Decoy

by S. B. Sebrick

Kaltor and Jensai followed the high ground as they headed toward the vault, getting a good view of the broken tumble of buildings, pulleys, levers, and other equipment scattered across the valley’s belly. Honmour appeared from among the excited crowd, hurrying their way. Hundreds of miners followed Melshek’s procession, curious to see their pearl in the rocky mountain side finally revealed.

  Their destination was not difficult to find. The massive structure towered above all the rest, full of columns and archways, only partially exposed from the side of the northern ridge itself. The vault lay buried within the building’s own foundations. Even from a few hundred yards away, he glimpsed white metal glistening in the light of the rising sun, a priceless gem among the worthless granite stones.

  Kaltor frowned. Dad made it sound like finding this door was an accident, he thought suspiciously. Obviously they dug up the center of the building’s foundations looking for it. He glanced back at the large group behind them, Melshek walking like a king, soaking in the presence of his adoring subjects. Gereth looked like a school boy about to open a long awaited gift.

  There’s something they aren’t telling us, he realized. The ominous feeling returned, setting his teeth on edge and leaving him so anxious he could focus on little else.

  Kaltor and his friends reached the door first. A passageway the width of three men standing abreast sank another dozen feet into the ground, revealing the door to the vault. Its entrance was just as Gereth’s drawing depicted, every symbol and word chiseled into the archway above the door. Just where the handles should have been was a portion of upraised metal in the shape of two hands, palms forward with the thumb and fingers extended.

  The rest of them will be here soon, Kaltor thought, hurrying down the passageway to the door. I don’t have much time to decide if this is a good idea.

  Honmour and Jensai followed after him, hands on their weapons as they picked up on their friend’s tension. Kaltor ran his fingers along the edges of the door frame, surprised at how sharp the edges were, as if the door and its symbols were forged and cut yesterday, immune to the erosion of the elements and time itself. An experimental scratch of his dagger sent sparks flying and ruined the blade’s finely honed edge. The door remained unscathed.

  "Be nice if I could get armor like that," Jensai said. "Half of Master Taneth’s training would be pointless if evasion and stealth weren’t an issue," He gave the wall a few experimental pokes with his spear, frowning to himself as he examined his spear’s now flattened tip.

  "Not to mention your weapons would never lose their edge," Honmour added. "This is definitely from before the Crippling. Think they have toothpicks like that in there? Breakfast was good, but that heartfruit they gave us was really stringy," His cheek bulged out as he dug around with his tongue in frustration.

  With a sigh, Kaltor read aloud the inscription above the door. "Caution. Disturb not the prisoners of time itself. Flee, Varadour Remnant," Below it was another, smaller engraving. "When prepared, place your hands of power on the door and it will open."

  "I thought you didn’t speak the dead language well enough to translate," Jensai observed.

  "I don’t. That’s just a rough estimate," Kaltor explained. "I’m just saying that whatever is in here might need to stay there until they have a better idea what they’re dealing with," He jerked his head toward the thundering footsteps of the coming crowd. "Half of them aren’t even armed. They just hope they can escape with a handful of something they can sell."

  "By the Gods, Kaltor!" Honmour chided. "It’s not like anything in there could still be alive. It’s probably a tomb with some religious relics inside. Nothing to worry about," The expression on his face, however, suggested he was still considering Kaltor’s reasoning. He just didn’t like where it led.

  "Kaltor," Jensai said. "Melshek will try to open it regardless. He might not even be able to get it open at all," He tapped the door with his finger. "And there’s definitely no way they’re going to be able to dig their way through this. The other miners were saying this stuff extends along the walls, floor, and ceiling of whatever room it’s meant to hide."

  Fingers brushing the edges of his throwing blades, Kaltor glared at the door. Why do I suddenly feel like there’s a storm cloud in there waiting for us? he wondered. It’s almost like the sensation I had when that viper hound ran straight for me. It was so unnatural— frenzied. What’s wrong with me?

  Jensai put his hand on Kaltor’s shoulder tentatively. "You don’t have to help with the door," he pointed out. "But everyone else is going to try, and perhaps they’ll manage to pry it open. If there’s no monster lying in wait, they’ll think you a fool."

  "Granted, that might be pretty fun to watch," Honmour said with a chuckle. "Imagine putting all this worry into a few dusty artifacts and an overly dried corpse."

  "Let us begin!" Melshek cried, a dozen excited faces cresting the edge of the passageway. Kaltor smiled cordially and climbed up the steps and out of the hole. "A double share of the prize to the Varadours who open the door!" the Prince shouted. A small river of contestants pushed him aside, led by the mercenaries from that morning, rushing toward the vault to try their hand.

  Honmour and Jensai exited as well, taking guard positions atop the edge of the passageway, watching the proceedings with weapons drawn. Gereth stood off to the side watching anxiously, studying a sketch of the vault door he held open in both hands.

