Beyond the Sapphire Gate: Epic Fantasy-Some Magic Should Remain Untouched (The Flow of Power Book 1) (9 page)

Jade gestured toward several cooking aprons hanging on wall pegs. “What about those?”

“There is not much material to work with there. Besides, I bet most, if not all, kitchen servants are like your pet Dark Creation. Made from the mind of evil to resemble a man, but failing miserably,” Camoe said, eyeing the raggedy man with narrow eyes.

Jade eyed a pile of burlap sacks. “Then, why don’t we look like them? We could customize those sacks over there by the counter.”

“Customize? What is that?”

“Never mind, find me something black I can use as a marker.”

“You are speaking nonsense.”

“Oh, right! I need something black to paint with or draw.”

“Why not say so at the beginning? This should work,” Camoe said, striding to a cold cauldron. Stooping, he retrieved a pointed chunk of coal from underneath. He handed it to her, a skeptical look on his face. “I’m not sure what you hope to accomplish with it.”

“Just watch,” Jade said. “Raggedy man, come here, please,” she called, using her most innocent tone. She smiled to herself. The tone was her favorite. It had always worked well for getting dad to bring her a drink or extra food. Crystalyn however, usually flared with anger, making Jade bring something to her, instead. Her smile faded. She missed them both already.

Obediently, the doll man straightened from the stove and marched across the room to stand before her. She stared at his inexpressive face and textured skin. “This won’t do. I can’t keep calling you Dark Creation or thinking of you as ‘doll man’ or ‘raggedy man.’  From now on, I’ll call you Burlap, or Burl for short. Do you understand?”

Face frozen impassively, the raggedy man bent his torso perceptively.

“Mother Astura! Did it just try to bow?” Camoe said.

“It appeared so,” Jade giggled. She was surprised, but didn’t want to let Camoe know. “Now, let me see if I can replicate our new friend.” Squatting beside a pile of textured bags, she drew what she hoped was a good imitation of Burl’s facial features. Finished, she held it up.

“With the aprons, it might work. Provided no one comes too near, and the light remains shadowed throughout the hall,” Camoe said, doubtfully.

“Can you cut holes for our eyes while I draw the second one?”

Slipping a long knife from a sheath at his side, Camoe poked through the bag in silence.

Before long, Jade looked through holes in her burlap sack. A kitchen apron finished the disguise, tied at the back. Camoe’s blue-gray eyes regarded her from Burl’s flimsy likeness, his apron smudged with ash to appear used. He was right, though. They couldn’t get too close. Their eyes would betray them. They made a poor imitation of Burl—she was too slender, and they were both taller—which made them insane for believing they could fool anyone who happened to come close. What else could they do? Though she’d been gone less than a day, she had to get home. Dad would be frantic. Crystalyn would be frantic
and
manic. Something one should avoid bringing out in her sister no matter what. If one knew what was best for them.

CREEPING BURLAP

Another droplet of perspiration wormed into Jade’s eye, her left one this time. The sodium in it stung, blurring her vision, which caused her nose to well up. Wiping them clear was out of the question, they were nearing a wide, well lit area.

Raising her knees to her hips, yet again, was enough to bring tears to wash the sting away, her body−or any human body for that matter−wasn’t built to withstand such grueling repetition. Yet they’d been marching this way for hours. Her idea of mimicking Burl’s choppy high steps when they’d left the kitchen behind now seemed questionable, but so far, the subterfuge had worked. Thankfully, the burlap disguises had held when dozens of black-armored soldiers trooped past them, going the opposite direction so many times she lost count. No one glanced at them long.

“Is it still coming?” Camoe asked.

Jade didn’t have to look over her shoulder to answer. “Of course
Burl’s
still with us. Where would he go?”

Camoe halted, glancing behind. “Has he been carrying those kitchen rags the whole way?”

“Yes. You never noticed?”

“Not wearing these bloody disguises. I have not had the opportunity to turn around; you have seen all the activity we plodded past. Something is going on, but we cannot take the risk to find out. Why
is
it packing those rags?”

“They’re dirty.”

“I can see they’re soiled. What does that have to do with it? Your befriended Creation is going to draw unwanted attention, trailing behind us like a stray pet. Can you not see the situation not destroying it has put us in? It will not go away no matter what I say now.”

Jade wanted to keep moving, but her legs ached to the point of screaming, hot tears leaked down both cheeks.

