by Adrian Cross
His hands tightened into fists. “What do you want? I don’t have anything of value.”
Snake picked up the baseball bat and casually touched it to JP’s chest. Nothing happened. It had held only a single charge. The man tossed the bat aside. “How do you know what we value?” His eyes glittered. “Maybe I like beating up teenage boys. They can be annoying. Or maybe you can help my friend with his hobby. Did you know he grew up in a death cult? What did you do for fun there, Milton?”
“We explored death,” the other man said, his voice empty of emotion. “The greatest mystery. Sometimes we would prolong the passage, get people as close as we could without their crossing, to see what more could be learned.”
JP’s bones went cold.
“Would you like that, boy? A long painful death?” Snake took a leather flask out of his coat and poured a clear liquid on the floor. He produced a match. “By burning, let’s say?”
JP felt sick. A match was low enough technology to work in StoneDragon, most of the time.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said. He wasn’t proud of the way his voice quavered, but he couldn’t take his gaze off the match. The stink of oil burned his nose. “Why are you doing this? You’ll regret it. Clay won’t leave it unanswered.”
Snake smiled. “Why do you think I’m here?” He scraped the match with a nail. Flame flared.
The words dried in JP’s mouth.
Snake stepped closer, the mass of snakes rising again and twisting, until JP could make out individual scales, eyes, and bared white teeth. A snake lashed out. Pain burned in his shoulder. It had bitten him.
Strength leached out of him. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the floor. Darkness pressed around the edges of his vision, but he could still make out the two Fists looming over him, the single point of flame in Snake’s hand.
He dropped it.
With a rush, oil lit. Fire ringed JP. He struggled to fight whatever toxin the snake had injected him with, his fingers scraping the floor. But it was like fighting to get out from under an avalanche, one that dragged him inexorably downward into darkness. Heat licked his fingertips. Not like this, he thought desperately.
Then blackness swallowed him whole.
12
Resh Is a Pain—And a God
Clay woke sluggishly, as if a current of dark water was trying to suck him back down. He could feel it pressing against his chest, constricting his breathing. With a gasp, he heaved upright, water streaming down his body.
He sat in a stone bath, waist deep, rough grey walls around him. A cave, he thought. His heart pounded, contrasting with the slow lap of water as it settled back after his violent move. He was naked under it.
He twisted, looking around. How had he gotten here? Who had taken off his clothes? And where was “here”?
“Bern?”
His voice echoed. No answer.
The bath was raised, made of the same pale stone as the room around him. It felt like he was underground, but the room was better lit, even if he couldn’t make out the source of light, and a deep pulse beat above him, like a giant heart. He noticed his clothes piled neatly on the floor, including his gun belt and a towel.
He scrambled out of the bath, feeling self-conscious as he swiped himself with the towel and then dragged on his jeans.
He froze, a realization hitting him. He moved without pain. He moved at all. After jerking an axe handle out of his chest and bleeding across miles of tunnel, not to mention nearly drowning. He touched his shoulder. The skin was pink and tender, slightly rough, and barely ached under pressure. It was almost fully healed. How long had he been here? His gut churned as he finished dressing, cinching the belt around his waist and letting the coat settle over the empty holster.
If he’d missed the Shift, he was stranded, and Karen would be in a difficult place if she were still in StoneDragon. And Bern. What had happened after they were pulled into the water? Was she alive?
He shook his head. Too many questions and not enough information. A tunnel led out of the room. He stepped toward it, his muscles tense and ready to move.
A salt-tinged breeze tussled his hair. No one appeared to challenge him. If he was a prisoner, security was lax. Unless he hadn’t met it yet. The corridor curved and became brighter, its walls tinged blue, and then straightened.
His pulse picked up. A broad-shouldered silhouette waited for him at the distant end of the tunnel, dark and wavering.
Wavering? Some kind of watery obstacle appeared between the two ends of the tunnel. As he walked, his mind struggled to grasp what he was seeing.
