The Bones of Makaidos

by Bryan Davis

  Bonnie joined Sapphira on her knees. The cracks, indeed, had widened since the first time she had noticed them, now a few millimeters across in some places. The light from Sapphira’s hands plunged deeply into the fissures, like sunshine in a narrow canyon.

  “So our plan,” Sapphira continued, “is to break through the floor and cover the hole. I should be able to heat the rocks enough to loosen them, but we’ll need something heavy to punch through. One of us could look for a shovel or a pick on the mining level, but they might be too brittle to use by now.”

  “Let’s get the rope from the elevator shaft,” Rebekah said, “and tie it to an anchor. Once you get it heated up, one of us could jump on the spot while hanging on to the rope.”

  Sapphira raised a finger. “One item I forgot to mention. The cavity leads straight to the magma river. If you can’t hang on to the rope, you’re done for.”

  “Then can you just heat it up slowly?” Bonnie asked. “To test how weak it gets?”

  “I suppose so. If it starts collapsing, I can probably get away in time.”

  Bonnie stripped off her backpack, releasing her wings. “I’ll hold on to you just in case.”

  Pressing a palm on the floor, Sapphira took in a deep breath. “Stand clear.”

  As Rebekah and Dallas backed away, Bonnie stayed close and clutched Sapphira’s shirt. The Oracle’s hand suddenly blazed. As fire shot out from under her palm, redness crawled along the floor, as if blood were seeping from wounds in Sapphira’s hand.

  Soon, the heated area spread out in a three-foot-wide circle, orange at the perimeter and red changing to white closer to her hands. When the widening arc reached Sapphira’s denim-covered knees, she scooted back to avoid the superheated stone.

  A cracking noise blended in with a chorus of hisses and sizzles, sounding like a bonfire fueled by green wood. Sapphira lifted her hand and slid back farther. “I think it’s pretty weak now.”

  Rebekah pushed a flat rock with her foot and slid it past the perimeter of heated stone. “Try hitting it with this.”

  Still holding Sapphira, Bonnie pushed the rock over the hottest spot, then, unfurling her wings, she stepped on it, careful to keep most of her weight on her other foot. More cracks sounded, but the floor didn’t give way. How much pressure could she add? Of course she could jump back in time, even fly if she had to, but should she risk it? Probably not. It wasn’t worth it to—

  Suddenly, the entire tunnel shook. Unable to brace herself, Sapphira toppled forward and smacked her head against the floor. The weakened stone collapsed, swallowing Bonnie and Sapphira.

  As they slid into the hole, Bonnie lurched forward and wrapped her arms around Sapphira’s waist. Now falling freely in a cavernous chamber, she unfurled her wings and flapped, slowing their plunge.

  Shouts sounded from above. “Are you all right? Can you fly back up here?”

  Bonnie couldn’t answer. Not yet. Her wings billowing with warm, rising air, she had to orient herself and figure out which way was up. Flying in a slowly ascending circle, she found the hole above. Rebekah and Dallas crouched at the edge, looking down.

  “I’m all right,” Bonnie grunted.

  Gasping for breath, Sapphira managed, “I’m all right, too.”

  Rebekah reached down. “Can you get her up here? Dallas and I can catch her.”

  “I can’t hover,” Bonnie said. “But I’ll see what I can do. Get ready.”

  While Rebekah and Dallas looked down from the hole in the flat ceiling, Bonnie flew in a wider circle, dipped for a moment, and then zoomed up, flapping madly as she boosted Sapphira toward four outstretched hands.

  Rebekah latched on to the wrist of Sapphira’s good arm. Bonnie’s momentum drove her into the ceiling, smacking her head. Dazed, she fell again, but managed to twist her body back into flying position. Again riding the drafts, she looked up at the hole. While Rebekah pulled Sapphira’s arm, Dallas grabbed the back of Sapphira’s jeans and hoisted her the rest of the way.

  Rebekah reached down again. “You’re next.”

