by R. L. King
As always, though, curiosity won. After all, he couldn’t allow some part of his own house to exist without exploring it, right?
“Fine,” he said. “Not for long, though. I have to get going soon, and I don’t want you, or anyone else, down here without me.” He started toward the doorway, putting up his magical shield as he went. “I’ll go first, and you stay behind me. Keep your shield up at all times—I’m not sure how stable it is down here.”
“Yeah.”
Content that Ian was treating this with the proper level of respect, Stone raised his flashlight and walked through the doorway.
Beyond, he discovered an uneven passageway, carved into the rock as the previous room had been. He cast the light around, pleased to find no obvious signs of instability. The floor was dusty but clear, and he didn’t see any cracks or sections where pieces had fallen from the walls or ceiling.
His heart pounded harder as he picked his way down the hall, noting the rotting torches attached high up on the wall at regular intervals. The passageway twisted just enough that whatever was beyond it wasn’t visible. Behind him, he heard Ian’s quiet footsteps.
“This is pretty amazing,” his son said, his voice as soft as his steps. “It’s hard to believe this place has been in the family as long as it has, and you never knew anything about it.”
“You’re telling me.” Stone wondered if his father had been aware of it, but doubted it. The floor, before it had cracked, looked as if it had lain undisturbed for decades, if not longer. Unless there was some other, as yet undiscovered way in, he and Ian were probably the first Stones who’d been down here since the place had been sealed.
The end of the twisting passageway came into view, the way forward blocked by a stout wooden door with iron fittings. Stone held up a hand and slowed his pace even more, creeping up to the door as if expecting someone to jump him. That’s absurd, he told himself, though he didn’t move any faster. If anything was down here, it’s been dead longer than you’ve been alive.
The thought chilled him.
He reached the door and stopped, studying the old-fashioned locking mechanism.
“Can you open it?” Ian asked.
“It’s probably rusted. Let me see if I can force it. Hold the light.”
Ian took Stone’s flashlight and pointed it, along with his own, at the lock.
Stone shifted to magical sight, looking for any signs of arcane energy holding it shut, but found none. The only magic he noticed down here was the same ley line power that suffused the entire house. He glanced around at the door and its frame.
“What are you looking for?” Ian asked. “Can’t you open it?”
“I’m sure I can. But first I want to make sure it’s not holding something in.”
“Holding something in? Do you honestly think anything could be alive down here?”
“Not alive.” He turned back to his son. “Quick magic lesson: any time you find a locked door, especially somewhere as old and strongly magical as this place, always check it over for sigils, seals, anything that might be holding it closed. There are all sorts of dangerous things out there that aren’t technically alive.”
Satisfied by Ian’s sudden sober expression that he’d gotten his message through, he turned back to the door and finished his examination. As far as he could tell, it sported no carvings, painted symbols, or any other indication that the door might have been placed there to imprison some force. He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disappointed—possibly a bit of both—but at least now he could get down to the business of breaking the lock. As much as he’d like to spend the rest of the day down here, he didn’t have time. Imogen was counting on him to be there for her.
He took a centering breath, focused on the lock, and shaped the Calanarian energy around and through the stout iron. As he suspected, the primitive mechanism was thoroughly rusted, but it proved no match for his concentrated power. After a few seconds, it gave way with a loud crack that echoed back along the carved hallway.
“There we go…” he murmured. “Stand back.”
Both of them retreated a few steps, and Stone used magic to pull the wooden door open. It swung outward, its old hinges squealing their protest. Beyond it stretched utter blackness.
Stone moved forward again, reclaiming his flashlight from Ian and holding it in front of him. “Bloody hell…” he whispered.
“What is it? Did you find something?” Ian came up behind him, peering over his shoulder. Stone heard a sharp intake of breath, and then a soft, “Wow.”
Beyond the open doorway was a circular room perhaps thirty feet in diameter. Like the hallway, it appeared to have been carved from living rock. Stone didn’t know where to look first, so he began by shining the light around, letting his gaze roam over the astonishing details one section at a time.
The room’s central and most interesting feature was the large ritual circle set into the floor at its center. The circle itself, a combination of paint, carving, and even some bits set into the floor, took up roughly half the room—around fifteen feet across. Stone couldn’t make out the details of its sigils from where he stood, and deliberately didn’t move forward yet. He wanted to get the big picture before focusing on anything in particular.
In the middle of the circle stood a carved stone pedestal, seven feet long by three wide. It rose from the circle’s center, its flat top elevated to a height of around four feet, and appeared to have something attached to it. Stone gave up on the flashlight, instead raising his hand to form a bright ball of light around it and then directing the light upward until it hovered at the room’s ceiling some eight feet above them.
“Are those manacles?” Ian whispered from behind him.
“It appears they are,” Stone murmured. The platform sported four iron manacles with stout chains snaking downward to rings set into the floor.
“It looks like…somebody was sacrificed here.”
