The Complete Fugitive Archives (Project Berlin, The Moscow Meeting, The Buried Cities) (Endgame: The Fugitive Archives)

by Frey, James

  “Now what?” Boone says moments before a tremendous force sucks us beneath the surface.

  We are pulled away from each other. I try to swim, but realize immediately that it’s futile. The power of the water is too great. I am flung around like a ragdoll as the maelstrom spins, faster and faster, drawing me toward the bottom of the lake.

  Boone

  By the time I’m pulled through a long tunnel in the rock and spit out onto the floor of another cavern, I’m more than half dead. I lie on the stones, trying to clear the bitter water from my lungs. Somewhere inside the mountain, the tunnel I’ve just passed through closes again and the water falling onto my face slows to a trickle. The sound of coughing nearby jolts me awake. Ari! I roll over.

  It’s Cassandra.

  I stagger to my feet, hoping to gain an advantage on her before she fully comes to. But before I can get to her, someone blocks my way. Actually, several someones, as suddenly there are at least half a dozen children standing between me and Ari’s sister. At least, I think they’re children. They’re definitely the size of kids. But they’re also wearing metal masks sculpted into grotesque faces with large, gaping mouths and angry expressions. Where there should be eyes, there are openings for the children to see through.

  All of them are holding weapons—and they’re pointed right at me. Some have long spears with wicked-looking metal tips. Others are carrying knives with razor-sharp blades. And some wield sticks studded with metal spikes. They form a weird little army. I think I could take out a bunch of them before they hurt me too badly, but for the moment I stand with my hands raised, letting them know that I’m not planning anything.

  Cassandra is stirring. I notice that she’s lost her knife in the trip through the water pipes. This doesn’t stop her from leaping to her feet and assuming a fighting posture. “Who are you?” she snarls.

  “Who they are is not important,” a voice says. The group of children parts, and an elderly woman passes through them. Her gray hair is worked into a thick braid that hangs down her back, and she moves slowly. “They are here to judge you.”

  “Judge us?” Cassandra says. She laughs. “Children?”

  The woman says, “Players of the Minoan and Cahokian lines, come with me. Your trial is about to begin.”

  “How do you know who we are?” I ask. Water drips from my clothes, but the air here is dry and warm, and I am not shivering.

  The woman looks at me. Her eyes gleam. “We receive news of what occurs in the world, even here,” she says. “And we have seen other Players at other times and in other places.”

  “What line are you?” Cassandra snaps.

  The woman shakes her head. “We are of no line. We are merely observers and guardians.”

  “What gives you the right to keep the weapon from me?” Cassandra presses.

  If Cassandra’s manners are irritating, the woman doesn’t show it. She responds with the same neutral tone she’s been using all along. “Our right is that we are in possession of it, and you are not. And if you wish to find it, you will need to pass what awaits you through there.” She nods, indicating a set of stone doors I didn’t notice before.

  Cassandra has not looked at me once. “Get on with it, then.”

  “Not yet,” I say. “Where is Ariadne?”

  The woman says, “I do not know what became of the other two. All I know is that the two of you are here.”

  She walks away. One of the children takes my hand and pulls me along. Another tries to do the same with Cassandra, but she yanks her hand away and walks alone. The child’s hand in mine feels oddly rough, as if it’s made of the same stone the mountain is. I want to ask more questions about what happened to Ari, or go look for her, but that clearly isn’t going to happen, at least not now.

  “There are three trials,” the woman explains as we walk. “Each one presents you with an opportunity to win an item that could greatly aid you in one of the final trials.”

  She pushes on the doors, and they swing outward. We walk into a large chamber maybe 50 feet in diameter and half that high, the entire thing lit up by dozens of torches mounted on the walls. The floor seems to have been scooped out and filled with loose sand. All around the sides are tiers carved into the rock. I recognize it immediately as some kind of stadium.

