“What’s that?” Brom peered over at it.
“Here.” She dabbed a bit of something out onto her fingers and patted Brom’s neck with it, making him flinch away.
“Perfume?” Brom wrinkled his nose. “Are you trying to make me smell like a lady?”
“Well, it’s certainly better than you smelling like shit.” She dabbed a few spots on herself before pulling up her bag. “All right. Shall we carry on?”
The dry burn of exhaustion weighed on Owen’s eyes. His mind wavered as he thought of where they had been only an hour or so prior. The Core Wielders had had them in their grasp, but still they had managed to get away. He wondered if something was looking out for them, perhaps Arcan himself.
“I thought that was it for us back there,” he told Colt as they walked. “I was certain Elian would drag me all the way back to Alacor and Cleanse me and hurt you. I asked him not to. He promised me he would let you go.” Owen twisted his fingers. “Now I’m not sure what he’ll do if he catches us both again.”
“I can hold my own.” Colt’s voice was soft. “Don’t worry about me.”
Owen swallowed hard as he recalled his conversation with Elian. The Wielder had told him much in regard to the Cleansing and the sole purpose of Cores. Whether any of it was true did not matter at the moment. Owen did not want to dwell on his eerie talk of gods and power. It sent a chill down his skin.
“I’m wondering if we should split up,” Brom said, coming up to them. “Gilda and I could take this tunnel, and you two could take the left.”
“And if we get lost?” Owen asked.
“Good point,” Gilda cut in. “It might do us better to stay together. We never came up into the catacombs beneath the city before. Only the tunnels near the coast.”
Owen turned to Colt. “What do you think?”
Colt looked up at them as if he had not been part of the conversation and shrugged. “As long as we keep moving. Doesn’t matter.”
“All right, then. Let’s head down the left tunnel. I feel a bit of a draft down this way.” Brom led them on, Gilda behind him, and Colt taking up the rear.
A prickling sensation lifted the hairs on Owen’s skin. He rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger as he followed his companions into the ever-growing darkness. The deeper they went, the colder it became, and he shrank against the damp air. A hollow sound reverberated through the tunnel, followed by the soft padding of tiny feet as rats scurried along the walls. Owen’s heart skipped a beat every time he saw them in the dim light. He kept toward the middle to stay out of their way.
In the distance, water trickled and dripped.
“You hear that?” Owen asked.
“It sounds like water,” Colt said.
A moment later, the tunnel opened out into a wide room where a brass statue stood against the wall, a kneeling figure, its arms extended upward with its palms facing the sky. Water flowed from the ceiling and into its open hands, trickling down to a small pool below before flowing into another tunnel.
Moving along the pool, Owen went to dip his hand in, but Brom stopped him.
“This place is old. Anything could be a trap.”
Owen froze where he was, scanning the walls and floor.
“Found a lantern,” Colt said. “Still some oil and wick. Anyone got a match?”
Brom dug into the pouch at his belt and tossed a match to Colt, who struck it and lit the lantern.
“Which way?” Owen asked.
“Let’s try the left tunnel over there.”
They ventured down, descending crumbling stairs. The pipework along the walls was exposed, one pipe busted and spewing steam.
“Looks like we’re not the only ones to step foot in here,” Colt said, taking notice of the busted pipe jutting out into the way.
“I have a feeling we’re no longer in the sewers.” Brom looked up at the walls where symbols lay carved into the stone.
Colt crouched down near the pipe. “It must have busted not long ago.”
“These tunnels look abandoned,” Gilda said. “And they’re deep. Why would a piping system be down here?”
Brom ran his thumb over the pipe. “No doubt an old system, unless someone is living down here and using the water.”
Using the light from the lantern, Owen observed with them, wondering if the pipe had burst due to natural causes or if someone had tripped it. If it had been the latter, it could mean they were not alone. He had seen blueprints of pipework, but he had never seen one in a wall before. The idea of using steam for things such as water and light confused him.
