The Sword of Sighs (The Age of the Flame: Book One) (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sarah was sure that she was going deeper than Ossen ever meant them to go. The streams of water were foul and cold and detritus that had accumulated like silt let off a ripe, rising stench. There was very little light to guide the way, none of the flickering phosphorescent veins. Sarah felt her way through the blackness. Mulch crunched under her feet. Softer clusters and clumps collapsed in on themselves as she trod on them. Sarah could feel the place sucking her in, turning her insides to cool Jell-O, leaving no trace of warmth. Her downward progress was accompanied by the charnel house music of starving rats, and of water seeping through cracks in the smooth walls of the city. It was a long way down, or so it seemed, into the utter darkness that slept beneath the roots of the mountain. Her eyes made out rusted sconces mounted on the walls to either side, set there to light the way for bearers of the dead. All were unlit and had become nests for spiders. As she went further and deeper, she slowed her steps, creeping on as quietly as she could. Even though her eyes were sharp, in this all-consuming penumbra she was as near to blind as she had ever been. With a swift hand, she reassured herself that Fang was still secured at her waist. If there were something other than herself and the sleeping dead down here, she would strike at it first.

Or use the Flame—if she could.

It was then that she saw the light: a pale light coming from not far below. Keeping her breath steady, knowing she had no other way to go, except to retreat into the howling hordes above, she went on ahead until phosphorescence once again illuminated her surroundings, but there was a tinge to it that was more sickly and diseased than the light cast in the higher chambers and vaults. Three roughly cut tunnels ran away from her until they became dark and unlit once more. Reaching out to touch the shining stone walls, she saw the light was cast by a fungus that had grown thick in the cracks running through the walls. She could make out deeper hollows cut into the tunnels and the embalmed bones that they held. Here, a shattered helm. There, a rusted sword. The dead were sleeping. Nothing here was stirring.

So she thought ... until she heard a wail that was not made by some stray underground wind.

Swallowing hard, Sarah drew out Fang. With her free hand, she scraped handfuls of the shimmering mould from the walls and onto the metal, to light her way. The sound had come from somewhere up ahead, deep within the unlit, farther darkness. Holding her sword angled, ready to strike, Sarah followed the sound into shadow.

Whereabouts she now stood underneath the Mountains of Mourning, she did not know. She was alone and without the Wayfarer. The cold here was not just rising from the ground: it was a part of it, near tangible. She walked slowly, her muscles tense, her heart fast, and her breathing shallow. She could taste fear mingled with hate in the air, like something spoiled lying on her tongue. The toe of her boot struck something soft and meaty on the ground.

It let out a cry in the same tone as the wail she had followed to this place.

She stepped back and raised her sword, illuminating what lay at her feet. She saw a man, or what was left of him: a husk of blackened, corrupted meat that was slowly sloughing off withered bones. The man was dressed in the remains of scaled armour and his eyes were white globules sunk deep into the rotten flesh of his face. A tongue worked feverishly behind browning, toothless gums, aching to speak.

Sarah, wary, leaned in to listen.

And the half-dead man told her his tale.

~ ~ ~

The hall Sarah next came to was as she had expected—ruined and empty with a single long table of stone slabs dividing its centre. Dust and cobwebs were everywhere. She waited patiently at the nearest end of the table until light came. It was a warm light, soft, and seeping in from no place she could see. Before her eyes, the filth of the hall evaporated as if it had never been. Every inch of stone suddenly appeared polished and as smooth as it had once been. And the table was laden with platters of spiced meat, poached fish, sweet fruits and  flagons of mead, ale, and rice wine. The smell arising from the feast made her mouth water. She reached out, plucked a ripe, red grape and popped it into her mouth. She bit through the thin skin into the cool, wet, sugary flesh beneath and smiled as she swallowed the morsel.

Some time later, a woman entered the hall.

Sarah’s belly felt like it was full to bursting. She watched as the woman approached. The woman moved without making a sound and seeming to drift towards Sarah, as might a ghost. But she was no such thing. Her snow-white hair tumbled down over her samite robe and Sarah could see that her figure was full and curvaceous. Her eyes never wavered from Sarah, and they were coloured like the dawn, shifting between shades of amber, violet, grey, and clear cerulean. Sarah felt the woman’s hands upon her, and the woman smiled and led Sarah by the hand out through a doorway she had not seen before and into a scented space of hanging silks and pillows that could only be a bed chamber.