  The children file into the seats. The old woman points to iron spikes set into the walls and to rings set into the ceiling. There are also a number of thick hemp ropes hanging at random intervals from the top of the room. And in the very center, also hanging from the ceiling, is something that gleams as it slowly turns. I can’t tell if it’s a sword or something else, and it doesn’t really matter. Whatever it is, that’s the prize, and I need it.

  “The goal is simple,” the woman says. “Collect the item and return with it to this starting point. You may attempt to injure each other, but if one Player is killed, the other will be terminated as well.”

  “Why?” Cassandra asks.

  “Because this is not the final test,” the woman tells her. “Begin.”

  Before I realize that she’s told us to start, Cassandra shoves me, hard. I go flying into the sand and sprawl on my face. As I’m getting up, she is already scaling the wall, climbing from spike to spike with amazing speed. She is far ahead of me. Unless I take a shortcut.

  There is a rope hanging above me, just out of reach. I run and leap onto the first tier of the stadium, landing on the ledge just in front of a group of watching children. From there I jump again, and I grab the rope. As it swings, I begin to haul myself up it hand over hand. I’ve done this in gym class a million times, as well as in training, and I’m good at it. Cassandra is just reaching for the first of the iron rings that will take her across the ceiling, and I’m already within five feet of getting there myself. Plus, I started my climb in the middle of the room, which means I’m closer to the first object. I still can’t tell what it is, but I see it hanging there for the taking.

  I climb the rest of the way and reach out for the object. It’s a foot long, and made of metal, but I have no idea what it is. My hand wraps around it and I pull. It comes free. Triumphant, I look to see where Cassandra is. She is still making her way across the ceiling, swinging with strong, assured movements. But she is too late.

  Or so I think. As I begin my descent, the prize tucked into the waistband of my pants so that I can use both hands, Cassandra grabs on to a ring. Using her forward momentum, she swings her legs hard and lets go. She flies through the air and reaches for another of the ropes. It swings in my direction. Then Cassandra’s legs are around my waist and her hands are tearing the metal tube from me. I try to grab it back from her and slip. One hand holds on to the rope, and I slide down, tearing the skin from my palm. Cassandra hangs on, sliding with me. Then she pushes away and falls the rest of the way to the ground. She lands in a crouch, holding up the object she stole from me like the trophy it is.

  I slide to the end of my rope and land on my feet. My hand is bleeding. I press it against my thigh. It stings, but I don’t want Cassandra to see that I’m injured in any way. It’s bad enough that she has the first prize.

  “Very clever, Minoan Player,” the old woman says. “You have won the staff.”

  “What does it do?” Cassandra asks, examining the item.

  “Press the button in the center of the grip,” the woman tells her.

  Cassandra does, and the staff magically extends on both ends until it is a good six feet in length. Cassandra laughs. “This will be very useful.” She looks at me and sneers. “Too bad you couldn’t keep it in your possession, Cahokian.”

  Around us, the masked children are filing out of the stadium, leaving through a door that opens in the far wall. The old woman motions for us to follow them. We do, going down a set of stairs that turns several times before leading into another open space. The air here is incredibly hot, and I soon see why. We are standing on a long, narrow ledge. Before us is an expanse of bubbling, stinking … something. Tar? Sand?
I can’t tell. But the heat is almost unbearable, as is the stench.

  Rising from the mess are stone pillars of various heights. Looking at them, I have a feeling I know what’s coming. A moment later, the old woman confirms it.

  “On top of one of the pillars is the second object,” she says. “Find it and return here with it, and it’s yours. Fall into the boiling sands, and you will be burned so severely that you will wish you had died.”

  “Better watch your step, Cahokian,” Cassandra says.

  “Remember,” the woman continues, “if one of you dies, the other does as well.”

  This time, when the woman gives the command to start, I’m ready. I jump from the ledge and onto the nearest pillar. As I land on it, I realize that it’s not as wide as I thought it was. I stagger and almost fall, but catch myself.

