Origins

by Lindsay Buroker

  He found Rysha close to Duck at the outer edge of the outpost. He sensed they were near the cliffs overlooking the ocean, but not outside. Some kind of vertical shaft? Blazer was several levels below them.

  You’re getting better at that, Jaxi remarked. Though I’m certain imagining launching a tunnel borer at someone’s mental defenses is an exercise that would only work for you.

  Are they stuck? Trip asked, ignoring the rest of her words. Kaika kept dragging him toward a doorway, and he let her, but barely paid attention to their movement. He sensed concern from Rysha and was tempted to try to speak telepathically to her, something he’d mostly done by accident so far. But he didn’t want to alarm her by appearing in her mind.

  I suspect she’s figured out by now that you can do that, Jaxi said. She believes you’ll be able to shape-shift and fly and all manner of things she’s only read about soon. It’s clear she hasn’t seen you struggling with the first page in that workbook.

  Trip couldn’t tell if the narrow shaft Rysha and Duck were descending led to an exit. It seemed to parallel the central stairwell, and numerous other shafts fed into it, but they appeared too small for humans to climb through.

  “The prisoners, Trip?” Kaika shook his arm. She’d led him down the set of stairs the cultists had all rushed up, the ones that led into the dragon statue chamber and the river. “Are you with me? There are guards we’re going to have to deal with.”

  “Sorry, just checking on the others. They—”

  An ominous crack thundered through the outpost, like rock snapping under pressure. A lot of rock.

  You may want to retrieve the prisoners before worrying about the rest of your team, Jaxi said. It looks like Kaika’s grenade did some structural damage to the chamber out there. Some rocks are giving way, and it’s allowing water to flow in more quickly than usual. The prisoners are on the opposite side of the river and might be trapped as the water rises.

  As she spoke, the sound of rushing water had grown louder.

  Also, you may find one of those prisoners particularly valuable to rescue.

  The girl? Trip wasn’t sure valuable was the term he would use for a teenager, but he certainly didn’t want to see harm come to anyone that young.

  A self-made archaeologist and treasure hunter that goes by Rock Cheetah, actually. He’s trapped in the cage with the others.

  Rock Cheetah?

  He gave himself that sobriquet.

  “Looks like seven guards in sight,” Kaika said, peering into the chamber, past the rising river and to the white-clad men on the other side. “Two holding the girl, four by the cage, and another one standing by the statue and that table.”

  His real name is Moe Zirkander, Jaxi said, and judging by the way Kaika glanced at the soulblade, she also shared the information with her. General Zirkander’s father.

  • • • • •

  Even though it was cool inside the outpost and the laundry chute—or garbage shaft—sweat dripped down Rysha’s face. She was descending with her back against one side and her boots against the other side as she carefully walked herself ever downward. She’d shifted her pack around to hang in front of her chest with her rifle and Dorfindral’s scabbard strapped to it. There was no other logical way to descend, but it was awkward, the long weapons bumping and scraping no matter how hard she attempted to lower herself quietly. She could brush her hands to the other two sides, but was careful not to rely on them, both because her palms had grown sweaty and slick, and because her legs were stronger and could more easily support her.

  In theory. After climbing down seven or eight levels—there were no markers, so she could only guess—her thighs were trembling. She had no idea how many levels down that central staircase went, nor did she know if this shaft went as far down as it did. It could go farther. She well remembered how high those cliffs had been when the squadron had flown past them.

  “This is torture,” Duck whispered from above her.

  Normally, Rysha would have been glad his thighs were trembling as much as hers, since misery loved company, but if his legs gave way, he would crash into her and take her down with him.

  “It’s a good thing you’re so strong,” she told him, opting for encouragement rather than commiseration. “And have great stamina.”

  “Uhm, you’re thinking of elite troops, not pilots. We pilots try to weasel our way out of physical training whenever possible.”

  “Is that true? General Zirkander looks fitter than most generals I’ve seen.”

