The Delving

by Aaron Bunce

  They moved around a tight bend in the river, the jagged rocks no longer gently sloping up, but now creating an almost sheer wall of solid stone. A wide shelf extended from the cliff and hung out over the water, supported on both sides by what looked like natural columns of stone. A dense curtain of ivy hung from the shelf, draping onto the ground and looping in massive, green vines and purple leaves, before disappearing into the water.

  “The very spot where our fortunate monk found himself lost,” Iona said, sweeping a hand towards the vines. Thorben turned around, surveying the somewhat sheltered cove. His eyes crawled over the stone, catching on every drawn shadow and large gap, and yet none looked large enough for a person to enter. And more strangely still, he struggled to identify a spot where a person might crawl down into the valley.

  “I don’t understand. You said there was a cave?” Thorben said, picking his way forward and pulling the curtain of ivy aside. A shallow cove hung behind the wall of vegetation, a small pool of mossy water covering the ground, but no cave.

  “Your eyes have been too long from delving, Owl. You know, as well as I, that the dalan hid their secrets well,” Iona said, but there was no mirth, no warmth, in his voice anymore. His eyes flitted quickly between Gor and Hun before returning to Thorben. A look haunted Iona’s eyes, one eerily similar to what he saw in Jez. Did they both know something?

  Thorben involuntarily turned and looked behind him, his gaze flitting up the river, across the bank to the stone, and then back down the valley. A thought nagged him, hovering at the back of his mind. He was missing something…but what?

  “Follow me,” Iona said, and picked his way past the ivy curtain, moving down river. He passed the end of the shelf and turned right, disappearing into a shadow.

  Thorben abruptly stopped and looked to Jez. She gave him a sidelong glance, before Gor prodded her forward, and she too stepped into the shadow.

  “Now you,” Gor said, the three mules hovering just behind him, their bulk spaced out like a wall of muscle and spear.

  Reluctantly, Thorben walked toward the shadowy corner, his hands reaching out for what his eyes told him was solid stone. And yet, his fingers passed into the darkness and found only air.

  “A trick of the shadow…an illusion of stone?” he whispered, and stepped forward. Thorben passed into dark and back into light in the span of a heartbeat, a shoulder-width passage curving around to his immediate left. He turned and marveled at the hidden entrance, his eyes crawling up the jagged stone. A number of thick, rocky outcroppings hung above, stepped one above the other and splayed like barely separated fingers. With the layer of mist gone, he looked straight up to the sky, where the sun hung high overhead.

  “Of course…to catch the sunlight and keep the entrance in shadow, even as the sun moves across the sky,” he breathed in awe.

  Gor stepped through the entrance to the passage then and forced him forward. The massive man had to turn sideways, his shoulders too wide to fit down the narrow passage.

  Thorben moved along the path. He turned as the maze-like passage curved sharply to his right. Gor, Hun, and Renlo filled the passage behind him, cutting him off. For the first time since meeting up with the group in the woods, he was trapped, boxed in by stone and sharp spears. Running was no longer an option.

  Thorben followed the path as it wove serpent-like through the rock, until finally, it turned right once again and opened up into a wider alley. A stone slab door sat straight ahead. The thick stone was cracked and broken, almost a third of its bulk lying on the ground to his left.

  He walked up to tomb door, a single relief carving decorating its smooth surface. It was a round eye, its pupil the shape of a star, the telltale carvings of lightning extending as eyelashes.

  “The monk found this? This is where he made the rubbing?” Thorben asked, and reached into his bag. He pulled the parchment free, but it was a pulpy mess, the river water destroying its captured image.

  “In,” Gor grumbled, and prodded him forward with the spear shaft, the ruined sheaf of parchment falling to the ground.

  “Someone has already…no, you’ve already broken into the crypt,” he said, pointing to the fractured portion of the slab.

  “In!” Gor repeated and smacked him harder with the spear shaft, pushing him hard towards the opening. Thorben staggered forward, the force jarring his bones and reigniting the pain in his side. He dropped awkwardly to his knees, and crawled into the gap in the stone slab.

