The Amulet of the Sun
Jaq de Kailleur glanced left, then right. Foliage, dense and heavy, dripping with the heat of the day. Thick, ropy vines looped and dangled, seemed to tangle the gnarled trees that rose from the soupy mud, to choke them. Behind him, Tampen, his hired guide, fidgeted nervously.
Jaq de Kailleur glanced left, then right. Foliage, dense and heavy, dripping with the heat of the day. Thick, ropy vines looped and dangled, seemed to tangle the gnarled trees that rose from the soupy mud, to choke them. Behind him, Tampen, his hired guide, fidgeted nervously.
He'd never seen anything like this jungle. Everything was so oppressive, so heavy. Even breathing was a chore; inhaling the hot, wet air was like trying to breath swampwater. Hesitating, he strained his ears, listening. Bird calls echoed eerily high up in the green canopy. Insects—some the size of his bloody fist!—chirped and whined. He shuddered. The only creatures that made no sound, it seemed, were the bloody huge spiders who sat at the edge of house sized webs made of filaments as big around as his thumb waiting for careless prey—like perhaps a bloody tiger or two.
Shivering again, he turned back to the hole in the side of the hill. He tried to see past the murk beyond the ragged edges, but the hole gaped back blackly, as if it chuckled maliciously, saying, “Come on in. I dare you.”
He sighed. Why did it always have to be caves? He never ended up in an airy palace, full of light and good food, or even an open clearing in a pleasant forest where the spiders were not as big as he was. He'd never simply approached a merchant on the main street of a nice city, asked for whichever artefact his current employer had sent him to find, and been answered with, “Sure. Any particular colour?” No, whenever he was hired, he always ended up at a godforsaken dim cave out in the godforsaken middle of nowhere, after having crawled through mosquito infested swamps, thick, oozing mud that found its way like a living thing into every nook and cranny of his gear—and threatened at every step to steal his boots—and fens filled with all manner of disgusting things, all the while battling or sneaking or fleeing from the godforsaken wildlife that all seemed to view him as a tasty morsel. And that included the ubiquitous savage tribes that always—just to spite him—seemed to be between him and his prize.
Still, he'd never been this far south before, this far away from his home.
He snorted quietly. Who was he trying to convince? The only reason he was here was because his current employer had offered him more gold than he had seen since he was a boy living with his family at one of their estates.
Wiping his sweaty palms on his filthy trousers, he sighed again. Steeling himself, holding his sword low, he stepped to the hole, crouching to avoid bashing his head on the jagged rocks of the low overhang.
“No, master,” hissed Tampen, gripping his arm. “No go in. You say no go in.”
“Let go, you bloody buffoon,” growled Jaq, glaring flatly at his guide.
Tampen released him but continued his quiet, vehement protests.
“No. You tole Tampen you no go in. You promise.”
This fool had been the only man Jaq could find who would guide him. All the others had jumped at the gold he'd flashed, smiling excitedly—until he'd told them where he intended to go. Every one of them had paled, their smiles not just disappearing, but right falling off their faces, and they had, each one, shaken their heads, backing away as though he had some virulent disease, babbling at him in their incoherent language.
“Look Tampen. You don't have to go if you don't want to. Stay here and wait for me. It shouldn't take me too long.”
"You promise!” the wiry little man whined, eyeing Jaq dolefully. “You say no go in.”
“Funny,” Jaq said with a smirk. “I remember it a little differently. I promised I wouldn't go in if I saw any signs of danger. It's just a cave.” A cave that likely held all manner of dangers...
Tampen was sweating, his black hair plastered to his scalp, his olive complexion ruddy. “There is danger here. I know. You no go in!”
“Quiet man,” Jaq hissed. He didn't know if those blasted spiders could hear but there were plenty of other nasty things out there that could. “Like I said, you don't have to come in. You can wait here, but I am going in.”
And he turned quickly away and ducked under the jagged overhang into the darkness before Tampen could voice any more objections.
He stepped carefully over the uneven ground, his eyes flickering to the walls and the ceiling and back to his feet, searching, watching, inspecting for any irregularity. He'd been in enough of these caves. There was always something waiting for him.
