by Jeffrey Hall
You owe me more than one, and believe me I am keeping track. Debts are my specialty.
“What is this place?” he whispered. Everything was still so dark.
An old bulb garden beneath the temple.
Wish glared into the lone light and thought he could make out the snaking roots outside the hallway. Bulb gardens were things cultivated by older tribes who depended on the trees of the forest, tunnels made to help maintain the great growths and glean the resources that grew at the tips of their roots that lay buried deep underground. Wish could only name two that were still active around the city, but knew there were still others that lay forgotten or filled in as above ground farming became more favorable and less dangerous than dealing with the things that would seek the same root fruit as those who dug the tunnels. It was no wonder it felt so dank and dark.
“By the Flaw, how did you get in here?”
Moso turned to look at the light, but kept speaking. Getting into hard to reach places is also one of my specialties. You know that. Turns out there are holes in the roof of any root garden that are not well guarded. A hatchway buried beneath moss. I had to slit a throat to sneak in. He wiped one of his daggers on the ground.
“I’ll have to hear more of the story after.”
Right. After we get out of here.
“After we find the second box.”
Moso peered up at him.
“What? We’re already here, aren’t we? Besides, I’d like to pay them back for the treatment and for killing Boz.” He still felt the flower’s sting on his face. He could still see the jungle and his family burning. He could still see Boz lying dead in a pool of his own blood. All were pains he would not easily forget. Yet, even as he suggested it to Moso, his father’s words sounded in his head. Was he doing this just to get his hands on enough money to buy his freedom from his father?
They killed Boz? signed Moso.
“Must’ve been watching him, watching us. Knew I was coming to ask him some questions and decided to prevent me from doing so.”
That mean you didn’t get the third note translated?
“No, I still did. At least partially. There was another jungle-diver there. A Fangkind. He could speak Swallow.”
Moso raised his eyebrows. Are you cheating on me?
“Never,” whispered Wish, eyeing the nearby light. “Well?”
Moso laughed. Why the hell not. Let’s go find the second box. We’ve never risked our lives in the den of powerful botamancers before. Let’s give it a try. Two thousand lunars, right?
“Two thousand lunars,” said Wish. He surveyed the shadows. “First I need to find my gear.”
Right. Hopefully it’s not far. Moso handed Wish one of his daggers. Lose it and I’ll put the other one in your back.
“You’re too kind.” Wish took the small blade and flipped the handle in his palm. He wasn’t used to a weapon so light, but he’d manage.
Without another word they crept towards the light, Moso taking the lead like always in situations that required a quieter approach. Despite his knack for aggression, he also had a knack for sneaking up on people and things when absolutely necessary. And with the prospect of a group of expert botamancers wandering these unknown halls, Wish thought his sneakiness was worth the risk of him putting a blade in someone’s back. If they were going to fight, he’d rather be the first to attack than clumsily stumble into an enemy and have them shove a tree limb down their throats.
They found the light coming from a plump glow-blossom that hung from the top of an earthen doorway. There was no door in its frame. It led to a lit corridor covered with roots. Down each side more glow-blossoms grew from the tangled veins of exposed roots that grew out from the walls and ceiling like tentacles of a creature trying to emerge from an abyss of soil. At the tips of the roots there hung a variety of root bulbs that looked like skulls with their strange indentations and the way the light and darkness played over their skins. It made it look like there were a hundred men waiting in the shadowy tangles of the roots, waiting for someone to sneak by and spring their devious traps. It was an unpleasant prospect to think they’d have to navigate such a place, but they had no other choice. They needed the other box. They needed to find the location of the fourth one. Both lay within those menacing halls.
Moso went left.
“Why this way?” whispered Wish.
It’s not the way I came in. All there is that way is a bunch of gardens and uninteresting flowers. Though I did find someone’s pack to rifle through. He shook the pouch at this side. It jangled with moons.
They crept forward, trying to stay to the shadows, the trees’ moist roots brushing against their skin like prodding slugs.
