We crept along the cavern wall watching the ceiling, which flickered and blurred intermittently. It looked innocent enough from our distance, but this was Pantheon, where science and nightmares knew no natural boundaries; and we held our breath until we were crouching beneath the decrepit stairwells.
I gazed up through the broken rises, recalling the last time I’d climbed them, searching for Aelia and August. I’d just arrived in the noisy, bizarre Prolet underworld, desperate to know if August had survived surgery. And now I was here again, with even less conviction he was still breathing. Or whether I should care. The irony wasn’t lost on me, and yet as I gazed at the empty worm-ridden wooden beams, I would have happily stepped inside a time machine. The whole cavern felt dead. Where was everyone? Where was Aelia?
An uncomfortable suspicion began to seep through my bones. Aelia had said Cassius had removed all privileges after the insurgents’ escape. And it was the middle of the night, which meant the rest of the Prolet population should be here now. Under curfew.
‘I’m going up,’ I whispered to the others. ‘Wait here and keep watch!’
‘I’ll come too,’ Max interjected.
‘It doesn’t look strong enough,’ I hissed.
Pan shot a panicked look upwards as my whisper ricocheted around the cavern. We followed his gaze and, for a second, no one moved as several of the lights grew brighter, before fading again. He finally looked back at me, his elongated ears twitching and face paler than ever. There was no mistaking his warning.
I turned abruptly, and scaled the first section before anyone could offer any more objections. Despite its appearance the walkway frame seemed firm enough, and as long as I trod a central path, the wooden beams supported my weight without objection. I flew up the rest as quickly as I dared and was outside Aelia’s snug cave entrance within a couple of minutes. Her tatty old woven blanket still concealed the entrance, and I hesitated only for a moment before drawing it aside. Steadying my nerve for what might lie ahead.
Cautiously, I scanned the threadbare cave-room, my eyes adjusting to the gloom. There was no sign of Aelia, although her tiny cave looked as though she had just popped out for a moment. A small book rested on her tiny tabletop, alongside a half-eaten cob of bread. My eyes narrowed. Aelia would never willingly leave food behind.
I walked across to the tiny snug at the back of the cave, into which we’d all crammed to examine Aelia’s hidden research. The same research that had turned out to be missing pages from the Book of Arafel, the rest of Thomas’s research into the Voynich. It was also where August had kissed me. But those memories were suffocated today. The small curtain was drawn aside, and the tiny hiding hole completely exposed. My anxiety intensified.
What had happened here? There was no way of knowing, and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that she had left in a big hurry, not long before. I turned swiftly, feeling oddly exposed, but as I made my way back towards the entrance, the slim book on the table drew my eye again.
‘GENETICA: A short analysis of advantageous genetic modifications 2204–2205.’
It had to be a Pantheonite publication, published inside Octavia’s reign of terror and propaganda. I frowned. It was also a most unlikely, dubious book for Aelia to possess, let alone leave lying around.
Impulsively, I crossed to the table, and opened the well-thumbed text. There were a lot of annotated diagrams throughout and, as I flicked through, my attention was drawn by a bulbous section towards the back.
After a swift glance at the still entrance, I turned to the thickened section and discovered a small piece of paper, triple-folded, between two pages headed:
Genus: Rhinolophus; Species: ferrumequinum
Directly beneath the bold title there was a drawing of a large grey-brown bat, labelled Original Greater Horseshoe, together with a series of scientific drawings describing its key genetic modifications. Most of the bold arrows were concentrated around the enlarged head of the creature, which had extended vampiric fangs, the annotation Batrachotoxin underscored three times, and white, dilated eyes.
On the right-hand side of the double page, there was also a box of text outlined in red, which read:
Experiment: Rhinolophus ferrumequinum
1) Species remodelled with Batrachotoxin poison sacs behind protruding premolar on the upper jaw and distinctive noseleaf*
*Batrachotoxin trialled from Phyllobates terribilis, poison dart frog.
2) Species remodelled with 20/20 Night Owl Vision optics with processing technology. Warning: modified LED lights will burn through a human retina, effecting long-term damage if exposure is extended.
