The Survivors

by Dan Willis

  As Bradok pulled out one of his two spare shirts, a wrapped bundle dropped from his pack and hit the sandy floor with a thud. The impact freed a delicate strand of gold that clutched a smoky gray pearl.

  Corin whistled and picked up the pearl, pulling a necklace free from the bundle. It boasted gold chain-work with pearls, white diamonds, and a single teardrop-shaped ruby that, when worn, would dangle just below the throat. Bradok wanted to snatch the necklace away, but it was too late to keep it a secret from Corin.

  “I’ll say you were a big man indeed,” he said, cradling the necklace and inspecting it with an expert’s eye. “Did you convert your wealth to jewels so you could bring it all with you?”

  “I was a jeweler by trade,” Bradok said reluctantly. “That necklace is one of my own designs.”

  “It’s exquisite,” Corin said, clearly impressed. “What a pair we could have made,” he said in a wistful voice. “In my time I could have sold this for four times its value,” he said. Then with a little shrug, he handed it back to Bradok. “Not much use to any of us now, I’m afraid,” he said.

  “No,” Bradok said with a wistful smile. Taking the necklace, Bradok carefully tucked it into the bundle again and stowed it in his pack. After a second’s thought, he reached back in and moved the smaller bundle to the bottom of the pack, tucking it under a pile.

  “You don’t need to worry about those valuables,” Corin said, a chuckle in his voice. “Down here they aren’t worth much. You can’t trade them to anyone, and you sure can’t eat them.”

  Bradok smiled at the joke. It was too true. “Force of habit,” he said apologetically.

  The sound of tearing cloth attracted both dwarves’ attention. Much had torn strips off his cloak and one of his shirts, and he was tying the strips together.

  “What are you doing?” Corin asked, looking at the strange concoction taking shape in Much’s hands.

  “I’m making a doll if it’s any of your business,” Much said gruffly. He held up the mass of knotted cloth and it did, indeed, resemble a child’s doll. Corin and Bradok nodded approvingly.

  “It’s for Teal,” he said more easily with a smile that couldn’t have been prouder if little Teal had been his own grandchild.

  Bradok laughed and reached for his pack. He pulled out his pen and inkwell and motioned for Much to hand him the doll. With a few quick strokes of the pen, he drew eyes, a mouth, and freckles on the doll’s blank face then handed it back.

  “Perfect,” Much said, appraising Bradok’s handiwork.

  “Yes, perfect,” agreed Corin.

  About an hour later, the women came tromping over the rise from the water. Their faces and arms were red from the scrubbing they’d given themselves, and they all seemed in great spirits.

  “All right, you smelly lot,” Rose announced in a loud voice. “Your turn. And don’t even think of asking any of us to wash out your socks.”

  Bradok smiled and picked up his cloak. He’d tied his clothes into a bundle along with his grooming kit, which contained a cake of lye soap so strong the very smell of it made his eyes water.

  At the beach, he disrobed and spent the next ten minutes in the freezing water, scouring his skin and hair thoroughly. He’d never been as fastidious as some dwarves, but he’d also never felt so dusty and dirt-ridden in his entire life. With the others performing similar ablutions around him, the water soon developed a filmy layer of dirt with soap bubbles floating on it.

  When he finished, he combed out his hair and beard then started in on his clothes. As he splashed the water to clean out the dirt, he spotted Chisul, still scrubbing his arms, waist deep in the water. The dwarf had broad shoulders and a muscular back from all the work he’d done in his father’s shop. The only blemish on him seemed to be a small gray birthmark on his upper back.

  Rose’s warning about Chisul returned briefly to Bradok’s thoughts, but he was in too good a mood and went back to his cleaning. An hour later he flung his damp clothes over a clothesline that Tal had strung between two stalagmites and sat down heavily in the sand. Chisul and the other dwarves had changed back into their damp clothes, knowing their body heat would dry them fast enough. The human, Perin, however, kept his cloak dry and shivered under it in the perpetual cool of underground.

  Bradok watched the children playing in the wet sand of the beach. Little Teal, clutching her new rag doll, ran down to the water, dipped her toes in, then retreated, squealing as the next wave came in. Omer ran with her, dancing and laughing.