Step by careful step, he edged his way forward, the floor sloping gently downward into the heart of the hill. Irregular slashes of sunlight filtering in from small holes above gave him just enough light so that he wasn't completely blind. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped, plinking hollowly.
Probing the ground with his walking stick, he watched and listened. The lessons learned in the past served him well. There were always traps. Always. As though the people who left their priceless artefacts in these caves knew that someday he would come searching for them. Everywhere he looked, the shadows seemed to leap out at him, intent on stabbing, gutting, goring.
Easy, Jaq, he told himself. He took a deep breath to calm his stuttering heart. Easy. Don't get foolish.
He wiped the sweat from his eyes and took another step. Behind him, he heard a sound, a faint hiss, like a scuff. He spun, crouched low, his sword whistling through the humid air, managed to halt its progress just in time. Tampen cringed back, squeaking.
“You decided to join me after all,” Jaq whispered, irritated. “You could have warned me. You almost lost your head.”
“Sorry, master. Outside no good. Bad noises.”
“Noises? What kind of noises?” Before his guide could answer, he waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind. Time enough to worry about that when we're done in here.” He scrutinized the ever descending passage. “Step where I step. Do not touch anything.”
Down deeper into the cave they went, Jaq probing ahead before each step and Tampen staying well back. At some point, the walls evened out, as did the floor, as though someone had had a hand in shaping this section of the cave. A little farther and Jaq began to notice carvings in the walls, fanciful things, dreadful: strange beasts, oddly elongated men with spears, grimacing visages with huge teeth and glaring eyes. The slashes of sunlight served not to dispel the mystery of these creations but instead to lend them an air of hardness, of malevolence, like a dire warning.
After what seemed days, they emerged into a huge cavern. There was no light here; Jaq pulled a torch from his pack and lit it with his flint and steel.
The floor was flat and smooth, glistening with dampness and glittering minerals. The ceiling was lost in gloom high overhead. The walls were covered, as far as he could see in the wavering torchlight, with those fanciful, somehow gruesome carvings. In the very centre of the chamber a huge statue carved from one solid piece of granite towered at least thirty feet above his head. In fact, unless he missed his guess, this cavern had, at one time, been solid rock, and someone—many, many someones—had chipped away until only this huge open space and this titanic statue were left.
He approached carefully, marvelling at the grandiose beauty of the masterfully wrought sculpture. It was a man, garbed in robes and seated on some kind of throne, Jaq surmised, as if in judgement. The face was handsome, though stern, and a crown of feathers and gems adorned its head. The stone glittered in the torchlight, lighting up with a thousand varicoloured sparks. In front of the statue was a high table, perhaps an altar of some kind, fashioned from the same stone. Etched into the front of the table, or altar, was script in an ancient language that, though unknown to Jaq, still bore a vague resemblance to Iktish, a language he knew at least passing well. He studied the script for a time, attempting to decipher it, but he gave up with a puzzled shake of his head. All he managed to get from it was something about humility and silence.
Some kind of temple, he surmised, likely built in honour of that which he sought, some necklace his employer had called the Amulet of the Sun. He had no notion why the elderly man would spend so much on a necklace, but it was not his place to ask questions; no, his place was to return with the item in question and get paid. Whatever the thing was, whatever its uses or properties, it was worth a great deal to the old man and therefore, it was worth a great deal to Jaq.
Circling the statue, admiring the stonework, he played his fingers along the mirror smooth finish.
“What is this place?” Tampen called from where he studied the carvings on the wall, his voice echoing eerily, hollowly.
“Quiet, you fool,” Jaq hissed.
Too late. Jaq froze, his heart hammering again in his chest. Below, above, everywhere, a low rumble began. The very floor beneath his feet began to shiver as the deep rumble took on a grinding quality as of a mill stone. Spinning wildly, Jaq searched for the source of the sound, but it really did seem to come from everywhere all at once. Off to his left he heard a sharp report as a stone, dislodged from the very high ceiling, dropped to the floor. He looked up. The blood drained from his face.
Oh bloody damned hell!
