by Peter David
There was an even louder crack from above, and I shouted, “Come on!” as I threw my arms around Sharee, pushing her in ahead of me, and then thrust myself into the darkness right behind her as the structure over our heads collapsed. We stumbled into the darkness, flame and smoke billowing behind us. I turned and yanked on what seemed to be a natural outcropping from the rock, but might have been a manmade handle. In either event, the rock wall swung shut behind us, just as a ton of debris fell into the area we had recently vacated. I sagged against it, panting.
I knew instantly we were in some sort of caves. Catacombs, most likely, just as the old man had said. In the distance I heard dripping water, and there was a dankness in the air that was already working its way into my bones, but at that moment I was just happy to be alive.
The glowworms gave us some small measure of illumination, but not much against the impenetrable darkness that surrounded us. Just enough, it seemed, to prevent us from tripping over things and killing ourselves. Not that there might not be who-knew-what hiding in the darkness, ready to dispatch us itself.
Sharee held the glowworm globe up in front of her so I could see her face, and her eyes glittered in the darkness. “You pushed me in here first,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Was it because you were trying to make sure I was safe by getting me through before debris fell … which indeed it did? Or were you concerned there might be some sort of booby trap that would be triggered by the first person entering, and you sent me in first so I could take whatever might spring out at you?”
Naturally I drew myself up, gave her a stinging look of contempt, and said, “The former, of course. You insult me, Sharee.”
“I didn’t think it was possible to insult you, Apropos.” She drew her cloak around herself, extended one arm from within its folds so that the globe was in front of us, and moved forward into the darkness.
Which was fine with me. After all, just because no booby traps had snapped upon us entering, didn’t mean that there might not be more ahead, and better Sharee than me to encounter them first.
Besides, if Sharee was busy leading the way, I hoped she would not notice the magnificent gem that I had pickpocketed off her while I was shoving her into the darkness ahead of me. I had just lost my business; it seemed only fair that some manner of reparations be made, even if she was unaware of it.
Chapter 5
In the Shadow of Ba’da’boom
It was quite an adjustment to go from the pounding noise which had enveloped us moments before to the almost frightening quiet that was our new environment. It was, in fact, more than quiet; it was a bleak stillness that was evocative, I imagined, of the grave. Naturally that was hardly a comparison that did much for my racing heart.
It was a cave, all right, but like nothing that I had ever encountered before. Heaven knew that I had hidden in caves enough times, but they were always small, puny things in comparison to this.
It seemed impossible to me that such environs could possibly occur in nature. Rock walls loomed ahead of us, but they were flat and narrow and seemed to exist primarily to provide different directions in which we could go. Three different points of entry appeared to lay before us. It was just as the Visionary had said: catacombs. A massive underground series of mazes designed to keep travelers lost for days, perhaps forever. It wasn’t as if the notion of remaining in the burning tavern and facing the wrath of Beliquose was all that pleasant an option, but it was starting to look better in comparison.
In the darkness it was difficult to determine just how high the ceiling went. I picked up a stone, which was covered with slime, and threw it as hard as I could straight up, listening for an echo from when it hit. I heard nothing. I felt it, though, when the descending rock struck me in the forehead. I staggered slightly and rubbed the newly rising bump on my forehead.
Sharee looked pityingly at me. If she was at all disconcerted by our surroundings, she didn’t show it. In fact, she actually seemed more in her element than she was before. Holding the glowworm sphere in front of us, she cautioned, “Stay close to me,” and then added sharply, “but not too close.”
“What’s wrong, Sharee?” I demanded, but I spoke in a hushed tone for no reason that I could determine. “Worried that you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”
“If by that you mean away from your throat, that did occur to me, yes.”
“Well, well … a far cry from the ‘Help me, Apropos’ I was getting just a short time ago.”
She ignored the jibe, probably because she knew I was right, and she simply hated it when I was right. And since it was so rare that I had the indisputable high ground with her, I decided the smart thing to do was press it. Make her admit that she had been more than willing to set aside her distaste for me when it suited her purposes and preserved her scrawny neck.
But something about the place we were in stopped me from bothering with such comparatively trivial digressions. There seemed to be nothing but mud on the ground wherever I stepped, and I heard water dripping steadily from somewhere in the distance. Sharee was staring at the options for our forward progress, studying each one. For all I knew, we’d be damned the moment we set foot down the wrong one. Hell, there might not even be a correct one.
And as if the darkness and the dripping and the general chill in the air wasn’t enough, I sensed something else as well.
Now again, I was not a magic user or weaver. But I had a sensitivity to such things, and that sensitivity was in full bloom at that point. There was something magical in the air, but not in any sort of romantic sense. Instead it was a blackness that went beyond the dearth of light. The place reeked of absence of love, and pity, and mercy, and it was as if something truly evil were hanging just beyond the next turn, ready to pounce upon us the moment we lowered our guard.
“Sharee,” I said slowly, “what … is this place?”
