Hero Grown

by Andy Livingstone

  Hakon’s brows knitted. ‘And that means?’

  ‘The threat his actions pose must still be addressed in some fashion. Should we get the chance, we will deal with him.’

  Hakon smiled. ‘That is all I need to know.’

  They fell into the familiar routine of camp, caring for their camels then settling themselves. While they had become accustomed to the searing heat of the desert, and despite the inactivity of sitting on top of a beast of burden all day, still their energy was sapped by the sun and, as on every other night of their journey, they found sleep easily, little time seeming to pass before they were back in the saddle once more as the sky was painted in a stunning array of crimson and pink by the dawn.

  They rode with the front of the rocky rise to their left, seeking what Brann could only guess was a certain passage into its depths. The line of the rock cut in and out on itself like a coastline onto a sea of sand, complete with promontories, bays, inlets and even small islands. All morning they continued and, as the sun approached its zenith, they began to exchange glances, the normal time for a halt having passed with their progress unchecked. Grakk now rode alongside Icham, with a wizened Deruul of indeterminate but advanced age on the party leader’s other side. The trio rode in silence but their eyes were set, sweeping the rock formations constantly, seeking only they knew what.

  In the same moment, all three seemed to find it. Still they said nothing but they straightened in the saddle and the pace of their camels picked up noticeably. The rest of the column kept pace with them, and an air of expectation spread through their number.

  They rounded a headland and Brann saw why. Successive riders stopped in wonder at the sight until the entire caravan spread in a single wide line.

  The jagged rock sank back on itself at this point, forming what would have been a harbour to rival that of Sagia itself. Where mighty ships would sail on open water between sheltering cliffs, however, here the space was filled with something altogether different – and unexpected.

  Buildings. A city. A ruin of a city. A ruin of a once-great city.

  As much life filled this place as filled the desert, the great wall that had stretched from one mighty promontory to the other now containing more gaps than barrier. Midway along its length stood the vertical remnants of a massive arched gateway, the missing sections having collapsed under the weight of time to lie in rubble that blocked passage to the height of a ship’s mast.

  Brann frowned at the comparison in his head. What did he know of ships and harbours? Still this was an astonishing sight, whatever he might or might not recall. While the gateway was blocked by its own ruin, there was in reality no block to entering the city; even the most casual of wanderers could have picked from any one of a score of openings where once had stood the most daunting of walls, some open to the level of the desert where the travellers stood agog, scattered blocks littering the space before them, others with broken stone forming ramps or steps. More pertinent to them at the moment was the admission granted by the gaps to their amazed eyes: glimpses of the remains of what had once been a city to rival Sagia itself in magnificence if not in size. The wall itself and the buildings beyond were formed from blocks more massive than the imagination could picture being moved the length of themselves, far less across a desert. The stone was of a colour similar to that of the sand before it and slightly darker in hue, giving a sharp contrast against the dark rock behind it, and a beauty lay in the simple, clean, unadorned lines of the constructions. As they started to move closer Brann noticed a remarkable smoothness to the facing and, even more astoundingly, an accuracy of cutting that saw the blocks fit so precisely that no mortar could have made them more secure. Where some force unknown had caused the city wall to collapse, it appeared to have had little or no effect on the buildings beyond, their single-storey design and the rising ground they were built upon allowing the city to be seen as it extended back to a cliff of the enclosing black rock. This was a city built once, with no capability for expansion. Once fully populated, the only hope for any other inhabitants of the region would have been to build elsewhere, were that even to prove possible.

  It had the organised look, too, of a settlement that had been formed as a single enterprise rather than the sprawl of one that had evolved. While the view afforded to them was only that of an assortment of buildings, Brann had the clear impression that, were he to shred his skin scaling the jagged rock of the bluffs to gain a perspective from above, he would find an order in the layout that spoke of precise planning. That thought appealed to him.

  Grakk halted them before the nearest opening that offered flat passage through the wall and wheeled his camel to face the party.

  ‘Behold,’ he called. ‘Known now as the City of Ghosts, it is rightly called ul-Detina. Fear not the spirits, for the only ghosts in this place are in the imagination of those ignorant of the truth. And the truth is in the memories that have been forgotten by all but a few. There are empty buildings within this place and history within them, but nothing to make you wary other than the instability of the great outer wall.’

  He walked his mount to Icham and the pair clasped forearms as a few low words passed between them. This was apparently as close as the Deruul caravan would pass to the ancient city as, without further comment, they turned their camels and plodded towards the next rocky headland with curious glances into the empty city, though not before their leader had nodded deeply at Brann, his eyes locking with those of the boy. People had been kind to him below ground, feeding him, talking to him, tending his wounds, but since he had been led into the sunlight by Grakk, he had found much that was pleasing in all he had met. But for those who had stolen into their camp, of course.

  But the Deruul were now on a separate path, and Brann’s party turned their backs to them and entered the city.

  Stillness overwhelmed them. The sand was now merely a scant covering on thick flagstones fitted as precisely as the blocks of the buildings. Brann had a sense, though he knew not from where, that it had been centuries since anyone had lived in this place, but brushing away the sand would be all it would take to leave it looking as if its construction had been completed the day before.