  “You could have asked,” he muttered, crawling forward on his hands and knees.

  The air was stale on the other side of the door, and very dark. Thorben stood, immediately aware of the dampness of his clothes, the stagnant air closing around him like a tight, icy blanket. He drew in another deep breath, the achy rattle still buzzing in his chest. There was an odor on the air that he couldn’t quite identify, beyond the heavy aroma of mold and damp.

  Sparks ignited in the shadows, and a moment later a torch flared to life. One burning torch became two, and then three. Thorben stood shivering just inside the shattered slab door, his arms wrapped protectively around his body, trying and failing not to shiver visibly.

  “I…I…If you’ve already broken through the door, what do you need me for?” he asked, shivering and looking around, his voice echoing between walls.

  Hun walked around the outside of the circular chamber, stopping every dozen paces to dip his torch into a stone brazier. The stout man skipped over several braziers on the left side of the room, leaving half the space in heavy shadow.

  Thorben stepped forward, taking in every detail as the light blossomed, revealing reliefs carved into the walls around him – ivy branching and trees crawling, while strange and fantastical creatures leapt or soared on massive wings. The carvings branched all the way up to the smooth, domed ceiling, where a chandelier of silver rings and crystals hung. The crystals caught the firelight, redirecting it in long splashes of rainbow color. He watched the chandelier rotate ever so slowly, the reflections moving in a slow arc around the circular chamber.

  A waist-high column stood immediately to his right and inside the broken door, the stone so finely polished that it almost glowed in the firelight. Thorben ran his hand over it, taking in every detail, before leaning in closer and blowing a fine layer of dust off the top. A small, round hole had been cut into the flat surface. He ran a finger around the stone’s rounded edges and moved forward.

  “Not the crypt, but the doorway to one,” he surmised, as Iona approached. The man crossed his arms over his chest and watched Thorben, a peculiar expression haunting his eyes.

  “I thought we were going to make camp, and you were going to wait there?” he asked. Iona swallowed, and moved forward silently, his dark eyes flitting over Thorben’s shoulder. He turned his head to follow the gaze, only to find Gor standing just inside the gap of the broken door, his spear held ready.

  “I am truly sorry, old friend. And I do mean that. At one point, I considered you more than just an associate, but a friend…maybe even family. That is why I didn’t want to bring you…tried everything in my power to prevent dragging you back into this life, but you must understand, I’m a desperate man,” Iona said, walking up to a circular platform located directly in the room’s center. Intricate patterns had been carved into the stone, a podium branching out of its back edge. A number of strange, barrel shaped contraptions stood on end atop the podium, spun or carved out of some rich, dark wood. A heavy gate broke the solid stone of the far wall, the stout metal still gleaming after untold thaws of damp and darkness.

  “Desperate? I don’t understand? What is going on?” Thorben asked, stepping towards the podium and its odd decorations. A warning bell rang in his mind, all of the strange glances, comments, and behaviors spinning together. But he couldn’t put them together. Thorben absently reached towards the podium.

  “Don’t step on the symbol! Don’t touch the keys!” Jez shouted, running in from behind them.

  The girl slappe
d Thorben’s arm down and pulled him violently away, tearing his shirtsleeve. Before he could react, Hun moved forward and pulled Jez back, lifting her feet clear of the ground in the process.

  “Let her go!” Thorben shouted, and moved to help the struggling girl, but Gor surged forward, the spear snapping up and leveling at his belly.

  “Okay, Owl. No making camp, no more talking…we’re here, and ‘tis time for you to do yer work. Do what we brought you here for, and get us into that crypt!” the big man said, his eyes wide as he moved forward.

  “What is your man about, Iona? What is going on? Tell him to let go of her!” Thorben demanded, backing away, his eyes dropping to the spear point. He turned to Iona, who stood just to his right and back a few steps.

  “Please don’t hurt her. You promised you wouldn’t hurt her if I did everything you said! I did it all didn’t I? I got Thorben, he is here now,” Iona said, his voice breaking, and took a halting step towards the mules.