An enormous underwater canyon cleaved the tunnel in two. Clay walked to its edge so he could see sheer rock walls rising above and below. Maybe thirty feet away, in a matching cliff face, the tunnel continued. On the other side, the stranger waited, water swirling between them.
Clay had no idea why the water didn’t pour into the tunnel and drown him. It was as if some invisible wall held it back.
He looked up. Streams of green cascaded down from a fractured brightness above, so far above that he couldn’t imagine striking out and swimming for it.
The green tendrils twined down, gripping the stone in places and drifting free in others, waving in the water as if searching for something. As he watched, a dark green root, fibrous and thick around as his chest, floated closer and caught on something unseen, coiling around empty space in a shape that matched the line of the tunnel.
Clay’s attention sharpened. Outlined by a slight shimmer, and a coil of green root, an invisible bridge stretched from his cliff face to the one across, as if someone had bored a watery tunnel.
He set a boot gingerly on the invisible floor. It gave slightly, like a carpet, but held. Stomach knotting, he lifted his other foot and trusted his weight to the bridge. It held. He exhaled and continued walking.
The darkness grew under him, inky-black and menacing. He felt dizzy and tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, but that only made him more aware that he was approaching the section of bridge the root had coiled around. Close up, the vegetation didn’t look innocuous. Its surface was thick and prickly, and it shuddered, as if from the intensity of the pressure with which it squeezed the invisible walls.
Clay slowed down. The air smelled musky, unpleasantly so, and it felt warmer. He stepped into the center of the entangled stretch, the light darkening around him.
The root spasmed, its length constricting, and the insubstantial surface of the tunnel bent in response, bleeding water where it was pierced by juts of root.
Clay staggered, one hand touching the wall. It felt warm. He shoved away.
The root pulsed again. But this time, something else was happening. The light grew brighter as a section of root ripped from the invisible bridge, then another. Soon the water was quiet and clear around the bridge, except for a shadow curving away, graceful as a bird. But it was no bird; it was a long blue-black squid, undulating tentacles rippling behind it, along with drifting fragments of root.
It was the creature that had dragged Bern and him under, Clay guessed, this time defending him. He had no idea why but had a good guess on how to find out.
He headed for the figure at the other end of the tunnel. As Clay walked, more details became clear. A man waited for him, a tall one, with wide shoulders and a coarse grey robe with a hood. The robe was wet in several places, as if the squid had splashed it in its retreat.
Annoyance bubbled up. Clay had had too many things go wrong, too many times, to have much patience left.
“Who are you?”
The man pushed back his hood, revealing blond hair and beard, tangled like lengths of seaweed, and blue eyes in a web of creases, brilliant as a mountain pool. But it was the texture of his face that caught Clay’s gaze. Translucent coral pushed out of his skin like a reef at low tide.
“I’m Resh. Karen’s father.”
Of course he was. Karen’s father and undoubtedly a god, just as Horan had been. Clay and Karen were g
oing to have a long talk when he finally found her.
“Where’s Bern?”
Resh frowned. “Who?”
“The girl your tentacled friend dragged into the water before me,” Clay snapped. “Enough games.”
Resh blinked and frowned, as if anger kindled in him, but then his expression smoothed. “She is safe. Come, we have much to talk about.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Take me to Bern. Then I’ll listen.”
“It’s important.”
“Then show me Bern, and we’ll get to it faster.”
Resh’s big shoulders hunched and anger danced in his eyes. The water darkened and churned, as if the bridge’s invisible skin had heated up, but Clay didn’t flinch. A familiar intransigence rose in him.
“You take risks, boy.”
“Not much of one, I don’t think,” Clay said. “You steal me, heal me, and wait for me to wake up, even if it’s down the hall. You need me for something pretty badly. We can talk about that, but first show me that Bern is healthy. If not, the conversation is going to go a very different way.”