Gilda stepped forward. “Let’s continue on, unless you want to wait for the rains to come. Look at the siding of the tunnel and you’ll see what I mean. It’s wet in here. We’re going the right way. The water is leaking in from somewhere.”
Brom raised an eyebrow and looked at Owen. “She’s good,” he said. “I might consider taking her out for a fine cuisine once we get out of here.”
“No, you won’t,” Gilda growled. Then she mumbled something inaudible as she ventured ahead.
They continued carefully past the broken pipe and trekked along the damp tunnel. Their boots sloshed through wet dirt and mud where it had risen through broken stones upon the floor. Several other small passages led to nowhere or housed old rags and broken pottery. The deeper they delved, the more bones they saw lying about on the ground. The rags and bits of scattered bones were chilling, but still Owen pressed on.
Before long, the tunnel widened into a big room before extending further into the darkness. Bookshelves lined the walls on either side of the room. Some had spilled, and books littered the way. Wooden desks lay upturned and broken along the floor, and shards of glass crunched under their boots. The lantern cast long shadows against the walls as Brom set it down on a nearby table.
Owen gasped. “Amazing!”
“This looks cozy,” Brom said, looking around.
Colt took a book from a shelf that was rotting at the bottom and had fallen to one side, causing all the books to shift against one another. He sifted through brittle pages full of dust.
“Anything interesting?” Owen asked.
“Half the pages are torn out, and there’s char at the bottom of the shelves.”
Gilda was looking at the walls with intense concentration. Owen followed her line of sight and glanced up. Upon the stonework lay faded paintings—not only along one wall, but all around.
“This was more than just a library,” Gilda said. She grabbed the lantern from the table and drew it up to the wall.
Owen looked to Colt and Brom, who appeared just as curious as he was about what she was doing.
“This was the sacred hall.” Her voice grew louder as she went around the room with the light. “It’s a mural of sorts. I’ve seen this, but only in drawings.”
“Sacred hall?” Colt asked, perplexed.
“Another name for a library,” Brom added, shrugging. “You know how some people place great value on books.”
“What’s wrong with placing value in books?” Owen raised an eyebrow at him.
“No, you idiots,” Gilda said sharply. “The sacred hall was more than a library. It was a hiding place for the Union.”
All of them grew quiet. Owen joined Gilda at the wall and looked to where she pointed at the paintings. The faded mural depicted a string of events, from the creation of the earth, to the gods giving their gifts, to the Forty Years’ War, and also the goddess Yuna. There was a painting depicting her in the middle of the far-left wall. She had golden skin and dark eyes, contrary to the statue in his village, and she held a blade in her hand that looked similar to Owen’s dagger. When the lantern hit the end of the wall, past Yuna, a dark painting of a large door came into view.
Owen narrowed his eyes as he looked at it. The painting was worn down and chipped in many places, but he could make out the depiction of a graveyard. There, among dead trees and gravestones, stood a lone black door. Men stood on both sides of it, th
eir arms raised.
“The Gate,” Owen said.
Gilda came up beside him. “Looks like it.”
“So you’re saying this is where Union members conversed?” Brom cut in. “What, thousands of years ago?”
“It’s possible,” Gilda said. “The Union has been called many things, but it’s always been there, ever since the uprising against Astran folk. Groups formed long before the one we know of now. Their numbers continued to increase far after the end of the Forty Years’ War. They had many hiding places, usually halls like this one.”
Brom furrowed his brow. “How on earth do you know all this?”
Gilda shrugged. “I like history.”
A look of contempt crossed Colt’s face as he picked up another book from the shelf. “History lessons don’t help us. This place is a tomb, and these are useless now. Pages torn, most of them burned. Whatever was in here doesn’t matter now. The Legion no doubt took what they needed when they found this place.”
“What makes you think it was the Legion?” Owen asked. “Anything could have happened down here.”