  “I only said I wouldn’t kill her,” Gor snarled, Hun’s arm tightening around Jez’s neck in response. “She lives if you get me what’s promised! You…?” The big man’s words died off in a threatening chuckle.

  Iona faltered, and spun, his eyes swiveling rapidly between Thorben and Jez, as she struggled in Hun’s arms. Thorben watched the two mules, something moving in the corner of his eye. Renlo stood just beyond the other two, his face scrunched up in an almost pained expression.

  “It was all a lie…” Thorben muttered, putting the pieces together finally. “Was any of it true?” he asked, pulling his ripped sleeve up and exposing the brand.

  “I’m sorry, Owl. You never would have come if I’d told you the truth. And I would not have blamed you…especially considering the stakes,” Iona said, unwillingly meeting Thorben’s gaze. “But you see…you’re my last shot to get into that crypt. There is more at stake here than wealth and brands...I needed you to come. I need you.”

  Thorben looked from Iona, to Jez, and up to Gor’s ruddy face. It clicked into place, and he instantly felt the fool. The girl had Iona’s dark hair and eyes, his height and build. Damn, he’d let his mind get slow…let his family and troubles bog down his thoughts. Why hadn’t he seen any of it sooner?

  “Jez is your daughter?” Thorben whispered the words, but Iona heard, and nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor.

  “Enough talk. We’ve played our part long enough…waited long enough…now get to it! Gor said, his eyes flashing Thorben and the podium.

  “Play your part?” he echoed.

  Gor nodded. “Yup…we played the dim, bowing and scraping, willing little mule servants. Did it good, too. All cause Iona didn’t trust that you’d make it all the way here. He feared you’d get scared and run off into the woods and leave him alone, and we weren’t for chasing any more of you tricky little bastards down, neither. But now you’re here, so do your part. Simple.”

  “You want me to open up that gate…for you?” Thorben asked, watching the big man’s mouth move, his remaining teeth gleaming in the torchlight.

  “Yes, clever man. You said it yourself, remember? You understand how things work. Now be clever, and open that gate! The River Guild will have the treasure Iona promised, or the blood debt will come due,” the big man said, holding out a torch. “Open the gate, or my spear starts letting blood.”

  “Wait, I don’t know…” Thorben said, accepting the torch, but swallowed his own words, realizing in horror the consequences of that admission. If he couldn’t do what they wanted, then he had no value to them. “Alright! Just give me a little time! Let me take a look around…no one needs to get hurt.” He eased away from the spear, his hands held up defensively.

  Turning, Thorben moved towards the raised pad, unwillingly putting the big men and their spears to his back. He held the torch out before him, the flickering light illuminating the carved pattern covering the raised platform. The shadows drew, stretching as if trying to get away from the light, but the glow couldn’t seem to penetrate the darkness pooling inside the carvings. And then Thorben realized why. He saw a dark spot on the stone, and then another. A bloody smear stretched off the left side of the pad, down onto the floor, and disappeared in the dark side of the chamber.

  The carvings etched into the platform were filled with blood.

  Chapter Ten

  A Key to Survive

  Recoiling from the sight, Thorben circled the pad, his eyes crawling over the rock. Now that he’d noticed the blood, he saw it everywhere – pooled in the cracks and carvings, smeared on the ground, and dark spatters on the podium and its strange contraptions.

  He knew he wasn’t the first man to try and open the crypt – all indications told him that Iona had likely talked several into the task before him. His desperation was proof enough of that fact. And yet, from the look of the platform, none of those men walked back out of the chamber again. Maybe carried…or dragged.

  “This controls the gate?” he asked, gesturing towards the podium. Jez called them keys, he thought, leaning in to study the three wooden barrels. Each was covered in multiple carvings, the runes separated by inlays of rich, gold filigree. A sliver of crystal sat embedded in the podium just before each key, evidently serving as a marker. The first shone like emerald, the second ruby, and the third clear, like a diamond.