  Rubbing her head, Bonnie eased higher. Her wings brushed against the ceiling, and she passed just out of reach of Rebekah’s hands. As she circled again, Sapphira shouted from the hole. “You could land on the chasm floor next to the magma river and then hike to the overlook back where we met Gabriel. From there, flying up with the rising air shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “I’ll give it a try,” Bonnie said.

  Sapphira pointed. “When you get to the bottom, make sure you walk in that direction. It’ll be hot, but there should be room on the chasm floor to stay clear of the river.”

  “Got it.”

  Letting herself fall into a circling dive, she surveyed the chamber. At least twice as big as the springs room, the gap between the bare rock walls narrowed at the lower levels and converged into a fissure about six feet across.

  Bonnie aimed for the crack and pulled in her wings. She plunged through, tears streaming as hot dry air whipped across her face. Once she came out into the open, the gap widened again, revealing the chasm and channel she had seen from the precipice, though at a different point on the river.

  After orienting herself again, she flapped her wings and headed in the direction Sapphira had told her, flying well above the churning magma. She grimaced at the blistering heat. Why not just fly all the way to the ledge? It would be better than walking. No use getting too close to the river.

  The channel, now about fifty feet from one wall to the other, veered to the right, then back to the left, narrowing as it continued. Soon, Bonnie approached a place where the walls jutted out, creating a pinching point, too narrow to fly through, though near the ground it widened, providing plenty of space for walking.

  This had to be the reason Sapphira suggested going on foot. Maybe with her enhanced vision she had seen this tight passage from her vantage point on the ledge. If so, maybe the destination would soon be in sight.

  As she descended, Bonnie winced at the scalding heat. There was no way she could land without getting cooked.

  She angled back up and made a slow circle. When Sapphira walked down there, back when the river acted as a portal to another world, the floor level wasn’t as hot. In her hurry, she likely hadn’t thought about that.

  Bonnie looked up. The tight fissure she had dropped through loomed above, much too narrow for a return flight. Somehow she would have to build a lot of speed, shoot the channel’s gap with her wings folded, and catch an updraft before crashing into the river.

  After flying up to the narrow gap in the ceiling, she angled her body toward a spot in the fissure about halfway between the ceiling and the river. Then, half falling and half gliding, she zoomed toward it.

  Again searing heat stung her eyes and instantly dried the sweat dripping from her pores. The gap between the protruding walls drew closer and closer, apparently deeper from the fissure’s front entry to its rear exit than she had thought. When she pulled in her wings, would her momentum get her through before she dropped too far? Maybe, maybe not. But there seemed to be no other choice. She had to go for it or be stuck there flying in circles forever.

  Just before slicing through, she jerked in her wings, leaving them out enough to catch a little bit of updraft. Now plunging at a sharp angle, the tips of her wings scraped the side walls. The air grew hotter. The magma drew closer, singeing, scorching, blistering.

  As her lips cracked, Bonnie screamed, “Help me!”

  With one mighty flap, she shot through the fissure’s exit, then expanded her canopy. Beating her wings furiously, she fought the dive. Pain roared through her mainstays. Heat seared the membranes. She felt like she was on fire.

  After swooping within five feet of the river, she leveled out and began a slow climb, too slow to keep the heat from baking her skin. The magma boiled and popped below. A droplet splashed on her sleeve, instantly setting it on fire.

  Crying out, she flailed her arms and beat out the flame. Her wings now scraped and we
ary, and her body dehydrated and half-cooked, it was all she could do to ascend even a few feet. Soon, however, she rose above the danger point, out of reach of the bubbling soup. Now it was time to look for the ledges leading to the tunnels. Either side would do.

  Still flapping with all her might, Bonnie looked up. There, maybe a hundred feet ahead, both ledges jutted out into the chasm. She aimed for the one on her right, the ledge leading to the brick kiln room. It looked slightly lower and closer.

  She summoned a burst of energy, flapped her wings, and shot upward. The rising air buoyed her effort, but a swirling air current swept her to the side and slammed her against the wall.

  Fluttering her wings to stay in place, she clawed at the wall until she caught hold of a rocky lip. She pushed the toes of her shoes against the slick face, but they slipped, unable to find solid footing. Something hurt down there, something hot.

