by James Gurley
“As I thought,” Simios said smiling.
A metal spiral staircase fell away into a black void below them. Tad led the way with his torch. The stairs were ancient and rusty, rattling alarmingly as they descended. Tad hoped they didn’t collapse and drop the two of them to their deaths on the floor of the cavern far below. After several turns, they emerged on a steel walkway supported by metal struts anchored into the roof of the cavern. Following it, they walked for several hundred meters before emerging onto a stone platform. Highly polished stone formed one wall, reflecting his torchlight, but the two remaining sides opened onto a yawning black abyss.
“I see no way down,” Simios said.
“It wouldn’t stop the Triocs,” Tad observed.
Simios shook his head. “I do not believe the walkway was constructed solely for Triocs. It has a purpose. Let us examine the walls more carefully.” He dismissed the light sprites back to the realm from which he had conjured them and removed a small white orb from his pocket. It flashed into life, producing a bright white glow. He noticed Tad’s look of astonishment. “I, too, came prepared. It operates on the same principles as your battery torch, but is much more refined. The light sprites are not suited for this vast opening. I fear the Triocs might detect them as food.”
The wall bore once colorful depictions of Delphi now faded with time—marketplaces, large sailing ships moored at the docks, the Black Tower. After a few moments, Simios whistled softly. “Ah, very clever.”
He pressed the top of the Black Tower and the Watchers’ Tower simultaneously. A faint click sounded behind the wall. After a moment, a section of wall as wide as two men slid inward and then aside, revealing a corridor lit by electric lights recessed into the walls.
“How did you know where to press?” Tad asked, examining the wall more closely.
“The two towers were the most distinctive features of the mural, each carved slightly out of scale to the surrounding buildings. I suspected a reason behind it.”
The corridor sloped slightly like a ramp, doubling back every few hundred yards, forming a zigzagging walkway.
“This could take all night,” Tad complained after descending several levels. “My legs ache already.”
Simios stopped and stroked his beard in thought. “You are right. There must be a quicker way.” He stopped and looked around. “There.” He pointed to a blank wall where the corridor doubled back. Wiping away a layer of dust and cobwebs from the wall, he revealed two vertical parallel lines in the stone and a glyph with two circles. “Ah, yes,” he whispered with delight and touched one of the circles with the tip of his finger. The lines illuminated, slowly splitting apart, revealing a small room beyond.
“A lift!” Tad cried out as he recognized the similarity between the small room and the lifts in the two towers.
“You are correct. Let us hope it still functions properly.”
They entered the lift and Simios pressed the lowest of a series of circles. “It must stop at several levels, in case the climb became too much for some,” he reasoned aloud.
“Or there are other rooms,” Tad suggested, now caught up in the thrill of exploration.
Simios nodded. “Perhaps, but we have no time for examining each level.”
With a grinding noise that sent shivers through Tad, the lift suddenly shuddered and fell rapidly. Only Simios’s calm expression kept Tad’s nascent panic in check. Just when he was certain they would crash to the bottom, the lift slowed, came to a soft stop and the doors opened. A short corridor led from the Lift doors to a wide archway beyond. They walked slowly through the center of the archway. Before them spread a darkness so deep Tad felt as if he could not breathe. Only when he heard the familiar dripping of the water from stalactites in the distance did he calm down.
“We are at the roots of the Black Tower. There must be a control for lights somewhere,” Simios said.
Tad remembered the metal box on the wall that had operated the lights on his previous visit and quickly located a similar box near the archway, but before pulling the switch a thought of caution struck him. “Won’t this warn anyone here of our presence?”
“You’re right of course,” Simios agreed. “We will use our lights instead.”
Adjusting their torches to the lowest setting, they followed a broad walkway leading from the entrance into the heart of the cavern. Above, Tad heard the high-pitched chatter of Triocs. He suddenly felt terribly exposed.
“Will the Triocs warn whoever lives here?”
“We must hope they do not, but there is no way to cross this space without their seeing us, or hearing us, as is more likely.”
“What of the spell of confusion?”
Simios shook his head. “Trioc senses are much different from other species. They can see through such subterfuge the same way they detect prey in the dark, through echolocation. Besides, they hear in frequencies beyond ours and we cannot silence our footsteps.”
They passed through rows of dead trees and time eroded statues, across plazas with tiled floors inlaid with colorful mosaics now hidden in places by layers of deep dust, and past towering fountains overflowing with Trioc guano. Tad imagined that the Sanctuary must have once been beautiful, as well as a place of safety during the time of the Veil, but he feared even such beauty could not compensate for the feeling of confinement promoted by the many meters of solid rock overhead.
In the silent gloom, they saw ahead of them the dim outline of a domed building.
“Saracen’s Tomb,” Tad whispered, and then started at the sound of his whisper, which seemed unnaturally magnified by the darkness.
“Technically, it is Saracen’s Mausoleum. His tomb lies within. And this is where you saw the Triocs?”
Tad nodded, and then realized the Watcher could not see the subtle gesture in the dark. “Yes, on a ledge circling the inside of the mausoleum. The house I entered is farther along, near the water.”
