by Ashley Capes
All the spokes led to a darkened altar, sunken beyond where he’d lain. An oval-shaped door stood behind. He squinted. Marked with the now-familiar five-pointed symbol. Surely the secrets he needed would lie beyond that door. He swore, exhaling as he did so.
A soft hiss answered.
Never wheeled.
One of the creatures stood in the passage. Only it was a third of the size of a regular one. A child? Never raised a hand, crawling forward. It backed away, raising its own webbed hand. Its movements were calm.
He drew level and still it did not flee. He backed several steps toward the stair. The child flexed its hand and a barb snapped up, between forefinger and thumb. It glistened in the glow.
“Stay away,” he said.
The thing hesitated, but not from fear it seemed, but rather, confusion. Never slipped back to the staircase and climbed another flight, where he paused at the next landing. A fresh set of passages provided access to what must have been sleeping chambers.
Never climbed again, passing more landings until reaching a new room whose regular stone walls were lined with quartz veins but also huge levers and iron wheels with giant teeth – but no doors. He pored across the rock-face. Nothing, no sconces, no openings. He dashed to the stairway and held his breath, peering down.
The child was climbing the steps.
For now, none of the other creatures followed.
How was he going to solve the riddle of yet another dead-end room? If the child tried to attack him, he’d have to kill it. Or at least incapacitate it – if he could. Kicking it down the stairs might work but if nothing else, such an act would surely bring the wrath of the other beasts down upon him, blood or no blood.
Never strode back to the nearest steel lever, clutched it with his good arm and yanked down, leaving a smear of red.
Something ground together deep within the isle.
He ducked back to the stair. The child was one flight away. It showed no sign of slowing, but nor was it moving any faster. Its sloping face appeared curious, thin points of light in its head fixed upon Never. He swallowed and dashed back to the lever. Something was happening, but what? The wheel with teeth began to turn, dust shaking free as it gained speed, but nothing else changed. He reached for another lever.
A panel of stone ground open beside the first lever.
Never leapt through the opening, coming to a halt at another wall. He stood inside a large steel box. “What is this madness?” He thumped the wall then spun. The child had reached the top, its black eyes bearing the same curiosity as it reached out.
Another lever!
He wrenched it. Gravel screeched as the door closed. His sigh was interrupted when the box began to descend. Slowly at first, it soon picked up speed. Never gripped the sides but the steel box slowed before crunching to a halt.
Then nothing.
If he pulled the lever again, would he be opening the door to dozens of sea-creatures? Or would the box rise again? He checked his hands. Most of the blood had been wiped free and his shoulder was congealing. He reached for his belt and a knife – and swore. The canister and map were gone. Lost in the well? Maybe it didn’t matter – he’d memorised it.
Never flipped his knife up and sliced the inside of a palm, sheathed the blade then pulled on the handle.
The door slid open with a crunch as he drew his dagger again.
Sea-creatures were scattered across the domed room, most congregating around the distant stairs. One of the larger creatures bent by its fallen...brethren. Never crept forward. He’d have to bluff his way past that one. Or strike it down. Better to do it quietly; he still had to open the door behind the altar.
Keeping to the soft glow of the walls, he slid toward the altar.
Only a few more feet.
The nearest creature rose from the body. Its half-melted face flapped as it gaped at him.
“Remember this?” Never waved his bleeding hand at the thing, which did not step back but nor did it move forward. Bad sign. Earlier, every single one of them had been keen to get away. The vast majority of the things were still near the stair. One or two of the others were watching him, frozen in place, but he had time if he could open the door.
And if the door led where he hoped.
The moving box, as much as the glow and the sconces, were clear signs of a great civilisation from the past. Who else but such a civilisation would know the secrets of the world – blood curses included.
Hopefully.
He would have uttered a prayer but that would have been like spitting into the wind.
Never moved to the door. The sea-creature took a step after him. Never shook his head at it, splaying his fingers and easing off some restraint. Blood twirled in his palm, arching toward the body nearby, but he kept it in check. Now the scaly thing fell away and he grinned.
“That’s more like it.”
Opening his stance to face both creature and door, he pressed on the central symbol. The door swung open without grinding or scraping. Could it be that simple? Never stepped inside and waved to the mute creature before pushing it shut again.
Darkness.
He waited. The door did not reopen. Did they not understand what to do with it? Or were they afraid to follow him? He moved along the passage with hands outstretched. The cold air stung his cut but it would close soon enough.
Amber light glowed in the distance.
Its source was a smaller domed chamber with a single door and twin spiral stairwells at opposite ends of the room. The walls were possessed of the same luminescence as the altar room. He trailed his fingertips along the stone and shuddered when his blood reacted –a tingling sensation coursing through his veins.
He stepped back. “A good sign.” The answers he sought were nearby, surely.
The door first. A new symbol – two interlocking leaves. He pushed on the markings, with both hands. No click this time. Never crouched by the seams of the door. No clues. He ran hands across the entire surface, leaving behind marks of blood, pushing and prodding to no avail. He traced the five-point pattern but nothing slid or moved.