“Run, you blithering idiot!” he roared, and following his own advice, he leaped to a dead sprint for the door through which they had come. He spared a glance, saw Tampen just standing there, staring stupidly after him.
For a brief instant, Jaq considered leaving him there to meet his fate, but then how would he find his way out of the blasted jungle again? Growling a curse deep in his throat, he veered, dodged another stone that bashed itself to bits a few yards away. Grabbing Tampen's filthy coat, he started dragging him.
“Run, you stupid fool!” he screamed.
Finally, Tampen returned to himself and began to run alongside him.
The crack-clatter of rock smashing against rock increased to a solid thrumming roar and Jaq ran with one hand over his head wildly praying that no stone would find him. Another stone struck the floor a short distance away, the force of the impact splintering it. A fragment the size of his finger careened past, leaving a thin trail of fire on his cheek.
The rumble deepened and grew to a deafening thunder as though an angry giant chased them. The floor beneath his pounding feet tilted and twisted so that his frantic sprint became an even more frantic stumbling struggle to remain standing. Behind him the staccato clatter of rocks turned into booms that reverberated even louder than the trembling earth.
Then the door was there, gaping open before him, and he plunged through head first, arms outstretched as though he was diving into a cool lake on a hot summer day. Gasping, he laced his arms over his head, squeezed his eyes shut.
The cacophony continued seemingly forever, but in time, it lessened, became a distant rumble again, and then went silent. Slowly, Jaq lifted himself from the floor, still drawing ragged, hot breaths and, raising his torch, he looked back into the room.
The now dusty floor was littered with stone, rocks that ranged from the size of his fist to tall conic pillars the length of his body. No longer smooth and even, it was now pitted and scarred, with a jagged crack that ran from one end of the cavern to the other.
The majestic statue in the centre had fared no better. It now leaned a little to the side, and ended at the neck. The head rested on the altar, its eyes glaring accusingly at him.
Humility and silence. The only two words he had been able to puzzle out from the inscription in the table. Though he still did not have the precise translation, he felt he had a pretty good idea what the writing said.
Angry he grabbed Tampen and pulled him close, shaking him like a rag doll.
“What did I tell you? Huh? What did I tell you? I told you to be careful. I told you to be quiet.”
Tampen shook his head. “N—no master. No. You say walk where you walk, touch nothing. I walk where you walk. I touch nothing. You say nothing about talk.”
Jaq released him with a grunt. The guide was right. He was stupid but he was right. Jaq had not been specific enough in his instructions. He had not thought he would have to be; he had thought it obvious.
“No matter,” he growled. “We're alive. But from now on, keep your bloody trap shut.”
Wide-eyed and trembling, Tampen nodded mutely.
No longer interested in sight-seeing, Jaq led his guide quickly through the temple-like cavern, picking their way through the rubble. At the far back was another door that opened onto yet more blackness.
With his torch in one hand and his probing walking stick in the other, he resumed his careful step-by-step pace. This corridor was also carved from the living rock by the hands of men: flat floors, straight even walls, and a ceiling buttressed by old timbers, some of which had begun to deteriorate. Niches lined the walls every few yards, but there was nothing in any of them except dust and cobwebs. At intervals, and just above eye level, Jaq noticed what appeared to be sconces rusted almost beyond recognition.
They passed into another chamber, this one much smaller than the temple with its now broken statue. This room was well lit courtesy of the two slitted embrasures that let golden afternoon light in, and hot as a sweat-room. The floor was laced with the heavy roots of invasive trees, and the slabs were twisted and broken in several places. He shuddered, for in a corner, sitting slumped against the wall, with splayed legs as though exhausted was an old skeleton, its bones bleached white by the passing of an uncountable numbers of years.
He tested the mortar surrounding each of the narrow openings; if they had to beat a hasty retreat, this would be a much better place to do it than trying to race all the way back through the tunnels. Unfortunately, the mortar did not crumble or even so much as drop a light sifting of dust at his efforts. No good. He just had to hope that they would not find themselves needing to be out of these caves quickly.
Tampen stood in the centre of the room where Jaq had pointed, eyeing the ground at his feet with a furrowed brow while Jaq looked out the nearest embrasure to see if he could recognize any landmarks, but trees and under brush grew dense and impenetrable only a few feet away.
