by A. C. Cobble
The admiral nodded crisply and then turned back to the maps. “All right, then. I’ll take half the forces around to the warehouses and the pier. Ostrander, you’ll take the men through here and come up behind the warehouses. We’ll plan for a two-day overland journey, which means my forces will depart a day and a half after you. Let’s see… If you leave this afternoon, then midday two days from now, we’ll reunite here…”
Seeing Brach was merely repeating the path Oliver had already inked on the parchment, he let the admiral drone on. The pool, a prison designed to house the reavers, an inspiration for the natives to rebel, risking everything that they had. Something inside of there could be a clue. He worried what it would be.
Loosening the ties on his shirt, Oliver regretted bringing his coat. The attire was proper for a gentleman, but it was spirits-forsaken hot. Admiral Brach’s stifling formality had gotten to him, he admitted. When they’d parted, the man was dressed in a full suit, his powdered wig, and, Oliver suspected, a dusting of rogue across his cheeks, though it could have been that the man’s face had achieved a natural redness dressed like that in such a warm clime. Regardless, the admiral’s ostentatious decorum had been enough to guilt Oliver into donning his own coat.
“Is it always this hot in Imbon?” complained Mister Samuels.
Oliver glanced at the sailor and acknowledged, “Hotter, usually. It’s the humidity. Makes it feel warmer than it is. The same reason Enhover feels so cold in the winter, actually.”
The man grunted and adjusted a pile of empty sacks on his back. He was serving as their porter on the expedition. Sam was there for her knowledge of the supernatural and Captain Ainsley because she relished any opportunity to strap on her pistols.
Folding a small map he’d sketched to take with them, Oliver pointed uphill. “Just four hundred yards farther. We can’t see it because of the canopy, but I’m fairly confident that’s where we’ll find the pool.”
“Why couldn’t we see it when we flew over, then?” muttered Mister Samuels.
“They drained the pool when they were looking for the star-iron and found the tomb,” explained Oliver. “That was months ago. In the tropics, that’s plenty of time for vegetation to grow over any open ground. Besides, we needed to approach on foot and do a bit of scouting to ensure the area is clear of natives before we go barging in.”
“Lead on, then,” suggested Sam, her fingers nervously tracing the hilts of her kris daggers.
Oliver nodded and glanced over the party’s kit one last time. He frowned. “Samuels, why are you not wearing shoes?”
“Frozen hell!” barked Ainsley, turning on her crewman.
“Lost ‘em,” muttered the sailor, looking down at his feet.
Ainsley rubbed her hands over her eyes, cursing beneath her breath.
“Watch out for snakes, then,” advised Oliver, turning and leading the party into the thick foliage that surrounded the clearing they’d dropped into. “Underneath the ferns, there are small green ones. They blend into the leaves of the jungle. Small teeth, but if the fangs break your skin, you’ve got two, maybe three turns of the clock before you succumb.”
“Succumb to what?” asked Samuels, falling into the rear of the line.
Oliver, slashing through fronds and branches with a cutlass he’d borrowed from the Cloud Serpent, called back over his shoulder, “You should have worn shoes, sailor.”
Hacking and grunting as he carved a tunnel through the jungle, Oliver realized four hundred yards was going to be a very long way in such thick vegetation. Cursing as invisible insects feasted on the bare skin of his neck, he sped up, sharing his rage at the small bugs with the plant life in front of him.
For a turn of the clock, he chopped and slashed their way through the jungle. Sam was right behind him, Ainsley behind her, and Mister Samuels brought up the rear. The sailor regularly asked if anyone had seen any snakes, and the rest of them regularly offered vile curses and muttered complaints as they forced their way ahead. Finally, arms aching, Oliver burst through the wall of vegetation and stumbled into the clear.
In front of him, a slope led down into a giant, grass-covered bowl. Trees towered around the rim of the bowl, obscuring it from above. Waist-high fronds of jungle plants were already rising near the bottom of the drained pool, but for now, it was mostly covered in calf-high grasses. It wouldn’t be long before the entire spot was overgrown, and by then, it would be nearly impossible to find again.