They heard feet shuffling further down the hall. Moso slipped into the root dangles and Wish followed. Together they stood still, silent, blending into the walls as if they were just another assembly of roots. A shirtless human man walked past them, his head in a book, the brooch of the Limbs visibly latched onto his pants. Moso lifted his dagger. Wish put his hand on the monkey’s shoulder, halting him from doing anything stupid.
What? I want to see what he’s reading.
Wish shook his head and pointed down the hallway. They arrived at another doorway not long after. A similar glow-blossom hung from its frame, allowing a clear glimpse inside as they peered around the corner. A Kodo male busily pruned a warty plant, its stalk looking infected from the bulbous protrusions that rose from it. In his hand was Wish’s machete. The rest of his gear lay sprawled out along the wall, neatly arranged as if the Kodo in the room were taking inventory.
I’ll take him, flashed Moso.
Wish shook his head. “Keep him alive. He can show us where the other box is.”
Fine. Moso waited for the Kodo to kneel before the plant to reach a low-hanging branch and then hurried forward, his feet falling so softly that the lizard man never heard him coming. In one smooth motion he slashed the Kodo’s hand, causing him to drop Wish’s machete, and clambered up his shoulder, where he clamped the botamancer’s mouth shut before he could scream or whisper some order to any of the nearby plants. Wish was at the man’s side in seconds, putting Moso’s dagger to the Kodo’s throat.
“Not a word or else we’ll cut you.”
The botamancer’s golden eyes bulged. He nodded. Moso let go and went to watch the door.
“Where’s the box?” said Wish.
“How did you get out? You’ll never leave here—”
Wish pressed the dagger to his throat. “The machete at your feet was never meant to prune trees, but rather necks. I’d be happy to show you.”
The botamancer glanced at the machete, the one given to Wish long ago by a totemist he had done a dangerous job for. Its totem had saved his hide more times than he could count. He would be damned if he left it to the hands of a botamancer who used it for pruning.
Take his tail, let him know you’re serious.
Wish ignored his partner. “Now where are you keeping the other box?”
The Kodo swallowed, his black tongue flickering out of his mouth nervously. “It’s in Pasa’s quarters.”
“Where is that?”
“Further down the hall. Two rights. It’s the room with the yellow glow-blossom.”
“Show us.”
“You’ll never make it.”
“With your help we will.” Wish waved Moso over, and the Chassa took over the duty of putting the blade to the botamancer’s neck as Wish gathered his things. A few moments later he was reequipped. He flipped his dagger back to Moso.
You finally look a little more like yourself.
“I finally feel it.” He grabbed the Kodo by the back of his robe. “Remember, not a word.”
Wish took the botamancer’s robes in his hand and put his machete to his back. Moso led the way back into the main corridor. They tiptoed onward, the Kodo stumbling forward adequately enough to not slow their progress or cause attention. Wish thought he felt the lizard’s throat rumble,
as if he were trying to whisper under his breath, but a bit more pressure of his machete’s tip and the noise stopped.
Eventually the hallway ended and they were presented with an intersection. They peered around the corners and saw a pair of botamancers speaking down the corridor to the left. Not the direction they needed to go according to the Kodo, but there was still a chance they would see them as they hurried down to the right.
I could sneak up on them.
“There’s two of them,” reminded Wish.
That’s why I have two of these. Moso twirled his daggers.
“Don’t kill them,” pleaded the Kodo.
“Quiet.” Wish shook him, reminding the botamancer of the machete at his back. “Unless your plants can think of a better way, that’s our only option.”
“Let…let me speak to them.” The Kodo pointed to the roots.
Wish and Moso’s eyes met. If a root comes near us, then gut him.
“Go on,” whispered Wish.
The Kodo whispered in a strange, inaudible tongue that sounded like leaves rustling on wind. Further down the roots shivered awake, stretching out like silent fingers beside the talking botamancers. Slowly the roots closed together, creating a wall that blocked any view of their direction.