With nothing here for him, he turned to move on.
Tampen was crouching now, staring hard at the broken floor.
“What is it,” Jaq whispered.
Something grabbed his ankle and yanked his foot out from under him. His startled yelp turned to a grunt as he landed hard, felt a jarring pain shoot up his arm. There was still something holding his foot. He twisted, saw the thick gnarled roots moving sinuously as serpents. Horror froze him. He had never seen anything like this before.
“Master!” Tampen cried out.
He snapped his eyes away from the terrible twisting roots to see Tampen held down by both arms and legs. His guide writhed uselessly, his terrified eyes beseeching Jaq to do something.
He started hacking with his sword, furious, frantic slashes. His sword was razor sharp but it had little effect on the dense, knotted roots that snapped and grasped at him. Tiny slivers of wood flew in the air as he continued to hack. His breath gasped in and out.
As if there was some sort of sentience, one of the roots shot out like a whip and wrapped itself around his wrist. He struggled, attempting with all his might to free his sword arm but the root held tight, grinding the bones in his wrist together. He gritted his teeth against the pain. Deep in his mind, the voice of his ancient teacher rose like bubbles in a swamp.
Never let go of your sword in battle. Better to lose a hand than your sword.
Now he could feel the tightening of the roots around his legs, pulling him down. Desperately, gripping his sword in fingers that felt at the same time both scorching hot and numb, he struck with the torch. When the torch struck the wood, sparks flew. Did the root holding his arm hesitate? Did it weaken and perhaps loosen its hold somewhat as though it cringed? He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a high pitched squealing noise, quiet, just out of range of hearing.
Wild hope surging, he didn't just strike with the torch, he pushed the pitch-fueled flame into the root holding his arm, saw the bark blacken, saw sparks leap like fleas. The root unwound and pulled away like a child whose hand is slapped by a parent.
He jabbed the torch down with one hand while fumbling in his pack with the other. More roots drew back, singed. A small, nearly invisible flame licked at one.
More roots burrowed their way into the chamber through the walls and through the floor as he pulled another torch from his pack and lit it from the first. Blazing brands in both hands, he began to lay about him indiscriminately, burning anything that moved. Now he was certain he heard that squeal, like the sound of ringing in his ears after being struck too hard in the head.
He almost laughed.
His legs free, he stumbled toward Tampen, his unconventional weapons hissing and billowing, his unconventional foe now holding back, keeping out of reach of the hungry flames. Tampen was nearly covered. Only wildly rolling eyes and his nose remained visible.
Waving one brand behind him, he shoved the other into the rough bark holding his guide. The roots holding his terrified guide's head down snapped back.
“Master, help me, help Tampen, please master, please no leave Tampen,” the man blubbered.
“Shut up, man,” he rasped, burning away the final roots that held Tampen's arms. “You'll be out in a moment.”
When Tampen's legs were free and the man scrambled to his feet, trembling violently, Jaq spun and watched the writhing, grinding roots. Held at bay, they seemed to hiss in frustration. Jaq handed a torch to Tampen.
“Make for that door over there. Burn anything that gets too close.”
Tampen gaped stupidly at him and at the torch.
“Move man! These brands won't last forever.”
Tampen flinched at his tone, so he moderated his voice and said, “Don't worry, I'll be right behind you.”
Step by excruciating step, they edged toward the door. As they passed where Jaq had been held, he snatched up his walking stick, swiping hastily at a root that would take advantage of his moment of inattention. The roots twisted jerkily, as though angry. Some few more tried to snatch at him but his torch lunged forward and the mass of obscenely wriggling wood and bark cringed away.
As soon as he crossed the threshold into the narrow passage, the chamber went still as though he had imagined it all.
“I imagine there will be trials,” his employer had told him as he made his final preparations to set out.
“There always are,” he'd replied.
He barked a bitter laugh as he fell back against the wall and slid down until he was seated on the cool stone floor.
They rested for a bit then, to allow their trembling to cease, to allow the terror to dissipate. Tampen wept quietly for a while, until Jaq snapped at him to shut up and grow some stones.
