The Spirit of Revenge (36 page)

The sun fell from the skies. Its light slipped behind the horizon and the shadow of night at last crawled across the sands.

With this, they felt an unfamiliar relief. The wind died and the sand that churned the air fell to the ground around them. Malecai threw up his hand, halting the group instantly.

“Why’d we stop?” Cain inquired. Malecai continued to stare forward, his face stolid as he gazed into the shadows that now engulfed them. He began murmuring, hand raised to the west.

A faint roar reached their ears and the sand around their feet rose into the air. Suddenly, a massive wall of black rushed at them from over the horizon, a mighty squall of wind and sand that blotted out every star.

“Take cover!” Malecai screamed. They fell to their knees as the enormous mass crashed down around them.

The tempest of sand slammed into them and its shockwave threw them violently into the air. The Warriors were tossed into the air and slammed repeatedly into the ground, thrown about as they flailed helplessly, rolling with increasing momentum across the sands.

An infernal roar filled the air, a beast of sand and wind running rampant across the desert, resolute on destruction. It tore the earth apart and disgorged its remnants across the sky, its howl of destruction filling the night with dread.

Cain tossed about helplessly for what seemed a lifetime before he was driven into the earth and slammed into a solid object, his back striking it as a wave of intense pain shot across his body. He was pinned to the object behind him, defenseless to a flogging of sand and rock.

Then as swiftly as it had come, the beast died and its terrible roar faded, leaving its victims far behind in its chaotic wake.

Cain fell to the ground and rolled several feet to a stop. He climbed slowly from the sand and stumbled about in disorientation.

Almost total darkness surrounded him. He struggled to perceive even his hand before his eyes, but the dark’s hold was absolute. He could see little more than thin streaks of sand falling like rain around him. He turned and reached out towards the object that had stopped his tumble.

His fingers met a solid form and he ran his hand along it. His fingers crossed over several cracks hewn into a rough, cold surface. Straight lines formed symmetrical outlines in front of him.

He stepped back in surprise and strained through the darkness to see the wall he had felt. His boot struck sand as he stepped back, and he glanced up toward a large slope of sand on his right. He walked towards it and looked up at the top.

A small hole was blown out of the roof at the crest of the slope, leading to the outside world. Cain looked up into the starlight that glowed against his beaten face.

What little light leaked into the room revealed a kind of hallway, one end leading into the shadows on his right, the other end locked behind a wall of sand at his side. The hall fell dark and Cain glanced up to see a figure blocking the hole.

“I cannot believe it,” Malecai’s voice whispered through the darkness. He crouched and slid down the slope and landed beside Cain in a wave of sand.

Malecai looked around their surroundings as if drinking them in. He held his broadsword before him, the steel glistening dimly in the thin strands of starlight.

“I…this is impossible.” He staggered back and leaned feebly against the wall behind them. He reached out and the tips of his fingers caressed the sandstone wall.

“We found it,” he muttered, a dumbfounded look on his face.

“Found what?” Cain asked.

“The Tombs of Atuan, Cain. We found it…”

Cain looked at him in amazement, astonishment manifested even in the shadows of his face. The two of them looked around their surroundings, eyes wide with mystified perplexity.

Soon the voices of the others called for them from the outside world. Malecai returned their cries and soon the faces of the other five peered down at them.

“Come down here,” Cain ordered as he stepped into the starlight. The group slid down the slope of sand and looked around curiously.

Aaron stepped forward and whispered, “What is this?”

Cain ran a hand through his hair. “We’re in the Tombs of Atuan.” Aaron stared at him a moment with incredulity, struggling for words.

“The Tombs of Atuan?” Silas asked as he brushed his hand along the walls of the catacomb.

“That’s impossible,” stammered Joshua, “they’ve been lost for over four hundred years.”

“Impossible?” Malecai stepped forward from the shadows. “See for yourself what is possible.” He turned and extended his right arm to the shadows.

A small ivory light gathered at his open hand and spread its radiance throughout the hall to illuminate what once lay masked in shadow.

