The Progeny of Able (The Burrow of London Series Book 1)

by Peter S. Case

  Far above, in the quiet church, a medieval knight speaking with a gilded fox came suddenly loose from its stained glass house, crashed on the stone floor, and smashed into sharp bits as armed Shadow Foxes landed on the shards.

  “Did you hear that?” Roe asked, looking to the stairs they had come from.

  “What? I heard nothing,” Edward added. “This old building makes all sorts of noises when you least expect it. It has a will of its own, as it were.”

  “They've followed our scent,” Mercia said.

  “Who has followed your scent?” Edward asked.

  “An army of foxes not as nice as us,” Scarlett said.

  “An army. I see. Well, we shall defend ourselves.”

  “You said you know where this key might lead,” Daegal said.

  “Yes...” He rose to his feet and crossed past the font to the alcove with the keyhole in its wall.

  “Here, give it to me,” he said, offering his hand.

  He took the completed key from Roe and reached into the cabinet, barely able to reach the keyhole in the back wall.

  “Well, it fits. Now let's see if I can turn it.”

  He grunted from his awkward position, a position no grown fox could accomplish. The keyhole was clearly made to be accessible by a Hantsa only. The key fought with the inner mechanism and slowly gave a rusty way until finally slipping into place with a satisfying click.

  A rumble shook the walls of the chamber, setting free centuries of dust from the ceiling and walls. Daegal sneezed, Edward coughed, and the rest watched as the stairway behind them followed its spire, rising up out of the ground, revealing a passage which continued to spiral into the earth beneath the crypt.

  “Well, we need to go down. I believe I know where this staircase leads,” Daegal said to the others. “Can you remove the key without closing off the way?”

  “I'll try,” Edward said, reaching back into the alcove. “Yes, here. It came out easily.”

  “There should be a switch inside which will lower the stairs behind us. But this is not the way etched on the key,” Daegal continued.

  “How do you know?” asked Scarlett.

  “Because this stair leads back to Orva's Spear. I'm sure of it. It was built so the Defender had constant access to the Burrow and likewise for the Progeny and Guards below.”

  “Come with us, Edward,” Roe offered, knowing it was an impossibility. How would they ever hide a Hantsa amongst the Burrow?

  “What? That's not possible, Roe,” Scarlett added.

  “I agree,” Mercia affirmed. “Where would we put him?”

  “I agree with the ladies,” Edward began. “Don't worry about me. Besides, I have defenders of my own to protect the church. Believe me, if the locals hear a break in, this army of foxes will have more than me worry to about. They'll have an army of youths and one tattooed and angry proprietor from Tabards to contend with.”

  He smiled at the others.

  “Go. Take the book. Here is the relic that was spoken off.”

  He reached back into the alcove and brought the wrapped head out to give to the others.

  “No,” Roe said. “Keep it. Deman meant for it to stay here. It is yours to protect. He said the heart is what we need, not the head, so keep it here and keep it safe.”

  Edward and Roe looked at each other and both smiled.

  “Now you know where I am,” Edward said. “So, don't be a stranger.”

  He kneeled before Roe and lowered his head.

  Roe crossed to the Hantsa and touched the top of his head to his own.

  “Thank you. I won't”

  Entering the tunnel, the group turned to look at Edward one last time, then spun into the ground with the lowering staircase after Daegal hit the hidden switch. Silence descended around Edward, along with his new friends.

  “Okay. Time to defend my own,” he said to himself, taking the steps up two at a time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lying atop a raised dais on his side, a beat-red tongue occasionally lolling out, Gremian smiled, assuring his guards with a compassionate nod as he listened to their excuses. An hour later he dispassionately watched each of their heads fall from the block and roll down the small slope into the pit where a grisly pile of other unfortunates was quickly rotting.

  The rotunda outside the palace was empty, save for those attending to the Supreme Councillor, and the several carcasses of starved commoners who had wandered in looking for food.

