by Aaron Hodges
Not this time, please, Gods, not this time.
Her lantern illuminated walls of white limestone. Stalactites had begun to form in the ceiling, young yet, while water and the relentless passage of time had carved grooves in the stone beneath her feet. Silver threads criss-crossed the air, reflecting light from her lantern, but she saw no sign of the arachnids that had spun them.
Satisfied she had reached the bottom of the shaft, Erika set the lantern on the ground beside her and unclipped herself from the rope. Three tugs signalled to her assistants it was safe to descend. It would not pay to venture too far into this place alone.
She looked again at the walls. So much had been lost to the passage of time, but Erika knew for herself that some powers had remained from the time of the Gods. Her mother had…become a scavenger, digging in the dirt for scraps of metal that she could sell to the local blacksmith.
Their poverty in her later childhood stung Erika even now, though at least her mother’s occupation had given birth to her fascination with the Gods. The woman had collected trinkets found during her digging—pieces of glass and strange, bendable materials that were of no worth to the local tradesmen. Most had been inert, remnants of a time long lost.
But one had been different.
Erika had found it amongst her mother’s collection—a smooth, round piece of glass. It had seemed no different from the others, but for an impurity at its centre. Some mistake in its crafting, her younger self had thought.
Until she’d squeezed it between her fingers, and a brilliant light had burst forth.
She’d dropped it, so great had been her shock. The artefact had struck a rock and cracked in half, its light dying with a final flash. Half-blinded, Erika had scrambled to put it back together, before she’d smelt the burning.
Only as her vision cleared did she see the tiny drop of moisture that had been expelled from the glass. Solid stone had dissolved at its touch, leaving a smoking hole in the rock. Frozen in terror at what she might have unleashed, her younger self had sat frozen as the house filled with a terrible, molten stench. The stone had burnt for an hour before whatever magic had been hidden within the glass finally consumed itself. It had left a hole almost the size of Erika’s fist in the unadorned floor.
Erika had not soon forgotten the beating she’d received for the incident, though today it was the loss of the object she regretted. Who knew what power it might have possessed? She’d found other objects over the years, but none had retained their magic.
The scuffing of boots on stone announced the arrival of her first assistant. A plump Flumeeren man by the name of Ibran, he had been one of the first to record the known locations of these sites. He’d been reluctant to join the expedition, concerned as he was by the wrath of the Gods, but his academic’s mind had finally proven stronger than his superstition. Unclipping himself from the rope, Ibran took up another lantern and stepped aside for her second assistant to make his descent.
Sythe was Ibran’s opposite in every way, more fighter than academic. The queen had offered his services to ensure their safety on the journey. So far, they had not had to test his skills as a warrior, though his strength had been a welcome addition. He came into view now, descending rapidly, a massive pack looped over his shoulders. A pickaxe was clipped to the side and within were their supplies—rope and food for several days, water, even a blasting cap, in case they had to break through a collapse in the cave network.
She might have travelled with a larger party, but Erika was not the only one interested in the world before The Fall. She’d heard whispers of Archivists in Gemaho who sought the same secrets as herself. With the fall of Calafe, the world was growing desperate for an answer to the Tangata.
When Sythe had landed and unclipped, Erika nodded for him to take the lead. “Slowly,” she murmured, “if anything remains, I don’t want to disturb it.”
“Yes, Archivist,” Sythe said with a nod. He was not a man of many words.
Ibran took up position behind Erika as they started off into the caves. He too carried a pack, though like hers, it only held his food and water for the day, along with a few scrolls to help with translating the language of the Gods. Though breathing in the moisture-laden air, Erika felt they might be getting ahead of themselves.
The ancient sites seemed to follow a similar pattern to one another, though the rock that surrounded them was smooth, unbroken by a single joint. Had the Gods carved them from the bedrock itself? The thought of such power sent a shudder down Erika’s spine. Surely even a fraction would be enough to destroy the Tangata.
Using sketches of the last site they’d visited as a map, the three wound their way deeper into the darkness. The tunnel branched at regular intervals, creating a maze far beneath the surface. Smaller openings appeared in the walls, revealing all manner of chambers.
The moisture seemed to lessen as they pressed on, though as the hours stretched out, they still saw no sign of relics. Doubt touched Erika. What had she been thinking, pinning her future on a wild goose chase? She should have known nothing would remain of the time before The Fall, not even in these secret places. If only they had been sealed away, protected from the elements. Instead they had remained opened to the world, their contents rotted away, or perhaps even stolen by early explorers.
Steeling herself, Erika forced her chin higher. They had barely started. It would take days to explore the entire network. Plenty of time yet for a discovery.
There would be a chamber somewhere here, something that had been protected, that still held its secrets. She continued on, counting steps, checking each chamber she came too, then continuing. Always they were spaced the same number of steps apart---
Erika frowned, pausing midstride. There should have been another opening ahead, but instead she found only smooth, untouched stone. Still in the lead, Sythe continued on, unaware of the break in pattern, but she stopped.
“Something wrong, Archivist?” Ibran asked.
Shaking her head, Erika did not reply. Had she lost track of her footsteps? No, she had long grown used to keeping the count while other thoughts occupied her mind. Following the pattern of the other sites, there should be a chamber here.
