by Ron Root
The height and width of the tunnel never seemed to vary. The one big exception was when they stumbled upon a bunch of strange-looking columns. Some appeared to have dripped from the ceiling, only to freeze in place. Others grew up from the floor, often joining with the ones coming down from the ceiling. Water pooled at its base. It seemed void of life which, given the tracks he’d seen the night before, was a blessing. Gresham wondered if that would be true of the rest of the tunnel. He touched his sword, taking solace from its presence.
Hagley insisted they trade globe duties again, far sooner than Gresham expected. If they drained themselves of the aethers they’d find themselves deep within the bowels of this mountain, unable to see. He shuddered at the thought.
Tunnel branches were appearing more and more often now. They kept to their rule, always bearing right. At one point they encountered a large cavern with a cone at its center that was five times a man’s height. Its ceiling had caved in creating a hole, casting sunlight on its walls. Hagley went there and plopped down, basking in the sunlight. His weary companions joined him.
They’d rested only briefly when Rayna said, “I almost died yesterday. If I had, my life’s story would have ended with no one really knowing who I am.”
“That’s likely true of all of us,” Gresham countered.
She sat up straight. “Let’s not let that happen. Let’s each share something about ourselves the others don’t know, so none of our stories remains a secret.”
“I ain’t got nothing to tell,” Sully lamented. “I ain’t been nowhere, and don’t do nothin’ but help Keep at the Dragon. He says I’m his waif.”
Rayna flashed one of her smiles. “Then tell us what you want to do.”
Sully cocked his head to one side, thinking. “I’d like to make magic like Hagley does!” He looked at Gresham, “Like he taught Gresham to do.”
“You need to be born with the Gift in order to do that,” Hagley cautioned.
Sully gave him a petulant look. “Maybe nobody ain’t discovered my Gift yet.”
“I’m sure that’s it,” Rayna consoled. “Now come over and sit by me.” She draped her arm around him and cuddled him closer. “What about you, Soldier Boy? You showed us you can do magic; what other secrets haven’t you shared?”
He shrugged. “I’m just a lowborn orphan who’s been lucky enough to be schooled by an orphanage and trained as a soldier.”
“So you say,” Rayna pressed, “but if that’s true, why is it everything about you reeks of someone born high?”
“I agree,” Hagley offered. “If you’re an orphan, why are you so sure you’re lowborn? What do you know of your family?”
“I spent my whole life thinking I had none, then recently, out of nowhere, an uncle—my mother’s brother—paid me a surprise visit.”
Rayna pressed, “What is his family like? Where do they live?”
Gresham squirmed. “I only met him that one time, and we spoke only briefly. Prior Rigby introduced him as Jarek Verity.”
“Jarek Verity!” Hagley squawked, sitting up straight. “Gods Gresham, he’s a Royal Magus, a member of King Aldridge’s Court!”
Rayna shook her head. “You have royal kin and you call yourself lowborn?”
“One can hardly claim someone kin you’ve been with for less than an hour.”
Rayna sat shaking her head. “It had to be.”
Gresham had no idea what she meant. He looked at Hagley, “What of you, what don’t we know about you?” he asked, anxious to shift the conversation elsewhere.
“Yes,” Rayna asked, “what do magic men do anyway? How long have you been a magus?”
Hagley’s face fell. “I’m not a magus, Lady, but I still hope to someday become one.”
“So, tell us about the magi,” Rayna pressed. “I know nothing of the gifted,” she said, glancing toward Gresham.
He shrugged. “Mostly they spend their days refining their maistry. Some teach, but most hire themselves out. Selling their wares is how magi earn their keep. I’ve been studying the arts since my fourteenth year after a travelling magus, sharing an evening at my father’s caravan, discovered my Gift. He seemed most impressed when I managed a light spell on my first try. He got most excited when I was able to cast other rudimentals too.” He shrugged. “Apparently, it’s rare to be able to do that.