I scowled, pocketing Aelia’s triple-folded note. That would have to wait. So much for a moving starlit ceiling. It seemed Cassius had replaced Octavia’s CCTV system with something a little more biological. A ceiling full of crawling, venomous bats with enhanced night vision. A fitting Pantheonite welcome!
I sprinted from the cave, only pausing at the top of the wooden walkway to glance upwards. At this height, I could just make out the silhouette of hundreds of furry bodies, some the size of large rats, hanging and crawling across the pitted stone ceiling. I shuddered as a set of piercing white eye-lights passed across my face, partially dazzling me.
Grabbing the wooden balustrade, I forced my eyes to the ground. No wonder Pan had looked so terrified. These modified rodents were the worst type of Trojan horse, hiding their real nature behind the appearance of their original species.
I assessed the floor rapidly. I could just make out Pan and Max beneath the walkway, and there were two exits from the cavern – one led home and the other led to the heart of Isca Prolet, via putrid tunnels inhabited by flesh-eating strix. There was no real choice to be made.
Without further hesitation, I flew down the first precarious flight, barely allowing myself to breathe. But just as I made the second landing, a sinister crack divided the air. I shot out a hand to catch hold of the horizontal beam, but the damage was done, and I could only watch as the bottom two flights of stairs collapsed to the floor amid a huge cloud of dust and bat guano. Instinctively, I swung a leg over one of the remaining staircase props, dangling there as a heavy silence claimed the void. And for one insane moment, I wondered if I’d got away with it.
Then the air was alive with angry, squeaking bodies.
‘Tal!’
But Max’s roar was muffled by the swarm of rodents already flapping furiously around my face and hair, lighting up the cavern walls in micro-detail with a mist of tiny LED light beams. It might have looked fairy-tale, had I not known it was the effect of thousands of genetically modified bats being rudely awakened.
Refusing to acknowledge the panic climbing my throat, I pulled out my leather slingshot. Then I unhooked one end rapidly, and slinging the smooth side over the remaining diagonal beam, I pushed off with all my strength.
I was unprepared for the speed of my descent, or for the barrage of bodies that impacted like small rocks. And their anatomical detail loomed large as I flew. Vampiric fangs Batrachotoxin trialled from Phyllobates terribilis, poison dart frog. I gritted my teeth. There would be no second chances should one of us get bitten.
‘They’re poisonous!’ I yelled, as my feet touched the solid floor. ‘And their eyes can burn – don’t look at them!’
I felt them then, a heaving mass of vampiric bodies, swirling and descending upon us. Someone screamed – it could have been me, but my panic was so intense I couldn’t be sure. I groped blindly for Max, every muscle of my body tense, waiting for the inevitable sharp bite that would mark the end, before we’d even begun. Just then a strong arm grabbed mine, and started propelling me through the swarm as surely as though it were broad daylight. I thought initially it was Max, until I realized the hand shape was all wrong. And then I recalled Pan’s radial eyes, and knocking away a bat with a suspicious interest in my shoulder, I gripped back with all my strength.
We stumbled across the cavern floor together, the colony followin
g us, but by some miracle we made it to the opposite wall, which we followed until we fell into the cool air of the tunnel.
I leaned back against the craggy wall, trying to catch my breath. Somehow, we’d made it to the tunnel connecting the domestic cavern with the rest of the Prolet commercial underworld.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered, reaching out to grip Pan’s anxious hand. And this time he didn’t flinch or pull away, he simply gripped back, his pale face full of shy kindness.
‘Was anyone … bitten?’ I added, panting, while peering into the tunnel gloom.
Had we run from one nightmare into the wake of another?
‘How did you know about those flying … rats?’ Max asked, leaning forward over his knees.
‘Aelia left a warning, in her cave,’ I responded.
‘They’re greater horseshoe bats modified with poisonous frog venom and 20/20 night owl vision technology.’
Max stared at me.
‘Friendly little critters then! Special welcoming committee just for us?’
‘Yes, or a new control over the rest of the Prolet community. Either way, it looks as though Aelia was interrupted,’ I added, ‘and forced to leave in a hurry.’
