Trevor shook his head, turned to the door, and shoved the key into the slot. He pushed the door open and lit a torch with a few mumbled words and a wave of his hand.
Viper blinked at the bright, flameless torch trapped in a jar on a shelf. Now that was real magic.
“Come in. Don’t dally, child.” Trevor locked the door behind them before turning to face his new apprentice. “This is the entrance to the Lab.”
What entrance? There was no door in here, no hallway, no bridge to distant lands. But there was one other exit.
A huge round hole squatted in the stone floor.
Viper hunched his shoulders and stared at the edge of the pit. A spiral staircase clung to its stone walls with the audacity of a spider web. The steps disappeared into darkness like a black widow fleeing from the light.
This was no part of what he’d been expecting. No pristine jars with exotic ingredients, no snarling stuffed monsters, no books. No wonders of any kind.
Just a dark, dank, deep hole in the middle of the sandblasted floor. Maybe ten feet across, it cut into the stone more like it had been carved with a blade than built by human hands. There was something eerie about it. Dangerous.
It reminded him of the abuelo snake’s lair. It even had the same musty, dried-carrion smell.
Trevor chuckled and shook his head. “Patience, child. Patience. Follow me.”
Patience? What did patience have to do with a death pit?
The old man picked up the torch jar and stepped down onto the spiral staircase. He descended into the shaft, taking all the light with him. His steps echoed woodenly into the depths, up and down again until the rebounding steps of an army filled the room.
Viper’s gut clenched.
Trevor’s head disappeared into the shaft.
Was he really expected to be stupid enough to climb down into a pit? Mama always told him nothing good lived underground. Only evil, vicious things lived in holes where the Thunderer could never reach. Things like abuelo snakes, and worse. Things that ate his brother.
How badly did he want to be the crazy old man’s apprentice? Trevor was leading him down to where soul-sucking ghosts wailed and courage-sucking snakes slithered and blood-sucking ghouls devoured young boys. Where monsters drove strong warriors mad.
And he wasn’t a warrior, much less a strong one. Neither was Trevor.
Of course. This was why Trevor was so odd. His curiosity sent him exploring this hole, and the terrible creatures of the depths drove him insane. Poor old Trevor. This hole explained so much about him.
He needed to get out of here, quickly, before a monster decided to come up and push him down.
Where was the door? He reached behind him, felt for the door handle. His fingers fumbled across a rough wooden wall, past the doorframe, and along the door before finding the cool brass handle.
It refused to turn.
Wind blast him, Trevor locked the door. I can’t get out.
“How long do you plan to stand in the dark, child?” Trevor’s voice resonated eerily through the shaft. “Are you coming, or are you too afraid?”
Viper stiffened at the insult, but straightened his back. If I have to die, I will die honorably. I won’t wait for the monsters to come to me.
“I’m coming,” he shouted.
Trevor’s plaintive moan echoed from the depths. “Keep your voice down, please. The configuration of this tunnel amplifies sound most effectively.”
Who did what? Not that it mattered at this point. He crept to the edge of the shaft and peered down.
The lip of solid stone vanished after only a few feet. After that, the tunnel walls were made of crumbly, grayish green stone, and they were absolutely vertical. Narrow, rotted-wood steps looked like they had been hammered into the brittle stone a couple of hundred years ago. There wasn’t much wood left.
And what was left of the steps were hopelessly far apart. Waist high apart. If he missed even one, he’d fall forever.
Down and down the plank steps spiraled, out of sight below the light of Trevor’s torch. The old man was already a long way down.
The distant light dimmed. The top steps shriveled into dark husks. The little room disappeared into shadow.
Viper scooted back against the wall and fought to catch his breath.
He couldn’t go down there. Trevor was moving too fast, the light was too faint. Cowardly or not, dishonor could take a leap. He was not committing suicide by jumping into the hole. And that’s all it would be, too, if he tried to go down there now.
He’d wait until the monsters came for him.
“Are you coming, child?”