But there was nothing but solid stone.
Erika’s heart hammered in her chest as she held the lantern closer to the limestone wall. Not a single crack showed in the silvery stone, nothing to indicate a cave-in had closed off the chamber. Had the Gods changed their pattern in this place? But no, the rest of the site had been a mirror image of the others.
“An irregularity,” she murmured, more to herself than her companions.
It didn’t make sense. Why change the pattern here? She leaned in closer, inspecting the pale rock. Light from her lantern shimmered as it caught in the thin trails of water trickling down the wall. She frowned as an idea came to her. Wasn’t it odd, that these places had been carved from the bedrock—then left unadorned? With the power at their fingertips, why would the Gods choose to leave their sacred places so…plain?
Unless the limestone was not, in fact, the original stone.
“The pickaxe,” she said, turning to Sythe.
Sythe raised an eyebrow, but he was a former soldier and accustomed to obeying orders without question. Shrugging the pack from his back, he unclipped the pickaxe and handed it over.
Carefully she stepped up to the wall. The white stone seemed to glow in the lantern light, as though the rock had somehow absorbed the great magics that had once been worked here. Erika cared little for its beauty—only for what might lie beneath. Using the razor-sharp point of the pickaxe, she scraped at the rock, gently at first, then with greater pressure as the limestone crumbled.
She kept at her task until, with a sharp grating noise, the pick struck something unyielding beneath the white rock. The breath caught in her throat and she withdrew the pick, revealing darkness beneath. For a moment, Erika thought it was stone—then Ibran moved his lantern, and light reflected from the black.
/> “Metal,” she whispered.
“Truly?” Ibran leaned in closer, trying to get a better look. “That’s…impossible. It would have corroded, rusted away long ago.”
“And yet it remains,” Erika murmured. That was a question for another day, though. Turning to Sythe, she handed the pickaxe back to him. “Let’s see how far it extends.”
The warrior nodded. He worked with more care than Erika would have expected from one untrained in the Archivists arts. The queen had apparently chosen her people well. Chunks of stone fell away and slowly a great panel of reflective metal was revealed. Dust covered its surface, but it remained unmarked by the pickaxe. Whatever the Gods had used in its creation, it was apparently harder than steel.
Blood pounded in Erika’s ears as Sythe finally stepped back, revealing the full extent of his work. He had removed the limestone a foot to either side of the panel, though here his administrations had only revealed another type of rock. It confirmed Erika’s suspicions. The limestone had not been there during the time of the Gods—it had formed later, deposited as a thin layer by the calcite laden waters.
She turned her attention back to the metal sheet. Its surface was unadorned, giving no indication of its purpose. But Erika knew, had guessed it the second she’d uncovered the reflective surface. This panel was the reason for the missing chamber.
“It’s a door,” she murmured.
“But how to open it?” Ibran replied.
He had a point. There was no handle that might have released the door from its frame. In fact, the steel joined so tightly with the rock on either side that formed a perfect seal. Erika’s hands began to shake. If this door had kept out the moisture, its contents might have been protected from the relentless passage of time.
This was what she’d been searching for!
“Can you knock it down?” she asked, excitement washing away her usual caution.
Sythe flicked her a glance, then stepping back from the door, he lurched forward and slammed a boot into the metal. The panel did not so much as budge. He tried again, and a final time, but it was clear the metal would take more than human strength to move.
Erika swallowed. Dare she risk the explosive charges? They could bring the roof down on them, or destroy whatever lay on the other side. But what other choice did she have? The pickaxe had not even dented the strange metal.
“Sythe,” she murmured. “The blasting cap.”
“What?” Ibran hissed. “Archivist, you cannot be serious. The risk—”
“The risk is acceptable,” Erika spoke over him. There was more than just her reputation at stake—the queen did not take kindly to failure. Especially if she learned they’d been so close and turned back. “Sythe, I trust you can open this door without bringing the ceiling down on top of us.”
Sythe was already rummaging in his pack, but he paused long enough to nod. Ibran stuttered something incomprehensible and then started off back down the corridor. Ignoring him, Erika watched as Sythe set the charges. She had little experience with such things, and had to trust the man knew what he was doing. If they ended up destroying what lay within…
No, she could not doubt herself, not now. She needed to know what lay behind this door. Her fate, the fate of Flumeer, and perhaps even humanity itself, depended on it.
Finally, Sythe stepped back from the door. He had set two charges, one high, the other low, both on the left-hand side of the door. Taking the fuse from his pack, he attached it to the charges and then glanced at her.
“Ready.”
Nodding, Erika led the way back down the tunnel. If the explosion did cause a cave-in, she didn’t want to be anywhere near it. Sythe trailed the fuse out behind them as they went, until they reached the last chamber they’d passed. There they found a sulking Ibran. Erika joined him in the chamber’s questionable shelter and then looked to Sythe.
He lit the fuse.
Erika held her breath as sparks leapt from the wire and vanished back into the main tunnel. Suddenly doubtful, she shared a glance with Ibran, but it was too late to change her mind now. Closing her eyes, she held her hands over her ears and waited.