He glanced at a staircase. Worth a look.
He took the steps two at a time, twisting upward, until the fever had him breathing hard. An alcove waited at the top and beyond stretched rows of wooden shelving, only it was treated with something – a resin?
He paused to wipe sweat from his brow.
The shelves extended, a dozen deep to his left and right. Smaller markings set on each end-piece had the look of reference numbers – only the symbols were unfamiliar, a mixture of curls and slashes. No language he’d ever come across before – not even beneath the Imperial Palace library, and he’d snuck into it enough times to be certain.
He reached for a book and raised an eyebrow when he had to drag it out with two hands – the thing was made of quartz! Beneath the heavier cover, thinner ‘pages’ of the clearest quartz were covered in the mysterious language. Further, parchment – or something pale – had also been sealed between each page, allowing the words to standout against a backing, which was in turn sealed in by another layer of the mineral – a second page. “Wondrous.” The words would never fade. Ingenious.
He replaced the tome and tried another, then a third from a different shelf. All written in the same indecipherable language. The knowledge of ancients at his finger tips. Yet unattainable. They might as well have been at the bottom of the ocean.
Never searched the room and found only more shelves. He returned to the small chamber and took the second staircase, which led to a series of sleeping quarters – almost like a barracks. Or, judging by the size of each empty room, a monastery. No furniture remained and no doors either, but many rooms possessed a circle of distorted light in the ceiling – no doubt another quartz-sealed window, these pieces obviously much thicker. Not all offered light. Many rooms w
ere dark and in one, a partial beam of light extended into the room. Perhaps stone or dirt half-covered the top of the quartz-plugged shaft.
Another door sealed the passage. “You better be hiding something,” Never told it. He pushed on the symbol and it clicked as the door swung open.
Another staircase.
He folded his arms at the steps. “More of you, I see.”
Never started up the winding stair, taking slow steps and pausing often. His blood continued to boil as it fought the fever. The staircase led into darkness only. He used the wall as a guide as he climbed. It was probably asking too much of the gods for a steaming plate of roasted beef to be waiting at the top of the steps. Most likely it would be another set of stairs.
Instead, light above resolved to yet another room – only this one was dominated by a huge vein of quartz – easily half the width of one of the walls. A skeleton in faded rags lay slumped against the base, jaw agape. Across from the skeleton rested a collection of rubble, piled up against a door. Whoever had died here had been trying to lock themselves in – or keep something out.
Was this Javiem? Never had no way to be sure but as he crouched by the skeleton, something about the cut of whatever cloth remained, made him think perhaps it was. A hammer and chisel lay beside open hands. On the rough stone floor, half-concealed by the tatters of shirt, was a single word – a second unfinished, a mere single stroke. Never twisted his head.
“Midnight.”
And that was all. The room had a single stone bench across from the giant vein and naught but the rubble before the door. Never sighed. The door beyond the altar room needed to be opened. There had to be something beyond it. Something more – not the Sea King’s Jewels, but more answers. The map had been marked with a room beyond the altar – not the library above. He had to open that door.
Something ‘clinked’ – the sound of stone on stone.
He moved to the rubble.
From beyond, still faint, the sound of stone striking stone. Luis and the other hunters? Or something else?
“Ho, Luis,” he shouted.
No response, but the faint cracking continued. Never bent to the rubble and hurled the first piece of stone away. It crashed against the wall. Where had Javiem found all the broken stone? Never climbed the heap and tossed more rock aside, straining with a large piece. He kept digging, flinging smaller pieces aside and dragging bigger hunks to tumble down the pile.
He paused to wipe his brow, blinking heavily.
More sweat. The fever raged now. Perfect timing. Just as he was beginning to shrivel from thirst. He tore strips from his cloak and wound bandages around both hands to continue clearing the door.
The whole time Never worked to remove the scree, the sound of rock striking rock from beyond the door continued in an irregular rhythm. When he finally had the door free he paused. If it swung inward, it wouldn’t open far thanks to the debris, but if it slid aside as some of the others...but there was no symbol.
Did the leaf lie on the other side of the door?
He thumped the stone. “Ferne?” No answer. “Ruveo? Is that you, you unpleasant bastard?”
Nothing but the steady crack of stone on stone. He kicked the door and slumped onto the pile of rubble he’d moved.
If the sounds beyond the door were digging, then all he had to do was wait.
And keep an eye on the stair below.
Chapter 11.
Never jerked awake.
His chin had slipped off his hand; he blinked at the soft luminescence produced by the quartz. Smart, Never. Smart. Doze off in the lair of the sea-creatures. Yet he was alive and the sound of digging was much louder. Closer. He stretched, kicking out kinks in his legs, then moved to the door.
“Luis? Ferne?”
The sound of stone striking stone stopped. “Never?” Luis’ voice was faint.
“Can you open the door?”
“You’re alive.” There was shock in the man’s voice.
“Hence our conversation, old fellow.”