“Down there,” said Sam.
Oliver nodded. At the bottom of the bowl was a two-yard-wide black hole that led into the earth. Beside it was a dark metal disc that was already half-obscured by plant growth.
“That’s what I felt when I swam down,” he said, pointing at the big metal disk gleaming smoothly in the bright sun.
Without further comment, he walked and slid down the steep, muddy slope. At the bottom, he crouched beside the cap to the hole and ran his hands over it.
“It’s not star-iron, but what is this? It’s not iron or steel, I don’t think. You know, I’m not even sure if this is metal. Could it be fired clay?”
Ainsley put a boot on the disk and tried to move it, but she couldn’t budge the heavy object. “Capped with this and then flooded? They didn’t want anyone finding what was down here.”
Oliver nodded, looking up the slope where the royal marines and Company men had left a large, manual pump. A thick canvass tube lay like a dead serpent, stretched to the bottom of the pool where they’d pumped out the water.
A huge effort by scores of men applying technology that, as far as he knew, the natives did not have. When they’d built whatever tomb was down below, dug out the huge pool above it, and dammed it so it filled with water, they’d never intended this site to be located. They’d marked the location instead of hiding the artifacts in the jungle, but he didn’t think anyone was ever meant to go inside. The only giveaway had been the false totems they’d scattered around the edge. Oliver guessed that would be more than sufficient to keep any locals from diving into the pool. It was pure chance he’d happened by the site, ignored the warnings they’d set, and taken the initiative to dive down to the bottom. Outside of his unique circumstances, he doubted anyone else would have had the wherewithal to locate the tomb and also have the resources to open it.
“Shall we?” asked Sam.
“That’s what we’re here for,” said Oliver. “You’ll lead from here?”
Sam nodded, shook a vial of fae light that was hanging around her neck, and then peeked into the gaping, black hole. She climbed inside and descended a ladder Oliver suspected had been left there by the marines and the Company men.
He wakened his own fae and followed her down.
The Priestess VI
She carefully scaled down the rickety ladder, turning her body so the light of the fae shone on the small circular chamber and the opening that led to a narrow tunnel. Ten yards down, she made it to the floor and moved out of the way for Duke, Ainsley, and Samuels to come behind her.
Looking into the tunnel, she saw it was formed of black volcanic rock and led into the mountain. Her light didn’t reach the end of the passageway, but she saw nothing menacing. It was warm, like the rocks had absorbed the brilliant heat of the sun and contained it deep underground. A thick scent of recently rotten eggs accompanied gusts of hot, heavy air, as if the mountain itself was breathing in and out.
When the rest of the party was on the floor, she crept down the tunnel, one hand on a dagger, the other on the glowing vial of fae light around her neck. With each step, the temperature rose. It was unpleasant, and when she let her hand brush against the rock wall, it was like touching the side of a mug of freshly poured tea. Not a dangerous heat, but within moments, sweat was pouring down her face. She walked fifty paces until the tunnel opened into a chamber the size of the Cloud Serpent’s hold.
“It is a tomb,” she muttered, stepping cautiously into the room.
The walls rose in a dome far above her he
ad. They were lined with empty shelves that she imagined recently held the uvaan and the dark clay tablets the Company had recovered. In the center of the room was a large sarcophagus carved with the likeness of a man. The heavy stone lid of the container was opened but still resting atop the sarcophagus.
Duke walked past her and held his light so it shone inside.
“Bones,” he muttered. “Bones wrapped in cloth. It looks just like the reaver we fought in Southundon.”
There was a pause, as if they were all waiting for it to move, but it did not.
Sam joined him and peered inside. He was right. Except for the missing malevolent purple glow in its eyes, it looked nearly identical to the one they’d battled in the Church’s library. “Not invested with a spirit, maybe?”
“What are we looking for in here?” questioned Samuels, walking a circuit around the chamber and glancing at the empty shelves. “The marines cleaned this place out, it looks like. Nothing but dust and bones. And this thing.”
