by Jeff Wheeler
Paedrin drifted down to be closer to her in case she needed help. She bit her lip in concentration, judging each outcropping and angle to find the best position to ascend. He was proud of her willingness to try. The ascent was agonizingly slow.
“I’m getting…so tired,” she said after a particularly difficult reach. “How much farther is it?”
Paedrin did not want to leave her side to determine it. “Not much farther. You are almost there.”
They were not almost there though. Her pace slowed considerably. There was hardly any place to rest or catch her breath. She sagged against the cliff face, pressing her cheek against the rock. Time crawled forward. Paedrin stayed even closer to her, keeping a hand nearby just in case.
There was a bulge in the rock that had not been visible through the mist when they left the path. Hettie’s brow furrowed in concern. “My arms…” she panted.
“Almost there,” Paedrin said. He grimaced, knowing it was a lie. Hettie hung her head, breathing deeply, and then started up again.
Her foot slipped on the mist-slick stone.
Paedrin saw her fall. He reached and caught her flailing arms as she started to plunge down. His breath would not support them both and he felt them dragged down like an iron anchor at sea. Rocks scraped against them as they scrabbled down the cliff face.
“Grab something! Grab something!” he ordered, feeling the edge of the cliff give way to open air. Panic flooded his chest. He would go down with her. He would give his breath to slow the fall if he could. There was blood on her fingers, her cheek. Her fingers found a lip of rock, halting the fall. Her legs dangled in the air. Paedrin inhaled sharply, grabbed her by the belt, and pulled. Her arms, though tired, prevailed, and she managed to make it high enough to find purchase with her feet.
There, she rested, hugging the cliff face with her entire body, burying her wounded cheek against the rock. Her shoulders began to heave and tremble. She was coughing. No, she was crying. His heart twisted with anguish at the sound, for it caused him pain. Hettie tried to control her breathing, to stifle her sobs, and failed. Her hair shook with the quiet sounds. Below, waves continued to crash against the base of the rock.
He touched the small of her back, hovering in the air behind her. “I won’t let you fall,” he promised. “A little farther.”
She nodded and reached up for the next handhold. The trek was impossibly difficult. It amazed him how high the cliff was without seeing anything above. The daylight faded. Hettie pulled herself up farther, one step at a time, one grasp at a time. Her limbs shook with the strain. He could feel the muscles in her back through the tunic.
The sun set.
Still, Hettie persevered. The moon rose, sending its silvery light to the glistening black rock. They were both feeling their way forward now, their sight diminished to the point of being useless. He stayed right behind her, guiding her and coaxing her.
Finally she reached the top, just at the base of the temple, in a little alcove just wide enough to fit them both, side by side. The rock sloped downward, just enough to make him feel they would slide off the edge of the cliff if they breathed wrong.
“You did it,” Paedrin said to her triumphantly.
Hettie leaned against the hard stone of the temple wall, gasping for breath. She nodded with a leaden, slack expression. “I thought…I thought…the fall.” She shook her head wanly. “Death. I thought I was going to die.”
He patted her leg comfortingly.
Suddenly she grabbed him in a fierce hug, burying her face against his shoulder. Her whole body trembled and quaked. He put his arm around her, pulling her close, and stroked her hair.
“I wouldn’t let you fall,” he whispered. “I was there.”
She shook her head against his shirt. Her face tilted up, lost in the shadows of the temple and the midnight sky. He could feel her breath hot against his cheek. “I ran out of strength,” she whispered. “It was too much for me. Not even my stubbornness was enough.” She gripped the front of his tunic. “I could have died tonight. I’m so used to being on my own. To relying only on myself. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t strong enough.”
He didn’t know what to say. “It was you, Hettie. You did it. You conquered the mountain.”