  “Only because he’s twenty years younger than most generals. And doesn’t like to be shown up by his lieutenants. I, on the other hand, don’t mind lieutenants showing me up. As long as I can fly, I’m happy.”

  “This shaft is torturous,” Rysha admitted. “I’d suggest that Kaika have something similar added to the elite troops obstacle course, but I don’t particularly want to experience this again.”

  A faint scrape sounded below them.

  Rysha paused, taking a second to rub her lower back. “Major Blazer?”

  Thus far, they hadn’t caught up with her, but maybe they were getting close to the bottom. They had passed numerous holes in the sides where other chutes angled into theirs, but they hadn’t yet come to a spot where they could have easily climbed out.

  A hiss drifted up from below.

  “That doesn’t sound like Blazer,” Duck whispered. “Not unless she’s in a crankier mood than usual.”

  The hiss came again. Whatever was making it was in the shaft with them. Great.

  “Would there be a snake in a three-thousand-year-old laundry chute?” she wondered.

  “You’re the one with the archaeology degree.”

  “I don’t remember that question being covered in any of my study guides.” Rysha patted her rucksack, hunting for the lantern she’d tied to the outside. She’d turned the flame down but not completely out, and was glad for that now.

  Another hiss floated up to them. It sounded closer than it had before.

  Rysha shifted uneasily, aware that her butt would be an easy target for something coming up from below. A faint scraping sound accompanied the hiss.

  “What are we doing about it?” Duck asked.

  “I’m going to turn up my lantern.”

  “Are we sure we want to look at whatever it is?”

  “Need to see it to fight it.”

  “Are we sure we want to fight whatever it is?”

  “My legs are shaking,” Rysha said, “so there’s no way I’m climbing back up to that bedroom. Whatever is down here, we’re going to deal with it.”

  “Uh, all right. I’m right behind you. Er, above you.”

  How comforting. “Just don’t fall on me.”

  Ignoring the persistent tremble to her legs, Rysha turned up the lantern and unhooked it. She wondered if she ought to be unhooking Dorfindral instead. Right now, there wasn’t room to draw it. Not that she could envision a sword fight from her current position.

  The flame came up, shining on smooth rock walls the same tan as the rest of the landscape. As she lowered her lantern, something glinted ten feet below her. Two somethings. Eyes.

  Another hiss floated up to them, this one more irritated than before. Rysha had the sense of numerous legs, a furry, bulbous body, and fangs. Then the creature launched itself upward and became a blur, taking up half the space of the shaft as it drew close.

  She shrieked and dropped her lantern. It clunked off the giant spider or whatever it was and went out.

  “Damn it.” Rysha yanked her pistol free and fired four times, but it was pitch black, and she could only guess at her target’s location. But the creature filled half the shaft. Surely, she had to hit it.

  Something sharp stung the back of her thigh, and she dropped her pistol. Roaring in pain and alarm, she almost lost her footing altogether as she tried to scramble upward. She slipped, falling two feet before catching herself again. Another hiss sounded right under her, and her thigh burned as if
a branding iron had been pressed against it.

  Swearing to punch Blazer when she found her, Rysha shifted around so she could draw the sword. Why wouldn’t it glow when she needed it? She couldn’t see a thing. But she stabbed downward, swiping and poking furiously.

  The blade struck something—the spider—and sank into flesh.

  It hissed, and she felt it attack the sword, trying to bite down on the blade.

  Rysha whipped Dorfindral back and forth to free it or maybe slice open the creature’s jaw. Then she stabbed again and scooted herself down in the shaft, pressing the offensive.

  Numbness was spreading up and down her leg, but fear mingled with her rage and determination. Over and over again, she struck the creature. Finally, it disappeared, leaving her stabbing empty air.

  Had the spider fallen? Or simply retreated?

  Rysha lowered herself slowly, swiping the route below with the sword. The blade clanged off the sides of the shaft, and she didn’t encounter anything with flesh and bone.

  A distant thump floated up from below.