They stood in a long hallway. Rough-cut bricks of sandstone formed the walls, floor, and roof around them. Deeply hewn cracks weaved like webs across their rough surfaces, casting threads of shadow in the light. Dust-laden bones littered the floor, covered in a blanket of webs. The hallway extended forward for several yards before it opened out into blackness beyond.

“Care to disagree?”

Joshua snorted and looked at the others. “Well, what now?” The group remained quiet.

“I think we should leave,” Isroc offered. “We shouldn’t be here anyway, there’s a good reason no one has found it.”

Malecai lowered his arm and the rays of light retracted back into his palm, pitching the group back into darkness. “Then go,” he said as he threw his sword over his shoulder. “No one is stopping you. But I am staying, with or without any of you.”

With that, he turned and walked out of the starlight, instantly engulfed in shadow, the white light at his hand bobbing as he sauntered down the hall.

“Well, I’m leaving,” Isroc said as he picked up his rucksack.

“Isroc,” Cain called after him, “you’re not leaving.”

Isroc stopped and looked over his shoulder. “And why is that?”

“Because the key to our enemy’s defeat lies within these tombs,” Adriel answered. “Don’t you remember what Malecai told us? Abaddon’s soul still lives on inside that sword; he has lived all these centuries through it.

All these four hundred years of war has come down to this one moment. You cannot ignore the fate we have been dealt. We can save Tarsha. We can save the lives of millions, avenge the deaths of those before us and make the peace we have never had. If we find the sword and destroy it, Abaddon will finally die and we will be rid of him at last! Is that not reason enough?”

Isroc shook his head. “Fine.”

“Good,” Cain said, finishing the exchange. He turned and stepped into the shadows, walking towards the light that awaited them at the end of the hall. The others followed behind, the clicking of their boots echoing in the ancient walls.

Malecai bowed curtly to them as they approached. He extended his hand again and the rays of light once more revealed their surroundings.

They stood now at the end of the hallway, a large room before them. The walls of the crypt loomed several yards above, the roof a shadow over the pool of light below. Rows and rows of tombs lined the crypt, shadows playing across their weathered faces.

Malecai gestured for them to follow. He led them away from the hall and began to weave through the countless caskets. Bizarre runes and faded paintings covered every inch of the tombs.

They turned a corner and followed a small hall to a stairway, the crest of which was hidden behind a veil of shadow. Sand, bone, and rock marred their path as they ascended the uneven steps. They eventually reached the top and came out into another hallway.

They continued down the hall in silence, all in quiet save their footfalls that resounded through the catacombs like thunder.

The Warriors eventually turned a sharp corner and entered a third hallway.

“Where are you going?” Aaron asked Malecai as they rounded yet another corner.

“Not entirely sure…but when I see it, then I shall know.”

The group continued down the winding hallways for several minutes before coming to a pile of debris that nearly blocked their path. They carefully climbed over the debris and came out the other side.

Malecai again extended his hand, sending tendrils of light shooting forth from his palm. An immense mausoleum lay before them, far larger than any building they had ever seen. Sandstone columns, the width of several men, formed lofty supports to an unseen roof.

Hundreds of rows of tombs covered every available floor space and body-sized cutouts carved into every inch of wall. The Warriors descended a great staircase and came out among the dead.

“What is all this?” Isroc asked as they began the long procession through the graves.

“You know the story of these tombs…” Malecai replied, his voice echoing in the cavern. “Ivandar was killed in an ambush along with most of his men. The survivors soon realized that with the death of Abaddon’s last remaining threat, he would be able to rise to absolute power. They saw that the end was near, and all hope was lost.

‘They began to dig a grave for their fallen king. Yet when they finished, they were unwilling to leave him. They were indisposed to return to a world they knew was doomed. They chose instead to leave their world and its sorrows behind; they decided to follow their king…to the very death.”

The Warriors continued across the crypt, picking their way through human remains and weaving through endless tombs. Thin beams of moonlight trickled into the catacomb from the edges of the roof. The moon’s light danced in the dusty air, illuminating the Warriors for a moment before returning them to shadow.