To his horror, Simios said, “First the Mausoleum.”
“But the Triocs are there?”
“They will not harm us.”
Tad wasn’t as certain as his companion was, but placed his faith in the Watcher’s wisdom. They circled the building and found the door Tad had forced still open. Entering, Tad glanced above and saw no Triocs perched on the ledge, but the unmistakable ammonia smell of their guano-like feces permeated the room.
“They’re gone,” he said with relief.
“I believe they are feeding in the air above. That was a feeding call we heard earlier.”
“Feeding on what?”
“Bats, most likely. A cavern such as this must have a large bat population and Triocs can locate them easily in the dark by the bat’s cry.”
“I wondered what they ate. It didn’t seem there would be enough rodents and small game in Delphi to feed them,” Tad said. “Or dogs,” he added.
Simios looked at Tad and smiled. “Very good! Most people would never bother to ponder Trioc eating habits. Your inquiring mind seeks answers to questions most do not think to ask.”
“I just see things and wonder why they are that way.”
“During man’s long confinement during the Veil and his long climb back afterwards, I believe he felt at the complete mercy of forces beyond his knowledge and slowly lost the inquisitiveness of his ancestors. It has been bred away, found now only in a select few. Scientists once classed people as Alphas or Betas, leaders or followers. I believe there are far fewer Alphas than there once were. Most are Betas, or worse, Gammas, who follow without question and fear any change.
“Why do you think we still use steam and gas when we obviously have the ability to electrify the entire city?” he asked.
Tad thought a moment but no quick answer came to him. Then, in a flash of comprehension, he said, “Fear.”
“Yes, fear of the unknown. People, and by this I mean most races, are comfortable with the way things are, as are those ruling the people. Gas lights the darkness, steam powers the manufacturing
plants and electricity is confined to the Black Tower and the Watchers’ Tower, both considered by most to be elite, better than everyone else is. It has been this way for centuries. We Watchers observe this and see a trend. We fear this civilization has reached its apex and that mankind and the other races are on a slow downward spiral that could eventually lead to a return to barbarism.”
“You would allow this?”
Simios looked at him as if hurt by the accusation. “We cannot stop it.”
In the lull of conversation following this exchange, as Simios examined Saracen’s sarcophagus and the bas-relief of the famous ruler carved into the lid, Tad once again questioned the apparent lack of wisdom shown by the Plin. Did they not know that anything that affected the other races was bound to affect them as well? Of course they did, he realized. Then why would the Plin allow their own race to follow the downward spiral of the others?
He could understand altruism, sacrificing themselves for the benefit of the other races, but this reverse altruism made no sense. They surely had the ability if not to correct this slide, to, at least, prevent it from happening to them.
“This is remarkable artistry,” Simios called to him from the platform. “It appears the face has been deliberately desecrated.”
“Why?” Tad climbed the steps for a closer view.
“Someone wanted to erase Saracen’s lineage, disguise his roots.”
“Perhaps the Haffa,” Tad suggested. “They claim Saracen as one of their own.”
“Perhaps, but I think this was done more recently. See,” Simios pointed out the fine chisel marks Tad had failed to observe before, “the grooves are still shiny and there is little dust on the face.”
“But why now?”
Simios cocked his head as if listening to the Saracen’s chiseled bas-relief speaking to him. “Perhaps it was Saracen’s particular features they wished to obscure and not just his origins. They could have as easily destroyed the entire statue and forever erased his origins.”
“His face? But why?”
Simios scratched at his beard. “Hmm. This I don’t know. I will have to ponder it for a while. Maybe some ancient tome in the library holds an answer. Let us leave this place. The foul odor of the Triocs’ unintentional desecration is getting to me.”
Tad led Simios through the city to the house he had examined earlier. It looked as if no one had visited since. Simios poked through closets, picking up and just as quickly discarding items at random. He walked outside to the edge of the central pool and examined the ground.
“They left here by boat,” he pronounced.
“Boat?” He peered across the lake. “Do you think they are on the other side?”
Simios looked amused. “No, I believe they went much farther, perhaps another continent.”
Tad was mystified. “What? Where could they go beneath the ground?”
“Once there were boats that traveled beneath the water.”
Tad had suspected the water came from the sea because of its salt content. “How is that possible? What would prevent the water from rushing in?”
“If the cavern was truly sealed, internal pressure would suffice, but since we know there are at least two unsealed openings, I believe an airlock, or sea lock if you prefer, may be involved.”
Tad had heard of an air lock used by ancient space ships to prevent inside air from spewing into the vacuum of space, but the concept of such a device for underwater intrigued him.
“How can we find it?”
“Alas, we cannot, unless we dive into the water to seek it and it might be too deep for us to swim, even if we could open it. Certainly, I am too old for such an attempt and I think it unwise for you to try. At this time, there is nothing gained in certainty. The probability is enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“To assume our missing friends are technologically more advanced than us.”
Tad thought of the laser used against King Karal. “They are behind the attacks on the king.”
“That is uncertain. For one thing, we have not determined if their intentions are hostile or benign.”