  “There isn't a fox alive that is deserving. That is capable,” he said to Alodia, struggling to all fours and smiling through angry teeth. “One could spend a lifetime searching for a worthy fox in this hole, killing all the unworthy, and one would be left alone with only the love of a trusted canine to lick his heels.”

  Alodia laughed nervously, not sure what her reaction should be to such lunacy, not wanting to find herself at its receiving end and on such a severe stage.

  “What excuse did they give for losing Samson and the Sky Fighter?” She asked hesitantly.

  He swung his head away from the carnage and considered his wife blankly with eyes glossed , drooping, and intoxicated.

  “Excuses, yes there are always excuses, but the Burrow will answer. It will answer for failing me.” He raised a brow at the demure vixen beside him and flashed her a smile. “They told me the pair had disappeared into a church on the surface and that they were set upon by an army of Hantsa. So, not only did they fail but they gave an excuse that was a lie and not even a good one. They took this lie so far as to capture a Hantsa and bring him to me with his vixen. I've caged the pair in the canine kennels since that is the only door we could squeeze them through. Feel free to visit them. They make an amusing and freakish distraction.”

  Bringing his attention back to the pit, he rocked slightly towards the edge of the dais and swayed there, leaning as if he was straining to listen to his own ramblings. “The Hantsa do not get involved with the fortunes of the foxes,” he spoke in a whisper. “It was this that killed the guards. I can stomach liars but bad liars are worse than the righteous.”

  He gave the pile of heads a final grimace and growl then took a long draught from his steaming cup of strongly brewed moth tea.

  “Ahhh! This is stiff stuff. That's how I like it. Who would have thought that Erlene's divine rats were tasteless scraps of flesh compared to her moth brew. Getting rid of that chef and taking her off the street was the best thing I've managed to accomplish this year.”

  He polished off the rest of the tea in one large burning gulp and allowed a sweet tear to run down his face and slip between his teeth. He smiled at the simple pleasure of it all.

  “Head back to the Palace, Alodia, find my sons and send them to me for the evening meal. Make sure they are clothed in their state best.”

  He walked half-way up the palace steps, then turned to his wife.

  “Enjoy the time there is left, vixen. You are free of me if you wish it. Do as you will. The bonds of marriage are meaningless without the surety of love. I am dissolving all bonds within the Burrow, for all have failed in their love of me and therefore all assurances are void. Be sure of nothing, Alodia, other than the great purge that will come to cleanse us all. Go whore yourself to your Inari.”

  Alodia remained frozen during his little speech and didn't move when he disappeared into the palace. She had been given much in this life and was rich in material things but she was poor in what mattered the most, for her friends were few and her family were all dead. Of course her sons were alive, but she didn't know them, having been allowed to see them only a handful of times since their birth. Nature gave her little choice but to love them, even though they had been raised by the military to be cruel and remorseless. No, there were only a few she truly cared for. And, apparently it was no secret, only one she truly loved. For once, she new exactly what to do. The only way to protect them was to stay exactly where she was.

  She shook herself and with an unfamiliar feeling of focus follow
ed Gremian into the Palace.

  *

  Their swirling descent was neverending. Daegal didn't complain directly but indicated his discomfort clearly, with a constant huffing, puffing and grunting. Scarlett kept tripping into Mercia due to her continuously trying to examine and clean the inscriptions on the key at the expense of navigating the stairs. Roe took the rear, silent, but gradually coming to the realization that he had just become the most unlikely of friends with a Hantsa. More than that, in fact. He had just made a deeply personal connection to a Hantsa, a connection that he knew was meant to change the fate of everyone in the Burrow.

  “If we don't come to the end soon, I'm afraid all this spinning might reacquaint us with my supper.” Daegal grumbled behind a clenched jaw, unable to control himself any longer. Coming to an abrupt halt at a passing alcove set within the central column, he held his sides with dangerous urgency.