  “Try not to kill yourself, Cahokian,” Cassandra shouts as she picks her route through the steaming landscape. “You’ll deprive me of the pleasure of doing it for you later.”

  I have no idea where the item we’re after is, so I don’t know if I should follow Cassandra or find my own way through the muck. Then I remember what the old woman said about us both needing to survive this. I don’t want to get too far away from Cassandra, in case something happens. Also, if she does find the object first, I want to be able to take it from her if I can. So, I go in the direction she’s going, leaping from pillar to pillar. I have to really throw myself into the air to make it.

  We search for maybe 10 minutes without either of us finding anything. Then, while jumping from one pillar to another, I see something flash like a beacon through the steam. Cassandra is not far off, and she sees it at the same time.

  We race for the pillar where the light is coming from. Both of us take wild leaps as we move from pillar to pillar. We reach the blinking light at the same time. I can see that it’s coming from a small metal ball that is nestled in a hollow on top of a pillar.

  Cassandra and I both jump for the pillar. She lands first, bending and snatching up the ball. I land right beside her. There isn’t enough room for both of us, and the force of my body colliding with hers knocks Cassandra off balance. She starts to fall backward. Instinctively, I throw out my hand and grab hers. She takes it, but the ball she is holding flies out of her grasp. I try to grab it with my free hand, but I miss. It sails past me, over my shoulder, and falls with a sickening plop into the steaming swamp.

  I pull Cassandra up onto the pillar. She stares at the spot where the ball is sinking into the muck, as if she’s thinking of diving for it. “Good catch, Cahokian,” she says bitterly. “I thought Americans were supposed to be good at baseball.”

  She turns and heads back to where the old woman and her army of children are waiting for us. “Which of you has the ball?” the woman asks.

  “Neither of us,” Cassandra tells her.

  “It was lost,” I say.

  “What was it?” Cassandra asks.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” the woman replies. “We must move on to the third trial.” She looks at me. “You will not be participating.”

  “What?” I say. “Why not?”

  “The third trial is only for those who have won an item,” she says. She turns to Cassandra. “This trial is for you alone.”

  Cassandra smirks at me. “Looks as though you’ll be going into the next trial empty-handed, Cahokian,” she says.

  “Perhaps not,” the old woman says. “You have a choice to make, Minoan Player. You may keep the item you’ve won, or you may give it up. If you choose to do so, you may then ask me three questions regarding the nature of the remaining trials and final location of the weapon you seek. The other Player will not hear the questions or answers. Which do you choose?”

  Cassandra takes the staff from her waistband, where she’s been carrying it, and hands it to the woman. “I don’t need this to win,” she says. “I choose the questions.”

  “Very well,” the woman says. She then moves away with Cassandra, back into the stairwell. I remain surrounded by the masked children.

  Not long after, I hear a muttered curse and Cassandra storm through the doorway. She’s enraged. “Give me back the staff!”

  Before she can reach me, several of the children block her way. She puts her hands on them and starts to shove them away. The next moment, she is flying backward at high speed. She smacks into the rock wall and slumps to the floor, stunned. The children are massed together, their false faces turned toward her. Cassandra scrambles to her feet and, with a roar, reaches out and rips one of the masks off. Then she recoils.

  As if on cue, all the children reach up and remove their masks. Underneath they are not children at all. Although their bodies resemble humans, their faces are made up of metal gears that click and turn like the insides of clocks.

  The old woman appears in the doorway. She looks at Cassandra, then at me. I shake my head.

  “What are they?” Cassandra says.

  “They are the architects of this place,” the woman says. “The minds that built it.”

  “And who built them?” I ask.

  “It is time for you to go,” the woman tells us. “Pass through that doorway and continue on your quest.” She points to a door at the far end of the rocky ledge.

  Cassandra runs for the door. I don’t want her to get ahead of me, but I can’t help myself. I look at the old woman. “What happened in there?” I ask.