“Amazed by my range of spells, and knowing how traders love profits, the magus convinced my father of the advantages of having a sorcerer at his side. He urged my father to enroll me in an arts university. My father is a rich and powerful merchant. Tight with his coin, I was amazed that the magus was able to convince him I was a good investment. A month later I was enrolled at our arts university. It’s the best of its kind and quite costly.” The sparkle in his eyes faded. “After three years of training, my magic still fails when I most need it. I failed my robe trials—twice. The only reason I haven’t returned to the mainland is my dread of seeing the look in my father’s eyes when he learns his son is a failure, or worse, a bad investment.”
“Failure! How can you call yourself a failure?” Rayna challenged. “Yesterday you saved us from that beast. The day before you helped us escape wharf pirates by making them dance. How is that failure?”
“Rayna’s right,” Gresham said, “When have you been needed more? We’d all be dead if it weren’t for you.”
“I guess that’s true,” Hagley said, his eyes sparkling. “Perhaps I should amend my remark. I was a failure until I met the likes of you three. I don’t know how or why, but my success is due to the lot of you. Whatever it is you’ve done for me, I thank you.”
Sully patted Hagley’s arm. “You be with friends is all.”
“What about you, Rayna,” Gresham said, “tell us what it’s like to be raised a highborn.”
“I’m told my father is some noble, yet as hard as this is to believe, I’ve never met either of my parents—at least not that I can remember.” She shared how she was moved from school to school every year, escorted by this man named Robard. She recounted her meeting with the friar. “All I know of my ‘highborn’ parents is what he told me. I’m more imposter than high lady.”
“What of this mysterious father of yours; what did the friar tell you of him?”
“Only that he’s some High Lord in St. Pyre—one too ashamed of his daughter to openly claim her.”
“A Lord! You can’t get much higher born than that,” Gresham argued.
“I agree,” Hagley said. “Lady, your claim of imposter is without merit. You are a lady through and through. You speak like one. You dress like one, and carry yourself like one. Why, in Portsmouth, even dressed in rags, those lowly pirates knew you were a person of degree.”
“Lady, you be a princess,” Sully said. “And everyone knows they be highborn.”
“You embarrass me,” she said, her face burning red. She stood. “Thank you all for sharing your stories. I feel I know each of you better now.” She was looking at Gresham when she said it.
They resumed their journey. Ceiling holes became more frequent, letting in so much light they no longer had to rely on globes. Despite the frequent openings, all were too high to provide an escape from the tunnels… until Sully’s shout. “Look! There be a way out!”
Unlike the cave opening on the marsh side, this one offered no easy egress. They had to clamber up the debris formed when the opening collapsed. They wound up high on a bluff with a breathtaking view of the ocean. Even this high up, Gresham could smell the sea.
The sun was setting. Orange hues glistened off the water for as far as the eye could see. Even though they were far above the water, the climb down to the beach didn’t look difficult. Still, fearing more beastly encounters, they spent the night camped on the ledge.
A morning breeze woke Gresham. The sun was up, and the others were stirring. Gone was the gloomy fog of the marsh. Even though the trail to the beach was still in shadows, they all rushed down to cape
r in surf and sand.
Discarding their boots, they waded through the tide pools looking for shellfish. Sully trapped and killed a fish at the expense of his cutlass edge. Others found mussels and oysters. They gathered driftwood, cooked and ate, savoring their bounty, fresh air, and blue skies overhead.
They set off down the beach hoping to find some sort of landmark that would help them gain their bearings. Their path was mostly hard sand with only an occasional rock to scale. The seaward side was far easier, far faster, and far safer than the marsh had been.
Late that afternoon the peninsula ended. Another land mass could be seen off in the distance, but they’d have needed their boat to cross over to it. “I guess it’s time to search of our key-man,” Gresham offered. He scanned the barren hillside. “Anyone see a cave?”
After a failed search, they pored over the map hoping to find a clue that might help locate the cave. Gresham scoured the bluff. “Maybe it’s in another tunnel like the one we were in. Let’s search up higher.”