  The cushioned feet of the camels made almost no sound other than the occasional scuff as they paced between the buildings on a narrow road, where windows and doors felt like eyes watching them pass. The silence was such that, when Cannick sneezed from dusty sand kicked up by the beast in front of him, Hakon jerked so much at the sound bouncing against the close walls that he almost fell from his saddle, causing Sophaya to laugh so hard that she also nearly lost her seating, while even Gerens smiled.

  Brann’s attention was drawn to the side. It seemed that there had been some inhabitation in the more recent past, the remains of a fire sitting in a small alley between what looked to have been two houses. Bones scattered around it suggested a meal, though the light covering of sand spoke of the time since even the local wildlife had picked them clean after the visitors had left.

  He pointed. ‘We have not been the only guests here.’

  Grakk turned slightly in his saddle. ‘Indeed, young Brann. As with every ancient and abandoned place, rumours of treasure draw those who cannot resist that prospect, though even a cursory glance will tell you that there is not even a single item of furniture to scavenge. Only stone remains in this place. Stories also persist about a portal to a fabled hidden city, attracting adventurers of all motives, but none have ever discovered the truth of them. You, however, should prepare to be privileged.’

  This last drew the attention of all, but Grakk merely faced the front once more and let his camel take him on its plodding way. They entered a wide boulevard, turning left towards the back of the city. The broad street ran directly to the cliff at the rear, its pale straightness distinct against the towering black backdrop and drawing the eye to the distant end where a building, much larger than the rest before it, sat flush against the base of the cliff. It had the air of a temple and,
as the camels drew them inexorably closer, that impression grew ever stronger.

  The building was as tall as it was broad, with twenty square-cut columns, each the width of two men lying head to toe, rising the height of at least six of the single-storey buildings that formed the rest of the city and supporting a massive stone roof that, incredibly, appeared to be formed of a single slab to make a portico fit for a giant’s giant. The building itself was entered by a single great squared doorway that soared almost to the height of the huge pillars before it. They dismounted and followed Grakk to the entrance, the weight of the slab above them so palpable that it was impossible not to hunch their heads into their shoulders as they passed beneath it.

  The interior was a wonder still greater. A multitude of small windows were cut into the walls and ceiling to allow just enough light to form a soft glow that suffused the entire area that extended the full width and height of the structure. But it was to the back of it that their eyes were drawn, where a row of pillars, similar in style to those outside, stretched across an opening twice the height of a man and running from close to the left wall to the same difference from the right. Without a word, Grakk strode towards it, and without a word, they followed. What lay beyond, they could not guess, for whatever it was had been hacked out of the very rock of the cliff itself. Was it tunnels? Was it private chambers? Was it vaults where treasure had once been stored?

  What lay beyond was so much more. They stepped into a cavern that was like a hall of the gods, twice again the width and depth of what they now realised must have been a hall of welcome, an antechamber to this wonder. The height, though: it was the height that stopped the breath in their chests, that widened their eyes, that made their heads spin so suddenly that, as one, they staggered and clung to their neighbour for support. The cliff face was not quite vertical but sloped back at the slightest of angles, just enough to hide from outside the apertures cut into its face, openings high, high above that took the sunlight and pointed it in shafts so well defined that they seemed they would be solid to the touch, great beams of light that angled to the back of the vast chamber to pick out the reason why this gargantuan hall had been hollowed from the rock.

  The beams drew their eyes to figures, eight in number, carved from the blackness of the very rock of the hill they were within. Eight figures, seated on mighty thrones, hands placed on knees, faces impassive to the cares of men, features fine in stone smoothed to a sheen by skills lost in time where all else was coarse and jagged. Eight figures, at one with the cliff face and each, though seated, taller than the great keep in Sagia. Eight gods.

  The sheer scale shocked through them, awe draining their strength from them and sending them to their knees, not in reverence but in crushing wonder. Only Grakk still stood, until he sank to kneel on a single leg, head bowed and lifting the four fingers of each hand to meet in the centre of his forehead, a picture of deepest respect.

  ‘The gods of the ancient ones,’ he said quietly, his voice nonetheless carrying through the vast chamber, ‘their names lost before memories began but their power everlasting.’

  Brann stood and moved slowly towards the figures. It was a long walk, but it felt impossible to rush in such a place. He reached a foot, itself the size of a two-storey house. His hand was drawn to it and, once there, was held in fascination by stone more smooth than he could have imagined possible for man to achieve. Without turning, he addressed Grakk. ‘This is our destination?’ It was a question that contained no specific desire for further travel. Even were they to be trapped in such a city, a man could die with peace in his soul to have witnessed such magnificence.

  But Grakk shook his head. ‘This is our passage to our destination. There is a place of fables, fables discovered only by a few, but sought relentlessly by those who know. A place reputed to be a cradle of great knowledge, knowledge with more power for good or evil than whole armies. This place contains a portal to that place.’

  Marlo had regained his feet and his voice. ‘There is a doorway in this hall to a mythical land?’

