by Layton Green
“She’s right,” Rucker said. “Yer the only one who has a chance of getting us back home. We can’t risk ye.”
They compromised on using half the jar. Adaira worked on the back of his hand, using both the healing salve and her own magic, until the pain disappeared and a pink scar formed.
Val let out a long breath. “Thank you.”
After that, he sat with his back against a pillar, simmering in silence and dark thoughts as everyone waited for the air to thin. The death of the girl was still fresh on his mind, a stain of a memory he feared would never go away.
“It’s time,” Rucker said at last.
Val had started to grow dizzy from the lack of oxygen. He rose to his feet and, worried the silver creature might be waiting for them, slipped the ring he had taken from the tomb onto his left index finger. As far as he could tell, there was no effect.
Synne stood poised at the entrance. When Rucker gave the signal, Val moved the azantite lid and, before anyone could protest, flew out of the tomb with his staff raised.
Scores of blackened, unmoving bodies were piled up outside the bronze door. Wights. Val blew them back, clearing the way. He stepped farther out, adrenaline surging, his head on a swivel as he strained for a glimpse of silver.
Nothing.
The party didn’t delay. Bunched together, they picked their way through the bodies and around the maze of deserted stone tombs, Val’s stomach fluttering every time they stepped out from behind a mausoleum. The silver maiden never appeared, seeming to validate Dida’s hypothesis that the eldritch magic had dissipated into spirit.
They left the graveyard and returned to the windswept moor.
-24-
As Will descended through the illusion, he saw a wide stone staircase leading to the next level. A soft silver glow, the color of a clear stream in moonlight, illuminated the steps.
Will shuddered with relief when the scorpions didn’t follow them down. Once they reached the bottom, Mateo moaned and clutched his petrified hand. The stone extended from his fingertips to an inch past his wrist, and was still progressing.
Mala approached with her sword raised.
“No!” Selina cried. She flung herself at Mateo, but Mala pulled the sylvamancer away. “If we don’t arrest the poison, we will lose him.”
Mateo raised his arm. “Do it,” he said, through clenched teeth.
Will stepped forward, forcing the words out. “Let me. The blow will be cleaner.”
“What if your sword destroys him?” Selina said. “Like the others?”
Will hesitated. He didn’t think the sword would affect any part of Mateo other than his stone hand, but he had no way of being certain.
“Hurry!” Gunnar said. “Before he loses more than a hand.”
Mateo waffled, then held his arm out towards Mala. Will nodded and gripped his cousin’s good hand for support. Selina kissed him and stepped back, tears blurring her eyes. Mala raised her short sword, counted to three, and brought the enhanced blade down in a swift blow, slicing cleanly through Mateo’s wrist just a millimeter past the stone.
The petrified hand thudded against the floor. Mateo sagged and squeezed Will’s hand, but didn’t cry out. As blood spurted from the wound, Mala pulled a cloth from one of her pouches and wrapped the wound tight.
“Give him a potion,” Selina said.
“We only have two left,” Mala said.
The sylvamancer stepped forward, eyes blazing. “Give it to him!”
Mateo grimaced. “She’s right,” he said to Selina, his voice laced with pain. “I’ve already used one.”
“He can’t fight like this,” Selina said to Mala. “Surely you understand that, if not sympathy?”
Mala stared back at her, eyes unreadable. “We can spare enough to seal the wound.” After unwrapping Mateo’s hand, she took another stoppered bottle from her pouch, and poured a few drops onto the wound.
Mateo’s eyes rolled back as the potion took effect. Will kept his grip on his cousin’s hand, gaping as the bleeding stopped and the flesh around the wound congealed. When it was finished, Mateo fumbled to take his water skin out of his pack with one hand. Selina rushed to help him. Will looked away, distraught, and studied their new surroundings. The staircase had brought them to the center of a spherical room crafted entirely from black marble. Eight archways signaled exits from the chamber.
“Where’s the light source?” Will asked. “Has this been lit for thousands of years?”