Perfect, now they’ll know something is up.
“But at least it bought us time. To the other box, hurry.” Wish shoved the Kodo forward, and they hurried down the right of the hallway just as they heard the two botamancers raise their voices in surprise. They reached the second intersection, took a right, and found the room with the yellow glow-blossom hanging in front of its doorway like a miniature version of the great fire.
Inside they found three other botamancers, two sitting around a table, a Tortallan with withered grey skin and a fat Gibbon whose throat bubble sagged like a tumor below his chin. A human woman with three rings piercing her right eyebrow stood over them, speaking. Wish knew her voice. It was the same one that had tortured him with the flowers.
“...The jungle-diver might be there already.”
“If he is then we’ll dispense of him. He was lucky to have escaped the experimenter’s laboratory.”
So Rive was still free? Perhaps he was already at the pond, looking for the box, one step ahead of the Limbs. That was good, so long as he was on their side as he had said.
At the center of the table Wish could see the tracing of the third box’s clue that he had foolishly grabbed while he was being pulled from Boz’s shop.
“Do not underestimate jungle-divers. They’re a resourceful bunch. Kahn learned that the hard way near the streaked ones’ camp.” She leaned over the table. “Send as many as we can spare to the pond. The rest must keep looking for Dathi.”
“Pasa, we’ve already looked everywhere,” said the Tortallan, slowly rubbing his head.
“Keep looking. The other jungle-diver knows more—I am sure of it. A little more time with the bouquet and we’ll have some answers.”
Wish gritted his teeth. He hated how casually she talked about his torture, as if it was something she practiced on a daily basis.
Moso tapped his hip, gained his attention, and pointed to the corner of the room where the second box, the one he had found beneath the Crone Stones, sat upon a raised altar like a holy item.
Wish eyed the thing, taking his attention from the Kodo only for a moment. It was all the botamancer needed. He shot forward, his robe slipping from Wish’s fingers. “Pasa! They’re here!”
Before he stumbled any further into the room, a dagger was in the back of his scaly head. He dropped on the floor in front of the three botamancers, and before the other two could rise from their seats Moso was atop the man’s back, retrieving his dagger. Wish rushed in behind him.
Pasa’s eyes widened. “You.”
The box, said Moso as he hopped atop the table and put his daggers to the necks of the Gibbon and the Tortallan, his arms outstretched, while the woman named Pasa just stared coolly down at the Chassa.
Wish stepped over the Kodo’s body to grab the box, but a root shot down before him like a spike. Moso and Wish stared in awe.
“How did you think this was going to end, Wish?” said Pasa. “It is clear to me that thinking things through is not one of your strengths.” She whispered and another root shot down behind him. “Do you think you can just walk into a den of vipers and not get bit?”
Moso turned his daggers to the woman, but had to leap out of the way as a root slammed down in the middle of the table, impaling the wood straight through. Moso landed on his feet and threw his dagger at Pasa’s head, but the Tortallan spoke and a fruit fell from one of the roots to intercept the blade, sending it careening into the corner.
Panic flashed on Moso’s face. Grab the damn box.
Wish obliged, severing the root in front of him with his machete. He grabbed the box, but not before another root came out of the side of the wall and grazed his cheek with its pointy, rough edge. He rolled away, box in hand. When he came to his feet two other roots were already coming for him. He cut them down, slashing the tips of the roots so that they were nothing more than blunt battering rams. He ducked one, but the other slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling into the center of the room. He looked up and realized he was at the Gibbon’s feet.
The Gibbon pulled a knife and tried to plant it in Wish’s head, but Wish shifted and the dagger’s point stuck harmlessly in the ground. Wish brought his machete up and cut the man’s leg at the ankle, his totem flaring to sever his foot clean off. The Gibbon fell back, howling in agony. Wish barely had time to stand to his feet before another root emerged from the ceiling. Wish ducked, bringing the box over his head. The root hit the box, splintering upon impact against its hard, cured wood.