  She stopped her wild slashing, and only the sound of her ragged panting filled the shaft. A light appeared above her.

  “Found my lantern,” Duck said.

  Rysha let her head clunk back against the wall. “You’re my hero.”

  “That didn’t sound very sincere.”

  She squinted her eyes shut as the back of her thigh throbbed with pain. Though she wanted to take a minute to rest, her entire leg was going numb, and the other one wasn’t much better. She feared that some spider venom coursed through her veins, perhaps enough to kill her. At the least, it might make her too weak to climb.

  “I’m going down,” she said, doing her best to propel herself down the shaft rapidly without losing control. That spider had fallen a long time before hitting the bottom.

  “You all right? You don’t sound all right.”

  “It bit me,” she said shortly, her eyes focused on a crack meandering down the shaft, just visible thanks to Duck’s lantern light.

  “What was it? A rat?”

  “Some kind of giant tarantula, I think.”

  “Are they venomous?”

  “I think that one was, yes.” Rysha flinched as the crack opened into a gouge in the wall—she’d almost planted her boot there. Round yellow eggs lay nestled in a sac stuck inside. “There’s its nest,” she grumbled and continued downward.

  Duck made a mournful sound as he passed the spot. “We killed a mama?”

  Rysha resolved to punch Blazer when they caught up to her. How had she made it past that spot without having to fight the tarantula? Had it been elsewhere and then come running when it heard its home being invaded? Or—her gut lurched—had Blazer fought it and lost?

  Rysha imagined Blazer’s body crumpled at the bottom underneath the dead tarantula. But surely, they would have heard Blazer battling some oversized spider.

  Distant clangs reached her ears as she labored down the shaft. Now what?

  “That’s coming from below,” Duck said. “Blazer?”

  Rysha grunted. It was all she could manage. Her entire body shook now, and her injured leg was next to useless. She barely felt her boot touching the side as she maneuvered down the shaft. Would she be able to walk when she reached the bottom?

  When her heel squished into something below her, she blurted a startled squawk. She moved her hand down to brace herself but encountered open air instead of the stone wall. Only quick reflexes kept her from pitching to her butt.

  Above her, Duck shifted, and more of his light filtered down, enough to see the very large, very dead tarantula splatted on the bottom of the shaft, along with an almost door-sized opening to her left.

  Rysha shifted, trying to stand without stepping on spider guts, but the thing must have weighed forty pounds. Its demolished body took up the entire bottom of the shaft.

  She clambered out, but sucked in a pained breath as she tried to support herself on the injured leg. It was so numb, she could barely feel it, and she had to brace herself against the wall. For the first time, she had a free hand with which to probe the back of her thigh. Moisture dampened her uniform trousers. Blood? Ichor? She found the fang punctures in her clothing. Underneath, her skin was hot to the touch. The wound itself hurt too much to touch directly.

  “Blazer,” Duck blurted, coming out beside Rysha and pointing ahead of them.

  He raced across a large room—what had once been the laundry room, perhaps—and toward faint light coming through an open doorway. Shadows moved beyond it, and more clangs sounded. Weapons clashing.

  “It might not be her,” Rysha warned in a low voice, but she followed after him the best she could, hobbling along the wall.

  She should have been worried about Blazer and the others, but fear for her own life was creeping into her thoughts again. What if that numbness spread all the way to her heart? What if she died down here without having a chance to say goodbye to her parents? Her sister and brothers? She would leave poor Trip behind to puzzle out the ancient words and carvings by himself.

  A firearm fired, and Rysha jerked her focus back to the moment. It had come from beyond the laundry room, outside the door Duck had gone through. The shadows no longer moved out there.

  Gasping for breath, Rysha reached the doorway and slumped against the jamb. Duck looked calmly at her, his pistol at his side. Blazer knelt beside a white-garbed man, tearing off strips of his clothing. She yanked his hands behind his back, eliciting a groan, and tied them there.

  “You look really bad, Ravenwood.” Duck frowned with concern.