  “If you are going to lose it, do it away from me, please,” Mercia said.

  “We should rest for a moment,” Roe said. “This stair must be at least twice as long as the entrance under the Tower.”

  “Mercia?” Scarlett asked, nudging between Roe and the wall. “Excuse me, Roe.” She looked him full in the face and both were momentarily embarrassed by the physical proximity.

  “What do you want, Scarlett?” Mercia yelled, disrupting the awkward moment.

  “Do you have a candle or something I could use to see this inscription better? I have most of it but I can't make out the final bit in this light.”

  “A candle? Do I look like the candle type? Please...”

  She rummaged in her pack and retrieved a shiny square piece of metal.

  “This is a lighter.”

  She gave the metal a deft flick on the wall with her jaw and a strong golden flame illuminated the alcove with a wavering bright light.

  “Yikes,” Scarlett said. “I've never seen a fox able to use one of those before. I always burn myself. It does the job nicely, however.”

  Mercia set the lighter into a gap in the masonry and Scarlett leaned the key close to it.

  “The manuscript said the keys, when joined, would show us the way. That's what this inscription must be. A riddle. 'Begging beyond thirty dark stars, seventy days beyond the Mile, upon the turning of the sun, a thirty second home is shone, the way, a head',” she said, concentrating on the translation and smiling with some satisfaction once she finished it.

  Under the diminishing fuel of the lighter the group breathed silently, none of them possessing the energy to comment on the riddle.

  “I have to confess that the translation means nothing to me,” Scarlett finally said. “Perhaps I made a mistake.”

  “No, I don't think so.” Merica said. “There is something in it. Something familiar. Just let me think for a second. Could you repeat it again?”

  Scarlett slowly repeated the inscription and shook her head at the end of it.

  Finally, Mercia smiled.

  “It is so easy!” she said. “Sorry Scarlett, but only a vixen who spent her life in the Burrow would know its meaning.”

  She paused momentarily, revelling in the possession of this vital piece of knowledge.

  “All right. There are three parts.”

  “Yes, Mercia we can see that,” Scarlett said impatiently.

  “There are three parts. The first, 'Begging beyond thirty dark stars'. Daegal do you remember when you were a pup sneaking into the 'Stars of a Thousand Stares'? It is forbidden but we used to go there for the romantic view,” she said, eyeing Roe critically as if he had failed, given an important opportunity.

  “Um, yes, although I have to confess I've been there four or five times just this past month,” Daegal said, looking to Roe and giving him a wink. “The tunnel ends at a cliff with a spectacular view across a glittering cave splashed with hundreds of small waterfalls. Many a vixen has come under the spell of Daegal with the help of that view.”

  “Yes, there is a cliff,” Mercia said rolling her eyes, “but not before you pass an ancient well. What is that well called, Daegal?”

  “Ah, yes, the Well of Begging,” he answered.

  “The Well of Begging. And set along the length of the tunnel walls, leading back to the entrance are small inset black stars.”

  “So, we have a place,” Roe said finally. “Good work Mercia. What about the rest?”

  “Even easier. Even I know a mile is a Hantsa term for a set distance and we've always called the area which houses the annual market, 'The Mile'. This is the biggest event for most of us and many believe it began when the first tunnel was opened to the burrow. The market always finishes on the summer solstice so seventy days beyond that makes it....?”

  “This year it finished on December twenty-second.” Daegal said. “The Mile is the biggest money making moment for the Inari,” he explained guiltily, looking at the others.

  “March first.” Scarlett said quickly. “seventy days beyond 'the Mile'. That makes sense in some way. The first of March has always been associated with significant events in our past. Most notably, the anniversary of the cleansing.”

  “That is two weeks from now,” Roe said. “So that gives us a date and I assume the rest gives us the time.”

  “Yes,” Scarlett agreed. “The 'Turning of the Sun' is an old term for the moment the sun breaches the horizon. Sunrise.”

