by Clayton Wood
“And now no one even knows that Crescent Lake exists,” Kyle said. “Does anyone know about these mines?” If not, no one from Stridon would even think to look there...unless Erasmus eventually told them where they'd gone. It was a perfect place for the Dead Man to hide.
“Erasmus knows,” Kalibar countered. Then he sighed. “But he thinks we'll be at Crescent Lake at least until after the election.”
And that meant, Kyle knew, that they were on their own.
They fell into silence then, and Kyle stared idly at the slit-like window opposite him. He felt a sudden dip, his stomach lurching. He caught a glimpse of green through the window, and realized they were descending through the forest. The light shining into the carriage became dimmer...and then it winked out.
The carriage was thrown into utter darkness.
Kyle slid closer to Kalibar, felt the old man's arm slip around his shoulders. Faint orange light shone through the slits on either side, then went dark. Moments later, the orange light reappeared...then vanished again.
“Where are we?” Kyle whispered. Kalibar stood up, looking out of one of the slits.
“We're underground,” he answered. Kyle stood as well, looking out of the slit. He saw a flash of orange – a glowing lantern – in the distance, set against an irregular stone wall. “The mines,” Kalibar murmured. “We must be in one of the abandoned mines.”
It made perfect sense, Kyle realized. No one would think to look for them in a mine that had been abandoned for a century...a mine that wasn't even on the map anymore. Even if someone did find them...if the Secula Magna sent Weavers to come and rescue them...they had no hope of ever succeeding. Not against the Dead Man.
Fear gripped him, and he stepped back from the slit, his heart pounding in his chest.
We're trapped, he realized. We're never getting out of here.
Suddenly the carriage jerked to a halt, throwing Kyle forward into Kalibar. Kalibar kept his balance, gently pushing Kyle back. He turned to Kyle, bending down and putting his hands on Kyle's temples, staring at him intently.
“We're prisoners now,” he stated. “They're probably going to separate us.”
“What?”
“You must survive,” Kalibar continued. “You must survive. Do as they say, follow their rules...no matter what.” He leaned in closer. “But no matter what they make you do, don't forget who you really are.”
Kyle nodded, a lump rising in his throat.
“Survive,” Kalibar repeated, staring at Kyle with unnerving intensity. “One day at a time.”
There was a click, and then the back doors of the carriage swung open. Kalibar stepped in front of Kyle, and Kyle peered past the man's shoulder. Beyond the open double-doors was a long underground tunnel. It was as wide as a three lane highway, the ceiling over two stories high. The floor, walls, and ceiling were made of jet-black rock intermingled with small white crystals that looked like quartz. Lanterns had been bolted to the walls in regular intervals, bathing the large tunnel in an orange glow.
Two red-cloaked Weavers stepped into view on either side of the carriage, followed by the Dead Man. He pulled his cowl back, revealing his pale face. The green crystal in the center of his forehead shimmered in the lantern-light as he turned to stare at Kalibar and Kyle.
“Exit the carriage,” he commanded, his deep voice echoing through the tunnel. Kalibar stared back at the Dead Man, staying right where he was.
“The boy stays with me,” he stated.
“I'm afraid not,” the Dead Man retorted. He gestured for Kalibar to come forward, but Kalibar didn't budge.
The Dead Man smirked.
Suddenly Kalibar lurched to the side, slamming into the opposite wall of the carriage. A shield appeared around him just in time, and he ricocheted off harmlessly. Kyle heard a loud crunch, and looked up, spotting a few large black stones and hunks of quartz falling from the ceiling...right toward the Dead Man.
Who didn't even flinch.
The rocks bounced harmlessly off of his shields, and suddenly Kalibar's shields vanished, and he was flung sidelong into the carriage wall again. This time, his shoulder struck with a loud thump, and he cried out with the impact, grabbing his shoulder and falling to his knees.
“Kalibar!” Kyle cried. He ran up to the former Grand Weaver, putting a hand on his good shoulder. The Dead Man's eyes turned to Kyle.
“Come,” he commanded.