Once there, she released Sarah’s hand and took a short step away. Then she lunged, meaning to have a feast of her own. Her mouth hung open, showing brutish fangs. Sarah showed the barrow-witch a Fang of her own. The woman recoiled with a gasp as Fang’s blade sank in. She clutched at her chest and then fell to the ground. Sarah saw a change come upon her and the space around them. She knew that the words of the dying man had been true. She watched as the woman’s beauty withered and receded just as summer turns to autumn and then autumn to winter. Her hair rapidly thinned out into torn, frayed strands. Her skin mottled over. Fine fingers and elegant toes became little more than straggling twigs torn from dead trees. But the eyes, they stayed the same. They never changed, those eyes of dawn. The woman shook, licking her thin lips, gurgling in her throat as Sarah advanced. Tears ran down Sarah’s wasted cheeks as she rested the shining edge of Fang against the woman’s neck.

“How can it be?” the woman asked. “You were in the hall and the spell is strong there.”

“I carry the Flame,” Sarah said. “You know what that means, right?”

The woman gurgled in her throat, nodding fiercely.

Smiling at her, Sarah drew the blade away from her throat and displayed it, turning the blade from side to side. The woman saw how it shone, and it hurt her eyes with its brightness and cleanness. True sobs wracked her and she cowered away.

“Please, don’t kill me, O Flame.”

“I don’t mean to kill you if ...”

“Yes, yes, yes?”

“If you tell me the way out of these catacombs and back to my friends. They are in the upper chambers with the Veil of Remembrance.”

The woman snarled and shrank in on herself.

Sarah pressed Fang back against her throat. “You will tell me now, or I will take your head. Your call.”

“Spare me, Mistress. Good girl, good Mistress. I did not know. I would not have tried to feed on you if I had known who you were.”

Sarah took the woman’s trembling chin in her hand and raised her eyes until they met. “You gave me food and drink when I was lost, and I thank you for that. But now, I wish to go, and you will tell me where I need to go to, yes?”

She smiled a cold smile and the woman wept tears of fear as she told Sarah the way out of the lower tunnels and back to the higher halls.

~ ~ ~

Sarah walked for what felt like hours and hours. Her legs ached as she followed the barrow-witch’s directions along passages, through chambers, and up to ledges and crawlspaces. I hope I find the others, Sarah thought, before the Molloi do. Finally, she came out into a smooth passage, much like the ones she had left behind.

If I’m not almost there, then I can't be far away
, thought Sarah.

Sarah could see gigantic shapes standing around her in the dim light, all formed like men, only as tall as the tallest buildings could be. Their heads resembled those of mighty dragons, tusked elephants, fierce bullocks and sabre-toothed lions. Their unmoving hands grasped blades, axes, and hammers. Beyond them, she could see rusting vats and vast rough-edged openings in the rock walls where iron had once been smelted and formed.

What is this place?

A voice in her head, the same as those she had heard when she was bound up in the Veil, spoke to her.

… These are the Deep Forges. Long ago, the Molloi built the Iron Gods here. And here they are buried because the black fires inside them burn always. Like the Flame, they shall never go out. They sleep beneath the mountains; waiting to awaken, dreaming of death, ashes, and the utter destruction of all life …

Sarah crept past the iron giants, holding her breath, her fingers tight around Fang’s hilt. She took care to step softly, as if she were sneaking through the house back home and Mom’s door was open wide. She crept on and on until there she heard a sound. A creaking, at first. And then a grinding.

Then, an infernal howl.

Sarah spun around and looked up into eyes of fire and a mouth that spat tongues of cinder-dark flame. A great crown of black iron was upon the thing’s brow, and the workmanship, its intricacy, was beautiful and breathtaking to behold. It was moving towards her, leaving its place among its fellows, arising from its ancient slumber, grinding and roaring its hatred of all living things.

… Kaomos … is awake …

Sarah ran for her life.