  “Thanks.” Rysha eyed Blazer, still wanting to punch her but feeling too beaten down to try. “How’d you avoid the giant spider, ma’am?”

  “Giant spider?” Blazer rose to her feet and looked Rysha up and down.

  Rysha turned to show off her blood-stained and punctured trousers.

  “I reckon it’s like when you go hiking,” Duck said, “and the person in front of you pushes aside a branch without a problem, but then it swings back and thwacks you in the face.” He came closer and waved for her to sling her arm over his shoulder. “Better lean on me until we can find Trip. Those soulblades can heal people, right? Like they did on the Cofah airship?”

  “I hope so,” Rysha whispered, wondering how much time she had. And also wondering if a sorcerer could nullify venom. That was different from simply stitching some wound back together. “I also hope he’s still down here.”

  She remembered all those people racing up the stairs. What if Trip and Kaika had left the compound? Rysha groaned at the idea of having to go back up all those steps in search for them.

  “He will be,” Blazer said firmly, her gaze on Rysha’s injury now. “He will be.”

  “After all this,” Duck said, “Trip’s daddy better end up being a really good ally.”

  Blazer came to Rysha’s other side to lend her support.

  As they stumbled along, Blazer waved to a statue carved into a wall, this one of a woman with a sword standing beside a dragon. “If you need anything rubbed along the way, let me know.”

  “You’re talking to the lieutenant, right, ma’am?” Duck asked.

  “Of course.” Blazer grinned quickly at him, though she looked more worried than amused. “We already established that I don’t want to rub anything of yours.”

  “That’s still disappointing, ma’am.”

  “That’s life.”

  Rysha couldn’t manage a smile as they joked. Nor could she summon any interest in the wall tiles or statues on this level. All she could think about was that she didn’t want to die down here.

  11

  The water flowed over the banks of the river, smothering the green growth that carpeted the rocky ground on either side. Fortunately, the original architects hadn’t installed a flat floor and tiled over it as they had in the rest of the outpost. Here, the ground sloped upward from the water, so the rising river didn’t immediately flood the whole c
hamber. Given time, it might.

  Trip thought about trying to break open a larger hole where the subterranean river exited and poured into the ocean, but he decided to hold that back for later. The guards, all stranded on the far side, were pacing and eyeing the rising water with agitation. There was a doorway beside the statue, but maybe it only led to a dead end. Trip could have paddled across the river, but maybe the desert dwellers didn’t know how to swim.

  “That’s Moe,” Kaika whispered from Trip’s side. They were still in the doorway, peering into the chamber. The guards, distracted by the water, hadn’t noticed them yet. “The white-haired fellow with the shaggy beard, bare knees, and pocket-filled clothing.”

  He was the only man in the cage, so she needn’t have been so descriptive. “You’ve met him before?”

  “Yes, at a house-warming party a few years ago. He’s scarce in the capital, from what I’ve heard. I think his wife is lucky to see him once a year. Because he spends most of his time in places like this, I imagine.” Kaika extended a hand toward the prisoners.

  “In cages?”

  “In remote ruins. But I wager it’s not his first time in a cage. Can you open the door and let them all out? Or create a distraction so I can get close enough to disarm those men?”

  “There are seven of them. And there’s one of you.”

  “What’s your point?”

  Trip snorted. He narrowed his eyes, concentrating on the overflowing river instead of the men. Could he cause it to surge higher quickly and sweep the guards from their feet? If they were poor swimmers, they might struggle to get back in time to keep Trip and Kaika from releasing the prisoners.

  You’re making more of this than necessary, Azarwrath said.

  I don’t want to kill them, Trip hurried to say, not wanting the soulblades to throw lightning or fireballs.

  A surge of power emanated from Azarwrath and struck one of the guards. It hurled him twenty feet. The man slammed into a wall, his pistol falling from his hands. As the man dropped to the floor, the weapon flew away from him. It splashed into the river and disappeared. Three more men were hurled away from the cage in a similar manner.