“No, Paedrin. It was you. You carried me up the cliff. You saved me from falling. I could have died. You’ve saved me so many times. In the cave where we found the dagger. You saved me then too.” She shook her head and he could feel the hair tickle his cheek. Her shoulders trembled. “I’m so frightened, Paedrin. What if this task is too much for us? For you as well? What if the Scourgelands cannot be defeated? My father died there and he was Aboujaoude. He was better than even you. Now here we are, alone. I’m frightened. I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared.”
Paedrin put his hand on her cheek. It was wet with tears. “I will see you through this, Hettie. We will make it through this.”
“But how?” She sounded so doubtful it pained him. “My best wasn’t enough tonight. I failed. If you hadn’t been there to catch me—”
“I was.”
Her head thumped against his chest again. She clung to him, nestling against him as if he were the only thing in the world left to cling to—the only piece of comfort she had left in her fractured life. And he realized, with deepening awareness, that she was the only source of comfort left in his.
“Let us train our minds to desire what the situation demands.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
The entrance to Basilides was carved into the face of the mountainside, a series of murals, intricate columns, and inset arches that gave the entire formation the appearance of an enormous hollowed skull. Scaffolding was erected on the left side where workers constantly hammered and chiseled the stone, expanding the openings and continuing the designs. It was three levels tall, with an open bronze-shod door where the mouth should be, and twin empty windows for eye sockets. Runes were carved throughout the design, arcane and impressive. It rose in the distance, at the rounded end of the valley. The waters of the lake had been dammed, providing space for the scaffolding and workers, but it was clear that when the monument was finished, the barriers would be breached and the entrance only approachable by boat and oars.
Annon crouched behind a massive fallen boulder and spied the creation, listening to the echoes of the hammer strokes off the jagged walls of the cliff. Amidst the haze of stone dust, he counted several dozen workers and a scattering of black-robed Rikes.
The trap they had overcome at the mountain pass behind them still lingered in his mind. His heart lurched with fear at how perilously close to dying they had come. He had assumed his fireblood would sustain him. The realization that he was wrong sent throbs of doubt and caution throughout his stomach.
Annon turned to Lukias. “How long has this been under construction?”
“A few years, no more. There are natural caves inside these mountains, creating a maze to confuse those who do not know the way. What you see there is just the outside works. The inner sanctum is guarded.”
“By what precisely?” Erasmus asked, rubbing his chin.
Lukias glanced at him in annoyance. “Many things, Preachán. My advice would be to approach and seek audience with the Arch-Rike’s emissary here.”
Annon wrinkled his eyebrows. “And do what? Ask him for permission to use the oracle?”
Lukias gripped his shoulder firmly. “I told you before. This place is treacherous. You will not be able to navigate to the inner sanctum without my help or you risk wandering aimlessly and meeting your deaths in a dozen ways. A negotiation might be engaged.”
Nizeera growled petulantly.
“I don’t think so,” Annon replied. “What can you tell me of the nature of the oracle?”
“Nothing,” Lukias replied. “Just as you do not share your Druidecht lore with me. You must discover it on your own. Ours is at least written down in The Book of Breathings. Have you read it, Khiara? I woul
d be surprised if you had not.”
“Yes,” she answered simply. “My cousin the prince has a copy of The Book of Breathings. It is very symbolic—we lack the true keys to decipher it.”
Annon suspected as much. With only one entrance to the oracle, it likely would force a confrontation with the Arch-Rike’s minions. Annon secretly hoped they might find a way to steal inside, gain the information they needed, and then return. Nearly fifty men guarding the entrance would prove a challenge, unless he resolved upon a strategy.
Turning to face the group, Annon rested his back on the boulder. “A thought to consider: I believe there are some spirits in the area here that may be able to help us. They seem to have hard feelings against the Rikes and would do them harm if asked. I know down in Wayland, woodcutters who violate the places the spirits deem special are often tricked or hindered by these spirits. I have no intention of harming the workers, but we need to get them away from the scaffolds and away from the main door. Fire would accomplish this. If the scaffolds are burning, it creates smoke to obstruct the view and would lead them to the waters to put it out. We use the confusion of the fire to enter.” He shrugged. “I am open to other thoughts.”
