“Is that where we just were?” he asked, pointing to the southern waterfall and the ruins.
“Yes, those are the ruins of Hisari. The mountains are called the Crown in, well, in most languages spoken in the jungle.”
“Hisari lies at the foot of the Crown,” Verran murmured.
“Yes,” Majida said. “Hisari means City of the Royal Mouth in the language of the Scaly Ones.
“Royal Mouth?” Verran asked dubiously.
“A better translation would be City of Kings,” Majida said. “So they are the Crown of the City of Kings.”
“Which came first, the city or the mountains?” Boult asked.
Majida smiled sadly. “The Scaly Ones played with nature as if it were a toy. You’ve seen the husks. But flesh was not the only thing they shaped to their pleasure. There is a legend that each peak holds a gemstone so vast that a demon was enlisted to carry the jewels to the pinnacles and bind them into the rock.”
Majida tugged a length of muddy rope and pulled up a trap door, its boards rotted and warped. They peered into a dark shaft with a rickety ladder leading down into the darkness. Majida lowered herself over the edge and began down the ladder.
“Go ahead,” Zo said, looking at Harp.
Harp climbed down the shaky ladder. The sunlight from above illuminated the glassy black walls of the shaft where thousands of fossils were left from the time when it had been a sea. The soil of the seabed had been filled with tiny snail-like creatures and helix-shaped worms. After so many years, their forms were outlined by white quartz that glittered like ancient stars in the deep black of the walls.
At the bottom of the shaft, Harp stood next to Majida and waited for the others. In front of them was a wooden door without a lock, and Harp could see a faint glow of light under the bottom of the door.
“Do your scars hurt?” Majida asked.
“Sometimes,” Harp replied. “They’ve faded a lot. You should have seen them right after I got out of Vankila. They used to split open all the time.”
“Split?”
“Yeah, I could brush up against a doorframe and end up bleeding buckets. It took almost a year for the skin to really heal.”
“I can help you with them,” Majida told him.
“Thank you, but nothing works,” Harp said regretfully. “I’ve tried everything.”
“We’ll see.”
“Majida, do you think that Verran had something to do with that creature coming to life?” he asked. Above them, Kitto was halfway down the ladder, and the others would be right behind him.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But there is something about him …”
“What?” Harp prompted.
Majida smiled sadly. “He’s at a crossroads.”
“I don’t understand,” Harp said. “It’s very similar to the place you are standing,” Majida said.
“Are you sure I’m at a crossroads?” Harp said. “Because I feel like I’m at the bottom of a well.”
When everyone had climbed down the ladder and the trap door was closed above them, Majida pushed open the wooden door. An unexpected flood of sunlight made Harp shield his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he stepped into an enormous subterranean room. High above them, crystal-encrusted stalagmites hung from the cavern’s dripping ceiling. A narrow streambed flowing with azure water bisected the cavern floor, which was composed of the same black rock as the walls of the shaft.
“Fire-rock and mud-rock in the same place?” Boult muttered to Harp. “Something incredibly hot exploded here to get that combination.”
The walls of the cavern were slopes of gray, pockmarked rock that let water seep into the cavern as well as sunlight. The rock was so porous that Harp could see the silhouettes of vines and flowers dangling on the other side. In the center of the massive cavern, a bronze urn burned with a glittery orange flame.
“Welcome to the Spirit Vault,” Majida said. They stared at the cavern.
“Why do you call it that?” Harp asked.
Majida smiled and pointed to the far side of the cavern. The wall was the same glistening black as the shaft, but in place of sea fossils, the crystallized bones of a giant creature protruded from the obsidian wall.
Spanning from floor to ceiling, the bones were at least double the height of a giant and more than four times the size of an average man. While the bones of the creature’s torso, arms, and legs were humanoid, the slant of its skull was distinctly feline. Spiny filaments of wings jutted out from behind its back, and broken chains dangled from his shackled wrists. With its wings outspread and palms opened, the creature looked as if it had been blasted back against the wall by some immense force that had made the cavern into a tomb.