Kyle froze, his hand still on Kalibar's shoulder. He stared back at the Dead Man, his heart thumping in his chest. Then he began to slide forward, pulled by an invisible force. He tried to plant his feet on the floor, but it was no use; he slid right out of the carriage, levitating a few inches above the ground in front of the Dead Man. The force holding him vanished abruptly, and he fell to the ground, stumbling a bit before catching himself.
“What is your name?” the Dead Man inquired, his black eyes glittering in the lamp-light. Kyle swallowed in a dry throat, staring up at the gaunt Weaver.
“Kyle,” he mumbled.
“Well Kyle,” the Dead Man replied. “I am taking you in to my family. I have high expectations of all of my children,” he added. He lifted one pale hand, touching the side of Kyle's neck. Kyle flinched despite himself; the man's flesh was ice cold. “One of those expectations,” he continued, “...is obedience.”
He dropped his hand from Kyle's neck, making a slight gesture. The two red-cloaked Weavers stepped into the carriage, grabbing Kalibar by the arms and lifting him to his feet. They pulled him out of the carriage, stopping before the Dead Man. The Dead Man regarded Kalibar with his cold, black eyes.
“If you try to escape, the boy will suffer unimaginable torture,” he murmured. “And you will die,” he added with a finality that left no doubt in Kyle's mind that he would do exactly what he promised.
“I'm a dead man anyway,” Kalibar countered, staring back at the Dead Man defiantly. “We both know that.”
The Dead Man smiled.
“I think you'll find us more...creative than that,” he murmured. He made another gesture, and one of the red-cloaked Weavers withdrew something small and white from his cloak, pressing it onto the nape of Kalibar's neck. Kalibar flinched, pulling his arm free of the other Weaver and reaching around to touch the back of his neck. But before he could even reach it, his eyelids fluttered, then closed, and he went utterly limp. The Weavers caught him before he fell, holding him upright.
“Take him,” the Dead Man ordered.
A faint blue sphere appeared around Kalibar, and the former Grand Weaver rose upward, levitating a few feet above the ground. The Weavers flanked him, walking past the Dead Man and down the long tunnel.
“Kalibar!” Kyle cried. He tried to run after them, but the Dead Man stopped him with one chilly hand on his shoulder. The man's touch made Kyle freeze in place, a chill running through him.
“I regret that we had to meet like this,” the Dead Man lamented. His voice – deep, yet gentle – was in stark contrast to his ghastly appearance. “You must understand how it pains me to treat a great man like Kalibar so callously.” He sighed. “He has accomplished so much for our Empire.”
“Just let him go,” Kyle urged. “He doesn't want to be Grand Weaver!”
“True,” the Dead Man agreed. “If only Orik could have believed that.” He sighed again, then gestured down the long hallway. “Come,” he added. “Walk with me.”
“Where did you take them?” Kyle demanded, staying right where he was.
“Kalibar and the traitor are being held in separate rooms,” he replied. “They will be treated with the dignity they deserve. If they behave, no harm will come of them.” He leaned in then, his smile fading. “If you misbehave,” he added coldly, “...they will suffer greatly for it.”
Kyle felt the blood drain from his cheeks, and he swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. The Dead Man turned, moving forward down the long tunnel, his black boots levitating a few inches above the ground. His black cloak rippled sinuously behind
him, despite the still air. Kyle followed alongside the man, his footsteps echoing off of the walls.
“You are one of us now,” the Dead Man declared. He turned to regard Kyle, his eyes unblinking. “In time, you will understand how great an honor this is.”
Kyle said nothing, lowering his gaze.
“You have enormous potential, Kyle,” the Dead Man continued. He put a cold hand on Kyle's shoulder, and it took everything Kyle had not to pull away from the man's touch. “You will do great things for our cause.”
“What cause?” Kyle asked.
“To guide the Empire,” the Dead Man answered. “To nurture its people.” He smiled, patting Kyle's shoulder. “One day, the Empire will far surpass the one that came before...the people you call the Ancients. Xanos wills it.”
“Xanos?” Kyle pressed. The Dead Man nodded.
“The one true God,” he clarified, his tone reverent. “We are his people. He has chosen us to do His work.”