  Grinning as he watched, Bradok pulled the compass from his pocket and checked it almost absently. The image of the Seer pointed unwaveringly on. Normally when they reached a good spot to stop, she would lower her spear and give them a rest.

  He knew without even checking that no one would want to leave the beautiful mushroom garden and sleep in the dreary tunnels again.

  Still, he had to tell everybody what the compass indicated. Maybe they should move on. The last time they’d ignored the magical compass, they’d been attacked by the strange mushroom men.

  He put on his clothes and turned to go and find Rose and Tal, only to spot them bearing down him.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” she said quickly. “I think there’s a problem—”

  “I know,” Bradok said, cutting her off. “Look at this.” He held out the compass.

  “I warned you about that happening,” Tal said.

  “I’m talking about a different problem,” Rose said.

  Rose opened her hand. She held one of the glowstones from their lanterns. It glowed dimly in the bright light, illuminating the cavern. Bradok looked at Rose, not understanding.

  “Its light is fading,” she said. “I thought I noticed it yesterday, and I’ve been watching the lights more closely today. The stones are dimmer here now than they were when we started.”

  “I thought these things were good for years and years,” Bradok said, searching his memory in vain to recall the last time he’d had to replace the glowstones in his house.

  “They are supposed to be,” Rose said, “and Chisul told me these are new.”

  “What is happening, then?” Bradok asked, holding up the stone.

  “They must be blessed by a priest,” Tal said. “Remember how that fellow from the city council told us that all the priests had disappeared?”

  “Jon Bladehook,” Bradok said, wincing at his name.

  “What if Reorx took all the priests away for some reason?” Tal said. “What if priestly magic is beginning to vanish?”

  The memory stabbed at Bradok: the grizzled dwarf with the red painted sign. Repent lest the Gods forsake us.

  Was it true, then? Had the gods forsaken them? The prospect sent chills up Bradok’s spine.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, pulling out the compass. “What about this? If divine magic is fading, why does this still work?”

  “But how long it will keep working?” Tal asked, exchanging a worried look with Rose.

  “I think we need to get going as soon as possible,” Rose said.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Chisul said when Rose related the crisis to the rest of the dwarves—the survivors and the Daergar. “The glowstones are dimming, so you want us to panic?”

  “It might be safer to sleep in the tunnels,” suggested Bradok.

  “Nothing can sneak up on us here,” Chisul countered. “We should rest in this place as long as we can. I propose we put three guards on the beach tonight, just in case.”

  He turned to the rest of the group. “What say you, my friends?” Chisul asked. “Do we follow the councilman and sleep in the tunnels tonight, or do we fortify ourselves here?”

  “Here!” the crowd shouted as one.

  “You see, Councilman. The people have spoken,” Chisul said with a smug smile.

  The people cheered, and the beaming Chisul nodded at them as if he’d just been proclaimed their emperor.

  “That young man is full of himself,” Corin said from beh
ind Bradok.

  “Yeah,” Rose said, agreeing with the Daergar.

  “Full of hot air is more like it,” Bradok said lightly but without a trace of humor. “I’m worried about staying here in the open.”

  “You think it’s dangerous?” Corin asked.

  “I’m sure of it,” Bradok said.

  “Then some of us should go into the tunnels,” Rose insisted.

  “That isn’t a good idea,” Corin said. “We’d be abandoning our friends. And if something bad did happen, they’d be right to blame us for deserting them when they needed us the most.”

  “Corin’s right. We shouldn’t go,” Bradok said finally.

  “What do we do, then?” asked Rose.

  Bradok took out his hunting knife and passed it to Corin. “We stay armed and alert for trouble,” he said. “It’s all we can do.” He turned to Corin. “Warn Much, Kellik, Tal, Dallon, and some of the others. Tell them to have their knives ready. Make sure at least one of them we can trust is on guard duty all the time.”

  Corin nodded and left.

  Bradok turned to Rose. “Keep your people close tonight and be ready for anything.”