Those efforts fared no better. Disheartened, they gathered to rest and discuss what to do next. Trying to free his mind, Gresham took in the scenery. The salt air was invigorating, and he loved the roar of the surf as it crashed against a stone archway a short way up the beach. Wave after wave collided with the arch, funneling its way beneath, disappearing in the waters beyond. Or was it water? He sat up, seeking a better view.
Rayna squinted. “What is it?”
“That archway, is that water behind it or… …a cave!” He jumped to his feet and ran down the beach, the others in hot pursuit.
The sand ended at the base of the archway. Gresham climbed up it. The top was narrow, with water to either side. Keeping low, he crawled to its center and peered beyond it. A surge of water rippled back toward the sea, exposing a sandy entrance to a large cave. “I found it!” he yelled, waving the others over.
The group watched as another wave come bursting through, inundating the cave’s entrance. The water roiled a bit, then retreated as the wave lost its force. “Now! Before the next wave.”
They plowed through the shallows, fighting the tug of the receding water, and made it into the cave. Not far from them someone had fashioned a rock pathway that led into a giant cavern. They ran for it before another wave arrived.
It turned out to be another tunnel like the one they just travelled. Its rocks were worn smooth. Someone, or something, had walked this path many times. They headed inside.
It wasn’t long before Hagley was forced to cast another light globe. Whereas their earlier tunnels had run in long straight lines, after a brief climb, this one spiraled downward so steeply that Hagley and Gresham had to link arms to help Sully and Rayna climb down it. Their whorled pathway eventually leveled out, emptying into a cavern several times the height of the one they’d rested in that first night. Sunlight flooded its insides through a hole in its ceiling.
Sounds of rushing water lured them to its far side where they discovered an underground river. Cheering, they splashed water over their faces and drank their fill. They were refilling their water bags when Hagley suddenly stood, scanning the cave.
Rayna tensed. “What?”
“I sense something.”
“What do you mean by something? Something bad?”
“No, it’s more like… …something powerful.”
His answer did little to mollify Rayna. “Powerful like that marsh beast?”
“I don’t know,” Hagley said, perusing the area, “Let’s go see. Stay wary.”
Hagley led the way. They passed through another tunnel that emptied into an even larger cavern. “Gads!” Hagley yelled, jumping back.
Gresham slipped past him to see his cause for alarm. Standing immobile at the cave’s center was a giant man-like statue. “Is that what you sense?”
“Yes.”
Sully’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his face. “What does it be?”
“I know.” Rayna said, surprising everyone. They stared at her. “Well, I don’t know what it is exactly, but I bet that’s our key-man.” She held up her map. “See, he looks just like the drawing.”
They edged closer to it. Despite the power Hagley claimed it gave off, it remained motionless, regardless of how close they came. They circled it. It was as tall as two men.
Rayna pointed at its head. “Look at its forehead, do you see?”
Its forehead had a key-shaped depression. Rayna ransacked her pack and pulled out her mother’s key. “I believe I’m meant to insert this into its head.”
Everyone stared up at the statue. Gresham shrugged, “This is where the map said to come. This thing may hold the secret to reaching A’ryth. I agree, let’s try the key.”
The statue was so tall they’d need to stand shoulder on shoulder to reach its face. Gresham squatted, leaning against it. Hagley climbed to his shoulders. It took every bit of Gresham’s strength to stand upright. “All right Sully,” he grunted, “you climb to Hagley’s shoulders and place the key.”
Sully stepped into the Rayna’s cupped hands and she boosted him up to Gresham’s shoulders. He crawled up Hagley, stood on his shoulders, and walked his hands up the statue. Balancing with one hand, he fished Rayna’s key from his pocket and pressed it into the statue’s forehead.
Bright light burst from the statue, and its eyes glowed red. Sully screeched, nearly falling as he scampered down Hagley. All that motion was too much for Gresham. His legs gave out, and all three collapsed in a heap at the statue’s feet. Scrambling on hands and knees, they distanced themselves from whatever had come alive. They were still scrambling away when it spoke. “Do you ride, Seeker?” it asked in a deep, rumbling voice. Its skin was glowing blue.
