the words “Sol Invicto Comiti” written around it in a semicircle. On the other side was a figure with a staff wearing what appeared to be a flaming crown. Beside the figure was the Cheshire-cat smile of a crescent moon. I looked at the size of the coin, then looked again at the mosaic. I reached down and put it over the left eye-socket hole of the skeletal face. The coin fit.

  Alrighty, then.

  Where was the next coin? It was time to face down the giant spider web at the end of the east hall, I guessed. This hall looked much the same as the western side, and I made my way to the end, keeping a wary eye out for the web spinner. Rubble and sticky webs filled most of the juncture. I didn’t see any spiders in the wreckage, but the smell of something burning reached my nose.

  Through the rubble, I could see another rounded doorway leading to the north. The area behind this doorway, however, was not dark at all. In fact, it was brighter than anything else I’d encountered down here. I laid the torch I had been carrying on the stone floor and stepped forward over the threshold. Flames shot up through metal grate on the floor, and I jumped back with alarm.

  Gah! What fresh hell was this?

  After a few seconds, the flames stopped so I stepped again into the room to have a look. Red-hot coals filled space below the grate. Was there some sort of natural gas system down here providing the fuel? That might explain the torches in sconces that seemed never to run out of fuel. There was another grate to my left as well, but with safe floor space beyond it. Was this some sort of test? A gauntlet of sorts for initiates?

  I decided to put the old sword I had been carrying into my backpack, struggling to fit it in among my foci, my athame, and the other broken blade. It didn’t quite fit, so I left the pommel sticking out of the top and set the backpack down by the doorway, away from the smoking grate.

  I watched the second grate carefully. The flame lasted a second or two, then died down. A few seconds after that, smoke began to rise, and the flames started up again. The heat coming from them was remarkable. I did not want to get caught on a grate when they started up again. I watched and counted, and watched and counted until I was sure I had the timing down. Then, as the flame extinguished, I took a running jump across the grate and landed on the far side.

  From the safe section of floor, I could see two more grates—longer and more narrowly spaced in the next part of the room. I could also see a set of doors to the right of where I’d come in that I hadn’t noticed at first. Should I go forward, or go back and try the doors?

  Ugh. Of course, I’d go forward.

  I crossed the first of the two long thin grates. From the tiles between them, I could now advance to a barred window of sorts. I looked in the room, across the smoke and waves of heat. Another lingering caretaker stooped inside, scratching at the wall. I could see a stone pedestal altar behind the caretaker, with a faint glint of light reflecting from something on top of it.

  Bingo! There was my other coin.

  Positioning myself, I waited until the flame dropped in the second grate and jumped to the stone flooring beyond it. The passageway seemed to sneak around the corner to the right, so I stepped forward again, timing my approach to avoid the flame.

  It shot up behind me like a rocket. My knees buckled, and I swayed on my feet. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I was starting to get woozy from all the heat. It was time to get the coin and get out of here.

  On the other side of that grate was a small set of stone stairs in the lower area I’d seen through the barred window.

  Three more grates to go to get there, all of them in close succession, and all with differently timed flames. Here was a challenge. It looked like it might still be safe to stand between them, but it would be hot.

  I stepped across the first grate, hearing the crackle of the flames as they surged up. The second grate had already started to smoke, so I waited there, my eyes burning. The smoke here was terrible. I covered my mouth and stepped across the second grate as the flames died. But, I lost my balance and started across the third and final grate as it had begun to smoke. I was committed.

  Using all my strength, I launched myself at the stone beyond, but not before the flames plumed, scorching my jeans and singeing my hands.

  Damn it. That hurt.

  I landed on the far side near the pedestal altar and patted myself down as best I could, my hands smarting, to make sure I wasn’t on fire. This was like being in the middle of a bonfire.

  I looked up and started. There was the familiar caretaker I’d seen from the other side, scratching at the wall. I had totally ignored it as a potential danger. Luckily, like its companions, this caretaker continued to ignore me as well. It smelled a little well done, its skin a very dark-roasted brown.

  My stomach lurched at the thought of it here for centuries, slow cooking.

  Eww.