  “All right,” Rose said after a long hesitation. “Tonight I’ll do as you ask, but tomorrow you’re going to do me a favor. There’s something I want to discuss with you.” With that she turned brusquely and walked away.

  Bradok wondered only fleetingly what she wanted to talk about. Right then “tomorrow” seemed like a long time away.

  He sighed and walked over to where he had spread out his cloak for a bed. There were still several hours before it was time to go to sleep, but he felt so weary, he just had to lie down.

  CHAPTER 14

  Silent Death

  Bradok hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He knew he had, though, because he was dreaming. He found himself walking through the deserted and silent streets of Ironroot. He tried to force himself to wake up, but the dream only worsened. Apart from the confusion of being in a place he knew no longer existed, he couldn’t seem to remember why he wanted to wake up. It nagged at him, like the pain of a molar that needed removing.

  As he walked around the statue of Argus Gingerbeard, he realized that he had developed a limp. He didn’t remember hurting his leg and, in fact, his leg didn’t seem to be in any pain; it just didn’t work as it should. Figuring it might have fallen asleep, he tried shaking and rubbing it to no avail.

  When he looked up from his exertions, he discovered the cooper, Silas, standing at the base of the statue, regarding him.

  “Silas,” Bradok stammered.

  “It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” Silas told him sadly. “You need to be strong. Others will need your strength.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Bradok said.

  Silas shook his head. “You must do better than that,” he warned. “Trust yourself and have faith.”

  The light overhead flared, and Bradok had to shield his eyes. When it subsided, Silas was gone. Only the last words of his message, “have faith, have faith …” seemed to echo on in the distance.

  While he stood there pondering Silas’s appearance, a bloodcurdling scream erupted out of nowhere.

  Bradok whirled, trying desperately to locate the source of the cry. The city seemed to bend and waver as if it were melting; then it dissolved around him. Have faith, faith, faith …

  He woke up, lying on the sand where he’d fallen asleep. Sitting up, he became aware of a long pink ropelike appendage hanging down from the ceiling, slowly wrapping itself around his leg. With a cry of disgust, he jerked his sword free of its scabbard and sliced the thing in two. Milky white liquid spurted from the wound and spattered Bradok’s leg and chest. He tried to wipe it off, but it burned his hand. Cursing, he rubbed his hand in the sand to get the acidic goo off.

  The pink tentacle withdrew back up to the ceiling but Bradok could see the strange orange fungi above were trailing long tentacles down among the sleeping dwarves. Already they had wrapped around some and were pulling them into the air, toward open maws. Bradok could see the orange fungi peeled back, like bananas, with tiny tentacles waving inside. They would bleed their victims dry once the pink tongues sucked them in. Bradok shouted a warning to the others, but he had his own troubles.

  He tried to kick his leg, to dislodge the tentacle end that was still wrapped around his leg, but his leg spasmed. Where the tentacle touched him, it had secreted a clear substance that had soaked through his trouser leg, turning his leg numb. Using the tip of his sword, Bradok peeled the pink appendage away from his leg.

  Rolling over, he pushed himself to his knees and stood, or rather, tried to stand. The moment he put weight on his numb leg, it collapsed beneath him, sending him sprawling in the sand.

  A second tentacle dropped from above and struck Bradok on the shoulder. Before it could latch onto him, he chopped it away, sending the bleeding stump retreating back to the ceiling.

  Off to his left, a tentacle had wrapped around one of the hill dwarves and was pulling her upward. Bradok lurched forward, putting his weight on his good leg, and chopped away the tentacle, sending the unconscious dwarf falling into the sand with a thud.

  Screams and cries and the sounds of battle filled the cavern as most of the dwarves woke up to discover themselves in the grip of the nightmarish attack. Bradok hobbled over to where Kellik grappled with a tentacle that had Hemmish in its grip. Each time Kellik’s hammer struck the tentacle, it would contract; the net effect was that it pulled the boy higher and higher away from his father.

  “Use your knife,” Bradok cried as he slashed wildly at the appendage, cutting it part of the way through and sending it spinning. Kellik swung at it with his knife but missed, leaving Bradok to chop Hemmish free when the tentacle spun back his way.

