Fireblood

by Jeff Wheeler

  Erasmus’s face scrunched, and he began flickering his fingers, counting.

  “What was it?” Hettie asked, approaching Annon and putting her hand on his arm to steady him.

  Paedrin was a little surprised at the show of tenderness. He squeezed the shaft of his staff, peering into the woods, alert now for danger. His ears reached out, listening for the sound of the creature.

  “The spirits in the Alkire call it a Fear Liath. There are few spirits in this area. They are terrified of it. It moves at night.”

  Erasmus scratched his cheek. “In that case, we should not linger here. Better to get in and out of Drosta’s lair before the sun sets. You said that your uncle gave you a key to enter?”

  “Yes,” Annon replied.

  “Then we had better hope it still works. This way.”

  Erasmus took them down a scrabbling trail at the base of the ravine, one that meandered back and forth, with heavy, stunted trees clawing at their faces and arms as they walked. After passing a dense tangle, they arrived at Drosta’s lair.

  It did not require the Preachán’s eyes to spot the place.

  The clearing was wide and littered with abandoned campfires. Trees had been hacked down and used for fuel. Broken fragments of stone and branches littered the ground. Paedrin moved ahead quickly, for there was a dome-shaped rock in the center of the clearing. It was likely a boulder, probably up to his waist in height, and smoothed around the edges from the elements. All around it were broken hammers, pickaxes, shovels, and crowbars. The ground was pockmarked with indentations, but on quick observation, showed a layer of stone, of solid rock. A few scraggly bushes had sprouted up amidst the debris. The wood from the spade handles showed their age and sharp spurs jutted from the lengths.

  Hettie wandered to the other side, searching the ground for signs of motion. Paedrin watched her from the corner of his eye as she bent low to the earth and touched broken fragments of rock. Her eyes flicked this way and that, studying the scene.

  “It’s the dome of rock,” Erasmus said, sniffing loudly. “In case you hadn’t figured it out, sheep-brains.”

  “No one has been here in some time,” Hettie muttered. “These tools are well rusted. The wood has rotted. There are signs of at least five or six different camps that have stayed here.” She rose and walked around the base of the dome. “They tried many different ways to pry the rock.”

  Erasmus hawked and spat. “It would require a steel beam and fulcrum to pry it loose. The beam would be too heavy for any horse or two horses, let alone making it safely down the trail. Twenty men might be able to lift one down here, over a matter of weeks. When Tyrus showed me this place, I told him that no one man would be able to open the dome.” He jammed his walking stick into the solid ground. “No digging to the treasure either. As I said. You need a key to open it.”

  Paedrin rested his foot against the stone and pressed his full weight against it. It was unyielding.

  Annon approached and rubbed his hand over the face of the stone. “Many have tried to move it.”

  “And failed,” said Erasmus.

  In Annon’s mind, he could almost hear the ghosts of the dead. The air was thick with memories. A hammer lay nearby, pitted with rust. He grabbed it and hefted it. The handle held firm. The head did not wobble. He looked at it as a remnant of the efforts of many men. The hammer represented failure.

  Paedrin straightened, watching the Druidecht.

  Annon breathed out softly, then inhaled the dusty air. “Tyrus said that only a keyword will open the entrance. He taught it to me.” He closed his eyes. “Vickensatham. Restimos. Alloray morir.”

  It was the Vaettir tongue, and it surprised Paedrin that he knew it. Spoken a bit haltingly, but the words were correct. Awaken from your sleep. Rise from the dust. Open the gateway to death.

  The domed rock shuddered. Annon and Paedrin stepped back as the enormous mass of stone separated from the earth, trailing dirt and flecks of debris. The boulder rose, hovering in the air, casting a shadow over the gaping circular hole now uncovered.

  “Well, well,” Erasmus muttered, smiling with chagrin. He approached and waved his hand beneath the stone, through the empty air. “I suppose that explains why it never opened for me.”

  Annon stared into the black depths, his eyes widening. “It will hover here for a time and then it will close. It will not open again until the next dawn.”