~ ~ ~

As she ran, Sarah heard a great din up ahead. The chaos of battle. Swords clashed. Clubs crashed. And feral screams of defeat rang out.

Ossen and Jedda!

She saw them standing amidst the Molloi horde. They were barely holding the surging creatures at bay, but they were holding them all the same. Sarah called out over the cacophony. At least, she tried to. She could not be heard because the Molloi had seen and heard her gargantuan pursuer. Like insects scattering to the safety of their holes, they fled in a jabbering frenzy, leaving Ossen, Jedda, and Sarah to face Kaomos alone.

Sarah looked back at it and froze.

The spires of the crown upon its head scraped at the high vaults of the chamber, wreathed in a smog of smoke and foul fumes. She could see bright cracks and incandescent lines of heat running like veins and arteries over its sculpted muscles. Steam curled from stunted, boarish nostrils and the fluted fangs that edged its mouth, making the Iron God resemble a colossal raging bull. A hand grabbed the scruff of her neck, dragging her away and Ossen gave a parched cry of,
“Fly, blast you, child. Fly now!”

The great black bull charged.

Every step shattered stone and tumbled columns, which in turn let loose crashing avalanches. But even the thunder of falling rocks and debris did not drown out the demonic roar of Kaomos. The Iron God came on, meaning to crush and burn everything in his path. The three fled ahead of the monstrous being, across bridges and passing chasms that each hoped would swallow the Iron God and his fury. But still he came on, relentless as a firestorm, carving a path through the heart of the mountain until Sarah began to fear all the stones of E’phah would come down upon their heads before they escaped.

“Ahead, Sarah! Come on, Jedda! The gate awaits, over there, across the last abyss!”

Ossen’s shouts made her smile, and she pushed harder, sprinting to the gate that was in sight. She stopped suddenly when she saw the narrowness of the bridge that spanned the grim river below.

“What's down there, Ossen?”

“The depths of the Mountains of Mourning are not to be wondered at, unless you want nightmares for the rest of your life. Come on, enough chatter, he is too close. Across we go.”

Jedda went first.

Sarah watched her go, then took a deep breath before it was her turn. She felt the bridge bend and creak as it took her weight. The second step was going to be the tricky one—that was when she left firm ground behind. She tried not to think of the black waters below. She could see movement down there, under the surface, and it was not fish. Sarah knew what fish swimming looked like, knew the telltale tickling of the currents that fish fins made, the brief, silvery glimmering of scales, and the flash of big black eyes. What was moving down there, stirring in the damp shadows, was
not
a fish of any kind.

Sarah kept going, one foot before the other, spreading her centre of gravity over the thin, old stone of the bridge, which creaked and groaned. Her heart beat against her ribs until she was sure there were bruises. Below, traces of foam appeared on the surface of the water, and light eddies were forming bleak whirlpools. She thought she saw the waters break, revealing something soft, limpid, and lime-caked, something that was wriggling with a pulpy, translucent life.

Then it was gone below once more.

It felt like the only sounds were her breathing, her footsteps, and the gurgling of whatever was lurking in the water below.
If I fall in,
that’s it,
she thought.
There’s a monster down there, pale and hungry. It wants to chew me up and spit me out.

She was halfway across the bridge. The water’s churning made small waves that spat at her. Sarah saw an eye, a cataract-white sphere flecked with veins of weed and old root. It sank away.

She was three-quarters of the way there.

In her mind’s eye, Sarah saw herself making a heroic leap of faith to the end. Then, missing her footing, madly screaming and scrambling. Falling. Striking her head on the bridge. Tumbling down into the water. Into darkness. Whatever was down there would have her in moments. This was no time for drama. This was the time for patience. One foot after the other.

Don’t look down. Just keep going.

She closed her eyes, and centred herself, ignoring the roaring of Kaomos as best she could, ignoring the heavy slapping of the disturbed water, ignoring the darkness. Nothing was there trying to grab a hold of her, trying to pull her down, to make her fall. When she opened her eyes, she was across the bridge—on the other side. Jedda smiled and embraced her. Sarah turned, and gasped. Ossen was still standing in the middle of the bride, facing away from them both.