“I’m not certain,” she replied. Her nose was wrinkling as she sniffed the air. “I have my suspicions … but I’d rather not say.”
“Why, because you’re afraid you’ll be wrong?”
“No,” she said reasonably, “because I’m afraid I’ll be right, and merely mentioning the names of the place and beings involved will set into motion—”
But before she could finish, I heard a noise which—even to this day—will sometimes cause me to awaken from my sleep bathed in a cold sweat. It was such a subtle, yet ominous, sound that I wasn’t entirely certain at first whether it had been within the caverns … or within my head.
Sharee glanced around, as if trying to determine from where the noise was originating. “You heard it, too?” I asked her. “A sort of distant ‘boom’ sound? Like … like something hammering on a giant drum?” She looked at me briefly and gave me the slightest nod. Beyond that, she said nothing. Instead she just gestured toward the catacomb entrance to the right.
But I wasn’t about to throw myself headlong into some situation that I couldn’t even begin to understand. “Hold it, weaver,” I said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere until I know where I’m headed.”
“And what would you prefer?” she demanded, her hands on her hips. I was waiting for her to notice that the gem which she had been carrying was no longer in her possession, but apparently she was too distracted by our surroundings to take note of it. “To just stand there until the end of time?”
“Better that than the end of my time. It’s not right for me to throw myself into danger until I have some comprehension of what I’m facing.”
“You? You’re going to speak to me of right and wrong?”
I took a step toward her and nearly slid in a patch of mud, preventing myself from falling only through the quick action of my staff. “Don’t get holier-than-thou with me, weaver. You’re the one who got me into this fix through your thievery. You know you were in the wrong. And you were terrified of what Beliquose would do to you if he caught you.”
“I was not,” Sharee said flatly.
“Apropos,” she replied, and there was something in her voice that sounded different from the usual arrogance and self-satisfaction to which I had become accustomed. There was a touch of genuine honesty. “Apropos … there is something about me you need to understand: I don’t care what happens to me. I truly don’t. I am not anxious for death, but I do not flinch from it. This makes me very much the opposite of you, since you elevate yourself and your interests above all others …”
“Just because you’re apathetic, Sharee, that doesn’t make you a Samaritan. If you have a point, get to it.”
“All right.” She let out a slow, steady breath. “You say you saw fear on my face back in your tavern. Mayhap you did. But it was not fear for my fate should Beliquose get his hands on me. It was fear for the world … should he get the gem. You see …”
“Forget it,” I said.
“What?” She seemed surprised. “But since you asked, I thought I’d—”
“No. I said forget it.” I shook my head. “When is the world going to understand that I don’t give a damn about various tales of heroics, curses, and derring-do? Beyond its value as something to sell in a marketplace, the specifics of the gem are of no consequence to me. The only thing that really concerns me is where the devil we are, and I maintain, Sharee, that I’m not going to budge from this spot until you tell me.”
“Fine. Don’t budge,” she said with a shrug. “Stay here and rot.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I told her confidently. She raised a bemused eyebrow, obviously mildly interested in the way I spoke with such conviction on that score. “I’m going to be traveling through these catacombs, and journey on the road to ruin. How’s that for a cheerful future?”
“Are you now?”
“Yes.”
“And you know this … how?”
“It was written,” I said confidently. Now I still steadfastly wanted to believe that I was in control of my own destiny, that my fate was in my own hands. But Sharee and her kind set great store by such pronouncements, and she would be quite likely to hearken to any prognostications. Mystical and mysterious weavers might be, but if one knew the mindset properly, they could also be easily manipulated without their even being aware that that was what was happening.
Sharee proved no exception to this. “That Visionary? Did he foresee that?”
“Yes. And how interesting that while your powers seem to be deserting you, his were as strong as ever … to say nothing of the wards that I erected …”
She waved dismissively. “My source of magiks is totally different from a Visionary’s. His come from within, mine from without. And charms need not draw upon nature’s threads since their uses are so specific and limited. So …” She took a step closer, and the nearness of her provided a small bit of warmth in the dankness. “The Visionary … did he make mention of me?”
“Only that you would set it into motion. Beyond that,” and I shrugged. “So my fate is set. Yours, however, is fluid. If you want to better your chances of getting out of wherever this ‘here’ is, you’d be well-advised to keep as close to me, and in my good graces, as possible. So enough fencing and enough keeping of weaverly secrets. Tell me true, Sharee, what this place is, and we will travel it together. Or else I shall leave you to your own devices. And by the way, for someone who claims that she does not care what happens to her, you certainly took exception to what I did to you several years back, so save your posturing for those who know you less intimately than I.”
I never saw the blur of her hand in the darkness, but the palm cracked smartly enough across my face. The stinging was sharp, but I didn’t give her the satisfaction of putting my hand to my cheek and rubbing it.
Her voice low and angry, she said, “I swear, Apropos, if you ever speak of that again in that vile manner, I will strike you down.”