Somewhere above the Gibbon’s howling, Pasa’s whispering, and the roots bursting through the walls, Wish heard Moso screaming. He scanned the room and saw his partner atop the Tortallan, riding the turtle’s shell as he tumbled into the walls in an attempt to shake Moso. But Moso would not let go. He had wedged one of his daggers into the creature’s back, using it as a way to steady himself as they chaotically walked around the room. But as he watched the two dance their violent dance, he could not see Pasa. He followed her whispering, and saw her at the doorway they had come in from. She stood there, muttering such a terrible language that it sounded like the forest burning and popping in Wish’s dream.
Just as Wish was about to charge, a crowd of roots snapped in front of her. They broke over the side of the doorframe, flinging themselves inward like the pocket of a sling just shot. Wish had just enough time to realize what was happening before dozens of root fruits shot across the room.
“Moso!” he shouted as he dove behind one half of the fractured table. The root fruits ricocheted off the table in deafening cracks, sending splinters into the air as they connected. Beside him, Moso had taken cover behind the Tortallan’s giant shell as the turtle retracted its limbs and head in preparation for the shower of root fruits. Together they cowered as the fruits crashed and the debris they kicked up fell all around them.
Across the room Moso tried to sign something to him with his tail, but a fruit cut the air inches from where it flickered, causing him to retract it instantly. Instead, he pointed to the ceiling. Wish looked.
Small holes had appeared above where the stretched roots now dangled, windows to the outside world opened from the shifting soil as the botamancers called in their army to attack.
Moso pointed to Wish’s machete and waved it over. Wish didn’t ask questions. He tossed his weapon. Moso grabbed it, sprung up from the protection of the Tortallan’s shell, hopped onto his back, and jumped onto one of the dangling roots as Pasa continued to fire more fruits all around him. He stuck the blade into one of the openings and slashed. The totem flared, and a gout of soil and root sprayed onto the floor like innards as if he had just gutted a thrig. The natural light of the three moons poured into the room. An opening the size of a keg glared a
t them from the ceiling.
Moso had just enough time to smile before a fruit connected with his back and sent him crumpling to the ground in a hard thud. Wish watched his partner’s limp body slide into the center of the room in horror.
Wish called out in anger, lifted the half of the table, and tossed it at Pasa. The botamancer ducked, but it gave him a minor reprieve against the fruit storm. He grabbed Moso and leapt onto the Tortallan’s back just as the turtle’s head reemerged. He tossed the box out of the hole, and with his partner still firmly in his grasp, he jumped to the nearest root, which he climbed out of the root garden and into fresh air.
Pasa screamed below, her rage chasing him out of the hole as he scrambled to his feet and grabbed the box. He barely had time to take in his surroundings before he started running. They were in a grove of some sort, with well-kept rows of trees lining either side of him. He could see the twinkle of nearby buildings alive with torchlight and glow-blossoms. To the other side, the Temple of Notha rose high above, imposing and impenetrable.
But just as soon as he took notice of where he was the ground started to shake and cave in beneath him. He glanced below. The grass and bushes that surrounded him were folding in on themselves. The roots of the trees were curling inwards, taking great swaths of soil as they did, like the webbed claws of some subterranean monster.
Pasa was ordering the trees to crumble the entire underground bulb garden in hopes of taking them down too. Yards away the grove ended in favor of a cobbled streetway. He was sure if they could make it they would be safe. He sprinted and screamed, hoping the shout would release some hidden surge of energy, but between his injuries, exhaustion, and the weight of his partner and the box, he wouldn’t be able to outrun the violent swings of the trees as they tumbled nor how quickly the ground gave way behind him. They would be crushed or brought back into the grasp of the botamancers and their terrible magic.
“Wish!”
Someone shouted his name. He looked to either side, half expecting Moso to have miraculously found his tongue, but he was still unconscious or worse, and there was no one else.