by Clayton Wood
* * *
The tunnels were just as Kyle remembered them.
They walked silently through the massive main tunnel, the ground sloping gently downward into the bowels of the earth. Magical lanterns hung on the walls on either side, gently illuminating the massive cavern. Kyle couldn't help glancing back the way they'd come, past a silent Darius, watching as the mouth of the cave retreated in the distance. The sun's rays splashed on the gray rocks jutting out of the cavern walls near the entrance, but none dared venture deeper in. Kyle stared at those illuminated rocks, wondering with a sinking heart if he would ever see the sun again. As the three continued their onward and downward trek, the cave entrance disappeared, hidden by the downward-sloping cavern floor. Kyle turned forward, and he didn't look back again. He felt as if a chapter of his life had just ended, and a new, darker one was about to begin.
No one spoke as they traveled for what seemed like an eternity down the massive underground tunnel, passing countless magical lanterns on either side. The air became cooler as they moved downward, and damper, the powerful stench of dirt making Kyle sneeze more than once. His mind wandered, and he found himself imagining being back on Earth, getting picked up after school, telling his dad about his day. Playing with his best friend Ben in the backyard, the sun shining on them as they pretended to be spies on the roof outside Ben's bedroom window, tracking the other kids as they played in their own yards. He pictured himself in his own bed, his mom stroking his hair as he slowly fell asleep.
Kyle jerked himself out of his reverie, realizing the tunnel had suddenly ended. An all-too-familiar stone ramp extended along the rightmost wall, to a small tunnel hewn in the rock. Kyle followed the Dead Man up the ramp and into that dark tunnel. There were no magic lanterns in this tunnel; the Dead Man stopped, turning to Kyle.
“If you would,” he prompted. Kyle nodded, weaving the light pattern rapidly and casting it outward. A bright ball of white light appeared, casting a gentle glow throughout the long tunnel. The Dead Man smiled. “Thank you,” he said. Then he moved forward again, gliding above the smooth stone floor, his black cloak rippling endlessly behind him. Kyle noted absently that the grayish patterns on the cloak were different than they had been before. It made sense, of course; Darius had taken the original cloak and given it to Ariana after beheading the man.
Kyle glanced up at the back of the Dead Man's neck, spotting a thin, purplish line in the pale flesh. He felt queasy, picturing the man's head lying on the ground, black eyes staring lifelessly outward, the body several feet away. He stared at the Dead Man's neck, wondering just how securely it had been reattached. He couldn't help running his fingers over his own neck, imagining what it would be like to know that it had been welded back to his body.
They continued down the tunnel silently, until it opened up into a huge, well-lit cavern. Everything was exactly as it had been when he'd been there not even two weeks ago; the rows of stadium seating, the circular, dirt floor of the Arena below. The twin pairs of dormitories surrounding the perimeter of the far side of the cavern, their walls carved out of the very rock itself. The dark waters of a pond between each pair, underneath which Kyle knew the secret underwater chamber the Dead Man had called “the Void” lay. Even the Timestone was there, a massive glowing sphere levitating halfway between the floor of the Arena and the ceiling a hundred feet above.
Everything was the same...except that it was empty. Whereas before the lair had been bustling with people, now it was utterly deserted.
The Dead Man stopped abruptly, staring down at the Arena, his expression unreadable. Darius stopped ten feet behind them, having said nothing the entire time.
“Welcome home,” the Dead Man muttered. Kyle couldn't tell if the dark Weaver was talking to him...or to himself.
Kyle said nothing, staring at the dormitories below instead. He noticed a dark figure emerging from the leftmost dormitory entrance, moving slowly toward the Arena floor. The figure made its way across the Arena to one of the many stairways traveling upward between rows of seats. As it shambled toward them, Kyle saw that it was an old man carrying a beaten-up wooden cane in his right hand. No, old was an understatement; the man was ancient, his skin as thin and dry as wrinkled parchment. Deep lines crisscrossed his forehead, then fell in sharp crevices cutting into his sunken cheeks. He had a large, irregular white scar running across his forehead, with countless smaller scars running the length of his stick-like arms. Odd bumps rose from his flesh, scattered over his body. The man's clothes were too large for his thin frame, the fabric torn and soiled.