  Iona nodded, moving around the opposite side of the pedestal. “Gadric surmised quickly that they are keys, and must be turned in the correct order and combination. He was like you, Owl…clever. Given enough time, I believe he would have figured it out. Unfortunately…”

  “Given enough time?” Thorben echoed, cutting him off. In response, Iona’s gaze drifted towards the shadowy side of the chamber. Gor and Hun shuffled in behind them, the spears held level with the ground, a silent and effective reminder. Be clever. Open the gate, or…

  “The keys can only be turned once a person is standing on the platform, and if they aren’t turned in the correct order, they…they die. You have three chances.”

  Thorben swallowed hard, his chest going tight. He circled back around the platform in the other direction, holding the torch close to study the runes etched into the keys. He recognized several of them from tombs he’d delved before. Think, you fool. The answer is usually simpler, no it’s always simpler, than most people think…step back, relax, and watch. You can figure this out!

  Taking a deep breath, Thorben cleared his head, willing away the cluttered, frantic thoughts jumbling his mind. He turned and walked towards the gate. His gaze snapped to the ground and crawled up the wall, using torch light to soak in every detail.

  “The dalan were thorough records keepers. I found bits and pieces of their stories carved into each crypt I delved. Sometimes it was their legends – tales of gods and battles, but others honored their fallen, detailing their deeds in life,” he said, studying the stone all the way around the gate.

  He pulled his rock hammer and a chisel out of his bag and tested several spots. The hardened steel bounced off the stone, rebounding with an echoing ting, but didn’t leave any noticeable mark. Thorben leaned in closer, holding the torch right up to the stone. Small symbols were etched into the rock, the foreign runes glowing in the fire’s heat. He traced them all the way up and around the gated entrance.

  “A spell perhaps…to harden the stone?” Thorben mumbled and dropped the chisel into his bag. He reluctantly slid the hammer back into his belt.

  “A spell? Men already tried to break through. None could even scratch that gate, or crumble the rock. You can read their runes, then?” Gor asked, his voice right over his left shoulder. Thorben jumped, but tried to play it off.

  “No, not their runes. Not read it, like I would scrolls or tomes, at least. But yes, to an extent. You see the dalan used symbols and pictures as part of their language. They decorated their homes, tombs, and meeting areas with them. You see them enough, and start to understand their significance. I believe the dalan were, well, are storytellers…just like us. We sit in fe
st halls and share mead, ale, or wine, but more importantly, memories and stories. We want others to carry parts of our lives with them. Scribes and monks write them in scrolls. It’s a tradition. The dalan did the same thing, only they left their tales behind in a different language…and not in scrolls, but etched into Denoril herself,” Thorben said, his old confidence slowly coming back.

  “So…you can open the gate,” Gor said, impatience oozing with every word. The copper coin rolled between the large man’s fingers. Waiting.

  He met Iona’s gaze and looked back to Jez. Hun sniggered and leaned in to sniff her hair. She fought and thrashed, but it was all in vain. Thorben knew there was only one answer Gor and his associates would accept. He could tell them no, but that would only bring Iona and his daughter more pain.

  “Yes,” he said, the lie echoing uncomfortably in his ears. He lifted the torch again and made his way left, stepped around a brazier, and resumed studying the carvings on the wall. This etching depicted a burly, horned creature, perched atop a jagged rock, the trees and plants barren of flowers or leaves. He’d never seen an animal like it before.

  Thorben continued, moved around one of the broken braziers and abruptly stopped. Shiny, unblinking orbs reflected back the light of his torch. He inched forward, the light revealing twisted limbs, stained clothing, and rumpled hair, all hidden in the shadows of Hun’s unlit braziers.

  “Mani…no!” he whispered involuntarily, his light revealing at least half a dozen bodies. The men were tossed haphazardly together, brown trousers, heavy twill shirts, and leather bags tangled and smeared with blood. He looked down at his outfit and cringed. They looked just like him, save for one small difference. He hadn’t yet been added to the pile.

  “I weren’t asking ya,” Gor said, moving up right behind him. A sharpened spear tip came to rest against Thorben’s back. “I were telling ya. Unless,” Gor said, and pulled him around and held the large, copper coin out between them. “…unless you’d rather not. Then I can flip here to see if it’s the girl or her father who turns the keys first.”