Stone didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice: this setup strongly resembled the one Trin Blackburn had used back in Los Gatos—the one she’d strapped Ian to in her sick attempt to recreate the long-ago sacrifice of Ethan Penrose.
“Yes,” was all he said. There was no sign of a body on or near the pedestal, though the brighter glow from the magical light revealed rust-colored stains on its surface that could easily have been long-dried blood.
An ice-cold rush of dread ran up his spine. He’d found documentation, hidden in one of the crypts in his family mausoleum, verifying that his ancestors had been the blackest of black mages, performing human sacrifices of unwary travelers and other unfortunates to power their magic. Could they have done it here, under the very house he had called home for his entire life? And if so, what manner of rituals had they been powering? Barely aware he was doing it, he took a staggering step back as the implications hit him.
Ian gripped his shoulder. “Are you okay, Dad?”
“Yes. I’m fine.” And if you believe that, I’ve got some choice swampland you might be interested in… But he only waved his son off. “I’m fine. Perhaps the air down here isn’t good.”
“Seems okay to me. Dusty, but that’s understandable.”
Stone didn’t reply. Instead, he looked around the rest of the room, taking in what the sight of the circle and sacrificial pedestal had temporarily distracted him from. Several shadowy doorways led from the room: one each at the northwest, northeast, southwest, and southeast sides, and a final, narrower one to the north.
“How big is this place…?” he said under his breath.
Ian followed his gaze to one of the doorways. “Should we check them out?”
Stone wanted nothing more than to remain down here for the rest of the day—hell, for the rest of the week at least—bringing down more lights, magical examination gear, and perhaps his friends Eddie Monkton and Arthur Ward to help him study every inch of it. But he glanced at his watch and saw it was already two-thirty. Even if he cut a few corners and drove like a madman, he
’d still have to leave soon or risk arriving late to Imogen’s wedding. This had all been down here for at least a hundred years—it wouldn’t be going anywhere for the next few days.
“Not much time right now. I need to get moving.” He pointed at the doorway to the northwest. “Let’s take a quick look at that one, and the odd one next to it. We can come back tomorrow and spend more time at it.”
Ian looked disappointed—Stone was glad it seemed he’d inherited at least some of his father’s curiosity—but nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Stone moved a little faster now, aware of the clock ticking away the few remaining minutes before he’d have to leave. Still, he paused to examine the doorway before passing through it, looking for wards, sigils, or other indications he should be careful. When he found none, he continued through the doorway with Ian close behind him.
Beyond stretched another carved passageway, eight feet wide with its arched ceiling perhaps seven feet at its highest point. Unlike the one they’d initially traversed, this one was arrow-straight, extending around twenty feet back before coming to an abrupt end. Along each of the walls, bricked-up alcoves were spaced two feet apart. The alcoves started at the floor and measured around four feet high and three feet wide.
“What are those?” Ian asked. “Did somebody hide something in there and then brick it up? Why so many of them, though?”
Another chill rose up Stone’s spine. Stop it, he told himself. All he said was, “No idea.” He continued pacing down to the end of the passageway, paused to examine the wall at the end with both magical and mundane sight, and then retraced his steps to where Ian stood in front of one of the alcoves closest to the entrance. “Still no indication of magic, and those bricks don’t look strong enough to imprison any magical beasties.”
“Shall we break one open and see what’s inside?”
“Yes, but not now. No time. Let’s check out the odd exit, and then we’ll have to go.”
Once again Ian looked reluctant, but he followed Stone out until they both stood in front of the single passageway leading north.
“This one looks different,” Ian said. “Assuming the three others are like the first one, it’s almost like they radiate out like wheel spokes. But this one doesn’t have a mate on the other side.”
Stone nodded, distracted. He’d shifted to magical sight again and was examining the doorway. He tensed. “Look at this,” he said, shining the light around the edge.
Ian moved in closer. “They look like some kind of symbols.” His vision fuzzed as he switched to magical sight. “Not magical, though, right? I don’t see anything.”
“Nor do I. But I wonder if they might not have been at some point.” Moving with more care than before, he crept down the hallway. “Keep your shield up.”
This passage was shorter than the others, stretching only ten feet back, but unlike the others, this one ended at another door. Instead of wood, though, it was composed of heavy stone, its entire surface covered in intricate carved symbols, sigils, runes, and images. Stone moved closer, holding the flashlight up for a better look. Despite the complex patterns, he still saw no trace of magic.
“That’s beautiful,” Ian said. “Somebody must have spent years working on it.”
“You may be right.”
“No magic, though, unless I’m missing it.”
“No, I don’t see any either.”
“Can you read any of those symbols? Some of them, especially around the outer edges, look like some kind of language to me.”
Stone nodded. “I agree. But I can’t read it. I could probably work out some of these symbols given time and research materials, but they definitely aren’t any of the standard magical languages.”