“We’ve nearly got the door free,” Ferne said. “Can’t you open it from inside?”
“No symbol.” A curse drifted through the stones; he agreed. “I found the inner chamber of the isle. If you hurry up, I’ll take you there for the price of a water flask.”
More rocks clinking and cracking and then silence.
“Trouble?” he asked.
Luis shouted. “Where do we press?”
“Place a finger within each point of the leaf and push or twist.”
A loud click. Never stepped back as the door swung inwards, revealing starlight beyond three shadowy figures. Luis, Ferne and Ruveo entered, a soft rain following them. Each looked worse for wear but Luis grinned at him. “You’re a lucky bastard, aren’t you?”
“I am that.”
Ferne clapped him on the shoulder and paced the room. Ruveo gave a short nod.
“Good to see you too, Ruveo.”
“So what happened?” Luis asked.
“I was sure the well would provide a way in and I was right – a sea-creature dragged me into the water. I hit my head and when I woke I was near an altar in a honeycombed chamber. The creatures sleep down there.” He gestured toward the stair. “Must be a hundred at least...but I don’t know how they open the doors with those webbed hands.”
“How did you escape?” Ruveo asked.
Ferne rose from his examination of the skeleton. He made no mention of the carving, only adding his own voice to that of Ruveo’s. “Luis has the pipe. What did you do?”
He shrugged. “Turns out they don’t like human blood. Or, my blood.” He didn’t elaborate.
Ruveo frowned. “What does that mean?”
He pointed to the cut on his shoulder; already the flow of blood had stopped. “When I touched this and my hand came away bloody, they scattered. They watched me, but only one stood its ground.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever.”
He gave the man a look. “And those things down there make sense? Doors without handles and hinges, do they make sense?”
Ruveo pointed. “What are you hiding from us?”
“I believe him,” Luis said, his voice quiet.
“Do you? And why’s that?” Ruveo said. “Because he got us inside? Bah, doesn’t mean anything. Ferne?”
The big man had been stroking his beard. “Never, we can still help each other... Or we can gut you now and take as much of your blood as we can carry down there.”
Never grinned – maybe it was bravado, maybe the beginnings of fear. Things could quickly turn sour if he wasn’t careful. “I don’t remember my blood opening doors all by itself, do you? Nor, for that matter, you memorising my map – which is lost in the well, by the way.”
“Just tell us,” Ruveo snapped.
“Luis, remember what Peat said about me?”
He nodded slowly. “That your scent was old. That it was like nothing he’d encountered before. Human but more, were his words.”
Never looked to Ferne. “Ever had reason to distrust Peat?”
“None.”
Ruveo threw his hands up. “That’s your answer? You claim you’re not human?”
“Leave it be,” Ferne said. “Peat was always right. Never, what do you mean? I’m willing to listen.” The man folded his bulky arms. “Only, I hope I like what I hear.”
Never pursed his lips. Two blades against one...and they’d all die if it came to knives, even Luis if he tried to help. Damnable fools. He had to give them something. For while there was always anger in Ruveo, Ferne’s patience had clearly worn out. “I’m human enough – I’m just cursed. But I think the Amber Isle holds a secret about the past, the people who created this place and who use the leaf symbol. I think I’ll learn something about my past. I suspect my heritage lies here.”
> Silence.
Ruveo burst into laughter. “You think you’re a descendant of whoever made the Amber Isle?”
“Better than a descendant of swine.”
Ruveo’s laughter stopped. He drew his knife – Never’s knife. “Say that again.”
Ferne stepped between them, eyebrows drawn together. “Enough.” He raised a hand, thumb and forefinger close together. “I’m this close to the Sea King’s Eye – I won’t have you two ruin it for me.”
Ruveo backed away, muttering beneath his breath.
“Never, what does your...suspicion have to do with evading the sea-creatures?” Fern asked. “Do you think they obey you. Is that it?”
“No. I think they’re afraid of my blood, my curse.”
Ruveo spat. “There he goes again. What curse?”
Ferne waited.
“I’d rather not have to give a demonstration. One of you might get hurt.” He’d tried something similar in the past and it had not ended well.
Luis stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”
Ferne glanced at Ruveo. “Any objections?”
The man waved a hand.
“Very well.” Never stepped across from Luis and hesitated. There was a risk but it was best if Luis volunteered, that way there wouldn’t be any mistakes. He could control it. This time, he would control it. “Make a small slice on your forearm but don’t come any closer and get ready to staunch the wound.”
Luis took a breath and drew his knife. He made the cut, crimson welling on his skin.
“Stay back.” Never cut the back of his wrist. Blood rose. His veins had already begun to stir the moment Luis made his cut. He eased his grip on the blood’s thirst and a trail of blood rose, stretching toward Luis.
The spearman fell back.
Gasps rose from the other hunters.
Never clenched his muscles but his blood snaked forth, searching for Luis. He ground his teeth, holding it a moment before snapping his wrist. The flow broke and his blood splattered to the stone. Even accidently taking a little from Luis would have started something dangerous.