Khiara looked pensive and gripped her long staff, leaning against it and staring out across the lake waters. Erasmus took another peek around the boulder and studied the front.
“I know you have an opinion, Erasmus,” Annon said.
The Preachán murmured to himself and then said, “Always smoke and fire with you. It will take a lot of smoke to hide us completely, but with our disguises, it will be easier than otherwise. Some of the workers will form a bucket chain to put out the fire. Some of the Rikes will go inside to warn the others. If we are close enough to follow their steps, they could lead us to the inner sanctum.”
“That means I would need to be close by when the fire starts. Your prediction of the odds of success?” Annon added in a playful tone.
“Well over half,” Erasmus answered curtly. He rubbed his throat and nodded with certainty. “Well over half, I should say. It’s a good plan. How will you get close?”
“One person approaching will be more inconspicuous. I will see if the spirits will help me. Once the fire starts, wait for the smoke to billow and then approach quickly. The confusion will aid you. Nizeera will come with me and help track them inside the caves.”
Khiara looked skeptical. “Shouldn’t we wait until nightfall?”
Erasmus spat on the ground. “Too risky to wait. We don’t know when the next arrivals will be. We also don’t know how long it will take for the Arch-Rike to recognize that his pets are dead. The plan is solid, Annon. Surprisingly so.”
The Druidecht smiled wryly. “Thank you, I think.” He looked at the big cat. Stay near me.
I will not be seen by the mortals.
Annon emerged from the boulder and started along the edge of the trail, approaching it but keeping himself covered by the boulders interspersed along the way. As he walked, his nervousness increased, realizing he might well be seen long before he drew near. His breathing was quick and stressed. If he was challenged, he would need to think quickly. His thoughts reached out to the spirits in the mountains, probing gently to gain their awareness, hoping to beg their aid.
The response was immediate. We sense you, Druidecht. How may we serve you?
I thank you. Is there a means to shield me from their sight as I approach? You know by my thoughts that I am here to do mischief to these men who hammer at stone.
We understand your intentions, Druidecht. Walk amongst us and you will not be seen.
Annon felt their presence expand in the form of moths and gnats that began to swirl around him in thick clouds. He felt the vibrations from their fluttering wings and the natural urge to swat them away, but he remained surefooted and calm and continued walking forward. A shroud of magic enveloped him, providing a sense of ease and protection. Their power amazed him, and he felt a swell of gratitude.
I thank you.
The fluttering of moths billowed around him and he no longer guarded his approach. He did not know how it appeared to others, but he trusted in their power and approached the workmen and the scaffolding. The ding and clang of stone and chisel rocked the air, clashing harshly against his ears. Grunts from the workers, gray with dust, became more pronounced as he approached. Annon advanced to the far edge of the scaffolding, keeping his distance to the doors. He realized that, with the magic of the spirits, he could enter it by himself.
Are there enough of you to disguise my friends? he asked.
No, Druidecht. We are not sufficient in number.
He thought it best to proceed as planned. Reaching the edge, he glanced up at the figures standing on the scaffolding, working on the rungs and boards to provide the height needed to work. Some men were resting by the lake. The Rikes were clustered together, discussing something amongst themselves.
Annon reached out and gripped the lowest plank of the scaffolding. Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas. His fingers began to tingle and glow blue. Seizing the plank, he focused the heat against the wood, watching it blacken. Smoke began coiling along the edge. He fed the flame slowly, not wanting to startle them with a sudden blaze. A few tongues of yellow fire began to lick at the wood. He stepped back, focusing on the wood, feeding it with his mind, letting it writhe and twist and begin its hypnotic dance. He stepped farther back, edging away from it. The fire began to crackle, but the sound was lost in the hammering strokes.