  “Help me unravel him,” Kellik said to Rijul as he pulled the limp end of the tentacle off his younger son.

  “Hemmish,” Kellik yelled, shaking the boy. “Hemmish, wake up!” Kellik thumped him on the chest, hard, and Hemmish gasped, coughed, and started breathing weakly.

  “Help me!” came a terrified shriek to their left.

  “Stay with him,” Bradok told Kellik as he lurched to the rescue.

  A few yards away, Starlight, Marl Anvil’s eldest granddaughter, was struggling to free Marl from a tentacle lifting him off the ground. Marl’s hip was bleeding profusely. Nearby the two younger grandchildren held each other and cried.

  As thin and delicate as the tentacles seemed, the creatures were strong. By the time Bradok got there, they had lifted Marl almost out of reach. Bradok hacked away at the tentacle, trying not to hit Marl. Finally he struck a good blow. The tentacle spurted white fluid that mixed with Marl’s blood, and it unwound quickly, sending the old man spinning into a heap.

  Bradok grabbed Marl’s cloak, still lying on the sand and pressed a corner to his bleeding hip.

  “Hold this down tight on his wound,” he told Starlight. “If any more of them come down, chop at them with your knives.” Bradok motioned the other two children over to their big sister’s side. Then he realized that one member of the family was absent.

  “Where’s your grandmother?” he asked. “Where’s Isirah?”

  With a trembling hand, the boy, Graylin, pointed up to the ceiling. Bradok looked up just in time to see her unconscious form being sucked into one of the orange fungi. It closed its maw around her hungrily, and Isirah vanished from sight.

  “Damn it!” Bradok shouted just as someone grabbed his shoulder.

  “Help us,” Jeni, one of the Daergar, said desperately. Her hair was disheveled and smeared with the slime from the tentacles. The sticky liquid covered her left cheek, causing it to remain frozen when she talked, forcing her to slur her words.

  “Where?” Bradok asked, forcing himself to rejoin the fight. Jeni ran ahead, pointing, and Bradok limped after her. On the far side of the cavern, Corin was battling for his life. He’d been almost completely wrapped in a tentacle, and
his arms moved weakly as he tried to saw his way free. Xurces lay unconscious on the ground, and Omer, confused by the attack, was wailing and covering his head. The assassin, Thurl, hung in the air, trussed like a holiday duck, and of the rotund Hurlic there was no sign.

  Bradok chopped away at the tentacle holding Corin then cut down Thurl, who dropped to the ground like a stone.

  “Untie him,” Corin gasped, pulling the ropy flesh away from Thurl’s body. “The tentacles are poisoned; the longer they make contact with your skin, the more you absorb, until you’re dead.”

  Bradok pulled away the tentacles from the semiconscious assassin. Even as he did so, he could feel his hands growing numb where the sticky substance coating the tentacles spilled on him.

  “Thank you,” Thurl whispered. His eyes locked feverishly on Bradok and seemed to bore into him. “I owe you my life,” the assassin said weakly. “I am your man … till I die.”

  “Easy there,” Bradok said. “Just rest for a minute.” He turned to Corin. “You seem to know something about these strange creatures. How come you didn’t warn us?” he demanded.

  “I’ve only heard about them from stories told by old ones,” Corin said, his voice raspy and strained. “Do you think I’ve actually seen one before? They’re called cave fishers.”

  Bradok opened his mouth to tell Corin that he didn’t give two figs what the tentacles were called when he heard a single word rise above all the chaos of sound filling the cavern.

  “Rose!”

  He whirled and saw Tal hanging on to his sister as a relentless tentacle pulled her upward. Tal’s left arm hung limply at his side, it was clear he wouldn’t be able to hang on much longer.

  “Rose!” Tal shouted again.

  Bradok ran toward them, forcing his benumbed leg to work by shear dint of will. As he ran, he tore off his cloak and swung it around over his head. He reached them just as Tal’s grip faltered. Swinging his cloak round, he launched it up, wrapping it around Rose as she hung upside down. He caught the loose end and pulled, using the cloak as a kind of sling. The cave fisher pulled back, trying to lift them both off the ground.