The old man hobbled up the steps of the Arena, until at long last he stopped a few feet before Kyle and the Dead Man. Kyle shrank back, wrinkling his nose in disgust; a foul odor rose from the old man, a stench so revolting that it almost made Kyle gag. The old man's eyes – nearly hidden beneath the folds of his eyelids – were sharp and lively, the only part of him that seemed alive.
“Your remaining children are safe,” the old man stated.
“Thank you,” the Dead Man replied, bowing slightly. The old man paused, then sighed, putting a wrinkled hand on the Dead Man's shoulder.
“Your family deserved better.”
“It was my failure,” the Dead Man murmured, lowering his gaze.
“And that failure led to necessary consequences,” the old man lamented. “Faith in the Chosen must be absolute. I only hope the children can be rehabilitated.” He sighed again. “We are dealing with a force beyond your abilities,” he added, patting the Dead Man's shoulder. “Xanos will see to it that you and your family are avenged.”
“Thank you,” the Dead Man replied, bowing again.
The old man turned to Kyle then, and Kyle shrank under his gaze.
“Ahhh, this is the boy,” he murmured, looking Kyle over. “A remarkable specimen...he would have been exceptional even in Ancient times, as you call them now.”
Kyle said nothing, nearly gagging at the awful stench emanating from the old man.
“And this must be the bodyguard,” the old man proclaimed, turning to Darius, who was standing behind the other two. He reached out with one misshapen finger, gesturing for Darius to come forward. “Come closer...my eyes aren't what they used to be.” Darius complied, stepping forward until he was standing between Kyle and the Dead Man. The old man looked Darius up and down.
“I've heard a lot about you,” he stated, reaching out with one withered hand and patting Darius on the side of the face. The bodyguard didn't react. “I particularly enjoyed the lesson you gave poor Ethan,” he added. “Too many Weavers fail to understand that magic is just a tool. And, like any other tool, it can be taken away. The man makes the tool...and you, my friend, have made great use of what little you have.”
“You have no idea what that means to me,” Darius muttered.
The old man leaned forward, hunching over his cane.
“You look familiar, my boy,” he murmured. “Have we met before?”
“Would've remembered the smell,” Darius replied. The old man chuckled.
“I suspect so,” he agreed. Then he sighed, turning back to the Dead Man. “Well, as much as I'd like to stay and chat, I must be going.”
“Xanos be with you,” the Dead Man stated, bowing slightly. The old man smiled – or smirked. It was difficult for Kyle to tell.
“Indeed,” he replied. He hesitated, then put a hand on the Dead Man's gaunt cheek. “Your faith will be rewarded.”
The Dead Man lowered his gaze, saying nothing.
“The seeds of the future grow from the fertile soil the dead leave behind,” the old man mused, lowering his hand and rapping the butt of his cane on the stone floor. Then he turned away, hobbling down the steps one at a time, slowly making his way back down to the Arena floor. The Dead Man watched the old man leave, saying nothing. Kyle watched as the man crossed the Arena, limping toward the pond between the dormitories. He waded through the water, his knees, then his waist vanishing below the dark surface. Still, he
continued forward, until his head had disappeared, only slow ripples marking where he had been moments ago.
The Dead Man stirred, turning to face Kyle and Darius, his expression unreadable.
“Come,” he stated. He glided forward then, down the stairway. Kyle and Darius followed the Dead Man, passing rows of seats on either side until they reached the bottom. They crossed the packed dirt floor of the Arena, the Dead Man guiding them toward the pond between the dormitories, stopping before the gently rippling waters. He turned toward the dormitories on the left, gazing at them wistfully.
“I knew them all,” the Dead Man stated softly. “Every single one of them. And their fathers, their mothers. Their grandparents. I raised all of them. I was there when they were born, and for every birthday they celebrated. But I wasn't there for them when they were sacrificed.” He turned back to Kyle, his pale lips thin and tight on his face. “Six generations, Kyle. My life's work.”