Boom.
4
The Archivist
Light seared through Erika’s eyelids as the explosion shook the chamber. A shockwave followed and something struck her, driving her to the ground. Breath hissed between her teeth as she dragged in a breath. Dust burned in her nostrils and when she opened her eyes, Erika found herself in absolute darkness.
For a second, she thought the worst had happened and they’d all been buried. But then the weight shifted above her and she heard a grunt as someone picked himself up. The flare of a match illuminated Sythe’s face, then the broken lantern and the grumbling Ibran where he had fallen on the other side of the cave. Sythe retrieved their spare lantern from his backpack, though even with it lit, it was near impossible to see with the dust and smoke still obscuring the air.
Erika coughed as she dragged herself to her feet. “Did it work?”
Without a word, Sythe moved to the doorway. The light of his lantern drew them after him. Excitement pulsed in Erika’s veins as she stepped back into the tunnel. An uncharacteristic grin split Sythe’s face as he glanced back.
“Looks like it worked, Archivist.”
She was at his side in an instant, her discomfort forgotten. Dust still danced in the lanternlight, but a gap in the steel panel was now evident. Beyond, darkness beckoned. Hardly able to contain her excitement, Erika staggered forward. The door had twisted in its frame, the blast blowing the bottom half of it inwards several inches, while the rest remained stubbornly fixed in place. Thankfully, the gap was large enough for even Ibran to fit.
She stepped towards it before a sense of self-preservation gave her pause. If this space had remained untouched since The Fall, the magic of the Gods might still prevail—along with any traps they might have set for intruders. She considered sending Sythe first…but no, if the unknown truly awaited, she wanted—needed—to be first.
Gathering herself, she ducked beneath the broken sheet of metal. Darkness swallowed her up as she left behind the lantern and set one foot, then another, on the unseen floor. Holding her breath, she straightened.
Clang.
A scream built in Erika’s throat as something clicked overhead and she tried to throw herself back. But in the darkness, she misjudged the height of the hole in the door. Her shoulder collided with the heavy metal and threw her back, leaving her at the mercy of whatever trap she had triggered…
Light flooded the chamber.
Erika’s scream turned to a gasp as she found herself face-to-face with the brilliance of the Gods. A magical glow now lit the chamber, stemming from great globes of glass fixed high on the walls—like giant versions of the artefact she had once held as a child. Mouth wide, she turned in a circle, eyes burning from the sudden brightness after the dark, but unable to turn away.
“Archivist?” Ibran’s voice came from beyond the door. He sounded nervous. “Is…everything okay?
“See for yourself,” she said, too engrossed with the magic to offer any explanation.
Scuffling came from beyond the door as her assistants followed, first Ibran, then Sythe bringing up the rear. Their eyes widened as they saw the source of the light. Erika shared their astonishment. What magic did the Gods possess, that their talismans retained power, even centuries after being abandoned?
“What sorcery is this?” Ibran murmured.
A grin came unbidden to Erika’s face. “What we’ve been searching for.”
“Perhaps the doubters were right,” he croaked. She looked at him in surprise and saw his jowls quiver as he swallowed. “This…just being in this place, it feels like sacrilege.”
The smile slipped from Erika’s face. “Nonsense,” she snapped, before returning her attention to the chamber.
There was no sign of water damage here—indeed, even after the explosion, there was barely any dust on this side of the
door. Instead of limestone, the walls and floor were made of polished grey stone, their surfaces untouched by weakness or imperfections. Her breath caught as she saw a massive pane of black glass fixed to one wall. It would have been worth a fortune back in Mildeth—only the richest of nobles could afford windows of glass.
A table made from a similar metal to the door sat pressed against the opposite wall. Blood pounded in Erika’s ears as she stepped towards it. The metal surface was empty. Despite the magic lights, the shining glass and sealed door, there was…nothing.
No!
Erika darted forward as the light glinted from an object she’d almost missed—a glove, lying alone on the table. The way it reflected in the strange lights had camouflaged it. As she picked it up, she realised why. It had been woven from metal rather than wool. A gauntlet? What would the Gods have needed with such an object?
Instinctively, she lifted the gauntlet and slipped it onto her hand. Behind her, Ibran gasped, no doubt disturbed by her supposed sacrilege, but she ignored him. She had come to learn, to gain understanding of the Gods—not surrender to superstition. The time had come to throw caution to the winds.
The cold steel sent a shiver down her spine. She was surprised how well it fit—she had always imagined the Gods as giants. Though she supposed that was foolish, given how small these hidden tunnels were.
Holding the gauntlet up to the light, Erika wondered at how the steel fibres had been woven together. They rippled in the magical glow, seeming almost alive. What was the function of such an object? Her heart throbbed as an idea came to her. Could this be what she’d been looking for, some connection to the Gods and their magic?
“Erika…”
It was Ibran, but she was past listening to his cautions now. Standing there, illuminated by the magic of the Gods, surrounded by their riches, Erika knew what she had to do. Forgotten were the warnings, the legends of the Tangata and The Fall. She now held the magic that could destroy them in the palm of her hand, if only she had the strength to command it.