“To guide the Empire,” Kyle mumbled.
“To save humanity from itself,” the Dead Man corrected.
“Right,” Kyle muttered under his breath. It all sounded like a crazy, twisted cult to him. But he held his tongue. They continued down the long, dark tunnel silently, following it for what seemed like an eternity. The floor angled downward slightly, and Kyle couldn't help but feel like he was walking into the very bowels of the earth...into Hell itself.
“You doubt the existence of our God,” the Dead Man observed, breaking the silence at last. Kyle said nothing, his eyes downcast. “Understandable,” the Dead Man conceded. “It is difficult to believe in something you have never seen.”
“Have you seen him?” Kyle countered. The Dead Man smiled.
“Xanos is a divided God,” he explained. “We Chosen carry a piece of Him within us. We cannot see Him, but we feel His presence.”
“Chosen?”
“Those who are like me,” the Dead Man clarified. “Those who bear a shard of Xanos,” he added, tapping the crystal on his forehead.
“Wait, there are more people like...you?” Kyle pressed. The Dead Man smiled, but said nothing. They walked in awkward silence for a few more minutes, until the tunnel abruptly ended. There were two narrow paths leading left and right, and the Dead Man turned down the right one, continuing along it. Kyle followed, trailing behind the ghoulish Weaver. The path winded up a slight incline for a bit, leading to an even narrower tunnel carved into the dark stone. The long line of lanterns ended here, the tunnel beyond utterly black. Kyle hesitated, resting his palms on the rough, cool rock walls on either side of him.
“Ah, forgive me,” the Dead Man said.
There was a flash of light, and Kyle squinted, spotting a small sphere of pure white light floating in the air a foot above the Dead Man's head. The light cast long, inky-black shadows up and down the length of the tunnel. The Dead man continued forward, forcing Kyle to follow close behind.
“Where are we going?” Kyle asked, peering over the Dead Man's shoulder. Even with the magical light, he couldn't see to the end of the tunnel.
“To the Arena,” the Dead Man replied.
“The what?”
“The place where you will live from now on,” the Dead Man clarified. “I train all of my Death Weavers there.”
“Death Weavers?” Kyle asked. “Like the men in red?” The Dead Man nodded.
“They are my children, as you have become my child,” he explained. “I will teach you as I have taught them, and as I taught their parents, and their grandparents, and their great-grandparents.”
Kyle stopped in his tracks, staring at the Dead Man's back. The Dead Man paused, turning to face him.
“What?” Kyle asked. “You trained their great-grandparents?”
“And their great-great-grandparents,” the Dead Man confirmed.
“But...” Kyle began, then stopped. He stared at the Dead Man, feeling his skin crawl.
“I am young, for a Chosen,” the Dead Man explained. “This body will be one hundred and eighty-two in two weeks.”
“That's impossible,” Kyle protested. “No one can live that long!” The Dead Man smirked.
“I never said I lived that long,” he countered.
“What?”
“I am the Dead Man,” the Dead Man deadpanned.
With that, he turned back down the tunnel, continuing forward, his black cloak rippling slowly behind him. Kyle followed from behind, hardly believing what he'd just heard.
One hundred and eighty-two!
The Dead Man led them down the narrow, winding tunnel. After another minute, it took a sudden, sharp right turn, and opened up abruptly...into a massive underground cavern.
Kyle froze in his tracks, his eyes widening.
The cavern before him was truly enormous...beyond anything he had ever seen. It was larger than a football stadium, and similarly structured. It was as if he were standing at the very top row of a stadium, with row after row of seats descending down to a central, circular field made of packed dirt far below. Each row of seating was carved from the same black stone as the rest of the cavern, with cushions bolted to the rock for each seat.
Kyle looked upward.
The ceiling rose easily a hundred feet above the field below, short, thick black stalactites hanging down from it. In the center of the Arena, floating midway between the ceiling and the field below, a huge glowing sphere levitated. It was so bright that it lit the entire chamber, making it as bright as day. It pulsated ever so slightly, like a beating heart.