  “What is it?” Hettie asked, looking at his face. “You look worried.”

  Annon wiped his mouth, his eyes intent. “It is speaking to me.”

  “Another spirit?” Paedrin asked, scoffing.

  “Yes. There is one trapped down there. I can hear it.”

  “What is it saying?” Hettie asked intensely.

  Annon looked at her, his eyes widening. “It whispers that I must kill you all.”

  “I have great respect for the cunning of the Paracelsus order. I was tempted to join it myself, but I lack the willpower it demands in addition to the physical capacities. Complete abstinence is easier than perfect moderation. While the Archivists record the lessons of the present to be useful to future generations, the Paracelsus order rediscovers the wisdom of the past to be used in the present. These are cunning men. They spend their time feasting on the runes and symbols that have long been forgotten, and they uncover various magics which are useful to mankind. There is a great deal of study regarding heat, power, energy, force, and the properties of various gemstones. They protect their craft with elegant and sophisticated traps. Some Paracelsus have been known to unlock secrets of power that they should not have. It is wise that the order is kept under the close scrutiny of the Arch-Rike of Kenatos.”

  – Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

  Paedrin snorted. “A friendly spirit you’ve found. How touching. Well, I suppose we should get started.” He approached the lip of the hole, peering down into darkness. He quickly sucked in some breath, feeling himself start to float like the stone itself. Then he stepped over the hole and slowly let his breath out, descending gradually, floating down like a speck of gossamer web.

  There was a shaft of light coming from the gaping hole, revealing a depth to the chamber as he descended. It was a cave, nature-made, probably three times as tall as his full height. It expanded away in every direction, making the hole the apex of the chamber. Paedrin floated downward, searching the gloom for signs of disturbance. Much was hidden in the shadows. He was expecting a Paracelsus study, but there were no tables or flasks or cauldrons. No aging books. The floor was made from stone tiles, each one cut and fashioned into a grid-like surface. Beyond the dusty haze of light, he could see very little.

  “Some torches would be helpful,” he called up as his feet touched down on the ground.

  As if in answer to his suggestion, three lights appeared in the chamber. There were three glass orbs mounted into the walls, and they sparked to life instantly, causing a reddish glare to fill the dark void. They were on opposite sides from one another, as if he stood in the midst of a triangle, with one in front and two in the rear behind him.

  “Actually, there is light,” Paedrin said, testing the sturdiness of the floor, for it had begun to tremble. He glanced around the room quickly, trying to adjust his vision. The floor trembled, shuddering, sending little pricks of worry into his stomach. He was as tense as a bowstring, listening, waiting, sensing each breath in his body, each rapid, fluttering heartbeat. The tremors increased.

  Turning around quickly, he saw it.

  It was a massive hulking shape, made from solid stone. It was easily half as tall as the chamber, vaguely man-shaped with huge, hammer-like arms and enormous trunk legs. It did not walk so much as shift its weight, and it was the shifting that caused the tremors in the floor. It came at him directly. No creature of speech, just a faceless mass of stone, shuddering the entire cave as it moved.

  Paedrin did not wait to guess its intention. He darted to the creature’s left and whipped his staff around as hard
as he could, gripping one end with both hands to increase the force.

  The staff collided with the creature, causing a loud whip-crack sound as the wood struck at its vague, leg-like structures. The power of his blow went all the way back up the shaft and jolted his arms. It was like striking a mountainside.

  The creature shifted immediately toward him and continued its lumbering advance.

  Paedrin came at it again, whistle-fast, striking it six times in moments. The staff clattered and clacked, but no amount of force he used could even slow the creature. A massive arm wheeled at him, and he ducked it easily, but it made his mouth dry thinking what would happen if it managed to catch him only once.

  “Paedrin!” Hettie screamed.

  “I am all right so far,” he answered, moving around behind it again, drawing it away from the hole. “This creature is massive. It is slow, but very strong. I do not see any treasure here.” The reddish glare of the light revealed nothing but walls.

  “There is rope. Yes, over there!” Hettie said. “Get it. I’m going down there.”