  Kaltor pulled him aside and whispered, "You seem nervous. Do you have the same feeling I do about this thing?"

  His father looked genuinely surprised. "What are you talking about, my son? This could be a very blessed day for all of us. The both of us could triple our standing with the king! Guarantee our future in his good graces!" At the vault door Kaltor could already sense Varadour power surging in vain.

  "You and Melshek," Kaltor said with a nod. "What about the inscription? What if this is a prison of some sort or holds some kind of disease? Are you sure enough about your translation of the archway?" Gereth’s eyes sank toward the rocky ground, revealing a hint of shame.

  You aren’t sure, Kaltor realized. And yet you still went through all this effort?

  "Melshek and I are in similar positions with the king," Gereth admitted with a dejected sigh. "He has allotted us a certain amount of gold with which to invest in our research for better weapons, training techniques, foreign contacts, and the like. The prince or lord who brings to pass the best results receives additional aid," He folded the sketch and pocketed it, looking Kaltor in the eyes as he continued.

  "We are both almost out. Our funds are gone. We either fade away or take the risk," Gereth said simply, nodding toward the vault door. "This is the risk. Without this your mother and I can’t live in the capital. We can’t use the spy network," His eyes watched carefully for eavesdroppers. "We can’t be certain your secret is truly safe, or find your brother."

  Kaltor stared at the ground, grumbling like a viper hound with a thorn in its paw. "Dad," he said simply. "Why didn’t you tell me? I can take an extra job or two for the king. If I work alone I won’t have to be as — careful, about my true nature."

  "We have to keep up pretenses," Gereth pointed out, his tone growing more desperate. "You must finish your training first. It’s only another year. With the proceeds from this site we can handle that," Blue light shimmered from the door as a Sight Seeker started combining the Varadours’ wills, also to no avail.

  Kaltor stopped arguing, trying to compare his inexplicable feelings of dread with the hope in Gereth’s voice. He watched the small army of miners shouting encouragement, chanting in time with each pulse of energy smashing against the door.

  "Imagine not needing to live in hiding anymore," Gereth whispered. "A weapon in hand from the Age of Tears. You could live openly as the Remnant of the Varadour power. Kings will bow to your will. Whole countries will pay you respect. You may even find a cure for Blood Breaking! You could unlock your link and find Keevan. That’s all your mother and
I want for you. For both of you."

  With a groan Kaltor drew a throwing blade, twirling it between his fingers. The culminating emotions left his technique sloppy and he slit two of his fingers, forcing him to pocket the blade and suck at his wounds. Honmour and Jensai glanced his way, sharing sympathetic smiles. They respected his instincts, even if he did not know the true origin of those feelings.

  But imagine if I could tell them, he thought. If I could live without fear of being overwhelmed by assassins or chained to some king’s every whim. I could protect my family, maybe overcome the Blood Breaking— Find Keevan. The world could do nothing in the face of TWO Remnants.

  "Okay, father," Kaltor relented. Gereth smiled, eyes full of hope. "I want you to combine our powers. If the four of us open the vault it will help Taneth’s reputation as well," He pointed a bleeding finger at his father’s face. "This will be short, though, so there should be no risk of emotional blending."

  Gereth laughed and patted his son’s shoulder affectionately. "Everything will be fine, son. I promise," He walked forward, tapping Melshek on the shoulder and whispering in his ear. To the crowd he announced in a booming voice, "The prince and I will make the attempt!"

  The crowd applauded, and the last contestants stepped aside as Gereth motioned for Kaltor, Honmour, and Jensai to join him. Four powerful Varadours and one Sight Seeker to link us, Kaltor counted. That should be enough to avoid suspicion that I’m a Remnant. The Varadours entered first, each placing a hand on either side of the door, careful to make sure some part of their fingers or palms touched the hand-shaped engravings on the vault door.

  Gereth pulled from his belt the same pins he’d used during Kaltor’s healing process, this time sticking them in the nape of each man’s tunic. "Okay, on my order all four of you will push. Force your power through your arms into the hands on the door."

  Kaltor took his position right in front of the vault, leaning down with a shoulder against the door so Melshek could reach over him. Honmour and Jensai stood on either side in similar positions.

  "Now," Gereth ordered. The entire passageway seemed to shudder as Varadour energy blossomed inside the small space. Insects in the rocks sprinted away, their flight fueled by the culmination of so much energy. Kaltor felt his will extend through his arms and into the stone.

  His own power pushed with the three others’ as they all fought their way through the mysterious metal. Closing his eyes, Kaltor could feel his power pushing against something behind the wall, something only sensitive to him, the Remnant.

  "It’s a lock, Gereth," Kaltor grunted, trying to ignore the sensation of his stomach leaping from his chest as the ominous feeling culminated into a final crescendo. To keep my family safe and find Keevan, he rationalized. That’s the only reason I’m doing this.

  "Good call, my son," Gereth said excitedly. Kaltor could feel his father’s power pushing theirs in different places and angles, like a thief trying to pick a lock. "Together, now!"