As though to corroborate, one of the larger bats chose that exact moment to spiral into the tunnel and crash-land at our feet. I stifled a shudder as Pan turned it up and closed its fading eyes.
‘Wait!’ I interjected, as he made to throw it back out into the frenzy.
I pulled out Max’s carefully shaped darts.
‘You think we could squeeze a little of the bat’s venom onto these?’
‘Poison-tipped darts!’ Max whispered with real admiration. ‘You really are the most incredible girl.’
‘Oh, I’m just borrowing the idea from the Trojans,’ I muttered, with a swift look up the tunnel.
Max looked blank.
‘And a bit of paralysis and asphyxiation might come in useful,’ I added.
He nodded, reaching inside his own leather rations bag and withdrew a fistful of crossbow arrows, each one the length of my forearm.
‘More keepsakes?’ I quipped, feeling mildly envious. ‘Do they actually work?’
Max winked before holding out the clutch of arrows, bar one, in front of Pan who carefully depressed the dead bat’s fangs, releasing a stream of warm venom all over their tips. Max then pulled the crossbow off his shoulder, levelled his remaining arrow, and released it into the cloud of bats still circulating in the open cave. There was a squeak and a thud, as it made swift contact with an unsuspecting victim.
I smirked as he flexed his arm, withdrawing the piece of paper Aelia had left inside the book.
‘Did you find that in her cave? What does it say?’ Max quizzed, making room in his weapons belt to accommodate his newly tipped arrows.
I unfolded it, and studied it in the small pool of light inside the entrance of the tunnel.
‘It’s not a note,’ I responded, puzzled, ‘it’s part of the Book of Arafel. She’s torn a page out of our own village book!’
I folded it again swiftly, suddenly conscious Max still didn’t know about Thomas’s research hidden inside the Book of Arafel.
But I’d seen enough to know Aelia’s note was a torn page. I recognized it immediately – chunks of nonsense Voynich lettering in his spidery handwriting, together with a faded drawing. Just about visible. I’d never singled it out for special attention as it looked like everything else in his research. The nonsense scribbles and sketches of a child. But here in Pantheon, torn out by Aelia, the drawing seemed to take on a much more sinister significance.
It was the sketch of a creature with multiple animal parts: the front quarters of a large lion, the tail of a serpent, and a goat rising bizarrely from its back. The result wasn’t any natural creature I recognized, although I recalled Grandpa describing some creatures in mythology comprising mixed animal parts. He said classical writers had considered them indulgent, dazzling, imaginary creatures. And an omen for disaster.
There were also faint, hand-drawn lines labelling various parts of the creature with more nonsense lettering. Finally, across the top of the page there were three roughly sketched capital letters I’d not noticed before, a faint: REQ.
There were so many bizarre and unusual drawings among Thomas’s painstaking research, but for some reason Aelia had seen fit to single this page out and, judging by the jagged tear through the page, she’d done it in a hurry.
I stared at the dim rock wall, willing myself to understand. This was a specific mythical creature Thomas had seen fit to draw out and annotate. And now Aelia was trying to tell me something about it. Did it have something to do with her disappearance? Why had she brought me all this way just to give me another puzzle? I thought of all the gaunt, hollow-eyed faces of the young Prolet insurgents hiding beneath the Dead City. She had to know time was running out.
I clenched my fingers. Cryptic clue or not, Aelia and the entire Prolet population couldn’t have vanished into thin air. The sooner we found them, the sooner I could hope to rescue Lake, the Book of Arafel and find out the significance of this drawing.
‘Does it matter?’
I shot Max a glance.
‘What do you mean?’ I returned.
‘About the Book. Does it matter if Aelia trades the Book with Cassius to buy a reprieve for the Prolets – or August?’
‘Yes … I mean … no,’ I stumbled, uncertain of the direction he was taking.
‘I mean Cassius has the Book – does it really matter?’ he clarified after a beat. ‘OK, so he will have the story of our community’s survival, but is it worth our lives?’