“More likely a delayed spell,” Selina said. “Triggered by our entrance.”
“How did you know?” Mala asked Gunnar. In the excitement, everyone seemed to have forgotten he had saved them all.
The big man looked embarrassed. “I read a tome on Mayan culture before we left. A corpse with an owl head is an avatar for the Mayan god of death, and I thought the statue might be symbolic. Telling us that death lies below.”
A moment of silence followed the humble admission. Mala squeezed his arm and kissed him on the cheek. “We should all have been so wise. Thank you.”
Will fought against the pang of jealousy that swept through him. He had been right about Mala’s taste in men—she didn’t suffer fools.
Gunnar was proving himself more worthy at every turn.
“Those statues . . .” Selina said, casting an uneasy glance at the staircase. “Were they the sorcerer king’s friends, or his enemies?”
Will gripped his sword. “Does it matter? No one deserves that.”
“At least three were Alazashin, dressed in the fashions of the last century,” Mala said. “One of them bore the insignia of a Prince of the Seven Mountains. Certainly the highest ranking member on the mission.” She approached one of the archways and ran her hands over it, then made her way around the room, inspecting each one. Beyond the archways, identical tunnels of black marble curved out of sight, illuminated by the same silver light.
No one had any insight as to which passage to choose. Mala pursed her lips and selected an archway at random, creeping down the corridor with sword and dagger drawn. Everyone fell into step behind her. The air smelled clean and fresh, as if purified. A hundred feet down, the curving passage intersected with another corridor that twisted deeper into the interior.
They kept to the original tunnel. Another intersection appeared, and then another. Because of the non-linear nature of the passageways, it was impossible for Will to keep track of which direction they were headed.
“We’re bearing mostly northwest,” Mala said, consulting her compass as if reading Will’s thoughts.
Assuming they were inside a pyramid, the corridor couldn’t last forever. Mala marked their way with chalk to ensure they weren’t moving in a giant circle. The passage soon spilled into a chamber the size of a small alcove. A silver lever with a star-shaped handle was set into the center of the far wall.
Before approaching, Mala made sure the floor and walls were clear of traps. “Do you detect any magic?” she asked.
Selina shook her head, still cross with her.
Unsure what to do, Mala placed her hand on the lever without pulling it. Will walked over to inspect the vertical slot where it fit into the wall. “It should move,” he said. “There’s a three-inch gap.”
“Everyone out,” Mala said, without turning. “There’s no reason to put the whole party in danger.”
After the others backed out of the chamber, Will stayed and put his hand over Mala’s, on top of the star-shaped handle. She looked up at him, eyes hard but grateful, and they pulled the silver handle together.
It slid to the bottom of the slot with minimal resistance, making a barely perceptible grinding sound. Will felt her hands tense, but nothing happened. The lever stayed in the bottom position. Mala removed her hand. Will pushed the lever back up, then down again. Still no effect. He shrugged and returned it to the original position.
They informed the others and kept walking. After trying one of the side passages, they came to another silver lever
with a star-shaped handle.
Same procedure. Same result.
More exploration led to more levers, curving intersection after curving intersection. It was too convoluted for Will to keep the pattern in his head. He suggested they make a map, and Mala withdrew a mother-of-pearl fountain pen and a moleskin notebook from one of her pouches. Will helped her chart where they had walked so far, denoting the chambers with a silver lever.
They resumed walking, everyone on high alert. Will mapped as they went, leaving Mala free to inspect for traps. Despite the gravity of the situation, Will couldn’t help but think of mapping dungeons on graph paper during a D&D campaign back home, snacking on Doritos and Mountain Dew with his gaming friends while Caleb disappeared into the bedroom with some girl.
Thinking of home caused a pang of ache for his brothers so strong it made his knees go weak. Yet the memory also caused him to flex his sword arm and notice how his muscles rippled. Muscles he had never had before, not even as a contractor. Muscles that could hold their own against delver warriors, Mayan Battle Mages, and creatures out of nightmare.