“I tole you. I tole you is bad place,” Tampen whined.
“And I told you to shut up.”
After a time, they rose, and with Jaq leading the way, they followed the new passage—older than he was, older than his grandfather's grandfather's ancestor—deeper into the living earth. The air here was no longer musty and humid, but dry, dusty like a tomb. And yet deeper they went.
“Master. Master look,” Tampen said, quite loudly, pointing ahead.
“What part of shut your bloody pie-hole do you not understand?” Jaq hissed. “Have you forgotten the temple cavern already?”
But he looked to where his guide pointed and furrowed his brow. There was a light farther down. It was dim, and still barely more than a point in the distance, but he felt a moment of hope. He reined in the impulse to break into a run. He'd seen no danger signs in any of the passageways they'd travelled, but this was not the time to become lax. That was probably what the sick bastards who designed this place had in mind, he thought sourly.
Sure enough, about fifty steps further, the light ahead now revealing itself to be a doorway into another large chamber, he picked out several stones that were a slightly different colour, a shade lighter, from the surrounding ones, spreading out before him like a labyrinth. Whispering a warning, he scanned the walls and the ceiling searching for holes or cracks or other discolourations but he saw no obvious signs of what would happen if he stepped on one of the off-coloured stones.
He hesitated, licking his lips nervously, before ever so slowly extending his walking staff, careful not to touch any of the lighter stones. He settled the tip on one of the regular stones, gingerly put his weight on it, watched, listened. He did his best to slow his breathing. The sky didn't fall; the earth didn't shake itself to pieces. There were no explosions or sudden floods. He took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. He flashed a quick grin at Tampen, who returned his look dolefully.
Stepping onto the stone he had just tested he repeated the process again, slowly lowering his staff to the next stone and even more slowly putting his weight on it. Nothing. His confidence growing, he placed his foot carefully in the centre and stepped.
With a low grinding noise, the stone sank. He looked at his foot with a mixture of disgust and horror, sunk now nearly to his ankle.
“Oh, you bloody bastards,” he growled.
Then he threw himself back, tackling Tampen. A sharp pain ran up his ribs as he landed badly but he ignored it. His staff clattered hollowly. He threw his hands over his head and squinched his eyes shut.
Silence. Deep, dusty silence. The breath he was holding escaped with a hiss like a slow leak. He opened one eye and peeked out from under his arms. Stone walls, motes of dust. Nothing else. His walking staff lay a few feet away. Tampen seemed to be weeping; his breath was hitching quietly.
Extricating himself from his guide, he rose to a crouch, scanning the corridor, but nothing happened. There were no blades screaming toward him searching for his blood; the ceiling remained intact.
Perhaps it malfunctioned, he thought, grimly amused. That would be a nice change.
He retraced his steps, avoiding the first sunken stone—perhaps, he thought, it had simply not sunk far enough to trigger whatever horror awaited. Two more stones sank as he made his way through the maze. He stopped as each one ground its way below floor level, crouching and searching for any change but nothing happened.
And finally he stood at the door looking into the soft golden light that undulated and rippled as though he was in an underwater cavern. He saw no source for this strange, watery light, but he had to admit the effect was quite pretty, breathtaking in fact. Not as large as the temple cavern, the roof of this chamber was still high above his head. The walls were again covered with carvings, though these carvings were gentler than the temple cavern. Great sweeping trees seemed to grow out of the walls, branches spreading all around the upper end of the chamber and across the length and breadth of the ceiling. Flowers of all types, ferns, shrubs, vines, wound their gentle way among the great trunks. It was so intricately and masterfully done that he thought he heard birds chirping and chattering amongst themselves high up. Flakes of paint remained, bright green and red and yellow, and he imagined that when this room had first been completed it was likely a wonder to behold.
Ahead, at the far end, was another magnificent, massive statue carved entirely of gleaming, marble, kneeling with cupped hands stretched out as though in offering. Long, flowing robes seemed to shimmer and ripple in an unseen breeze. Hair spun entirely from gold cascaded onto her shoulders. Delicate features with high aquiline cheeks seemed to gaze benevolently upon him. Full lips smiled gently.