“It’s too dark.” He clamped both hands over his mouth and prayed Trevor wouldn’t ask any questions. If he tried to speak he’d vomit. Or worse, he’d would cry.
Trevor’s wooden footsteps continued for a long time, although they seemed slower now. The old man must feel sad about leaving his cowardly apprentice alone in the dark – no, not apprentice. His cowardly servant. He would not pretend otherwise when he could not follow his master’s path.
Did he really want to spend the rest of his life cooking half-edible meals and cleaning unending dust? What else could he do?
He sat on the floor and leaned his head against the wall. His eyes became accustomed to the dark to the point he could see the ordinary walls of the little room. They flickered from the distant, circling torchlight. In fact, the light was almost as bright has it had been when the torch jar was actually in the room. He closed his eyes against the illusion.
The footsteps went silent. A soft chuckle echoed in the well.
Wait! What was in the room with him?
“This is not the time to take a nap.” Trevor crooked a finger. “I want you to stay close to me this time. I admit I was thoughtless to leave you in the dark, but it didn’t occur to me you wouldn’t follow. What happened?”
“I didn’t – I couldn’t – I didn’t think the steps were safe and I’m too – too short for them, anyway.”
“I see.” Trevor tilted his head and studied him.
That stare made him feel about as brave as a mouse under the scrutiny of a hawk. He peered down at his feet to avoid the old man’s eyes.
“I see. I suppose the steps are a bit longer legged than you are. They are, however, perfectly safe. A wizard spelled them in place years ago, and it was a powerful spell indeed.”
“He might’ve made them wider.”
“She used the existing steps. She took them in her mind and bound them permanently in place. They’re wider than they look. The edges have rotted off, but the spell continues. There was more of it when I was young, but that was many years ago.”
“But why are the steps so far apart?” Viper fought to keep the whine out of his voice. He suspected he’d lost that battle.
“Because her father, the wizard who dug this hole and built the original stairway, was a huge man.” Trevor chucked. “Taller than the tallest Setoyan warrior, if the records are correct.”
He crawled forward and peered down the shaft. “I believe it.” The distance between treads would be a challenge even for his fath– Agrevod, and he was the third tallest warrior in the tribe.
Trevor moved down one step. “Are you coming?”
Did he really want to become a sorcerer? “Yes, sir.” Viper took several deep breaths, sat on the edge of the abyss, and slid down to the first ghostly plank.
He stood on frozen wind. His feet said the step was wide. His eyes insisted each plank was narrow and rotted. The conflicting sensations made his stomach churn. He tried to dig his fingers into the musty, gray-green wall.
Trevor’s light moved down another step. He forced his feet to follow.
Ten steps down, his legs merely ached. Thirty two steps down, his overstretched muscles started to scream. He lost count at fifty seven. Or was it sixty seven? His legs and back burned like he’d climbed into a bonfire.
He’d scrambled up and down canyon walls all his life. Why
did he hurt so much now? Fear of falling made him want to vomit. He’d never been afraid of heights. But this wasn’t a fear of height. He was headed into the middle of the world. Deep into the lairs of ghosts and ghouls.
Tall pointed rocks always filled the bottom of such a pit.
War drums hammered inside his skull. Flames shot up his legs, up his back, down his arms. His starved lungs fought for more air. Footsteps echoed up and down the shaft until he was dizzy from the sound. The rotting steps spiraled down and down and down…
Until his dangling foot met empty air.
“You said they couldn’t fall off.” He sucked in a shuddering breath and tried to sound calmer than he felt. “You said they couldn’t, but they’re gone.”
Trevor set the torch jar on the bottom step. “We’re almost at the bottom. Sit still and rest a moment.”
Rest sounded like a wonderful idea. Catching his breath might make him feel better about this adventure.
He huddled against rough stone, blinked, and sat up straight. The wall was different here. It changed to smooth stone two inches above the last step.
Below his feet lay velvet darkness.