Hagley spun around, wide-eyed. “It’s a golem!”
Gresham looked at him. “What in the gods’ names is a golem?”
“A statue animated by magic. No wonder I sensed such power. A’ryth’s magi must be highly skilled to create such a thing.”
Gresham stared at it. “So, what do we do now?”
“We answer it,” Rayna said. She looked up at the giant. “Yes, we ride—to A’ryth.”
A’ryth
Jarek shook Goodricke’s shoulder, waking him. Goodricke sat up, looking around. “Is Caitlyn out hunting food?”
“She’s gone. Judging from the amount of dew in her tracks, she left soon after we fell asleep.”
Goodricke frowned. “Why would she lead us out of the swamp only to desert us?”
He shrugged. “She seemed awfully protective of her homeland. The reading you took last night said the Nexus was close. Perhaps we were too close for her liking.”
“Should we try to follow her?”
“Trying to track a tracker would be folly. Best we seek A’ryth on our own.”
After a foraged meal a quick pack, they were ascending the mountain again. Goodricke led the way, his eyes always on their path, hopeful of finding Caitlyn’s trail. Jarek doubted he would. What concerned him were the incessant ups and downs, every dip followed by another. Sitting astride his capall had spoiled him. Now that he was afoot, the drudgery of a mountain trek became far more real.
The sun was high when they finally reached the summit. To his delight, the land flattened.
Goodricke squatted, examining the ground ahead, looking concerned. “This is a well-traveled path, milord. It may be a game trail, or perhaps some pathway Caitlyn’s people use,” He looked up at Jarek, “or we may be entering something’s feeding grounds.”
“Let me scan for signs of life.” He probed. “How strange. Behind us, all seems what I’d expect of the hinterlands—yet in front of us I find no sign of life whatsoever. But if there’s nothing in front of us, why the path? Something is amiss.” Were the arts in play? Was it Caitlyn’s Crone’s doing—or perhaps the mysterious creature Lavan had warned him about?
“Do we proceed, milord?”
“What choice have we?”
They trekked onward, albeit far more warily than when they had Caitlyn as their guide. Fortunately, they encountered nothing out of the ordinary—until they came upon some foothills. Long, straight and vertical, they filled the horizon, stretching as far as the eye could see. Save for an archway where their trail ended, it looked impassable.
“What do you make of it milord?”
“It’s too perfectly proportioned to be natural; it must be man-made. He probed again. “I find no life whatsoever.” He stared ahead. “My gut tells me those hills ahead are the reason why.”
Goodricke stared at it. “Dare we proceed?”
“It’s that or give up on Lavan—something neither of us is willing to do.”
Their footsteps echoed off its walls when they walked under the archway, into a tunnel, Jarek probing; Goodricke at his side him, hand on his sword. The tunnel was short, and they quickly found themselves at its other end, standing before a stream. Like the strange hills they’d just passed through, the river continued as far as they could see in either direction, its width never varying. Trees abounded on the opposite bank, and they could see where their path continued. What was lacking however, was a means for crossing the water.
Jarek probed, surprised to suddenly detect an abundance of life. Grabbing a stick, he stuck it into the water, testing the stream’s depth. “I can’t reach the bottom. A natural riverbank would taper off gradually. This one goes straight down. This is definitely magus-made.”
“How do we cross it?”
Jarek looked him, grinning. “Using a little trick I learned from Lavan.”
Goodricke looked uneasy. “Trick?”
“A feather spell.”
Goodricke looked uneasy. “I’m most uncomfortable around the arts, milord. Did Master Lavan not mention that?”
Jarek couldn’t help but laugh. “This from a magus’ manservant? Cheer up, I’ve seen it done before.” Then, with a twinkle in his eyes, added, “Once.”
He tossed his stick into the water and watched it race downstream. He looked up at Goodricke, a twinkle in his eyes, “I hope you’re a good swimmer.”