The waters stilled. After a moment’s hesitation, the old man nodded. “Agreed. But we can talk as we travel, certainly?”
“As long as it doesn’t slow us down.”
Resh nodded and turned, leading Clay into a tunnel much like the one he’d followed out of his cavern. It sloped downward, as if they were moving deeper under the sea. Resh’s feet left a line of damp imprints as he walked.
“How long have I been here?” Clay asked.
“Three days.”
It was Wednesday. StoneDragon shifted Friday at midnight. A wave of relief rolled over Clay that he hadn’t missed it yet, but time was still short. He needed to get back.
“I understand you’re a dangerous man where you’re from.”
“I don’t know where you heard that, but I’ve never looked for a reputation.” Clay shrugged. “I’m just harder to kill than some would prefer. But there are worse monsters in StoneDragon than me.”
Resh flinched. Clay realized he could have been more sensitive on that topic, given Karen’s abduction. Whoops.
The tunnel opened into a vast underground cavern, roughly circular, with a dark shape rearing up inside it. Clay’s step faltered. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t a stone castle, deep inside the rock, its towers nearly brushing the cavern roof. A narrow pool of water around it lapped against the dark walls, as if the castle were an island in a lake. The water could have been two inches deep or two miles.
“Bern’s in there?”
“I need a favor,” Resh said.
“Open the gate.”
A thin sheet of water slid down over the stone door. With a rumble, it shifted aside. A long ramp of clear water stretched out from the castle to the floor in front of them.
“I need you to find Karen.”
“Mmm.”
After the underwater bridge, Clay had reasonable confidence in Resh’s control over water. Clay strode up the ramp, not slowing when he passed two warriors with pikes. They looked human. Was that the war, Resh’s humans against Horan’s animal-men? No wonder Horan reacted with such hostility if so. Not that Clay felt any less hostile toward the horned god in return. Bern had rescued him from a slow and painful death. Clay knew which way he wanted a war to end.
A set of large double doors blocked the way forward.
“Will you help, Clay? Bring her back home? I can make it worth your effort. I need someone who knows your city, who can take her back from whoever has her. My people wouldn’t know where to start and… I don’t have many to spare.”
Clay ignored Resh and pushed open the doors.
The room beyond was big. Pale columns lifted to the arching roof, swirling blue granite covered the floor, and in the center of the room, a stone dais rose, circled with wide steps and topped with a translucent blue throne. The throne’s color pulsed, just as Jonathan’s sword had, in time with the rhythmic lap of waves that echoed through the room.
In front of the throne, at the base of the steps, was a small cage. Two cloaked guards flanked it, one with a pike, the other a sheathed sword, both with hoods that hid their features. Between them, inside the cage, a figure knelt unmoving. White cloth draped a small but curvaceous form. The prisoner’s face rose, revealing eyes sparking with hot rage. That rage echoed within Clay.
“Why is she in a cage?” he asked slowly.
Apparently his anger wasn’t as well-hidden as he’d thought. The larger guard put a hand on his sword hilt. The other one, with age spots on his hands, lowered his pike.
“She’s not human,” Resh said.
“Neither are you,” Clay snarled, “unless someone’s gluing chunks of rock to your face while you’re sleeping.”
“That’s different.” Resh’s hand wafted. “I’m a god. But my people are completely human, unlike her or Horan’s armies outside. His creatures would tear out each other’s throats, if he didn’t stop them—and he doesn’t always.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The important thing is Karen. Do you know where my daughter is?”
Cold rage made it hard to talk. “Let her go.”
“You don’t understand.” Resh’s voice vibrated. “This isn’t your world. Non-humans have hounded us, harried us, and killed us until my people are almost extinct. These caves are our final refuge. And Grok’s vines still hunt us, choking our tunnels. Horan will end my people for all time.”
“So fight him.”
Resh growled. He touched his robe near one thigh and thrust out a hand, palm stained red. “You think I haven’t tried?”