“Yeah, like Gorns,” Brom added.
Colt raised an eyebrow. “Gorns?”
“Nasty, burly creatures who rip off your limbs and suck the blood dry, then they nibble on your bones.” Brom shuddered. “Nice lore, that one.”
“I’ve read about them.” Owen perked up. “They like the bones of grown men the most.”
“Well, whatever it was, it did a good job of keeping this place from being known until now.” Colt tossed the book on the ground.
The slap of the book bounced off the high walls, the sound reverberating down the tunnels.
A high-pitched squeal echoed through the air.
Owen’s heart stilled. “What do you think that was?” he asked nervously. “More rats?”
“Rats don’t wail,” Brom said. He took the lantern from Gilda and rushed down the tunnel.
Owen followed behind him with caution. His fingers gripped tight around the hilt of his dagger as they left the room of books. When the passage bent and came into a smaller room, he noticed several wooden caskets set upon the floor, their frames rotten and battered.
Freezing in his steps, Owen looked in the direction of the lantern light and jumped back when he saw someone perched upon one of the caskets. The person drew back when the dim light hit their eyes. Their dirty, bony fingers held a dead fish, raw and half-eaten, exposing the bones and blood as it dripped down.
The person hissed at them, juice from the fish spilling from their mouth. They backed off and limped out of the room on their hands and feet.
Owen let out a breath of air. “Was that a human?”
“A human, or something else.” Gilda cut a serious eye to Brom. “We saw a few of these things before, but we never encountered them.”
Brom nodded. “Right. Best not to linger and find out. They ran out that way. Maybe we can maneuver past them and leave them be.”
As they moved forward, Owen came up beside Colt. “Why do you think they look like that?”
“How am I supposed to know?” Colt snapped. “Just keep on your guard.”
The light of Brom’s lantern grew dimmer as they went on. The passages were dark, with no light sources of their own. The farther they went, the more noise they could hear, as if something was whispering.
Owen’s head pounded. The sound frightened him more than the three shadows had. The darkness of the tunnels was never ending, and the whispers of the walls crept into his mind, making him wonder if he was truly hearing them or not.
Finally, a low hiss stopped them all in their tracks.
Brom and Gilda drew their swords. Colt took the lantern and held it out, illuminating a strange woman hunched down on the ground. Her scalp was scabbed, and her hair fell over her face in thin wisps. Her skin was dirty and her body frail as she leaned on her hands. Her narrowed eyes were covered in a white film that seemed sensitive to the light.
“Back off,” Colt spat, drawing his blade.
“Stop,” Owen said. “You’ll make things worse.”
The woman hissed at him before running off into the darkness.
“Would you rather the thing attack us?” Colt asked.
Owen nodded in the direction the strange woman had gone. “That thing is a living creature, and we’ve just invaded its home.”
“You going to throw it a pity party? Sure, invite it back. Maybe you can tame it and bring it along with us. I’ll find a good leash for it. Always wanted a pet.”
“You’re being an ass.”
“Good. Someone in this group has to be.”
“Enough,” Brom said, ending their argument. “There’s a way out over here. Let’s not linger.”
Before they could turn to go, a loud screech echoed from the tunnel where the woman had gone, followed by several more.
“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Gilda said.
“Go!” Brom yelled.
They ran down a flight of spiraling stairs and hit a long tunnel running into the darkness.
The foreboding sensation that Owen had felt when they had first entered this part of the tunnels hung heavy on his heels. He realized it had been from the strange creatures after them now.
The echoes of shrieks filled the passage behind them. Through the bouncing light of the lantern, Owen saw the dark outlines of a mob of people following after them. Though most of them crawled on their hands and feet or limped while hunched over, they were gaining on him as he lagged behind the group.
“Colt!” Owen yelled, spinning himself around as the figures approached.
Colt turned and closed the distance between them just in time, his sword slashing at the air to keep them back.