  I don’t think she’ll answer, but she does. “I told her the truth.”

  Ariadne

  I wake up hearing the voices of angels. There are no words, just ethereal notes of pure beauty. I lie in the darkness, not knowing where I am. My body aches, and there’s something wrong with my left arm, but I am in a nest of soft blankets, and for the moment I am grateful for the rest.

  “I told you she would not die. You owe me fifty kuruş.”

  I open my eyes and look at the boy sitting cross-legged on the ground beside me. He is peering at me out of one eye with interest. The other is gone, his face on that side scarred over. Then I see another face. It belongs to the girl, Kelebek. She tilts her head and says, “She could still die. Look at her arm. The poison is spreading.”

  “You’re betting on my life?” I croak. My throat is raw, as if I have swallowed an entire desert of sand.

  “We saved it,” Kelebek says. “So we have the right.”

  Now I remember. The lake. The creatures. The rush and suck of the maelstrom. I sit up. Pain tears through my arm when I attempt to put my weight on it, and I buckle. I try again, using just my right arm. This time I am successful, although my head is throbbing, and I feel I might be sick.

  Then I am. I throw up a combination of water and bile. Kelebek and the boy move to get out of the way. I heave again. Now I feel as if a fire is burning in my stomach.

  “It’s the poison,” Kelebek says. “It’s killing you.”

  I look at my arm. There is a wound on my wrist, a deep puncture. The skin around it is dark purple, and there is a yellowish pus oozing from the opening. More alarming are the tendrils that snake up my forearm, almost to the elbow. They are the same blackish-purple color, but also tinged with green and yellow. The girl is right: there is a poison in me.

  “The things in the lake are venomous,” Kelebek says. “You must have been bitten.”

  “Is there an antidote?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  “But you could still live,” the boy says hopefully.

  “You are Bilal,” I say, remembering Boone’s description of the boy.

  He nods.

  “You want those fifty kuruş very badly, don’t you?” I say.

  He grins. Kelebek shakes her head. “He will only use them to buy sweets,” she says.

  “Bilal, I will make you a deal,” I say. “If you help me find my friend, I will give you five times that many kuruş.”

  The boy’s eyes widen. Kelebek, however, shakes her head again. “He is probably dead,” she says. “Even
if he is not, we are forbidden to help you.”

  “But aren’t you helping me now?” I ask, not understanding.

  Kelebek bites her lip and does not answer.

  “I am the one who pulled you from the water,” Bilal says. “She would have left you to drown.”

  Kelebek swats him, and he yelps. “You know the rules,” she snaps. “If the elders find out, we will be in trouble.”

  “I don’t think she’ll tell them,” Bilal replies. He looks at me. “Will you?”

  I shake my head. “All I know is that I woke up here,” I say. “Not that I know where here is.”

  “We call it the cave of angels and demons,” Kelebek tells me.

  “Because of the voices,” Bilal adds. “They’re made by the wind blowing through holes in the mountain. Depending on how it is blowing outside, the sound inside changes.”

  I listen again to the peculiar sound filling the air. The tone has changed, and beneath the beautiful notes there is something more sinister and threatening. The wind outside has changed direction. I wonder if it’s a portent of what’s to come for me inside the mountain.

  “You don’t know for certain what happened to Boone?” I ask. “Or to my sister?”

  “They were sucked into the channels beneath the lake,” Kelebek says.

  “Probably,” Bilal adds.

  “And where do those channels lead?”

  “We’ve already interfered too much,” Kelebek says.

  I force myself to stand up. Although moving my arm is painful, I can still move it, at least for now. “I need to go,” I say. “Will you at least help me find my way to the next trial?”

  Kelebek and Bilal look at each other. An unspoken argument occurs between them. Bilal must lose it, because it’s the girl who speaks. “The poison is going to keep spreading. You will weaken and die.”

  “I would rather die trying to win than lying down listening to the angels and demons singing me into the underworld,” I tell her.