Things had changed a little since back home.
Pay attention, Will.
They found another twenty-seven levers. Mateo peered over Will’s shoulder, his eyes widening. “It’s very detailed.”
“Yeah,” Will said. “I sort of see it in my head. How,” he hesitated, “does it feel?”
His cousin’s eyes slid to the stump of his left hand. “The pain is mostly gone. But it . . . I won’t be the same warrior. Not without my buckler.”
“You’re better than most without it. Aren’t there shields that attach to the forearm?”
Mateo glanced away.
“I’ve been wondering,” Will said, both to distract his cousin and because he was curious, “about my father’s home. The Blackwood Forest.”
“You’ve never been?”
“No.”
Mateo’s eyes took on a faraway cast. “It’s the most beautiful place on Urfe. Trees that kiss the clouds, meadows as bright as the sun, streams as fresh as snow.”
“Is it peaceful?”
“In a wild and rugged way, yes. No place in the Ninth Protectorate is free of danger. But it’s a good life, Will. Our life. Free to live as we please.” He clenched his good hand. “If something isn’t done, all of that will change. We’ve been living a fantasy, believing the Congregation will leave us in peace.”
“How long has our family lived there?”
Mateo shrugged. “Five hundred years? Six? They say we’re descendants of Fieran Blackwood, you know.”
Will marked the position of another silver lever. “Who?”
Mateo chuckled. “I forget you’re not from the Realm. Still, has the lore of Fieran Blackwood not reached your ears? He was a true Paladin, perhaps the last. He fought for Priestess Nirela at the battle of Lupen-Breza.” His mirth faded, and Will gathered the battle was important. And had not gone well.
“The Paladins—Tamás mentioned them. Who were they?”
Pride infused Mateo’s voice. “The most powerful common-born fighting force in the history of our people. Perhaps in all the Realm. They were loyal to the High Clerics of Devla, and unable to be bought. Incorruptible.”
“Every man has a weakness,” Will muttered, his eyes flicking towards Mala.
“True enough, my cousin. But the Paladins were special. Some say the High Clerics imbued them with unique holy powers. If only we lived in such a time . . .”
Interesting, Will thought. His father used to tell stories about the exploits of the twelve paladins of Charlemagne. Zariduke was Charlemagne’s sword. Had true Paladins been sent to Earth to protect the sword?
At the next intersection, Selina stopped and looked up. Will followed her gaze and saw a green mist seeping out of the ceiling. He whipped around. Down each corridor, the vaporous green substance had infused the air, mixing eerily with the silver light.
Will couldn’t smell whatever insidious gas was being emitted, but as soon as it reached his nose and mouth, he and everyone else began to cough.
“Acid Smoke,” Mala said, covering her nose and mouth with her hand. “If we don’t find the exit soon, it will kill us all.”
The gas tickled the back of Will’s throat, and he couldn’t seem to stop coughing as everyone sprinted down the passage in a desperate attempt to outrun the toxic clouds of smoke seeping into the black-walled maze.
“How long?” he asked, trying not to inhale the lime-green gas.
“I would say we’d be dead already,” Mala said, “except we’re still on our feet. The concentration must be weaker.”
Mateo cast a worried glance at Selina, who was coughing heavily. “A test, then,” he said grimly. “Escape the maze before the gas kills us.”
“Aye.”
Everywhere they ran, the acid smoke was present, seeping into the corridors from the ceiling, swirling within the soft silver light. The toxic substance had infused the entire level. Seeking an escape, the party backtracked to the staircase and huddled in the middle of the room, choking and coughing. Will felt his limbs weakening.
Gunnar bounded up the stairs, reaching for the ceiling. Instead of pushing through an illusion, his hands met solid stone. He felt around in disbelief.
“A one-way illusion,” Selina said, with a mixture of dread and awe. “We’re trapped.
“There’s a way out,” Will said. “We just have to find it in time.”