Pivoting on a heel, she locked eyes with Burl. His orange, deadpan eyes peered over the bulky stack of well-used rags. No animosity, no carefully concealed cunning, and weirdly, no affection whatsoever slipped through Burl’s ginger irises. She detected…nothing. It was as if his mind had no capability for emotion, however small. Yet he did have complex thought patterns. How else would he know how to do his job? Oreven to follow them for that matter? Why did he follow them? Was he keeping an ey
e
—
or rather, two yellow-orange eye
s
—
on them for his master? No. She didn’t believe that, there was no malice in them. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had a say in his construction. No matter what the druid wanted, she didn’t want to go on without Burl. His life seemed so menial, slaving away in the kitchens with no hope for any change; he was too intelligent for that. Was he alive? Perhaps he was just a mass of dark power created by some adept Dark User performing some forbidden arcane ritual, as Camoe implied. What did it matter? She got the sense he meant no harm from the moment she laid eyes on him. “Part of his job must be to ensure the kitchen linen is clean along with everything else kitchen related. Wait, didn’t you say that we need to reach the washroom?”

“Yes, past the barracks there,” the druid said, nodding his burlap head toward the well-lit widened area.

Great. Barracks meant military and the addition of men wearing armor. She was beginning to hate men in armor. How far could they push their luck? Lifting a generous stack of rags from Burl’s outstretched arms, she deposited them in Camoe’s hands. “Here, take some, we need to add to our creations.” Slipping a hand under her burlap mask, she wiped sweat from her brow and tears from her cheek. The time for crying wasn’t now, but it was sure to come. Adjusting the charcoaled sack for a better view, she took half the remaining linen from Burl. “These should give us an excuse to be in the washroom while helping to hide our too-human eyes.”

Mask slightly askew, a cold blue—too human—eye regarded her steadily over a pile of greasy black cloths that may have once been white. “There is so much to you than I had originally believed, young one. Perhaps, we shall live to see another sunrise if we escape this forsaken cavern.” Coaxing his burlap disguise into place with the soiled pile, Camoe turned and faced the corridor ahead. “Stay close, we have to continue without pause until we reach the drainages.”

He resumed his awkward march, and Jade fell in behind. Right away, her legs protested every unnatural step. Not bending her legs at the knees was taking a heavy toll on her lower body. Fiery pain shot through her hip sockets with each high step. Again, perspiration broke out after a step or two. At the rate they were going, she would be a sodden, hobbling mess if they didn’t reach their destination soon.

The well-lit area acquired its luminance from beautiful white crystal shards wrapped in thin, black wire cages attached to the rock ceiling. The white shards provided the most luminous light yet, but also exposed her little group to several soldiers. The soldiers clustered loosely around two men centered in the widened stone corridor wearing heavy plate armor. Employing measured steps, the pair circled each other, swords raised, black helms pulled down. One stood tall and heavy, the other as tall but leaner.

Concentrating on maintaining the robotic march, Jade hugged the far wall. Glancing sidelong, she kept an eye on the scene enfolding in the miniature underground courtyard while looking beyond the circling soldiers. A line of black iron doors left hanging open illustrated rows of bunk beds cut into solid rock, accessed by ladders. The inside stone had been polished to a smooth sheen.

Movement drew her attention to the two combatants. Lunging as if he held a spear instead of a sword, the heavier combatant disrupted the deadly shuffle. Nearly caught off guard, the leaner soldier whipped his sword to the side, deflecting his assailant’s blow inches before it penetrated his chest. Reversing his parry, the leaner man sliced downward in retaliation. Fascinated by the exchange, Jade was slightly disappointed when they progressed past them. As much as she wanted to continue to observe the fight, it would require her to turn her head—something Burl, or a Creation like him, would never do, couldn’t do. It was physically impossible with no neck; she’d have to stop and turn, or twist her upper body. Either way, she’d give herself away; no Dark Creation would care in the slightest how humankind killed each other. Each Creation performed certain tasks by design from their creator.

The harsh clangs reverberating around the stone cavern testified that the two men still fought in earnest. Not looking back required almost as much willpower as moving forward. After a time, the ceiling sloped lower than any other had so far, creating a feeling of immense weight pressing down. Lack of proper air circulation made the hall stifling. Continuing onward was fast becoming unbearable.

Rounding a sharp curve to the left brought a welcome relief. A pleasant breeze blew underneath the masks, bringing cool, moist air, which dried perspiration as it soothed dehydrated eyes. A few hard-won steps revealed the source of the breeze. Ahead, lay the washroom.

Sculpted from purplish-gray stone like every room so far, the washroom exhibited some significant differences. Most notable, calling the area a room was a gross misnomer. Wash
cavern
would be a better description. Spreading many rock quarries in width, the cavern rose to a grand dome higher than the light inside could penetrate. Lit sporadically with glowing yellow stalactites growing to great lengths, the light provided a glimpse of a vast underground lake. A series of shaped stone pools, varying in size and depth, lined the lakefront. Cordoned troughs distributed water from one pool to the next. Many white-liveried servants passed by as they moved back and forth along the hall, going in and out of the cavern, carrying out tasks for soldiers. No one wearing a robe was visible. Gaping about, Jade had to remind herself to keep marching lest she give them away.