The length of the board burst into flame, its dry, desiccated wood ready to burn.
“Hold on there, look! Fire!” The cry of alarm came from the cluster of Rikes as one of them had finally noticed. “Fire!” he screamed even louder.
The hammering ceased all at once.
Annon, backing away, focused his attention on the flames and fed the blaze with his power. He willed it to burn hotly, to surge higher and higher.
“Get off!” someone shouted. A loud ruckus commenced, the scaffolding buckling as workers began to scramble across to the adjacent section, knowing that descending was perilous. Some jumped to the ground and rolled away in the dust and dirt. Smoke from the fire began to fill the air, bringing wheezing coughs and stinging eyes.
“Water! Fetch the buckets! Quickly!”
Annon saw the flames begin to lick into the upper planks, the fire coiling along the iron rungs and spreading. Men and bodies were everywhere, some jumping, others shoving to get away. Muttered oaths and curses met his ears. A few ran to the edge of the lake and began filling buckets. The first few arriving hurled the water at the flames, causing more billowing smoke to fill the area.
“More water! The whole thing will come down if we don’t. Hurry, you fools! Run to the lake. Go!”
Walking quickly, Annon approached the main doors. He saw a black-robed Rike wrest open the enormous carved door and dart inside. The heavy door remained ajar. He thanked the spirits again and bid them leave. With the smoke and commotion, no one would think to notice him. He gained the edge of the door, listening to the footfalls of the boots as they disappeared into the dark swath of cave ahead. In the time he waited at the door, he studied the locking mechanism of the gates, the chains and pulleys that closed and secured the door. Nizeera padded up soundlessly next to him.
Nizeera, follow him.
She loped into the cave, vanishing into the shadows beyond. Annon stood by the door, impatiently waiting for his companions to come. Would Lukias betray them now, seeing them on the verge of success? He ground his teeth, staring at the smoke, wondering when they would arrive. Men toting sloshing buckets approached as they hobbled back to the scaffolding, trying to put out the fires. Annon ran his palm along the thick bronze band on the edge of the door. The wood was thick and heavy, the hinges enormous in size. Once fastened shut, it would not be easy to open, except from the inside. He hoped that gave them an advantage.
“Hold there. Who are you?” someone shouted in the fog of smoke. “Where did y
ou—?”
The sound was cut off instantly. There was a bark of commotion, the sound of a fist striking flesh. From the plumes of smoke they came—Khiara, Erasmus, and Lukias. They sprinted to Annon and the doors and he waved them inside. Shouts of alarm sounded from the smoke, revealing the confusion of the Rikes.
“What is happening? Are you hurt? Who was that?”
“I swear it was Lukias.”
“Are you sure?”
“I swear it! I’ve seen him before!”
Annon and the others shoved the doors closed. The cave was plunged into blackness. Annon summoned an orb of fire into his hand, providing an aura of blue-violet light. He pointed the light at the chains and pulleys. “Erasmus, can you determine the proper use of the levers?”
The Preachán was already moving, examining the intricate tangle of gears and chains. His eyes darted this way and that. Then he nodded and hefted on a pulley rope. The chains rattled and three crossbars, each a different height, came down and nested together, sealing the door shut from the inside. The workers and Rikes were stranded outside.
Excitement churned in Annon’s stomach. He looked to the others quickly, his eyes dancing with energy. “We must be quick and find the inner sanctum. A Rike made it ahead of us and he is probably warning the others. I sent Nizeera ahead—”
“The cat will die then,” Lukias said, his face flushed with emotion. “There are guardians here that can protect against spirit creatures. Magic defends these halls.”
“Of what sort?” Annon pressed, holding the fiery globe closer to Lukias. “Either you help us or hinder us, Lukias. Which is it?”
The Rike’s face twisted with conflicting spasms of emotion. “This is our lair, Druidecht. Your power will not prevail here.”
“Which is it, Lukias? Will you aid us or thwart us?”