I squeezed the folded note in my hand, glanced back at Max’s face, and read the real question there.
Why couldn’t I trust him after everything we’d shared? Intended to share. And I longed to blurt out the truth about what I was really protecting. But I’d made a promise.
‘Yes,’ I answered decisively, turning into the gloom, ‘it’s worth the whole damned world.’
***
The connecting tunnel was no less suffocating. The scent of rotting faeces mixed with something else, something animalistic, pervaded the air. Or perhaps it was the scent of fear. Deadly, vampiric bats could only be a warm-up to Octavia’s mythological strix.
We pushed on into the murky darkness, our hearts beating faster than usual. But although a suspicious echo stalled us in our tracks every so often, we failed to encounter the underground rat-owls that had haunted my dreams for nearly a year. Carefully, I shielded one of the beeswax candles I’d brought from Arafel and, as the shadow of the small flame danced, I tried not to stare at the pitted grainy walls where Octavia’s watchdogs of the underworld had scored their territory.
Pan led the way, his large frame blocking what little other light was filtering through, but the events of the last cavern had forged a new trust, and recalling how the satyrs had proven fair adversaries for strix, we stayed close. Max brought up the rear, crossbow at his shoulder, cursing readily.
Thankfully, Pan moved fast, his elongated ears alert and twitching at any slight sound. And I wondered again at the tall, silent creature whose enduring love for a child meant he’d willingly re-enter a world he so obviously detested. It was so moving, and beyond perplexing. They couldn’t be related, and yet he was quite clearly prepared to do anything to find her.
I wiped another bead of cold sweat from my clammy forehead. My skin felt like I’d run three kilometres in the dead of winter, and several times I fancied a clawing behind us, only to find Max’s tense face amid endless darkness when I glanced back.
Still we pushed on and much to my amazement, before too long the dim light of the commercial Prolet centre reached down the tunnel, confirming we’d made it unscathed. I relaxed back against the cool stone of the tunnel exit in momentary relief, letting my eyes run over the familiar earthen silhouette of Isca Prolet.
And then I caught my breath. Because I might as well have been sta
ring at the ruined Dead City for all the life we could see. Isca Prolet was completely and utterly empty.
We gazed out on the deserted underground city, our fragile hopes spiralling. The machinery that had pounded incessantly at the back of the gigantic cavern lay dangling and useless. The dirt streets that had exploded with Isca Pantheon’s diverse, genetic rubbish tip of life were hollow and lifeless. And the segmented tower, which had once housed Aelia and Tullius’s surgery, rose silently above the scattered miscellany of empty buildings and streets I’d found so charming after the white, surgical lines of Pantheon.
I took a few tentative steps forward, unwilling to believe my eyes.
‘Where is everyone?’ I whispered, my hair on the back of my arms starting to strain. This place was quickly losing its appeal as a good trade for the tunnel.
‘I have nothing to tell you. I destroyed the Book many years ago. It brought nothing but pain and violence.’
I froze in violent confusion, watching Max’s face wash stone grey.
‘Do not underestimate my granddaughter. Talia will never cede to you. She is a Hanway, and as a descendant of Thomas, she is as free and feral as we are made on the outside.’
This time the voice was clearer and stronger. It was a voice that carried memories of warm evenings around the Arafel village fire; of hours curled up in the treehouse library discovering new myths and legends – and of that last night beneath the Great Oak, when I held his hand until the angels stole him away. Grandpa.
And as I turned, the world slowed as though some unseen pressure was clinging to my feet, holding them in a quagmire. I was aware of Max’s mouth moving, but I was no longer in control. There was an instinct, a rush of emotion, an eruption of memories – combined into one spontaneous act of wilful motion. And I didn’t run, I flew.
The streets became a blur of market stall fronts and mud-brown hovels. Where before I’d admired the colourful array of disordered living, now I was only aware of one long homogenized streak as I headed towards his voice.
‘You and Cassius are a disgrace to humankind, if I can even call you that. You have forfeited the chance to experience real life, outside life, and now you are denying others the same? It is worse than the most heinous crime; it is a massacre of free will!’
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