“What are those?” Harp said in awe.
Zo gave him a quizzical look. “Those are the bones of a god.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
2 Flamerule, the Year of the Ageless One
(1479 DR)
Chult
That’s not a god,” Verran said. “That’s just some monster.”
Zo’s eyes widened, and he sputtered harsh words in Dwarvish, but Verran didn’t look abashed at all. Harp thought he looked defiant, and a little pleased, as if he took pleasure in angering the dwarven chief.
“You know, Verran,” Harp said as gently as he could. “You shouldn’t judge something you don’t know anything about.”
“It’s not a god,” Verran repeated. Furious, Zo turned bright red under his beard.
Majida sighed. “Zo, would you ask Lethea to prepare a place for our guests to rest? And food for them to eat?”
After Zo had stomped out of the cavern and down a tunnel in the wall behind them Harp glared at Verran.
“We’re guests here …” Harp began irritably, but Majida interrupted him before he could chastise the youth.
“You’re right, Verran,” she interrupted, staring intently at the boy. “It’s not a god. But there’s no use trying to dissuade someone from their beliefs, is there?”
“What do you mean by that?” Verran asked petulantly.
Harp and Boult exchanged glances. Ever since the waterfall, Verran had been touchy. Harp wanted to attribute it to hunger and tiredness, but Majida’s fears about the boy were worrisome. And there was the strange emergence of the the creature in the pit. Without proof, Harp didn’t want to think that Verran had anything to do with it. But considering how he had melted Bootman, it was hard not to wonder.
“The Captive is not unrelated to you,” Majida told them. “The Practitioner is searching for the Torque, which was created from one of the broken links of his chains.”
“What does the Torque do?” Kitto asked.
“The Domain’s legends say many things,” Majida said with a touch of amusement. “Various myths assign it powers from dismemberment to the utter extermination of the dwarves.”
“Can you narrow that down?” Harp asked.
“Only to a guess,” Majida said. “I think it gives the wearer heightened protection. Like a shield, it gifts them with the Captive’s endurance, if not his strength.”
“But you don’t know for sure?” Boult asked.
“I am unraveling our legends in search of answers,” Majida said. “And as you know, in the realm of myth, truth is always suffocated by fear.”
“If the Torque is so powerful, why don’t the yuan-ti just use it themselves?” Boult asked.
Majida shook her head. “The Scaly Ones can’t use it.”
“Why?” Harp asked.
“I don’t know how the magic was ordered around the artifact, but in their hands, it’s simply a twist of metal. Since they can’t use it, I believe it’s safest in their keeping.”
While they talked, Verran became more and more agitated. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, and his eyes darted around the cavern as if he were watching the flight path of some invisible bird. Harp raised his eyebrows and frowned at the impatient youth.
“What is wrong with you?” Harp asked. “Are you f
eeling all right?”
“I’m hungry,” he said, jutting out his chin as if he expected someone to disagree with him.
“Go down the tunnel into the hub and ask for Lethea,” Majida said. “She’ll find something for you to eat.”
Before she finished speaking, Verran spun on his heel and hurried down the tunnel and out of sight. Watching him, Harp had the unpleasant feeling that Verran was like a pot of water, waiting to boil.
“We should go to the ruins and look for Liel,” Harp said to Majida when her dark eyes found his. “Liel thought the Torque was important. Cardew and his patron obviously think it’s important.”
“Not until you’ve rested. Kitto looks as if he’s about to fall over.”
“I’m fine,” Kitto insisted.
But Majida was right. Kitto looked tired and pale. On closer inspection, Harp saw that the boy was shaking, probably from hunger.
“Agreed,” Harp said. “Come on, Kitto, let’s go get some food.”
“All right, you,” Boult growled at Majida when Kitto and Harp were gone. “Talk.”