  Twisting her neck, she looked down. Her pant leg smoldered at the cuff, stinging her ankle. Would a blaze spring up? Hanging on with all her might, she slowed her wings, not wanting to fan the flame.

  She rubbed her sweaty face against her upper sleeve. Now what? Push off and try to fly again? That might work, but another slap against the wall could knock her out. Then she’d be nothing more than a quick flash of fire and a puff of smoke.

  She looked up. Fifty feet to climb with no other protrusions to grab. It was impossible.

  Licking her dry lips with a dry tongue, she set her feet against the wall and—

  “Bonnie! Catch this!”

  A rope fell across her shoulder. Grabbing it, she looked up again. Rebekah stood at the ledge holding the other end.

  “I’ve got you,” Rebekah shouted. “Use your wings to help.”

  Pressing her feet against the stone, Bonnie spread out her wings, flapped slowly against the rising air, and scrambled up the wall. When she crested the ledge, she fell forward to her knees and slapped her palms on the ground, panting.

  Rebekah patted her on the back. “You look like you had a rough ride.”

  “I did.” Bonnie flopped backwards to her seat and batted at her pant leg to snuff the sparks. “Let’s not try that again.”

  “We don’t have to. The hole you made is perfect. Sapphira’s working on covering it up.” She waved across the expanse and called, “I’ve got her, Dallas. We’ll meet up top.”

  Bonnie looked that way. Barely visible as she stood on the opposite ledge, Dallas waved in return and disappeared in the shadows.

  “So,” Rebekah said as she wound the rope into a coil, “it looks like you should visit Dr. Saunders.”

  “Probably.” Bonnie smacked her dry lips. “I need some water before we do anything.”

  Rebekah hoisted the rope coil over her shoulder, rings of perspiration dampening her shirt at the underarms and chest. “We’ll have to wait for Dallas to drop us a line. We brought the only ropes, so she and Sapphira will have to figure out how to fish it up to the top level first.”

  Heaving a sigh, Bonnie climbed to her feet. Her mouth and throat were so parched, she had to drink something soon. Her sweat had dried, and no more emerged in spite of the heat.

  When they entered the low tunnel, Rebekah picked up a dim lantern and led the way. Feeling dizzy now, Bonnie spoke, hoping to shake away the daze and forget about her terrible thirst. “Did you find out what made the tunnel shake?”

  Rebekah slowed to let her catch up. “No. We didn’t have anyone available to go up top to find out.”

  “So is Sapphira alone?”

  “Until Dallas gets back, yes. But I don’t think we have to worry about her. She should be registered as a lethal weapon.”

  Bonnie stayed quiet. Even with Rebekah’s reassurances, thinking about Sapphira up there alone felt awful. Getting shot made her seem so much more fragile, and her loss of blood had weakened her quite a bit.

  When they arrived at the kiln room, Rebekah headed straight for the other exit tunnel and stopped at its opening. “You look like you’re ready to drop.”

  Bonnie blew out a tired breath. “I can make it.”

  “Rest here for a while.” Rebekah pointed at a raised part of the floor. “Have a seat, and I’ll check on the elevator shaft and come back for you when Dallas drops the rope.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  Rebekah picked up a dark lantern next to the door, lit its wick using hers, and left it at Bonnie’s side.

  Lowering herself while stretching her pain-filled wings, Bonnie sat on the foot-high step and tried to swallow, but with her throat so dry, the motion felt like shoving down desert sand. Her head swam, as if an ocean’s surf ebbed and flowed from one side of her head to the other. If she didn’t get something to drink soon, she’d pass out for sure.

  She leaned over and rested her head on the step, bracing herself with her hand, her fingers overlapping the edge. As she gripped it, something moved underneath her fingertips. She peered under the ledge and looked at the face of the step. A loose section of stone had shifted, revealing a hollow space behind it.

  What could it be? With her vision blurred and swirling, everything seemed like part of a dream—hazy, out of reach, incomprehensible. It was probably broken by centuries of natural crumbling, but, even in her foggy vision, the dividing line between the movable stone and the surrounding fascia seemed distinct, not a random crack.