Darkness like the depths of an abuelo den, the murk of a ghoul’s foul heart. The blackness hero tales told of the inside of the Deathsinger’s tent. Or castle, if he believed the Zedisti version.
The last sable gloom of death.
This was not a good place to remember grisly stories. He shuddered, pulled his feet back onto the step, and turned to watch Trevor.
The old man pulled a rope ladder out of a cranny in the wall and pushed one end over the edge. Inches away from the stair, it vanished into the dark.
Viper shivered. “Do we have to go down there?”
Trevor raised his eyebrows. “Where else would we go?”
Good question. Back to the kitchen? But he knew that wasn’t the answer the old man wanted to hear. “I don’t know.”
“Choose up or down, child.” Trevor shook his head, picked up the torch jar, and started down the ladder. “You must decide what you want out of life. Choose.”
What did he want? To follow Trevor into darkness? Or to go back up the stairs alone? That meant giving up sorcery. Giving up all his dreams.
He’d lost enough dreams. Nobody was stealing this chance from him. Nothing would stop him.
He crawled toward the rope ladder. Put both feet over the edge and felt for the first rung. He eased forward and put his weight on the rope ladder.
Trevor – and the light – disappeared.
Utter darkness devoured the all the air in the pit. Viper shrieked, gasped, tried to draw in another breath. Darkness pressed against his skin, the stair beneath him tilted, whirled. Was he falling? He grabbed the edge of the step with both hands and squeezed until his fingers ought to break.
Whatever swallowed Trevor would find him, eat him, too. He had to get away. Where? No up, no down, all his senses deserted him.
He scooted backward on the step and wailed to thunderclouds he could not see. Hard stone behind his back steadied him, but his lungs wouldn’t stop screaming.
Trevor and the light reappeared. How? Where had he been? “Will you stop that dreadful racket? Come here, child. Now.”
Nothing else made sense. He’d trusted the sorcerer this far. Viper gritted his teeth and crawled toward the ghoulish face.
The old man wrapped one arm around his waist. “Put your arms around my neck.” He hauled Viper off the step and held him dangling over the hole. “Tighter. Good, now hold on.”
Trevor dropped the torch. Abuelo den darkness surrounded them.
His heart thudded against his ribs, pounding in time with the drummer inside his skull. He felt Trevor move, begin the climb down the ladder.
The old man crooned something unrecognizable, his ribs vibrating against Viper’s chest like a purring cat.
His muscles began to relax. What had he feared? He’d waited in darkness before. Nothing as dark as this, but nights on the plains often showed no moonlight, only occasional lightning. Trevor would protect him. There was no reason to be afraid.
But the crooning sound changed.
What was different? No, he didn’t believe it. The hair on the back of his neck stiffened. He smelled snake skin, fresh blood, old carrion. His whole body shuddered.
The old man hissed an evil, chittering dirge.
Gaunt old Trevor was one of the starving, soul-sucking ghouls of the deepest pits.
Viper threw back his head and screamed. He tried to push away from his captor’s body, but the monster crushed him against its chest. He writhed and fought, but his arms were trapped above his head. His knees battered empty air, only occasionally hitting the ghoul’s body.
He’d been tricked into this horrible dark hole, and he’d die soulless at the claws of the ghoul he had trusted. He’d be eaten a slow bite at a time, tortured for lunars, and transformed into a soul-hungry ghost. Even now, Trevor’s teeth were growing long and sharp, his nails lengthening into curved claws. Hunger would be showing in the hollow face, a deep unending hunger for human blood and fear-slashed souls.
Viper screamed. He screamed his anger, he screamed defeat, he screamed his unending fear.
His back thudded against stone. A sharp slap on his face forced him to gasp for breath. He threw back his head to shriek his death scream – and forgot to scream.
He could see again. On the floor next to him, the torch jar was dark, as dead as he expected to be, but there was light.
And the fear was gone as if it had never existed, though his heart pounded and his head ached worse than ever. He leapt to his feet and spun around.
Trevor’s shoulders hunched with silent laughter.