  ‘A city, not a land. And when I say this place I speak of this city. A gateway exists, but not in this hall, though you would not be the first to make that assumption.’ He pointed beyond Brann, and they saw the incongruous marks on the rear wall between the figures, where men had failed to make any more than the merest impression on the surface. ‘The tools of the world we know make little more than a scratch on this rock, yet still there are those determined that they only have to find the right spot to break through. Their resolve is admirable, but their efforts are doomed to failure.’

  ‘Still,’ Cannick said softly, ‘it makes you wonder at the ability not only to craft these gods, but to hollow a cavity of this size in the first place. That such people could cease to exist does beg the question as to who could destroy them.’

  ‘That which is more powerful than any creature,’ said Grakk, his voice neutral. ‘The world that grants us life can also snuff it at a whim. The beings that move on the surface, on two legs or four or many more, by wing or by fin, are mere irritants to the life that grows without restraint, to be used or ignored, inconsequential to the forces within this world. No matter the power we think we have, compared with the relentless force Nature can command at a whim, it is as a grain of sand to a mountain.’

  Hakon had gathered his accustomed lack of gravity, though Brann noticed that he avoided looking at the massive figures. ‘So the question is, where can we find this gateway?’

  Grakk started walking back the way they had come. ‘Not in here, though it would have been a sin greater than most were you to pass this temple and not witness what lay within. Come with me.’

  Brann nodded to himself at the truth of the words and trusted this man who spoke them more than ever. There was great power to be felt in such a place, and he found it difficult to leave. But leave he must, for the man Grakk had told them to.

  The sunlight of late morning struck them and they made to follow Grakk’s back to the camels. A shout from Gerens halted them, and they followed his pointing finger. The steps from the portico of the temple entrance afforded a view down the main avenue directly towards the great gate of the city, but it was what could be seen beyond that caught their breath.

  Dust was billowing up, but it was too localised to be a sandstorm. Cannick’s voice was a growl. ‘Riders. And coming at speed.’

  ‘Could it be the Deruul returned?’ Marlo’s tone held more hope than suggestion.

  Grakk shaded his eyes with one hand. ‘Too many. And straight from the desert, not from the direction the caravan took.’

  Brann shrugged. ‘Too many to fight? We are seven and we can choose where we attack.’

  Sophaya was already moving to the nearest building. ‘Let us see what a higher point will reveal.’ With four bounds, she was on the roof, hands and feet having found purchase where even the eyes of her companions could not.

  Grakk pulled something from his pack, a wooden tube that extended as he pulled on it. ‘Here.’ He tossed it to her and her sure hands grasped it from the air. He mimed holding it lengthways from one eye, and she copied him, recoiling in surprise.

  ‘What is this magic? It makes them close, but they still are distant in reality. Or does it actually bring them near?’

  Grakk smiled. ‘They are where they are. It is your sight that is brought close to them. Now count them, if you would.’

  The girl grinned and raised the tube to her eye once more. Her grin faded. ‘Two score at least. Maybe ten more.’ She dropped the tube into Grakk’s waiting hands and stepped off the roof, landing in a crouch with as little effort as if she had jumped from a table. ‘Headed straight for a gap near the centre of the wall and, yes, they are indeed in a hurry.’

  Cannick spat into the dust at his feet. ‘I think we can assume they are not here for treasure hunting or worship.’

  Brann’s hand was on his sword. ‘About seven for each of us.’

  Hakon cheered up at that. �
�Actually, when you put it that way…’

  Marlo looked shocked, but Cannick ignored them and looked at Grakk. ‘I remember you mentioning a gateway from here? It might be useful, as any other way seems to take us directly towards these new guests.’

  Brann glanced at Grakk. ‘We do not fight?’ It was not a question bearing disappointment, for he felt no eagerness at the prospect. Whether the bald man wanted him to fight or walk through this portal, he would do what was asked. It mattered not.

  Grakk’s smile was soft. ‘I hope to avoid the need for combat, young Brann. Not all of us may survive and I would keep our little band alive if I can.’

  ‘So,’ promoted Cannick, ‘the gateway?’

  ‘It is close.’

  Marlo frowned. ‘You do not look as happy as that thought should have made you look.’

  The tribesman squinted at the sky, the sun almost at its zenith. ‘It can only be opened at mid-day.’

  Cannick stared at him. ‘Tell me this is your attempt at humour.’

  Grakk shook his head. ‘Come.’

  He led his camel across the front of the temple portico, the animal complaining at his brisk pace. A short way down the road that curved left with the face of the cliff, taking the temple out of sight, a long building sat, a wide opening cut at its front where once doors had hung. It also backed onto the cliff, but as Grakk led them inside they saw that in this case the interior ended where the rock face started.

  ‘The priests’ mounts were stabled here,’ Grakk said simply. ‘Camels or horses, we know not, nor does it matter to us now.’

  Marlo peered around the interior, a plain simple place, and as bare of contents as every other building they had seen. Light streamed in from high windows and, in accidental mimicry of the temple’s great hall, a crack where the front wall met the roof caused the sunlight to send a slender shaft to strike the back wall. ‘We leave the camels here while we seek the portal?’