Majida laughed softly. “Abrupt, aren’t you?”
“You inscribed my name in the trees in the colony, as part of the ward.”
“Yes,” Majida admitted.
“Why?” Boult demanded.
“I’ve dreamed about you, that you were coming to the jungle. My dreams are puzzling at best. Horrifying at worst. I thought you were the key to the puzzle.”
“And now you’re not so sure?” Boult prompted.
“And now I’m not so sure,” Majida agreed.
“What’s changed?”
But Majida didn’t answer. They stood in silence in the warm circle of air around the urn, and Boult marveled at the spectacle of the skeleton immortalized in the shiny rock. At first glance, the bones had looked like pure white crystal, but he could see veins of color-rosy beige, copper, and light blue-that reminded Boult of the inside of a seashell. The thin bones branching from its back showed a wingspan that was impressive, even for the creature’s gargantuan size. Splints of metal jutted out from the remains of the shackles. The splints looked as if they had punctured the skin of the Captive and fused to his bones while he still lived. It must have been incredibly painful, and Boult wondered if the fire was a way to honor the massive creature that had suffered at the hands at the Scaly Ones.
“Is the urn’s fire natural or unnatural?” he finally asked.
“Unnatural and perpetual,” she said, the corners of her lips turning upward slightly.
“It’s never gone out?” Boult asked.
“Not even when a young scamp snuck in and doused it repeatedly with water,” Majida replied. “Still it burned.”
“Were you the scamp?” Boult asked after a pause.
Majida looked momentarily surprised. “That secret dies with me,” she said good-naturedly.
Boult took a closer look at the metal urn. Fashioned from unadorned bronze, the shallow urn had a wide, circular base. Inside the urn, the flame burned on a plate of opaque glass.
“I once heard a story about a man who turned against his patron god, going so far as to deny the god’s existence,” Boult said. “One night, the man realized that he had made a grave error and begged for the god’s forgiveness. The god forgave the man, but all he promised him in return was suffering.”
“Suffering is the nature of the world,” Majida said. “Honor is not.”
“I used to believe in honor. When I was a soldier, I lived to serve my queen and country-my masters-faithfully. Do you know what my masters did to me?”
“They betrayed you.”
“They forced me to suffer for someone else’s crime.”
“Humiliation is the backbone of evil. That doesn’t make your honor a mistake.”
“My honor is dead.”
“And what has risen up in its place? Revenge?”
“It has brought me so far,” Boult pointed out.
“It has determined the company you keep,” Majida said gravely. “It has brought you to the ends of the earth. And for what?”
“If Cardew wants something, I want it more,” Boult growled.
“Then you are serving a master, whether you realize it or not.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Maybe not. But I know that you and your friends are close to finding the Torque, and that gives me pause,” Majida said.
“Because you want it to stay hidden in the ruins?”
Majida gave a little shrug. “I’m going to tell you a secret. One that most of the dwarves of the Domain don’t know.”
Boult’s eyes narrowed. “ You don’t know me. Why trust me with it?”
“Because you will appreciate the irony.”
“That’s a very poor reason,” Boult pointed out.
“Hence the irony,” Majida said. “Will you listen?”
“Secrets are the commerce of revenge, Majida,” Boult said. “I’ll listen, as long as you know what business I am in.”
“I know what you are,” Majida said. “And I’m telling you anyway. For centuries, people have died trying to get the Torque. The Scaly Ones have bent their will around protecting it. It has been the nexus around which life and death have spun. And it’s powerful, no doubt.”
Majida stopped. Boult raised his eyebrows. “Don’t stop now. I’m more than curious.”
“All that time, the dwarves of the Domain have had something more powerful. Something that overshadows the Torque and all it has done.”
“What?”
“Him.” Majida gestured to the Captive and looked at Boult with a resolute expression on her aged face. “I don’t understand.”