Owen held his dagger firmly as he pointed it at the mob. Then he caught sight of something crawling above him. Just as he looked up, a figure dropped down from the ceiling and onto him, sending them both to the ground.
He slashed out at the creature clawing him and stabbed it in the chest just before Brom sliced off its head with his sword. Owen yelled out as blood gushed from it, and he pushed the carcass off him. Brom yanked him to his feet and they backed away. Owen stared at the creature they had just killed, blood pooling around its body. He pressed a fist to his mouth to keep the bile from rising in his throat.
The mob flooded the tunnel just a few feet in front of them. They hissed as they passed over their slain, but drew back as Owen and his companions held their blades out.
“Go slowly,” Brom whispered, his eyes fixed on the mob. “Attack one at a time.”
“I hate this thing,” Gilda hissed. She sheathed her sword and removed her knuckles from her belt. She quickly secured them onto her gloved fingers and curled her right hand into a fist. The blade-like spikes that stuck out from it were long and sharp enough to do considerable damage when one of them neared her. She took out one of the ghoulish fiends with one smash to its skull.
Colt, Brom, and Gilda lunged toward one straggler in the mob at a time. The sharp edges of their guards’ swords cut clean through the ghoulish people, but with each kill, the mob moved quicker against them, pushing them further and further down the tunnel. Though this went on for several minutes, the mob did not let up.
Gilda took hold of Owen and pushed him behind her. “Scout ahead. We’ll hold them off,” she said to him, her voice urgent.
“I can help,” Owen said, feeling the warmth of his hilt in his hand. If one of the ghouls were to push through, he would stab them.
“I know, but right now we have them.”
“The more we attack,” Brom started, cutting himself short as he slashed his blade at another ghoul, “the more aggressive they become,” he finished, panting.
“I won’t leave you all here,” Owen started.
“Owen, just go!” Colt snapped. “Find us a way out.”
Owen nodded and turned on his heel. He ran down the tunnel, his chest heaving. Not far down, the tunnel sloped downward int
o a large room below. Specks of light filtered through the high roof. Beyond that, darkness blanketed passage. The floor of the room was barely visible, but he was able to see just enough to know they would be descending.
Looking back, Owen shouted at them, “There’s a big room up ahead! Keep them in the tunnel as long as you can!”
Someone shouted in response, and he was about to run back when a cold, bony hand clasped his leg and jerked him down to the ground. He rolled down the slope and into the dark room below.
He groaned as he pushed himself onto his palms. Pain overtook his side, where his bruise was still not completely healed. He faltered as he got to his knees. His mind wavered.
Owen glanced up. Above him, strands of blue light fell through slanted cracks illuminating only the place where he sat. Everything else was touched by a darkness so thick he could feel it moving.
His breath caught in his throat as the sound of pattering feet circled him. Strange grunts echoed off the high ceiling, and then something slapped hard at his head.
Owen whipped his whole body around, panting hard. Something responded with a distorted laugh. His hands shook and his stomach ached with a pain that shook his bowels.
Whispers came from his right, then his left, along with the pattering once again. When the hand touched him a second time, this time pulling on his arm, Owen growled and lunged forward, but he caught nothing but dirt as he fell on the ground.
The distorted laughter sounded once again.
He dug his nails into the dirt, clenching his fists as fear welled within him. When the laughter did not cease, he began searching frantically for his dagger. The lone ghoul in the darkness must have caught on to him, for it became more aggressive as it poked and prodded his back from behind.
Just as Owen found the blade, the feral kicked him down into the dirt once again. The creature climbed onto him, and its bony hand clutched at his hair.
He cried out and turned over in time to stab it with his blade. The creature fell limp onto him, and he pushed it off and panted into the air.
Shrieks filled the room as the mob from the tunnel pushed his companions inside. From where he had fallen, Owen caught sight of Gilda as she ran down to him.
Beyond the Core (The Starborn Series Book 1) Page 32