They stood there for a long moment, in complete silence.
The Dead Man tore his gaze away from the empty dormitories, turning to stare at the empty stands of the Arena. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, not so much as blinking. At long last, he stirred, turning to face the pond again.
“Come close,” he ordered. Kyle and Darius complied, flanking the Dead Man. A faint blue gravity sphere appeared around them all, and the Dead Man levitated forward, the globe moving forward with him into the pond. The dark waters parted around the impenetrable sphere, and before long they were descending rapidly. The pond completely engulfed them, faint rays of light shimmering from the now-turbulent surface above. Soon it was so dark that Kyle could see nothing at all. Kyle felt the Dead Man's hand on his shoulder.
“If you would,” he murmured.
Kyle wove the light pattern, and a bright light appeared within the sphere, revealing a sea of blue in all directions. Downward they went, until Kyle spotted gray, irregular stone below. He looked forward, seeing a familiar arched doorway carved into the sheer stone wall ahead. A rippling mirror made of water filled the doorway, a portal into the secret room beyond.
The Void.
They floated toward the doorway, their reflections growing larger and larger, until the magical sphere contacted the silvery surface, parting the water and revealing a narrow tunnel beyond. Soon they had passed all the way through the doorway. The shimmering sphere vanished, and the Dead Man dropped to the floor, his black boots clicking on the metal platform below. His cloak fell limply around his body, its perpetual rippling coming to an end.
Kyle looked down the narrow hallway, seeing huge white crystals lining the walls and ceiling, forming a glittering, pulsing arch above their heads. A narrow metallic platform ran down the length of the tunnel, clanging dully with every footstep. The Dead Man stepped forward, making his way down the tunnel, not bothering to look back. Darius and Kyle followed. Darius, having never seen the tunnel, walked more slowly than the other two, gazing upward at the massive crystals.
“There's something I want to show you,” their pale captor said without turning, his tall, black-clad form contrasting brilliantly with the perfect whiteness of the Void crystals surrounding him. They followed him down the long platform, until the tunnel opened up into a dome-shaped room, the walls and ceiling made of more huge, glittering white crystals. The floor was a continuation of the metallic platform from the tunnel behind them; in the very center of the floor, a series of green crystals of various lengths jutted out at a forty-five-degree angle. The Dead Man walked up to the green crystals, putting a hand on one of them. They began to glow faintly, bathing the Dead Man in their sickly light. He turned to face Kyle.
“You're cold,” he observed, watching as Kyle shivered in the icy air of the Void. Kyle nodded mutely, crossing his arms over his chest and stuffing his hands in his armpits. He cleared his throat.
“Can I make a fire?” he asked. “To warm my hands.” The Dead Man nodded.
“Of course.”
Kyle concentrated, pulling magic from his mind's eye...and couldn't find any. He frowned, concentrating harder, and pulled a thread of magic from his brain, twisting it into the fire pattern. Then he threw it outward, and...
It vanished.
He opened his eyes, giving the Dead Man a bewildered look.
“Now you can see,” the Dead Man stated, gesturing at the white crystals all around them. “The Void crystals absorb all magic. You can't weave in this room...no one can. As soon as the magic leaves you, the crystals absorb it. Even now, the Void is drawing out the magic from your mind and your bones. It is a perpetual vacuum...in another minute, there will be no more magic left within you...or within the earring you wear.”
Kyle touched the yellow earring in his right earlobe, remembering how it had stopped working the last time he'd been in the Void. He glanced up at the green crystal in the Dead Man's forehead.
“What about your crystal?” he asked.
“An excellent question,” the Dead Man replied. Then he sighed. “You have such potential, Kyle. If only we'd been able to realize that potential together.” He gestured at his black cloak. “My cloak prevents my bones from losing magic,” he stated. Then he lifted his right hand, bringing his fingertips to the gemstone on his forehead. “And there is a Void crystal in the center of my shard, as small as a grain of sand. It ensures that a small amount of magic will remain within, so that I can live to recharge my shard here, at that terminal,” he added, gesturing toward the green crystals jutting up from the metallic floor. “It also pulls in magic from my surroundings, should my crystal become critically low on power.”