  “Not yet,” Paedrin said. “Let me see if I can find something further. I am faster than this thing.” He raced around the perimeter of the cave, looking for any irregularity in the walls. There were four insets into the walls, little alcoves. He went from one to another. The final one, the fourth, he discovered not a door but a trapdoor handle. An iron ring set into the stone.

  “Aha!” he shouted. “I found something!”

  The creature lumbered at him again, and he had to escape to the other side of the room quickly. His heart pounded with excitement.

  “What is it?” Annon called down.

  “There is a trapdoor handle. It’s fastened to a large slab of stone. I will try and lift it. Hold a moment. Do not come down here yet.”

  Paedrin watched the creature advance tirelessly at him and retreated, drawing it again to the far side of the chamber. It changed its speed suddenly, going faster. Paedrin ducked as the massive fist rushed past his head. He jumped away and then sprinted back to the trapdoor. He set down his staff and grabbed the handle tightly and pulled. His muscles groaned with pain. He felt it shift, barely. Clenching his teeth, he lowered himself down and pulled even more, trying to free the trapdoor lid. The creature was on him even faster now, swinging at him again.

  Paedrin let go of the handle and rushed away again. He saw Hettie climbing hand over hand down a rope into the chamber.

  “No, I said not yet!” Paedrin barked at her.

  The rope suddenly snapped, sending her falling the rest of the way into the chamber.

  Annon watched his sister fall. The jolt of seeing her there made his heart spasm with fear. The frayed end of the rope dangled near the lip of the opening.

  “Hettie!” he yelled.

  She shook her head, trying to move. Blood dribbled down from her forehead, pattering on the stone floor. The massive creature lumbered toward her, its speed increasing now as if each passing moment awoke its fluidity more.

  The spirit voice whispering in his mind was cruel and taunting. The Goule will kill her. It will kill the Vaettir. Claim me, Druidecht. Enter the cavern. I am trapped beneath a trapdoor. You sense me. You sense where I am. Use me, Druidecht. I will destroy your enemies. I will destroy the ones hunting you. Kill the Preachán first. He will betray you.

  It was almost impossible concentrating with its voice in his mind. Such a piece of magic should be hidden away. It was powerful—its presence as dark as the cavern below. Annon looked around quickly for another rope to lower himself down. Even though the others could not hear it, their minds would become infected by it just being down there.

  Hettie raised her hands, her mouth muttering words in the Vaettir tongue, and the flames gushed from her hands, striking the stone beast full in the chest. Like a flood, the flames engulfed it, sending waves of heat to fill the room and brightening the walls.

  Annon was terrified she would lose control of it again. He had to get down there to save her.

  “Grab that rope!” he shouted to Erasmus. “Over there!” The Preachán was already there, grabbing the rope and joining him, quickly tying a knot around the stone where the other one had snapped.

  The creature was on her before she realized it. The flames had done nothing to prevent its advance. A fist arced toward her head. Had Paedrin not arrived and shoved her away, it would have crushed her skull. The flames in her hands sputtered out.

  There was a scorch mark in the center of its chest; the stone was livid. But despite the trailers of steam and hissing molten stone, it came on again, closing on the fallen Hettie with ruthlessness.

  Paedrin struck at it from behind with his staff, harder and harder, trying to draw it back toward him. He yelled at it, but it was blind to him as Hettie scrambled to escape it. Paedrin struck it with all his power and watched in shock as his staff shattered against its broad shoulders, making his hands sting.

  “Run!” Paedrin yelled at her.

  Annon grabbed the rope, hoping it would hold. The voice was a murky drone in his mind. I am here. Claim me, Druidecht. Claim my power. Drench me in blood that I might fulfill my power. Blood feeds me. Makes me stronger. You have the fireblood. I can sense it in you. I will obey it.

  With blood streaming down her face, Hettie rushed to the nearest wall and started along the edge away from the creature.

  Annon landed in the middle of the room, his heart full of fear. He searched quickly for Hettie and Paedrin in the gloom. “The trapdoor?” He could feel it in the stones, beckoning him. He did not know what form the treasure took, but he imagined it was something crafted by a Paracelsus. Something with a living spirit trapped inside. An evil spirit.