“It's beautiful,” Tampen breathed.
“Aye.” Jaq whispered. That was what made him nervous. “Wait here,” he whispered.
Tampen, his eyes wide, his mouth ajar, nodded slowly, distractedly.
Proceeding along a path of red stones like a carpet in a throne room, Jaq kept his attention away from the distracting, stunning statue. The rest of the floor was mostly more of the same grey as the rest of this underground complex, but with large rectangles of greenish brown stone set in a grid work. Reaching the outstretched hands, he marvelled at the beauty of the slender graceful fingers before gazing upon what was held in the open palms.
A medallion, roughly the size of his palm, rested on a pad of wine coloured velvet. Featuring a golden sunburst surrounded by intertwined snakes of jade with glistening rubies for eyes, it glittered and gleamed with the strange refractory light that gave the entire chamber a surreal, dreamlike quality.
Slowly, he reached for the delicate chain.
“Ishrak ak bei'il kiza ultur?”
He leaped back, snatching his hand away, spinning wildly as he searched for the source of the woman's voice that was both sensual and hard, and seemed to cause the very earth to shiver. But there was no one there.
“Ishrak ak bei'il kiza ultur?”
“I—I'm sorry,” Jaq said, discomfited. He was used to the traps, the twisting mazes, the extreme temperatures, but beautiful voices that came from thin air? This had never happened before. “I don't understand.”
“A child of the north,” the voice said. Did Jaq hear an amused tone? “Why do you disturb my slumber, northerner?”
“I came for the amulet,” he said but he did not mean to say it. It was as though something had control of his thoughts and his tongue. He realized, then, that he had no control over himself. His legs felt cast from iron.
“I see. You would have the Amulet of the Sun for yourself?”
“No, great lady.” Great lady? Where the hell had that come from? Quelling his rising terror, he tried to think. “I have been asked to retrieve it for another.”
“Ah, I see,” the voice said as though disappointed. “You are a plunderer.”
“No! No, my lady. It's not like that-”
“You come here to steal the amulet with the intention of making a profit. Is that not what a plunderer is?”
“No—well, yes. I suppose. But I did not mean to steal it-”
“Taking that which is not yours is theft.”
“I—well-” he began to feel like a chastised boy. He did not like the feeling. “Look,” he sighed in frustration. “I was under the impression that those who left the amulet were gone. Is it theft to pick up the discards of a lost people?”
“You think the Amulet of the Sun is nothing but a discarded trinket? Like trash?” Now the voice was astounded. “Foolish child! Do you not understand the power you would meddle with? That you would so lightly hand over to someone else for nothing more than useless gold?”
He shrugged. “I don't mean to steal anything. If I can't have it, then I'll be on my way.”
He turned to go, somewhat surprised—and entirely relieved—that he was able to move again.
“NO!” thundered the voice. The cavern didn't just shiver; it trembled, it quaked. Jaq cried out, slapping his hands over his ears. “YOU SHALL NOT SO EASILY ESCAPE!”
The voice penetrated to his very core, shaking him like a leaf in a gale. He fell to his knees, mewling like a baby.
“YOU HAVE COME TO TAKE THE AMULET. YOU HAVE IGNORED MY WARNINGS!”
He felt like wheat ground down by a millstone. His sinews ached, his bones felt smashed and put back together the wrong way. Pushing himself off his knees was an arduous process. He managed to stand with only a slight stagger.
“What,” he cried, managing to glare into the eyes of the great statue before him. “You mean the cavern that nearly fell on my head? The trees that tried to kill me? You call those 'warnings'?” He barked a manic laugh, strangely giddy. “Hells, woman-”
“SILENCE!”
Once again, he found himself on his knees as the cavern seemed to buck and heave under him.
“You have braved my caverns. You have escaped my traps. You have won through to my very sanctum. Take your prize then, foolish child.”
When he managed to stand again, when the wave of dizziness passed, he reached up, sparing a quick glance for Tampen who was on his knees. He appeared to be praying. Idiot, thought Jaq, though he did not think too deeply upon which of them he referred.
Just as his fingers closed on the medallion, just as he noted its slick smoothness and that it was warm to the touch, the voice, wonderful and terrible, came back as from a great distance.