Beyond the circular field, opposite from where he stood, the ring of stadium seating was cleaved in two by a path that led from the field below to four large buildings carved into the rock walls of the cavern beyond. Each building was seven stories tall; a large pond divided the two pairs of buildings, its dark waters utterly still. A narrow bridge arched over the pond, connecting two streets that lay before the buildings.
And while the stadium was empty, the streets around the buildings far below were bustling with people...hundreds of them.
The Dead Man put a hand on Kyle's shoulder, gesturing at the massive cavern before them.
“Welcome to the Arena,” he exclaimed, his deep voice echoing off of the stone walls. He smiled down at Kyle. “And welcome to your new home,” he added. “Your past is behind you...and your future is here, with your new family.”
Chapter 13
The Dead Man led Kyle down a narrow set of stone steps cutting through the stadium seats on either side, toward the empty field of the Arena below. Kyle followed behind the black-cloaked Weaver, the cool, damp air of the cavern giving him goosebumps. The voices of the crowds of people milling about beyond the Arena echoed throughout the huge chamber, getting louder as they descended. They reached the bottom of the stairs, and the Dead Man led Kyle to the center of the field. He stopped then, turning to stare down at Kyle with his glittering black eyes.
“How far along are you in your studies, Kyle?” he asked.
“Uh...” Kyle replied, “...you mean with magic?”
“Yes.”
“I was learning how to sense magic,” Kyle answered. The Dead Man frowned.
“You haven't learned how to weave yet?” he pressed, his tone incredulous. Kyle shook his head. The Dead Man's frown deepened. “I see,” he murmured. “You've wasted a great deal of time.”
Kyle dropped his gaze to his feet, feeling ashamed despite himself. It wasn't his fault he'd been born on Earth, after all. But he could never tell the Dead Man that.
“Close your eyes,” the Dead Man commanded. Kyle glanced up at the Dead Man, then complied. “Tell me when you feel a vibration in your mind.”
Kyle nodded, trying to clear his mind like he had before, when he'd been in the lake training with Kalibar. He felt a faint cool breeze on his skin, smelled the strong odor of dust in the air. He could hear the voices of the crowd beyond the field, and found himself trying to figure out what individual people were saying. Then he felt
a familiar vibration in his skull, at his right temple.
“I feel it,” he stated, opening his eyes and pointing to his right temple. “Here.”
“Good,” the Dead Man replied. “Now, keep your eyes open and do it again.”
Kyle complied, and it wasn't long before he felt a vibration at his left temple. He pointed to it.
“Good,” the Dead Man repeated. “Can you sense your own magic?”
“Not yet,” Kyle admitted.
The Dead Man reached into the recesses of his black cloak, retrieving a clear gemstone roughly the size of an egg. Its facets sparkled brilliantly in the light from the levitating orb far above, and a pale blue glow emanated from within. The Dead Man handed it to Kyle, who held it in one hand, regarding it curiously.
“What is this?” Kyle asked.
“A diamond,” the Dead Man answered. Kyle stared at the crystal, his eyes widening. A diamond! It was bigger than any diamond he'd ever seen...and he'd seen the Hope diamond at the Smithsonian the year before. He held it gingerly, afraid he might accidentally drop it.
“Close your eyes again,” the Dead Man ordered. Kyle obeyed, holding the diamond out in front of him. “Bring the diamond to your forehead.” Kyle did so, pressing the crystal against his skin. He sensed a slight vibration there.
“It's vibrating,” he observed.
“No,” the Dead Man countered. “You're merely sensing the magic radiating from the diamond.”
“Oh,” Kyle replied sheepishly. The man was right...the sensation was identical to when he'd felt magic earlier.
“Keep the diamond at your forehead,” the Dead Man continued. “Sense the magic within it. Pull that magic into your mind.”
“But how?” Kyle asked, opening his eyes.
“I didn't tell you to open your eyes,” the Dead Man chided. Kyle felt a twinge of fear, and snapped his eyes shut. He stood there in front of the Dead Man, the diamond still pressed to his forehead.
“Will the magic into your mind,” the Dead Man ordered.
Kyle nodded, concentrating on the vibrations at his forehead. He tried pulling at it with his will, imagining the magic coming into the center of his brain.