“So they began to dig their own graves. They dug through the heat of the day, the chill of night, through ravenous hunger and crippling disease. Slowly they depleted themselves of strength and life, until all that awaited them was the death they so desperately craved. The living buried the dead, the dead leading the living. Then…all were eased of the pain and despair of this world, thus sealing the fate for all of Tarsha.

‘They left behind these tombs, the legacy of their lives. Every man…they all died in the build of these tombs, where nothing but a legend survived. Most believe it to be nothing but a story. It gives hope to those that believe that there is a way to defeat Abaddon, that all is not lost. There is indeed a way that is hidden beneath the sands of Atuan, lost to time, lost to history, lost to the world.” Malecai fell quiet, again leaving the group in total silence.

A few of the tombs in this sea of death lay open, their contents exposed to the musty air. The Warriors could not help but peer into their inviting mouths.

Ancient bones lay atop mounds of human ash, every crypt filled with the remains of the long since departed. Rusty swords lay gripped in the curled fingers of the dead, tarnished armor abandoned among the vestiges of their owners. The dark hollows of their skulls peered up at the living, loathsome of their presence.

Silence reigned in the darkness. It was profound and forever absolute. Its hold was inexorable. Through the bitter nights and decay of time, its presence was unquestioned. Silence guarded its treasure for over four hundred years, and to the living, it would not relent.

And so, the Warriors moved with utter quiet, fearing what awaited them in every shadow and behind every tomb. Every step was cautious, every breath subdued.

After several lengthy minutes, the labyrinth of tombs finally ended, nothing before them now but a small stretch of barren stone. Malecai guided the light at his hand ahead of them, revealing the bottom of another staircase.

They ascended the flight of stairs and came atop a large stone dais. A wooden chariot plated with rusted iron lay broken atop the stairs, encased in dust and debris. The Warriors looked past it to a tall door fashioned of sandstone, and human remains.

Malecai flicked his palm and the light encircling his hand grew to illuminate most of the door. He walked forward and rested his head against it, running his hand along the many rough cracks that scarred its face.

“How do we get through?” Cain asked.

“We don’t,” Isroc answered, “it’s sealed for a reason.”

Malecai turned and looked at Cain for a moment, disregarding their friend’s input. “I will never turn back.” He slowly pulled his sword from its baldric.

“Shit!” Isroc cried out as Malecai swung the massive sword straight into the door.

The blade struck the stone with a resounding ring of steel that echoed shrill across the tombs. He pulled the hefty sword from the door, leaving behind a large gash. He grunted and swung the sword again, sending stone flying overhead. He pulled it back and swung it again like a battering ram, hammering the full weight of the blade into the door. With each swing, the doors shuddered, sending rock and dust tumbling.

He mustered a final fearsome blow, and with a tremendous grind of stone, the doors blasted backwards and sent debris showering down on them. Malecai smirked at them through the thick cloud of dust.

Suddenly a gust of air blew over them, at last released from the bowels of the tomb. The reek of death and human decay met them, freezing them in the doorway.

They fought to continue breathing, struggling to escape the claws that bound their lungs. Slowly, the breath of life flowed freely as the fetid air dissipated into the crypts.

They continued their struggle for breath as they squinted through the light at their surroundings.

They stood now in a narrow hallway that led them deeper into the heart of the catacombs. Malecai beckoned them to follow and led them down the hall.

As they followed the winding corridors, they noticed several holes chiseled out of the walls. As they passed these cutouts, they noticed what lay within. Human skeletons, covered in veils of rotten cloth filled every hollow. Boney fingers stirred the dusty air, reaching out to the living.

They walked down the hall for several minutes, following its ever-changing course and passing hundreds of cavities filled with human vestige.

The air reeked of the decayed, a rancid odor that suffocated with every gasp. With every stolen breath, the living came closer to the end of the catacombs, and soon they stood at the foot of a massive staircase.