  “And whatever happens, the home, the keyhole, is only going to be visible for thirty seconds. It is the way ahead,” Mercia said, smiling with some finality.

  “Well, thank goodness for that,” Daegal added. “It looks like all we can do is wait. Wait and rest and relax and perhaps have a bath and a massage.”

  “Yes, we have to wait,” Roe repeated “But I don't think there will be much relaxing. We must be ready because if we miss this keyhole opening, we will have to wait another year.

  *

  Edward regained consciousness slowly, but the dark was so absolute he was not aware of it. It was the moan coming from beside him that finally brought him to the reality that he was alive and that he was awake.

  The cobbled floor was hard, damp and a slippery fungus drifted in the air, causing him to speak through an asthmatic wheeze.

  “Is...someone...else...there?”

  He stretched his stiff limbs and reached for the place he thought the other was breathing.

  At first he felt fabric, then a dress and soon a blue bead set within a small dollop of silver on a modest chain of the same. He gasped. He had given it to her as a gift two years earlier.

  “Gwen. Oh dear god. Gwen I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...”

  The events of the following day were difficult for him to remember. The first wave of foxes he managed to scare off with the broomstick he had initially used against Roe only this time he had doused it with oil from the lamp and set it alight. Unfortunately, he had also set fire to one of the large curtains which draped around the church. It was old and brittle but fortunately the window it covered was next to the garden hose outside and he managed to pull the hose through and extinguish the fire before it spread.

  He was still holding the gun of the hose, the water misting gently against the interior wall when it suddenly slowed and then died.

  “Edward?” Gwen said bounding in to the church wearing a long black cotton nightgown. “First I hear enough noise to think a riot has broken out in the church and then I roll over in bed, look towards the window only to see flames flickering from inside the church. What has happened and are you okay?

  Edward was too stunned to say much, his only response being, “Thanks for shutting off the water.”

  Ten minutes later Edward was seated at the dining table in the rectory Gwen watching him, the steaming hot savoury pie untouched between them.

  “Gwen, there is something I need to tell you.”

  Suddenly he saw a flash of red, then felt an impact on his head and everything went dark.

  “Night, night, Hantsa,” was the last thing he heard wheezed into h
is ear before losing consciousness...

  “Edward? Edward...it is okay...don't panic. We are in the dark but we are in it together.”

  The form next to him rustled and five cold fingers wrapped around his own.

  *

  Gremian looked above him at the large square stone hanging from the portion of wall which had been blown away years before. He looked at it, part of him willing the rock to fall and flatten him. It was big enough.

  “Not now,” he shook his head. “I have this great work to finish. Then all will be oblivion and silence. A rock does not deserve the honour of ending me.”

  Isen stood beside him trying not to disturb his master but finding himself increasingly disturbed by the Supreme Councillor's behaviour.

  “Sir!” Isen said abruptly, finding that being aggressive and direct was the only way to reach Gremian since the reappearance of Samson. “You have brought me here to show me something and I must confess my curiosity. It is a beautiful room and a perfect sphere. A massive tongue carved into the floor and four sets of teeth curving up the arch. Yes, we are within a gaping jaw. That said, what am I looking at other than a broken wall?”

  “Isen, my trusty slave. Yes, you are the first to visit this marvellous space with me. One I discovered years ago. In fact, the same night my illustrious predecessor met his untimely end,” he indicated with his head back towards the great throne at the centre of the royal audience chamber.

  “Indeed, who would have thought this treasure had been hidden behind this mosaic all these years,” Isen said, his whiskers twitching.

  “Oh, the treasure, all this gold and jewels and ancient crap, is nothing compared to that seemingly bland large metal orb in the corner over there.”

  “That old rusty bit of metal?” Isen asked, now sure of his master's loosening grip on reality. “The metalwork is to be admired and if we thoroughly cleaned it we may have a highly functional spit to roast a canine or two. We'd need to break those chains attached between it and the wall first.”