  Time to get out of here. I grabbed the second golden coin from the pedestal altar, but in my haste, it slipped through my fingers and bounced away.

  Shit! Where did it go?

  I looked around the floor in alarm trying to see where it had dropped. I needed that coin!

  Behind me, the flames seethed up through the grate, and I stepped closer to the pedestal to avoid the heat, although I was grateful for the light they provided.

  Damn it! I couldn’t see the coin anywhere. I knew in my heart that it was critical to solving the mosaic’s puzzle. The flames behind me died down, and I turned around to see if the coin had fallen the other direction.

  There on the top of the grate lay the coin. Relief filled me that it hadn’t fallen through the cracks down to the banked fires below. I reached down and quickly grabbed the coin with my right hand as the grate began to smoke, indicating the flames were about to shoot up again.

  Agony consumed me, and I jumped back with the coin in my hand. The skin of my palm smoked as the superheated coin seared my flesh. I screamed in pain and shook my hand trying to dislodge the coin from my palm. It peeled away and fell to the floor in front of me, smoking. The smell of burned skin and soot filled my nose, as the flames roared again through the grate.

  Holding my right hand in my left, I bent over and sobbed.

  As soon as I could bear it, I looked at the damage to my hand. In the center of my palm was a deep angry red burn, blisters starting to swell in a circular pattern around the edge. The center of the wound looked far worse. The skin there was black, with white charring, and I couldn’t feel that area of my palm anymore.

  I don’t know how long I stood there, sobbing and looking at my damaged hand before I realized I was going into shock. I was starting to sway on my feet and needed some help.

  I’d come down here by myself, I realized. No help was coming for me.

  A healing spell would help, but it was so hot in here I was starting to feel faint. I had to get out of this oven. But I couldn’t leave without what I’d come for. Besides, I’d left my backpack with my athame back at the entrance. I needed that to cast a healing spell.

  Coughing, I reached down to where the coin lay and picked it up with the bottom of my shirt, wincing at the residual heat in the metal as it radiated through to the abused fingers of my left hand. I slipped it into my little jeans pocket on my hip and squirmed with the heat as it transferred from the coin through my jeans to my skin. My right palm ached terribly, and I raised it upright to keep swelling down.

  There was a carved lever to the right of a set of doors at the back of the area. I hoped that these doors were the same set I saw when I crossed the
first grate. Using the unburned side of my right arm, I pressed the lever forward, then hissed in pain as I scalded the skin there as well.

  But, I was in luck. The doors swung open, revealing the entrance to the gauntlet. I scurried up the stairs and out of the heat, grabbed my backpack, and headed back up the eastern hall toward the mosaic and the temple entrance, sighing with relief as the ambient temperature dropped.

  A few feet outside I dropped my backpack again and swayed, gathering my Will. My dropped torch still lay where I’d left it, smoking and guttering on the stone floor.

  It was time for a healing spell. I was running out of energy to cope with the pain. Gingerly I dug into my backpack with my left hand to locate my blood focus and athame, a painful challenge with everything I had stuffed inside. Finally, I upended the bag, dumped everything out on the stone floor, wincing at the noise, and grabbed the athame.

  With resignation at inflicting yet more misery on myself, I poked my finger with the ritual knife until a drop of blood welled up. I focused best as I could amid the agony of my burns, and cast a small mend spell.

  Golden healing light flowed through me. I sighed in relief as the pain of my minor burns eased. My right palm was a different matter altogether. It still ached like a mother despite the healing spell. I needed to see how much damage was still left.

  Grabbing my torch from the floor, I held my palm up to its light. Branded in the center of my right palm, the damaged skin showing the detail in bright red relief, was the head of Caesar in profile, complete with the victory crown and “Sol Invicto Comiti” inscribed in a semi-circle on my flesh.

  I gaped at the brand for a moment before I noticed that the ends of my right middle and ring fingers also had ridged impressions from the trauma as I picked up the superheated coin.

  On the pad of my middle finger appeared to be a permanent flame-wreathed head of Sol and a lunar crescent covered the pad of my ring finger. I’d been so overwhelmed by the pain in my palm I hadn’t even noticed those burns. The coin had also burned most of the fingerprints off those two fingers in the process.