Sam looked at what the sailor was referring to and saw a huge stone carving above his head. A serpent, eating its tail, circled the room above the shelves.
“An ouroboros,” she said. “Curious.”
“Ey, and look at this,” said Ainsley, scratching the toe of her boot along the dusty floor. “These seams look rather regular, given how natural the rest of the cave is. They dig this out and then lay blocks in the floor? Makes no sense.”
Sam knelt near Ainsley, feeling a perfectly straight line. She told the rest of the group, “Help dust this off. Let’s see what it looks like.”
Moments later, they were standing atop the sarcophagus, which seemed a bit morbid, but it was the best point of view to study what they’d uncovered on the floor.
“Are those letters?” wondered Duke.
“Horuca,” answered Sam, a tingle running down her spine. “It’s Darklands tongue. A traditional beginning to an incantation. A prayer to the spirits, of sorts, for success in an endeavor.”
“The lines are filled with ash,” remarked Ainsley. She hoped down and wet a finger, which she touched to the dust on the floor. She sniffed it. “Not gunpowder, but it ain’t rock dust, either. Did the marines that cleared this place out mention a fire?”
Sam glanced at Duke, but he could only shake his head. He said, “We didn’t get much of a chance to talk to them, remember? Giles and the rest of the bunch who found this place all fell when the compound was overrun. It was women and children we rescued, and none of them were in the party that came up here.”
Ainsley rubbed the dust between her fingers and then brushed it off.
Getting an uncomfortable feeling, Sam shifted her feet, glancing between her boots at the face on the lid of the sarcophagus. “Duke, does this face look Imbonese to you?”
He jumped down onto the floor beside the captain and peered at the face between Sam’s boots.
“Could be,” he mused, running his hand over his hair. “Looks more Southlands, though.” He leaned closer and brushed a finger across the stone. “These pocks, here, see? It reminds me of the ceremonial scarring you see on the faces of the Darklanders. I was never able to figure out what the scarring meant, but Company men who’d been on the continent longer than I think it signifies rank.”
“What would those marks mean, then?” questioned Sam, tilting her head to look at the face.
“Nothing, except whoever’s face this is, they were probably from the Darklands,” replied Duke. “The Imbonese have a similar look, but their cheek bones aren’t quite as distinct, and they’re darker… Spirits.”
Sam crouched down, straddling the stone face, a tremor of suspicion running down her spine. “The scholar who was studying the uvaan in the Church’s library believed the text on the tablets could have originated in the Darklands. The people of Imbon came from somewhere. This face, the language on those tablets…”
“It fits together, doesn’t it?” muttered Duke. “It’s not just their sorcery they got from that forbidden land. They themselves…”
“What are you two talking about?” questioned Mister Samuels.
“They were trying to steal an airship you thought, right?” mused Ainsley, ignoring the crewman. “Why? That’s the question that will solve this mystery. Airship travel is quite easy, but there are seaworthy ships in the harbor that could make the journey. Hells, that’s the only way anyone has made the journey, right? No one has visited that place in twenty years. Why would the natives need an airship to do it now?”
“You’re right,” agreed Sam. “Why an airship?”
“I don’t think the answer is in this room,” muttered Oliver.
Sam eyed him. She knew what he was thinking. The answer wasn’t here, but was it there? Imbon was halfway to the Darklands. He’d promised his father he would not go, but if the uvaan came from there, then it was a choice between finding the source of the mystery or ignoring it. Ignoring the mystery and his mother. Sam grimaced and clambered down off the lid of the sarcophagus.
“Spirits forsake it, it’s hot in here, ain’t it?” complained Mister Samuels.
“Imbon is volcanic,” said Duke. “There’s been no active lava flow since the Company’s arrival, but it stands to reason there could still be hot spots beneath the ground. We’re, what, fifty yards below the surface? That’s deep enough we could be close to a hidden flow.”
“Shouldn’t that have heated the pool the first time we were here?” questioned Sam. “If I recall, it was quite cool. That’s why you jumped in, right?”