  Pushing in one side of the section, she opened it further. Something lay inside. A book? She reached in and withdrew a small volume, about the size of a diary, but another object lay in there as well. Reaching farther, she grasped a glass vial, small enough to enclose in her hand. A handwritten label wrapped around its middle, bearing an odd script.

  She peered into the bottle. Sealed with a corklike stopper, it seemed about a third full of liquid of some kind, transparent and more viscous than water.

  She tried to swallow once more. Just looking at liquid made her throat ache more than ever. Feeling dizzy again, she turned her attention to the book, hoping to distract herself. She opened the cover, feeling its supple leather and the rough twine that tied the pages together at its spine. It had to have been put there recently, certainly not millennia ago when Elam lived here. It would have rotted by now. Still, maybe Hades made things age differently. Who but Elam could have stored a book in a room that had been abandoned for so long?

  She studied the first page. It held more strange letters, yet they differed from those on the bottle. She thumbed through the pages and stopped at the last one. What was this? English words?

  Drawing the book closer, she read the text.

  I believe my time here is short, so short that I wonder if I will have opportunity to finish this entry and bind it with the others. And I wonder if it matters at all. If I make a hurried escape or am dragged to a death sentence, who will ever read this missive, this journal of tortured body and tortured thoughts? Only God knows.

  Because of my refusal to betray Mara, Morgan is losing her patience with me. I think she is likely to kill me, but she is a hard one to predict. Yet, no matter what tortures she brings to bear, no matter how much flesh she rips from my back, I will never, never betray my beloved Mara. She who brought food to my starving body, carried in the most precious of vessels, I could never betray, nor even entertain an unkind thought. Once a lump of coal, she is now a gem. The pressures of her slavish strife have fashioned a polished diamond—pure, strong, and of infinite value.

  Friend, I hope you are able to read my hastily scrawled letters. It is a strange occurrence that as I rub the juice of the fruit of the Tree of Life on its pages, hoping its properties will preserve it for whoever finds it as an antiquity, the words transform into odd characters that I cannot fathom. Is it a miracle? Perhaps. I can only hope that God will use it for good and carry my thoughts of love to a generation that needs them, for although my story is one of heartbreak and pain, a glimmer of light persists. My faith in God has never died. No matter what happens to me, I know that one day I will stand unashamed i
n his presence, and I hope that my beloved will stand with me.

  Until that day, the fetters I bear are but a passing annoyance, for I know that the coming Messiah will deliver me from the chains of this realm and take me to a higher plane. Yet, I look forward to giving my body and soul to Mara in the bonds of marriage, the shackles of unconditional love, and in breathing this prayer, I am content to let God’s will be done.

  Bonnie rubbed her eyes, but in her dehydrated state, no tears flowed. These words of Elam’s were so beautiful, so full of faith! What a treasure of a man he must be—another diamond forged by the trials and tribulations of never-ending hardships.

  She closed the journal and hugged it to her chest. Obviously Elam meant for this to be read by anyone, so she could show it to Sapphira. She would be able to read any of the languages.

  Looking at the vial of liquid again, Bonnie imagined Elam pouring out drops and rubbing them over the pages. At first it seemed so strange, but was it really? The same fruit that kept him and Sapphira alive and young for centuries might also maintain parchment, but how could it translate written words into a more modern language? A miracle? Why not? Wasn’t it already a miracle that fruit from the Tree of Life could keep the book intact? And weren’t words associated with eternal life? Didn’t Jesus say, “The words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life”?

  With her throat again aching, Bonnie eyed the liquid. Was she allowed to drink it? Why not? There was nothing saying she shouldn’t. She picked at the label, a thin strip of parchment. Might this text be a warning of some kind?

  She pulled out the stopper, poured a drop on her fingertip, and smeared it across the label, making sure to cover the entire text. Within seconds, the words transformed into:

  But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst.

  Bonnie tried to swallow, but the grit in her throat wouldn’t let the muscles finish the motion. The liquid in her grasp would soothe her aching throat and end her torture. But was she allowed to take it? Did finding this vial mean that God would allow her eternal life on earth?