The wet stains on his robe, the trail of moisture when he walked, was blood, not water. Confusion softened Clay’s rage somewhat, although he was still aware of Bern bound and watching.
“Didn’t you heal me? Why don’t you heal yourself?”
“It doesn’t work that way. Gods don’t heal as easily as humans. Some wounds can last forever.”
Clay thought about the injury he’d dealt Horan and felt a swell of dark satisfaction. Good. But Bern was still caged, whatever Resh’s justifications. “Let her out.”
“Soon.”
“Now.”
They locked eyes. Above, the sound of waves grew louder and faster. Resh seemed to swell, blue light flashing in the depths of his gaze. Clay didn’t back down.
Resh’s gaze slid away. The pulse of water faltered and quieted. “Do it,” he ordered.
The guards scrambled to obey. The younger guard unlocked the cage, swung open the door, and picked up a cloth bag from the stairs. An axe handle protruded from the bag’s mouth. Bern’s things, Clay guessed.
Bern crawled out of the cage and rose. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glittered, and her hands opened and closed. She looked as dangerous as a tiger released from a trap. “My axe.”
“Not yet,” Resh answered.
Bern looked at the young guard, who took an additional step away.
This time, Clay didn’t push it, only because he wasn’t sure what Bern would do with a weapon in hand. Despite his anger, he didn’t want to kill any of Karen’s family unless he had to.
Resh turned to Clay. “She is free. Now will you help?”
He tried to meet Bern’s eyes, but she was too focused on her axe, glaring at the guard. Clay grimaced. “Tell me the truth first. What did Karen do?”
“As I said, we are losing the war.” Resh swung his head back and forth. “Karen thought all she had to do to turn the tide was steal Horan’s token. I could have told her it’s not that simple. Tokens absorb power; they aren’t the source of it. Taking his rib wouldn’t kill Horan. It would just make him very angry.”
Clay felt an urge to defend Karen, which was surprising given the trouble she’d landed him in. But whatever she’d done, the Earth gods had pushed her into a corner and she’d fought back. “Maybe she thought that doing anything was better than just hiding here, waiting to die.”
/> Waves thundered around them, the walls shuddering. Clay didn’t flinch. He was angry too.
Resh closed his eyes. The sound of waves faded, leaving an echoing silence. “You have to find her,” he whispered. “They will kill her.”
Clay thought of Karen’s soft skin punched through with wood and pinned to a wall, and his heart clenched. And it wasn’t just the Earth gods she had to worry about. StoneDragon was a dangerous place in its own right. Dark souls and monsters haunted its shadows. People like Snake and Milton, if they ever escaped Rhino’s leash. “I always planned to,” he said. “So why don’t you try helping me? First thing, who are Horan and his gang?”
“Earth gods,” Resh said simply. “Powers of the wild. I don’t know what created Horan, any more than I know what created me, but he was the first, and the strongest. He says he created Latine and Grok using a rib from his chest. Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. But he does have the power to change the form of animals, twist them into something more intelligent and dangerous. With them under his control, he has crushed every human force sent against him.”
Despite the bizarre concept of real gods, it was hard to look at Resh’s coral-encrusted face and deny that something strange and powerful was going on in this world. Clay rubbed his eyes, noticing Bern was stalking the guard with her axe. He circled slowly away.
“So can he just wish me out of existence?”
Resh shook his head. “The Earth gods’ power is limited, just like mine. They have specific attributes. Horan has the power of transmutation, as I said. He is also incredibly tough and strong, as are they all. Latine is the consummate warrior, quick and fierce as the mountain cat she resembles. She is almost unstoppable in battle. Grok is the least and greatest of the three. He is slow in thought and body, although very strong. But his greatest power is the control of great trees and forest vines. He can rip them from the ground and assign them limited tasks. You can see the damage his vines have wrought on our refuge here already. Sooner or later, he will crack open our sanctuary and flush us back to shore, where Horan’s animals will tear us to shreds, without grace or mercy.”