“You do not know the power you trifle with. Be warned then, fool, that you have already triggered my last trap. I will guard the Amulet until it is beyond my reach.”
Clutching the amulet, he suppressed a shiver. He had never liked caves and this one took that feeling to whole new levels. The goddess (he didn't know when he'd started to think of the great statue that way but he didn't argue it) glared upon him—and was it his imagination or was the benevolent smile now a scornful frown? Depositing the amulet in a pocket, he hurried toward Tampen who still prayed silently.
Only a few steps away from the vengeful goddess down the carpet-like line of stones, the ground started to shake again. He had no difficulty keeping his feet, but he stepped carefully. Groans broke the silence. There was an eerie, almost ghastly quality to the air that he could not quite grasp, like a foul odour or a nest of maggots.
There was a sharp report like lightning; he cringed as he loped, spinning until he found the source. One of the rectangles of greenish stone had a jagged crack along the middle of it, and the two broken ends began to bulge upward. Another sharp, ear-splitting crack made him whirl to see another of the rectangles pushing upward as though heavy tree roots grew in seconds what would normally take a century.
Oh how he wished it was only tree roots.
As more reports echoed, his eyes fell to the first one he had seen. He paled. What appeared to be the remains of a human hand was reaching like a drowning man's last desperate struggle, shreds of flesh hanging like torn leather, wetness glistening, glinting from sickly grey bone.
In every direction he turned more of the long-dead creatures that had once been human were grappling, clambering their way from their graves.
Jaq had seen many things in his short life yet nothing had prepared him for this horror. He stood rooted to the spot. His mind ground to a halt, completely incapable of coping with what his eyes saw as the creatures raised themselves to a semblance of an upright position and began shambling toward him.
Rotting flesh, bone showing through, sometimes more bone than flesh. Some were missing eyes, other had eyes that were milky white with gruesome cataracts. Ribs showed through; some shambled with their organs glistening like fat, bloody worms trailing behind them leaving grisly streaks of ichor on the stone. Putrid clots of some unnameable reddish stuff dripped out of ripped and gaping holes. Some wore bits of rusting armour, others wore little more than tatters, and yet others were completely nude.
Somewhere deep in his mind, deep beneath the ice that froze him to the spot, something was screaming at him to run. Yet he was frozen.
Something pulled at his sleeve. With a screech he stumbled back, appalled that one of the dead things had touched him. But there stood Tampen, pallid to the point of looking like some of the creatures. His eyes were wide and his mouth was moving in a soundless babble.
Or...no. Not soundless. He was screaming but the sound was incomprehensible noise. The guide was shaking, his mouth working words that Jaq's ears simply would not or could not decipher. His world went white. His head rocked on his shoulders, his face felt as though it was on fire.
When his vision cleared, it seemed his hearing cleared as well.
“...sorry to hit master. We must go.” Tampen was shaking him, screaming in his face. “We must run. We must-”
Glancing at the approaching monstrosities, Jaq shuddered.
“Come on,” he shouted, and broke into a jog. “Stay close.”
Ahead of him, some of the creatures shambled in front of the door then turned and started toward him. A few held rusty swords. His own sword hissed as he drew it.
His blade sank deep into the ribs of the first making a sound like wet wood. Black gobbets oozed; Jaq gagged on the stench. The creature did not slow, but instead swung its weapon faster than Jaq would have thought possible. He barely ducked away from the whistling blade, felt the air above his head move. Spinning like a dancer, he lashed out again. This time his blade found the crook between neck and shoulder. The creature stumbled this time, fluting a quiet high pitched squeal that, though not loud, still grated at Jaq.
Clenching his teeth, he kicked the thing aside and attacked another that stepped before him. This one, garbed in the tattered remains of what appeared to be some kind of priestly vestment, reached for him, bony, fleshless fingers grasping and flexing like talons. Jaq sidestepped, bring his sword down in a brutal diagonal cut that caught the creature in the neck.
“Master!” Tampen screeched.
Sparing a glance, Jaq was horrified to see the other creatures only steps away. Their only chance of escape was that he get them to the door only a few yards away. It seemed like miles.