She meant it. I knew she meant it. And somehow it seemed a rather unwise proposition to challenge her sincerity. Nevertheless, I remained where I was and exhibited no inclination to follow her.
Air hissed in a most irritated manner from between her teeth. “All right,” she said finally, folding her arms beneath her cloak. “I had my suspicions, but that distant noise … that ‘boom,’ you heard it … ?” I nodded. She continued, “There are tales of caverns, underground caverns carved long ago by a particular species of troll called Rockmunchers. It was said that they staked out a specific area of mines and caverns and made it their home. As their name might suggest, they consumed rocks. It was their sustenance. What brought them to the attention of the surface was the fact that, as a result of their dietary habits, they excreted valuable minerals, including silver and gold.”
I blinked in astonishment. “They shat gold, is what you’re telling me?”
“In essence, yes.” Despite the seriousness of the situation, a small smile played on her lips. “The problem is that humans caught wind of it … don’t start. Don’t make the obvious pun.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I lied.
“Because if you keep interrupting with smart remarks, we’ll be here for eternity.”
I bowed in a mocking manner. “You have my attention and my silence.”
She looked at me warily, before continuing. “Wave after wave of humans descended into the realm of the trolls, hoping to get the Rockmunchers and enslave them. The Rockmunchers fought back, as you can well imagine. The result was a bloody slaughter, as the foolish humans destroyed the very creatures whom they would have exploited. But even more than that, they unleashed something terrible. For the Rockmunchers had a touch of magic to them, as all trolls and other creatures of legend do. And when one commits genocide against such a race, it allows for a great darkness to slip through and wreak havoc.”
“What are you saying?” I asked slowly. “Are you saying this place, where we presently are … ?”
“It is, I believe, the stronghold of the Rockmunchers … or their former stronghold, I should say,” she told me. She looked around warily. “They called it Ba’da’boom. That sound you heard, that we both heard … that was the sound of their war drums.”
“You said they were dead,” I reminded her.
“Yes.”
The words hung there for a moment. “So are you now telling me,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady and my dry heaves under control, “that some of them in fact survived? Or that we’re hearing the vestiges of their shades, preparing to go to war against opponents?”
“Yes,” she said again.
I felt ill. I had no stomach for human foes or genuine trolls if it could be at all avoided. To now find myself confronted with ghost trolls … it was madness. Utter madness.
“Forget it,” I said firmly. “I’m staying here.”
“There’s no going back, Apropos,” she reminded me. “The tavern collapsed behind us. You’ll never dig yourself out, and besides, the door swung inward. With all the debris behind us, you’ll never get it open.”
Experimentally I pushed against it. She was right. It wasn’t budging, and I realized that I could stay there for the rest of my life and keep on pushing without success. Even if I had proper tools to do the job, it would likely prove impossible.
“But we have to do something,” I said, sounding far more whiny than I would have liked.
“I agree,” she said readily. “And the ‘something’ we have to do is head forward.”
“And if we encounter whatever remains of these Rockmunchers?”
“Then we deal with them, Apropos. We’ve no choice.”
I most definitely did not like the prospect of having no choice. I felt as if the walls
were closing in from all sides. My breath was coming in ragged gasps, and I could practically feel my heart smashing against my chest in an endeavor to get out. I licked my dry lips, looked this way and that in some vain hope that another exit would suddenly present itself, and clutched on to my staff so tightly that I nearly splintered it.
“Dammit, Apropos, be a man, for gods’ sake,” she snapped.
Sorry I’m not half the man as you, I wanted to say back to her, but somehow that didn’t particularly seem much in the way of comebacks. So I settled for scowling fiercely at her, which I’m sure thoroughly intimidated her, and then I nodded and said, “All right. Let’s be off with us.”
Without hesitation she headed for the right-hand entrance into these catacombs, which had been carved out of solid, cavernous rock untold centuries ago by creatures who were either long dead or waiting in ambush for us, or both. I half suspected that she, in fact, hadn’t the slightest clue which way, if any, was the best way to proceed. She just wanted to appear certain of things so that I would follow her. Not a bad plan, actually, considering my fractured and fearful state of mind just then.
For quite a while, nothing happened.
Oh, we still heard every so often the distant boom, boom. It did not occur steadily, but instead at odd times, and it made me start to wonder about the agency behind it. It might have been something living. On the other hand, it might indeed have been some sort of natural phenomenon. I couldn’t imagine what … but something. It would sustain for brief periods, or sometimes even several minutes, before stopping once more.
We completely lost track of time as to how long we wandered in Ba’da’boom. Along the way, though, I found a particular type of mineral which seemed rather effective for leaving markings on the rock walls. The catacombs were as maze-like as we might have anticipated, but at every cross-juncture, I would place an arrow indicating which way we had gone. On a number of occasions this prevented us from going in circles, for if we reencountered one of my little arrows, we knew that we had already passed that way and would set off in another direction. In this manner we gradually made our way through the catacombs.