  With one final heave of effort, their combined wills, under Gereth’s guidance, connected with something behind the wall. There was an audible click, and slowly the doors opened with a stone-grinding groan of complaint. A wave of dust, mold, and decay wafted through the opening.

  Kaltor’s eyes widened curiously as his skin vision allowed a clear black-and-white glance at the doors. These walls aren’t even an inch thick, he thought. What kind of metal is this?

  The crowd’s shouts of success echoed eerily within the chamber, and Melshek bolted back up the passageway to the surface. He was so excited it took him three tries before he could articulate his next command.

  "You all will be given a share!" he promised. "Gather your tools, torches, and wheelbarrows. We will continue digging while the pieces are recorded," The miners continued to cheer as their voices faded into the distance.

  "Shall we?" Honmour asked, taking a step inside. "It’s not like the dark is a problem for us."

  He was right. Through his skin vision Kaltor could see clearly. The feeling of warning was gone now, replaced with a dull, numb sensation. Perhaps it was nothing, he thought as he turned his attention toward their find. Just my imagination.

  It was a single room, with four thick columns to help support the large structure about it. An altar protruded from the floor, covered in odd-looking objects too caked in dust to recognize by the eye alone. They were set before a raised, oval container.

  Watching for bricks or levers that could warn of traps, they eased their way inside. A few historians entered as well, but to their credit they held their distance. Were such devices to go off, only a fully trained Varadour had the reflexes to escape with any certainty. After a few paces, they managed to get to a better angle from which to see the room’s center.

  "Well, it looks like you were right about one thing, Honmour," Jensai said, pointing forward. "Dried-out corpses aren’t very dramatic. Surprisingly pretty, though," They followed his gaze and saw the box before the altar. A body was engraved upon the top of the coffin.

  Her expression was not peaceful, but full of disdain. Though her features were sharp and exotic. Even though it was only a sculpture, the artist obviously had talent. From certain angles it seemed an actual woman lay there, dressed in an evening gown to make her gender obvious. Some of the jewelry she wore even looked real.

  "That face is going to bother me, though," Honmour admitted. "It’s like she’s angry I’m still alive and she’s not. Though it would be nice if she were," he added with a sly wink.

  "Spread out," Kaltor ordered. "We just need to make sure there aren’t any traps, then let the historians do their job. No souvenirs," Working his way around the altar, he realized the walls were full of weapons, tools, scrolls, and the like.

  It’s a store room of some kind, he thought. Centered on the burial of a noble woman? Perhaps they were superstitious about the afterlife and wanted to leave her spirit an ample supply of weapons and knowledge? A few more men trickled in through the large doorway, tall torches in tow, making the objects seem to dance and sway in the flickering, yellow-orange light.

  Kaltor circled around opposite the door, facing the far wall. He closed his eyes, drawing completely on his skin vision. The energy resonated from his skin in every direction, bouncing off the surrounding objects and returning, giving a clearer image than his two eyes ever could in such weak light. The floor and ceiling were perfectly flat with no engravings, mortar, or even grooves in between individual pieces. This entire room is one solid piece of whatever this is, he realized. What kind of metal is this?

  "Um, guys?" Jensai said. "Has anyone taken a closer look at the altars?"

  Kaltor focused his vision behind him, at the foot of the coffin. The legs of the altar were thick and bulbous with odd curves he at first thought were decorative engravings. He took a step closer. A thin fabric covered what he thought was a table, with a handful of select items atop of it. But with a final step he saw the truth.

  "Okay, that’s a little weird," Honmour said.

  "Bodies," Kaltor said aloud. "Petrified somehow?" Two historians started jotting down notes as fast as possible, their eyes turning blue as they drew on Sight Seeker power to pierce the darkness themselves. Some of the better trained ones could pick up on environments affected by a Varadour’s skin vision.

  From beneath the sheet he could see the people curled up to form the "leg" of each table around the altar. Most had their faces buried between their arms, but one was visible. His mouth was open wide in agony, teeth exposed and eyes bulging. A thin, straight line cut through the body at an odd angle, exposing itself around the spine and back as the body’s natural curves broke from the spear’s uniform direction.

  "By the Gods!" Jensai swore. "They’re pinned in place by spears coming up from the floor!"

  "Creepy," Honmour added. "Was this some kind of torture?"

  "If so, this entire room was part of it," Kaltor said. "The ceiling, walls, and floor are one solid, unbreakable piece,"
He shuddered as he imagined what the scene must have looked like, sealed in by an unbreakable metal, pierced and held in place by spears of it welded into the floor as they died.

  Something very bad happened here, he decided.

  "I think I’ve had about enough of this place," Jensai said. "The historians will have to be careful before they move each individual piece, but I’d rather not see any more of this."

  "Fine by me," Kaltor agreed. "Let’s get out of here."

  Something’s not right here.