Was this the old man’s idea of a joke? “Don’t laugh at me!” His voice croaked in his aching throat, barely as loud as a bullfrog during a drought.
“Shuttle and Loom, I am sorry. Truly, I shouldn’t laugh, it’s not fair at all. But you did carry on so. Poor child, I should have warned you. I reacted in much the same manner the first time I was brought here. To think I could forget. But I did. Poor child.”
The old sorcerer pointed upward. “There’s warding spell throughout the last section of the tunnel. It creates a shield that light doesn’t pass through. Plus it induces panic in anyone who isn’t expecting it. What did you see?”
Viper hiccoughed and rubbed his sleeve over his face. “I thought you were soul-sucking ghoul and I was your dinner.”
“Shuttle on the Loom.” Trevor tilted his head. “Do such ghosts and related nasties normally live in deep, dark places?”
“Always.”
“Which is why you feared to follow me the first time. I should have thought of that.” Trevor offered him a handkerchief and waited until he’d blown his nose. “I dislike ghosts and nasty things. I take care to remove them from my home. You won’t find anything like that down here.”
“Don’t talk down to me!” Viper shouted. But what was the point to yelling at Trevor? The old man only looked at him as if he were a new and intriguing specimen. The same way he’d looked at the awful stew or yesterday’s burned omelet. No wonder he wanted Faye to cook for them.
“Shall we continue?”
“Yes, sir. No, wait. Is there anything you should tell me about?”
“Not that I recall.” Trevor turned and led the way down the silent hall.
Viper sighed and followed. His legs still wobbled from the nightmare stairs. “We must be a thousand feet underground.”
“Approximately seven hundred and seventy feet.”
How could anybody even guess? The old man was teasing him again. “If you say so.”
“Simple mathematics, child.” Trevor glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “One of many things you’ll need to learn. In this case, there are three hundred stairs, each spaced roughly two and a half feet apart, plus the final drop of twenty feet.”
“You counted the blasted stairs?” His legs insisted there were far mo
re than three hundred.
“Years ago. When I was your age.”
It was hard to believe the old turybird had ever been young, much less as young as twelve.
He kept watch for another forgotten disaster, but soon he was searching for the source of the restful light. He’d never thought of light as restful before, but this light relaxed him, even healed him.
No torches. No candles. His jaw dropped. Square sections of the wall shimmered like sunlight through fog-dimmed windows. But they were hundreds of feet underground.
He whispered, “Parts of the walls are glowing.”
“Did you just notice?” Trevor waited until he caught up. “Those sections always glow, day or night. It’s a powerful, ancient spell, and I regret to say we have completely lost it. A wizard might manage it, but one never knows what a wizard can do. No sorcerer I have ever known could do anything like it.”
Trevor stroked the shining wall. “Have you ever seen stone cut and polished so perfectly? No? I need to take you into Main Square. The oldest buildings in the city are there, and all of them are made of polished marble like this. The Weaver is said to have built the original city and these passageways all by herself. Personally, however, – and don’t repeat this to anyone, they’d hang us both for heresy – I doubt that a deity would bother to build a human city. It’s far more likely a wizard named Weaver, or better yet, a group of wizards built the original city under commission.”
The Weaver was merely a wizard? That almost made sense. He couldn’t wait to tell Lorel. No, he’d better not. If she didn’t slug him, she’d tell Faye, who was religious enough to be horrified. He’d rather let Lorel punch him.
They walked down the long echoing corridor, past several tall, ornately-carved doors widely spaced on either side of the hallway. Viper paused at each to admire the craftsmanship, but Trevor strolled on. At first glance the doors seemed identical, but he soon realized every door was unique in the fine details of the carving.
None of the doors had a handle of any sort. He pushed on one, but it appeared to be locked. Was there a hidden panel to be pressed? A keyhole concealed within the carvings? He didn’t dare ask Trevor; he was still worrying at the three hundred steps puzzle. New explanations could wait until that one made sense.
Illusion's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 1) Page 17