“The levers must be important,” Mala said. “They’re the only anomaly.”
“I agree. But why?”
“Pull them all?” Mateo offered.
Will frowned. “It seems too simple. And I doubt we have time.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Selina asked, and then doubled over coughing. “We have to try something.”
Will looked down at the map. They had found over one hundred levers, the positioning of which appeared to be random. Judging from the map, he estimated they had covered three-fourths of the level. The short, twisty passages formed no discernible pattern. “I vote for finishing the map.”
“Is there time?” Gunnar asked, with a worried look at Mala. Uncharacteristically, and though she tried to hide it, she seemed the most affected by the gas. Will wondered if her slight frame made her more susceptible to the poison.
He jerked his gaze away and studied the map. It was hard to be sure, but he guessed they had been down there for an hour and a half. Which made sense, if the twisted creator of the maze had given them just enough time to map it. “I think we can do it. If we hurry.”
“What if it’s a waste of time?” Selina asked.
“What if it’s not?” he snapped.
Mala was already walking towards one of the two archways they had yet to try. The others hurried to keep up, and as they ran through the silent passageways, Will sketched as quickly as he could. More levers appeared, and Will racked his brain to find a pattern.
Should he assign a number or letter value to the levers? Did they form a word, a symbol?
A terrible thought: what if the levers were a distraction? Nothing but a cruel twist? What if the exit was another illusory wall, or a secret door they had passed without noticing?
“Remind me what we know of the sorcerer king,” Will said as they ran. His fingers and toes had numbed, and breathing had become a chore. They had all slowed to a trot to conserve what strength they had left.
“The Calakmul Empire reached its height under Yiknoom Uk’ab K’ahk,” Mala said. “He was known to be absolutely ruthless in battle, a legendary commander as well as the most powerful sorcerer of his era. His enemies called him the Crocodile of Calakmul. A vain man, he preferred the titles his constituents bestowed: Emperor of the Stars, Bull of the Heavens, Supreme Ruler, Lord of All Suns. He loved gems and coin and arcane items, and he sent his mercenaries across Urfe on missions of plunder. Some say there has never been a treasure amassed such as his, not before or since.”
“Did he
have a special number or word?” Will asked. “A favorite child, pet, staff?”
“I’ve no idea,” Mala said. “Gunnar?”
The big man coughed. “He had hundreds of concubines, and thousands of children. He respected the Egyptian and Babylonian wizard-kings, saw them as gods among men like himself, but . . .” He gave a helpless shrug.
“What about the number of pyramids he built?” Will asked, growing desperate. “Cities he conquered, battles he won? Anything.”
Gunnar looked down.
Will’s hand shook as they rounded a corner and found a final lever, completing the map. The toxin had started to affect his nervous system, blurring his vision and making him dizzy.
The central staircase was just around the corner, through the eighth archway. As they returned to the starting point, Will took a deep, shuddering breath and laid the map on the stone floor. The others crowded around.
“So many levers,” Selina said. “We’ll never reach them all in time.”
She was right, Will knew. He wanted to kick himself for not pulling the levers from the beginning, just in case, but they had worried about pulling the wrong one, and had not anticipated the acid smoke.
Mala was on her hands and knees, probing the bottom of the staircase. Gunnar struck portions of the black marble wall with his gloved fist, over and over, to no effect. Selina paced back and forth, deep in concentration, searching for a trail of magic.
Will stared at the map so hard his eyes hurt. He knew in his gut the answer was in the seemingly random placement of the levers.
Think, Will. Where are you? What is this place? Who built it?
He glanced at the walls and silver light infusing the chamber, thought about the odorless air, the levers, and the various titles attached to the sorcerer king. Supreme Ruler. Emperor of the Stars.
He looked again at the black marble walls and ceiling, then down at the map. The dots represented levers with star-shaped handles.
Stars sprinkled among a web of black passageways, lit by a silver glow. His skin tingled with knowledge.
The entire level was a representation of the night sky, the heavens above.