Duke frowned but did not reply. Evidently, he had no answer to that.
Mister Samuels walked across the figure carved into the sarcophagus, moving edge to edge while looking up at the ouroboros that circled the room above them.
“Get down from there,” instructed Ainsley. “There’s a person inside of that box, sailor.”
Samuels scowled at her. “You was up here too.”
“Get down,” repeated Ainsley.
Samuels walked to the corner and made to jump down, but the heavy stone lid shifted under his feet, toppling off the box and crashing to the floor, the sailor coming down hard on it and rolling away.
“Hells, man!” cried Ainsley.
“I’m all right,” grumbled Samuels, sitting up and clutching his elbow. “I think.”
Sam walked around the burial box to check on Samuels but stopped. The sarcophagus lid had flipped over when it had fallen, and the underside of it was filled with an intricate mechanism. Gears and wires were covered in dust, gleaming where they’d recently moved.
“What is this?” mumbled Duke, crouching beside the lid to look at it.
“I have no idea,” replied Sam. She pointed to one of the gears. “Look, it’s moved recently. Do you think…”
“A trap,” said Ainsley. The captain was standing beside the sarcophagus and holding up a wire cord that had been snapped. “When that lid was first moved, it musta pulled on this and triggered, ah… something.”
“Triggered what?” questioned Duke.
“Spirits, it’s hot,” grumbled Samuels, stepping onto the edge of the lid and keeping his dirty toes away from the mechanism. “I swear that floor is getting warmer the longer we’re in here. It’s burning up my poor feet.”
Captain Ainsley’s fists clenched convulsively, as if she meant to strangle the sailor, but Sam put a hand on her shoulder.
“There’s been no volcanic activity since Enhover discovered this island, but now, the mountain is active,” she said. “That activity coincides with the breaching of this tomb, does it not? The tomb is opened. The volcano is active. The lizards appear, and the Imbonese try to steal an airship.”
“It’s all related,” acknowledged Duke. “Is it… is it possible that little cord could have triggered the activity in the mountain?”
“You’re the cartographer,” said Sam.
He shook his head. “A cartographer, not a geologist. A spiritual trap, maybe?”
Sam shrugge
d. “The uvaan were a higher form of sorcery than I’m familiar with, and of course we don’t even know what those lizards are. Could they have bound a spirit to the mountain, somehow? It is possible, I suppose. If spirits can live within the stones that float our airships, then why not within this island?”
“It still doesn’t explain why they’d need an airship,” reminded Ainsley. “If they were worried about the volcano alone, escape on the sea would still be an option.”
“Long ago, someone fled the Darklands with the uvaan,” said Sam, pursing her lips in thought. “They buried them here and sealed the tomb. They might have set a trap and then settled down on this island for generations, but why?”
“The natives used sorcery similar to what Isisandra and Raffles used to take over the footmen in Philip’s palace,” added Duke. “They used it on Governor Towerson. That symbol on the back of the footmen’s necks, it’s what tipped me off that something was amiss here.”
Sam nodded grimly. “It’s all connected, but spirits forsake it, I can’t see how.”
“I don’t know what we’re talking about,” grumbled Mister Samuels, glaring at the stone of the floor. “I just know I can’t stand it in here much longer. The soles of my feet are going to be cooked through.”
“Why’d they come here? Why’d they want an airship?” growled Duke, slapping the back of his hand into the other.
“Is that thunder?” asked Samuels.
Sam glared at him and then blinked. It was thunder, though the sky had been bright blue when they’d entered the tomb.
“Cannon fire!” exclaimed Duke. He looked around the tomb and then to her. “They must have found where everyone was running. Sam, is there anything else we can learn from here?”
“This place isn’t going away,” she said, shaking her head. “Whoever is in that sarcophagus hasn’t moved in centuries. Right now, I’m more interested in speaking to someone alive, someone who may have answers. Do you think it’s possible we could capture a native and question them?”
Duke shrugged. “We can try.”