“But isn't the magic being pulled from it right now?” Kyle pressed. The Dead Man nodded.
“Very astute,” he replied. He turned his back to them, gesturing at the small chamber with one hand. “I came here to show you something.”
The platform beneath them vibrated, then began to rise. The domed ceiling above opened like the petals of a flower, revealing an utter blackness above. They rose through that opening, ascending into utter darkness. Soon, the ceiling of the Void closed below them, forming the floor upon which the platform rested. Without warning, their ascent stopped.
Kyle glanced about; the green crystals continued to glow, illuminating a large circle in the gray stone floor below. The Dead Man turned back to face them.
“You're about to witness something only the Chosen are privileged enough to see,” he declared, his deep voice echoing in the blackness. “It is Xanos's will that you see it,” he added, resting his hand on the green crystals.
A sudden burst of light exploded before Kyle's eyes, forcing him to squeeze them shut. He thrust his hands in front of his face, grimacing against the unexpected assault. Slowly his eyes adjusted, and he opened them, squinting in the bright light.
His breath caught in his throat.
The room they'd entered was massive...as big as an airplane hangar. All around them were row upon row of huge, metallic constructions, standing at least ten stories tall, and as wide around as a large building. Kyle stared at one of the monstrosities, gazing at the jet-black metal, trying to figure out what exactly it was. The thing stood on four huge limbs, that much was clear, but beyond that, Kyle could only guess. There were nine of the monstrous contraptions placed in neat rows of three in the chamber.
Kyle glanced at Darius, who was looking around the room; the bodyguard seemed just as perplexed as Kyle.
“Behold my sacred duty,” the Dead Man declared, spreading his arms out wide. “Xanos has tasked the Chosen with serving as His avatars, so that He may maintain His army beneath the earth.” He lowered his arms, his black eyes staring into Kyle's. “We work in the darkness, unknown and unseen, guiding and protecting humanity from its greatest enemy.”
“What enemy?” Darius asked. The Dead Man smiled.
“Itself.”
Darius said nothing, staring at the metallic constructs filling the chamber.
“Xanos guides humanity,” th
e Dead Man continued. “He will bring it back to the power and sophistication of the Ancients...and far beyond.”
“Right,” Darius grumbled. The Dead Man smirked.
“Men fear what they don't understand,” he lectured. “They react to their fear with violence. Old men resist change, clinging desperately to their way of life, and old men carry the power in this world. Change is always accepted by the next generation...after their elders grow old and die.”
“Or are killed off,” Darius countered. The Dead Man sighed.
“That was not the original intent,” he countered. “Had Orik followed orders, he would have become Grand Weaver, and instituted sweeping changes to magic education, governmental policy, and every other aspect of life. The renaissance of runic technology would have continued at an incredible pace, transforming the world, bettering the standard of living for poor and rich alike.”
“So why all this?” Darius asked, gesturing around the chamber.
“This army,” the Dead Man answered, “...was created to protect humanity.”
“From what?” Darius pressed.
“Only Xanos knows.”
“Isn't that convenient,” Darius muttered. The Dead Man ignored the comment, lowering his eyes to the platform below.
“You think us the enemy,” he stated. “But we far from it. Xanos wished for a peaceful transition to Orik's rule...but Orik failed Him. Failed me. That necessitated my intervention. Kalibar was a casualty to preserve the original plan...one casualty to prevent millions. He, of course, did not see it that way. He is, after all, one of the old men I spoke of earlier. Despite my explaining what I've just told you to him, he remained predictably defiant.”
“So you tore out his eyes.”
“He presented a danger to my daughters, and resisted his duties...at first,” the Dead Man explained. “I couldn't guard him twenty-four hours a day, not with my other responsibilities. And he was most certainly planning to escape, to warn the Empire. And now that very thing has occurred, despite my efforts to stop it...and Kalibar himself is leading the Empire toward a pointless war with us.” He shook his head. We offered a peaceful solution. You chose war.”