“But they must be behind these assassination attempts,” Tad burst out. “Otherwise …”
“Yes. There is always an otherwise. Lack of definite facts is not lack of information. Each fact is like a link in a chain. By traveling both directions in the chain, you soon find the ends and that to which it is tethered. This has not been a futile journey. I must speak with other Watchers and we will consider this.”
A quick flash of light back they way they had come caught Tad’s attention. He touched Simios’s robe. “Someone is following us.”
They extinguished their own lights and moved by touch to the safety of one of the houses. A few minutes later, the sound of gravel crunching beneath boots became more distinct.
“I sense two of them,” Simios whispered.
Tad touched the hilt of his dagger. He had learned the techniques of self-defense but he had never thought he might have to use it on another human. He held his breath as the steps drew closer. They stopped at the house next door, the one that showed signs of habitation. A light sparked to life inside.
“They’ve been here,” a voice said. Tad recognized it as one of the men who had confronted him and his uncle outside the restaurant.
“They can’t hide,” the other said.
“Don’t be a fool. One is a Plin and the boy is just as dangerous.”
Tad was surprised at this. How could they consider him dangerous?
“He can’t stop bullets,” the second replied. Tad could hear the eagerness in the man’s voice and shuddered.
The light and the footsteps drew closer. He and Simios could hide in the maze of buildings, but what if the men waited for them at one of the entrances? Tad backed up away from the door. His foot hit a loose rock and skidded. The sound echoed. The light moved from the building next door and swung toward the one in which they hid.
“I hear you,” one shouted. “Come out now or I’ll start shooting.” He laughed. “These old buildings are rotten. If the bullets don’t get you, a loose stone falling from the ceiling will.”
“We can sneak out the back door, run for the elevator,” Tad whispered in Simios’s ear.
“Sadly, I am too old to run.” With a sigh, he stepped out the door and created a light sphere that hovered a few meters above his head. He called out to the pair.
“I wish to speak with you.”
Tad cringed.
“You too de Silva,” the man called. “I know you’re in there.”
Tad followed Simios and stood beside him. As he suspected, the pair were the ones who had accosted him and his uncle outside the restaurant. The leader smiled.
“I see you’ve found the Sanctuary. I suspected you would after you found the Observatory.”
How did they know that? “Are you with the Blood Cabal?” Tad asked.
“Some call them that. They prefer another name but yours will do.”
“You tried to kill the king and framed me,” Tad accused.
The man laughed. “The king is not our concern. He has a child’s mind. It was you we were after.”
Tad swallowed hard. “Me? Why?”
The man pointed at Simios. “Ask your Plin friend.”
Tad glanced at Simios; then back at the two men. “I asked you.”
“Very well. The Blood Cabal, as you call them, decided you might pose a threat to their plans, but you proved remarkably resourceful. Having the Council of Regents remove you will work just as well. Of course, now that you’ve discovered the Sanctuary, Riz and I will have to complete the job.”
Riz smiled, pulled out a pistol from his jacket, and pointed it at Tad.
“I will not allow harm to come to this boy,” Simios said. “Leave now and tell your masters this and I will spare your lives.”
Riz’s smile vanished. His eyes went dark and Tad knew he was going to pull the trigger. Before he could move out of th
e way, the gun fired. A second flash followed the muzzle flash so quickly, they appeared to happen simultaneously. No bullet struck Tad’s flesh. It did not even leave the barrel of the pistol. Simios’s attack shattered the pistol and Riz’s hand. Riz stood staring at the bleeding stump as if unable to comprehend what had happened.
The other man reached for his weapon. This time, Tad was ready. His dagger was in the air, propelled by a quick flick of the wrist, before his mind had even completed the thought. It struck the man in the shoulder, spinning him into his companion. The pair stumbled and fell, sprawling across each other on the ground. Simios went to the now one-handed man and seared the stump with the heat of a flaming sphere. The man screamed and fainted.
Simios looked at the first man. “Your companion will live, though he will long regret his ill-conceived decision to kill.”
The man shrugged; then winced from the pain. Simios yanked the knife from his shoulder. The man gasped aloud. Simios held the dagger in a threatening manner.
“Where is the Blood Cabal?”
The man shook his head.
“I will force you to reveal this information to me and to the Council of Regents to clear Tad’s name.”
Tad felt a glimmer of hope.
The man smiled. “No, I don’t think that will be possible. We failed. There is a stiff penalty for such failure.” He touched a ring on his finger and a needle sprang out of the jewel. He jabbed his unconscious companion and then himself. “This is more merciful than the Cabal’s wrath.” With these words, he convulsed once and died. White spittle dripped from his lips. His companion did not move but the same foam came to his lips.
“They’re dead,” Tad said, unable to comprehend the manner of their deaths, the uselessness of it.
Simios leaned over the dead man, took a whiff of the ring and shook his head. “It is the juice of the tarwal plant from southern climes. Such senseless deaths. And with them ends the only chance for your pardon.”
“I … I don’t understand why they want me dead. What threat am I to them?” he cried. He cast Simios an angry look. “You know, don’t you?”