“His blood. There is a vial beneath the urn filled with an elixir made from his essence. The flames keep his life force alive, and the wards around the Domain keep him hidden. As you have seen for yourself, both the Scaly Ones and the Practitioner have the skill to bring him back to life and to dominate his will, at least for a short time.”
“Create a husk of the Captive,” Boult said incredulously, staring up at the towering skeleton that dominated the cavern. “In the history of bad ideas, that sounds like the worst. Huh. I’m not sure that’s information I wanted to know.”
Majida smiled. “Yes, but it’s information that Cardew- and his patron-would kill to have, is it not?”
Boult nodded slowly.
“You don’t have to be his chattel anymore.”
“I’m not-”
“Boult!” Verran called, surprising them both. Neither had heard the boy approach. “Harp is looking for you.”
“You are very puzzling,” Boult said to Majida. But he said it in a kindly way, in a voice he was not accustomed to using. Then he left with Verran.
“Just as long as someone has all the pieces but me,” she murmured to herself when they were gone.
Someone shook Harp’s arm roughly. He and his crew were sleeping in a narrow dormitory where Harp had shoved multiple cots together to make something long enough for him to lay in comfortably. Harp was well fed, clean, and warm-all the things that made a perfect night’s sleep. Or they would have, if someone wasn’t still shaking his arm.
Irritable at the disruption, he sat up and saw Majida standing by his cot. His exasperation disappeared. He couldn’t imagine the elder dwarf disturbing him for something trivial. The room was dark, but the door was ajar and the torches lit in the corridor outside. In the shadows, he could see her motion for him to follow her. Kitto and Boult were snoring, but Verran stirred restlessly as Harp pulled on his boots and shouldered his pack.
So far, Harp hadn’t seen much of the layout of the Domain except the common room, which was like the hub on a wheel with a series of tunnels rotating off it like spokes. With multiple fire pits and clay ovens, the toasty, cedar-scented room was where most of the day-to-day living took place. Harp had met a handful of the other residents the night before, but hadn’t gotten a sense of how many dwarves actually called the
Domain home. Apparently, the dwarves kept goats on the open passes between mountains, and it was the time of year that many dwarves were away tending the herds. They crossed through the common room where small fires still smoldered in the fire pits. In the dim light, Harp could see wisps of smoke rising into slits cut in the rock ceiling. When he passed under one, he could see a slice of the starry night sky high above him. Harp couldn’t imagine how the dwarves could have carved such long narrow shafts in the rock.
“Are those shafts natural?” he whispered to Majida.
“We have built everything you see,” she replied, pausing to light a torch in the fire pit. “Everything except the chamber of the captive.”
At the end of the tunnels, Majida stopped at a plain wooden door, which she unlocked with a key from the chain that hung from her belt.
“So much for communal living,” Harp remarked, nodding at the key.
“My kin think books should be used for kindling,” Majida said, pushing open the door with her hip. “And the only use for metal is for swords.”
They stepped into a cramped chamber at the bottom of a tall, narrow shaft with spiral stairs leading up through the rock. As Harp followed Majida up the stairs, his head brushed the bottom of the steps above him. At the top, Harp climbed into a dome that was built on the top of a rocky peak. The walls of the mountaintop observatory were almost translucent-Harp could see the ridges and formations of rocks on the outside. The color and sheen reminded him of an ivory plate that was so delicate it seemed his breath alone could sunder it.
“What is that?” Harp asked, brushing his fingertips against the smooth walls, which felt cool under his touch.
“Actually, it’s metal,” Majida said. “I made some adjustments to it.”
Majida turned a crank and half of the domed ceiling opened with a squeak that sounded very metallic. The little room was open to the air, and Harp had an unhindered view of the night sky. The observatory was the closest he’d ever been to the stars, and their vastness made him feel light-headed.
“Are we on top of the Crown?” Harp asked, staring out at the moonlight.
The Fanged Crown tw-1 Page 19