There was no point in asking Ian to help; he knew his son’s training with Trin and the scattershot collection of friends he’d been learning from hadn’t included much that covered any kind of magical languages or symbology. To be fair, most young mages these days were woefully lacking in those areas, unless their teachers were like Stone and valued them enough to insist on including them as part of their apprenticeships. He’d done it with Verity, but when he attended gatherings of mages these days he found more and more of the younger generation focusing on the more practical aspects of modern magic without bothering to learn its underpinnings. He thought it was a mistake, but he was becoming more of a minority every year.
Ian was studying the images, holding the light close. “The detail is amazing. I see humans, some birds, something that looks like a big lizard or a dragon or something…the artist was really talented.”
Stone wondered if the person who’d created this masterpiece had been one of his relatives, or if they’d hired a craftsman to do it. He couldn’t see a signature or creator’s mark on it anywhere, but the carving was so complex it could easily have been hidden among the detail somewhere.
“Are you going to open it?” Ian asked, rising from a crouch. He’d been examining the seam at the bottom.
Stone shook his head. “No. Not now.” He looked at his watch again. “I’ve got to go—I can’t spend any more time down here if I don’t want Imogen to flay me alive for turning up halfway through the wedding.” As difficult as it was, he turned away from the stone door. “It will take some work anyway—I don’t see a lock mechanism, and I’d prefer not to break the door if I can figure out how to get it out in one piece. There’s time.” He flashed Ian a wry smile. “Thinking of hanging about a bit longer to see how this sorts out?”
“Don’t know yet. Maybe so. We can talk about it when you get back.”
Stone didn’t miss his son’s obvious curiosity, and immediately sobered. He gripped Ian’s arm. “Listen to me,” he said, softly but firmly. “I don’t know if you’re considering it, but I don’t want you down here while I’m gone. Do you understand?”
“I—”
“I mean it.” He hardened his gaze and met Ian’s gray eyes. “Give me your word, Ian. I don’t want you down here at all, and I don’t want you to tell Aubrey anything about what we found today. Promise me.”
Ian’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Stone thought he’d push back. But then he shrugged. “Sure. I promise. I won’t come down here without you. I mean, I know you said this is my home too, but you’re still my dad, and it’s your call.”
“Good.” Stone let himself relax. He trusted Ian enough to keep his word, and sensed no duplicity in the boy’s aura. “Let’s go.”
They retraced their steps down the short hallway, through the circular ritual room, and out through the winding hallway to the entrance room. As they floated upward through the floor—Ian first, then Stone—the boy paused. “Why not tell Aubrey?”
“Because he’ll worry. I’m going to tell him to stay out of here too, since it’s potentially dangerous. I’ll have him call the workmen and tell them not to come on Monday. There’s no way any mundanes are getting near this place until I’ve thoroughly examined it.”
“Probably smart.” Ian followed him out the door, which he locked behind them. “But…that carved door worries me. Do you think there’s something dangerous behind it?”
Stone paused, considering. “Who knows? It’s possible, I suppose. But if it’s been here this long, I doubt it’s going anywhere overnight. We’ll take a look tomorrow. But now I’ll have to get moving fast. Remember what I said.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t do any exploring without you.”
4
Imogen and Clifford’s wedding was held at Canterbury Cathedral in Kent. Stone had no idea how they’d managed to secure the venue on such relatively short notice, but Imogen had mentioned that Clifford had a country house in the area, so perhaps he or his family had some influence.
The portals wouldn’t help him this time, since it didn’t make sense to leave from London, so he chose to drive instead. He didn’t mind; he enjoyed driving, and getting out on the road often helped him clear his head.
As he drove at steady speed but nearly on aut
opilot along the M25 motorway, his mind wasn’t on the wedding, or even on Imogen. He couldn’t stop thinking about the underground chamber with its ritual circle, obvious trappings of ritual sacrifices, and odd, catacomb-like chambers. He hadn’t mentioned it to Ian—though he wondered if the boy hadn’t figured it out for himself and likewise not said anything—but he wondered if they would find human remains inside each of those small, bricked-up alcoves. Had his ancestors used them to inter the bodies of their sacrificial victims, unmarked and unremembered? The thought sent another chill running down his spine.
Then there was the other sealed chamber, the one with the elaborate carvings. That one had been different. What was its purpose? Had it been built to imprison someone, or something? Was it a repository for more books or records—perhaps even more horrifying than the ones he’d already found inside one of his ancestors’ crypts in the family mausoleum? What could be more horrifying than finding out your family members were murdering innocents to power their magic?
Stone wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Whenever he speculated that things couldn’t get any worse regarding his family’s misadventures, history had a way of stepping in to say, “Hold my pint.”
But of course he had to know. Were there other chambers like that one down there? How many brick-sealed alcoves were there? Did the other passageways branch out into more?
Enough, he admonished himself. No matter how much he wanted to get back to the new mystery beneath his home, today was Imogen’s day. He owed it to her to put aside his own concerns and focus on her. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
He arrived with only minutes to spare. By the time he located parking and hurried to the church, most of the other guests had already been seated. He paused outside to straighten his formal suit, deliberately didn’t attempt to organize his hair (he’d already done that as well as he could, and messing with it now would only make it worse), and then headed in.