The pools on the left were clear, clean, and void of people except for those servants filling water containers. Most of the activity centered on the right side. There, half-clad and unclad men and women lounged on stone benches, sat in steaming pools, or stood knee-deep in bubbling pools as they wrung garments. Jade’s face heated when she noted Camoe had chosen a path leading directly to one of the bathing pools before it wound past.

Though she wanted to look anywhere but ahead, she stared forward to remain in formation. Standing with both broad backs facing a bathing pool, two naked, muscular men stood glaring at the trio, as they trooped past in single file, their hatred apparent by their trembling bodies and balled fists. The images floating around both of them were dark and streaked with red, promising a picture of violence, or death, perhaps both. Jade shied away from prying too deep. “Go hide behind your slimy creator’s robes, abominations, before I forget your masters are supposed allies.”

The path led to one side, forcing her to look from the corner of her eye again. She wasn’t sure which one had called out until she noticed the one sporting a goatee and square jaw was groping his side for something no longer hanging at his waist, probably a weapon. Her face grew hotter under the mask. She kept her eyes raised.

The angry man’s clean-shaven companion spoke. “You’re wasting your breath, Durg. There aren’t many blasted Users strong enough to give voice to their no-breaths. Even those that can don’t bother. It takes too much from them.”

Durg, the goateed man sneered. “What do I care what it takes from them?”

“Just saying, those abominations likely don’t even know you’re talking to them. They only follow rudimentary instruction sets from their creator.”

The path took them beyond earshot, much to her relief. Hatred for Burl’s kind festered even here, though they were supposed to be on the same side. Jade resisted the urge to look behind and check on Burl. Instead, she focused on planting her feet on the path ahead. If Camoe didn’t stop soon, her legs would anyway. No matter who watched, she’d fall over screaming. Biting her lip until she tasted blood, Jade kept going, putting one foot forward one step at a time, 
Lift-step, lift-step
.

The simple act of moving worsened, becoming a pain-filled haze of agony, making her wonder if it was worth fighting so hard to escape. Yet Burl and Camoe deserved her strongest efforts; they struggled for all of them together when their odds were better for them to make it out alone. She fought through another hour, working up a litany to keep going.
Your friends struggle for you when they don’t have to. Your friends struggle for you...
Focused on Camoe’s back she kept at it, each step sending another lance of pain deep into her lethargic brain.

When the path made a sharp right turn, Camoe abruptly stopped. Jade plowed into him. Flinging his arm out, he avoided ramming his face into a huge yellow and brown stalagmite, but only just. “Sorry, I can’t go a step further.”

Pushing away from the druid, she took stock of where they were. The far side of the cavern that had seemed so far away was very close. A small trough of gray water flowed languidly downhill toward a cave.

Standing without raising her legs felt so wonderful to her muscles, but the benefit was short-lived. They would cramp severely if allowed to contract after walking for so long with such an unnatural gait. Slowly, she bent them, one at a time, biting her ragged lip, tasting blood again, proud that she never cried out. When the pain began to subside, she fingered her mask. “Can I take this off? I’m tired of smelling like creeping burlap.”

“Not yet,” Camoe said, squatting and kneading his leg calves. “The entrance to the sewers is inside the cave ahead. The last time I explored through here it was guarded.”

Walking normally in place, Jade looked for Burl and found him standing slightly off the carved path, gazing at her stoically. He seemed to be aware of the need to stay hidden from prying eyes; the cluster of stalactites he stood in blocked his outline from the pools. She smiled. Burl’s gaze remained fixed on her, his unblinking eyes gazing out from his wide-lined, expressionless face.

Camoe stood and stretched. “You ready?”

“Yes, but I can’t take this robotic walking.”

Camoe frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Sorry, you wouldn’t know. It’s a term I coined for how we got here,” Jade said. She mimicked the awkward process of moving without bending her knees. Even the three small steps she used sent a white-hot fire shooting from her legs to her hips. Her lip muted her cry.

“Oh,” Camoe said, chuckling. “I have been calling it the golem march in my mind. It hurts, I know. Come, once we are in the waste tunnels we can leave the heavy marching to the blasted Dark Creations.”

Wincing, Jade resumed the march, clamping her mouth shut. Camoe’s comment wasn’t very different from those of the soldiers back at the pools. Burl hadn’t been any trouble yet. In fact, he’d helped them get this far.

As they rounded several monstrous stalactites tapering high enough to touch their stalagmite counterparts, the jagged entrance to the sewers gaped before them. It was wider than she expected. Spanning a good portion of a large field, it resembled the extended, gaping mouth of a gigantic fish filtering food from water as several troughs converged into one.

Adjacent to their stream, a wide gravel path led them past spiky, black crystal shards lining both sides. Once past them, the cave narrowed. Spotted, rusty, iron bars were, pinned to the stone from floor to ceiling. The sickly bars allowed water to flow reluctantly past their purplish-orange, pitted bottom submerged in the stream. An iron-hinged door, chained and locked, barred the way forward showing its own brand of rust.