Screaming, Jaq plunged his sword into the ruined eye of another, a woman—what had once been a woman. She gripped his sword with fingers like rotting sausages. Revolted, he yanked, freeing his sword. Three fingers fell wriggling like leeches. The woman-thing stumbled away with a fluting shriek.
Each step gained, was gained with hacking slashes, coagulated blood the colour of foetid swamp water splashing the stones at his feet. His arm began to feel heavy but his grim work continued. A wicked overhand slash nearly decapitated a creature. In the same motion, the point of his sword slid into a cheek and through desiccated bone with a wet crunch.
Sparing another momentary glance behind him, he almost cheered to see Tampen laying about him with great two-handed swings of his walking staff. It wasn't much of a weapon but one end had a heavy gnarled knot he used as a handhold, that was quite effective at breaking bone and pushing the things back.
Again, and again he struck, trying to ignore the cool, slick wetness that spattered him, trying to ignore too the strange, hungry groans and hisses, and the haunting fluting cries. Then the door appeared before him.
“RUN!” he screamed, and lunged forward.
He ran for a time, his footfalls echoing off the low corridor ceiling so that it sounded like there was an army at his heels. One spare look showed Tampen, arms pumping, ashen face grimacing in terror only a short stride behind him.
After they had run for a time, Jaq slowed. Gasping for breath in the dry air, he coughed, leaning on his knees. Tampen leaned against the wall, swallowing convulsively. Whether to bring in air or to keep in his guts, Jaq didn't know.
“You think they follow?” Tampen whispered.
“I don't know,” Jaq managed between heaves that burned his throat and chest. He remembered the chamber where the heavy, sinuous roots had tried to capture them, remembered how, the moment they managed to get out of the room, the roots had fallen still and silent like he'd awakened from a nightmare. He prayed the dead things had the same limitation. “What in the name of the good Almighty above were those damned things?”
“I not know. Evil.”
Managing a weak laugh, Jaq glared flatly at his guide. “Oh well done, my fine deductive friend. Yes, I imagine it is safe to say they're bloody evil.”
“Please, we go?”
“Yes, yes. A moment.”
Running pell-mell through the dark would, at the very least twist ankles. At the worst, they would run straight into a wall and break noses and teeth, if not necks. He pulled a torch from his pack, lit it. As he worked he listened, straining his ears, hoping he would hear nothing. After a few moments of quiet, Jaq gestured and they started again, maintaining a brisk walk.
He felt the solid disk in his pocket, rubbed it. He had seen things and done things in previous years that he was not proud of, that had frightened him—truth be told, terrified him—he had witnessed beauties that made his knees weak.
None of it came close to this cavern. This Almighty be damned bloody cave. Why did it always have to be bloody caves? Just once, he'd like to find his prize at a beach or buried beneath a tree in some nobleman's garden. Anywhere, frankly, where he did not constantly harbour an irrational fear of a million tons of stone and earth dropping on his head without warning. Not so irrational, he thought thinking of the temple cavern with its once mirror smooth floor now pitted and ruined by the massive rocks and stalactites that had nearly murdered him and Tampen so short a time ago.
He wondered at the voice he'd heard, that beautiful, sultry voice that had frozen him to the spot like a fly in a web. He shuddered at the horrors left behind—he hoped they were left behind—and as he trotted, his guide at his side, and rubbed his fingers unconsciously against the solid gold disk beneath the layer of cotton, he could not help but wonder if it was worth it.
He didn't care what his employer had in mind for this artefact, he didn't care if the man tried to stop the sun itself. He was in it to get paid, and his employer had promised a hefty sum of gold for this one amulet. He would be wealthy again. Not the way he had been before the argument that had caused him to storm from his family never again to see them, but wealthy enough to live quite comfortably, and maybe start that business venture he'd been considering for the past few years.
But, as they reached the light of day, he was still thinking of the horrors left behind, of the beautiful goddess thwarted, of the angry earth exacting its retribution upon the vulgar interlopers, and upon the very dead coming to life to halt a vile crime, he still could not quell that one nagging question:
Was it worth it?