  There is no evil. There is no wickedness. There are no laws. There is no blame. I am master over death. Take me, Druidecht. Take me from this prison. Use me.

  “Over there!” Paedrin answered, pointing to the gap in the wall. Annon started toward it at the same time as Hettie.

  Hettie stumbled over something on the floor and went down, landing with a crash. Paedrin sucked in his breath and vaulted into the air, rising like a bird and swooping over the top of the creature, before coming down hard next to her.

  “Will you never listen to me!” he glowered at her, grabbing her around the waist and hauling her to her feet.

  “Watch out!” she warned.

  The fist of the Goule struck him on the shoulder with a sickening crunch.

  Paedrin was flying again, but not because of his breathing. The wall of the cave rushed in, and he smashed against it, losing his sight for a moment in a sudden bloom of pain. Pain had never stopped him, though. Pain was a teacher. The creature was getting faster and faster.

  “Both of you!” Paedrin said. “The trapdoor! It will only go for one of us at a time. The others need to open the trapdoor. Pull hard on the ring! I will face it.”

  He knew his arm would be useless pulling on the ring. He was the fastest of them all. The one most likely to avoid the creature as its speed increased. He rushed at it like a madman, coming up into the air and kicking at its head-like stump. The blows meant nothing to it. It surged at him again, massive fists swinging multiple times now as its speed increased.

  Annon and Hettie rushed for the trapdoor and pulled frantically on the iron ring. Even their combined strength was not enough. The slab weighed more than they both could lift.

  “Erasmus!” Paedrin roared. What if the treasure was already stolen? What if they were risking their lives for no end? Why had Tyrus sent them into a death trap?

  Think! His mind was trapped in a fog of pain. His shoulder throbbed, but he shoved the thought of his pain aside. He had experienced worse at the temple. The creature was no being of flesh. It was a guardian. It protected the treasure. But surely there had to be a way to stop it? Physical force was obviously not enough. Flame did not hinder it. What else might?

  Paedrin saw Erasmus climbing down a fresh rope, hand over hand. He hung from the knotte
d cord, studying the chamber quickly, his eyes darting this way and that.

  “Help Annon and Hettie!” Paedrin said. “Maybe three is what it takes to lift it!”

  A rock fist glanced off his temple. He flipped backward, putting more distance between himself and the creature. He was tiring. The relentless pursuit muddled his thinking.

  “That’s it!” Erasmus said triumphantly.

  “Then get over there!” Paedrin roared.

  “No, you have it wrong. The lights on the walls. The orbs. Touch them. Cover them with your hands or a cloak. Quickly, Bhikhu! Cover the one behind you!”

  Paedrin thought the Preachán was daft. Cover the orb? But he remembered that the lights had illuminated the room as soon as he touched the ground. As fast as he could, he rushed to the nearest orb and smothered its light with his hands. He gritted his teeth, waiting for a crushing blow to come at him.

  The room dimmed. The creature slowed and turned away from Paedrin, coming at Annon and Hettie.

  “The other two!” Erasmus called. “Annon! Hettie! Cover the other two!”

  Hettie rushed across the room and used her cloak to smother the second one. The creature had turned from her and started across the room, but its movements slowed as the light faded.

  “The last one, Annon! Smother it!”

  The Druidecht turned, watching the creature approach him ponderously. The chamber was nearly dark. “You do it, Erasmus. You cover it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the treasure is under the trapdoor. I can sense it. It will take over your mind if you touch it. Let me find a way to collect it without touching it.”

  Paedrin felt a hot surge of jealousy at Annon’s words.

  “I will take it,” Hettie said. “The treasure belongs to me. You said you wanted no portion of it.”

  “This is a moment you must all trust me, friends,” Annon said. “I can hear it fully right now. It is speaking to each of us. It wants us to fight each other to claim it. Although I can hear it, it does not control me. You must trust me. If we do not work together, this trap will kill us. Erasmus, the final orb.”