The Forgotten City (15 page)

*****

Keeping to the shadows, Eli picked a cautious path over the rocks, the thick earthy scents of the cave mingling with something else that set his teeth on edge. Nelly lay silent but awake, deep in his pocket. Eli zipped it up to make sure she stayed put. Finally he glimpsed the sparkle of Diamond’s skin up in the darkness ahead. He climbed faster and found her, standing with her back to him, looking down at something. He ran to her side and whispered, “Diamond! Come with me – it’s not safe here.”

She didn’t reply, staring, fixedly, at something below them. Eli followed her line of sight. What he saw was so strange and disturbing that it took him several moments to process it. Below them, in a hollowed-out chamber lit by flaming torches, there was a hole in the ground with a man lying inside it. His eyes were closed and skin was deathly pale. Eli would have thought him dead, except he could see the slight movements of his chest rising and falling. His stare lifted to the man’s face and recognition jolted him.
Ismail Ohavor.
But he had died long ago – maybe even ten year-cycles now – so why was he here, breathing?

Eli blinked his eyes rapidly, wondering if he was hallucinating. Sometimes caves had trapped gases, or dormant magics, even hallucinogenic fungi particles in the air that could affect the mind. He scrunched his eyes closed, exhaled deeply to clear his mind, then re-opened them. It was still Ismail. Eli’s shock became near-hysterical excitement that left him lightheaded.

“It’s Ismail!” He gripped Diamond’s shoulder. “He’s here! He’s alive!”

Her eyes filled with astonishment, a smile of wonder and hope spreading across her face, then she asked, “Who’s Ismail?”

Eli shook his head. “I’ll tell you later. Just – you stay here, and I’ll go and get him. Okay?”

“Got it. You stay here and I’ll go get him,” she repeated.

Eli stepped onto the ledge and Diamond fluttered up to stand beside him.

“What are you doing?” Eli asked her.

“I’m going to get him and you’re staying here,” she said.

“No,” Eli said. “I’m going.” He pointed to himself. “You’re staying.”

“Oh. Right,” Diamond replied. “But why am I staying?”

“Because it’s dangerous.”

“But why is it dangerous?”

“Diamond,” Eli said, his patience starting to wear very thin. “Just wait here. Okay?”

The small imp-breed girl smiled and said, “Your breath smells like sunshine and rainbows.”

Eli took that as a yes. He jumped off the ledge and flew down into the cavern. He landed lightly, but sensed the dense shadows stirring around him. The lantern flames flickered. One blew out. Eli crouched down to the dirt, realizing with a sick lurch that he’d rushed in without checking for threats. He cursed. After the amount of times the commander had told him not to let his heart lead his brain, he should have known better by now. He drew his electrifier and scanned the hidden corners of the cavern. When no dangers took form, he crawled to the grave and peeked inside.

It was still Ismail – lying like the breathing dead. A shimmer caught Eli’s eyes and he leaned further down, seeing a manacle locked onto Ismail’s ankle. It was linked to a chain that was sunk deeply into the side of the grave. The way the manacle had half-buried itself under Ismail’s skin suggested he’d been there for an extremely long time. Nerves crawled across Eli’s back and his stomach gurgled with foreboding. Every instinct told him to run, to get as far away from this place as fast he could, but this was Ismail – Ev’r’s Ismail – and he wasn’t going to leave him.

“Ismail,” Eli whispered and something stirred in the hollow darkness above them. Eli stared upward until his eyes started watering, then he looked back to Ev’r’s lost love and tried again. “Ismail.”

The scullion-gypsy man didn’t respond and Eli realized he’d have to go in.

Keeping his eyes fixed on Ismail, he gripped the edge of the grave and lowered himself down. He landed a few steps away from the prone man and crouched there, blinking the sweat out of his eyes, watching. All around him, the sides of the grave had been clawed and scratched, and he could see lines of deep red on the rocks where skin had worn to blood from prolonged effort. Ismail had been fighting to free himself – maybe for the full ten year-cycles.

Eli gulped. He inched closer to the scullion man until he was within touching distance. He reached out a trembling hand and gave Ismail’s arm one fast tap, then whipped back. Nothing. His skin was gray and cold, but his chest continued to lift and sink.

Eli started to reach out again, then something thudded close to the edge of the grave. He froze and held his breath. Heavy, dragging footsteps closed in on them and Eli scuttled back, pressing himself as hard as he could into the side of the grave. A shadow fell over him and he tipped his head gradually back, up and up, until he saw – it – the hooded person standing above them. The burning tar of dark magics stung Eli’s eyes and his immediate thought was
Skreaf
. The air left his lungs in a thin, shaking gasp. The witch jumped suddenly, landing in the grave between Eli and Ismail. Eli pressed a hand over his own mouth to stop from crying out.

The witch was hunched but hulking. The bulky layers of her robes and fur wraps made her look part-beast. Eli dug his fingernails into the dirt wall. His wings were twitching incessantly, trying to burst into flight, and he ached to let them, but what if he flew and the witch took Ismail away, hid him someplace else? He had to hold on, he had to fight for Ev’r’s soulmate.

He slid a hand down to his electrifier and drew it inch by inch, extending it toward the witch’s back. He held his finger on the trigger, his muscles shaking, waiting for her to reel around at any second and attack. But she didn’t. She didn’t turn and she didn’t speak. She just stepped to Ismail’s side and kneeled, lowering a basket of dead bats to the ground. She placed a hand with dirty, overgrown claws on Ismail’s chest.

Her coarse whisper came from the depth of her hood. “Wake, my love.”

Ismail stirred, looking up at the witch, the red glow of a night wolf behind the darkness of his eyes. Horror and dismay flickered in his stare as he woke from whatever dreamland he’d escaped to, back to this nightmare captivity, but the emotion fast died, leaving a defeated blankness.

The witch took his shoulder and forced him to sit up.

“A feast for you, my love,” she croaked. “Eat.”

She lifted one of the bats by its wing and Ismail snatched at it and shoved it into his mouth with a violent hunger. He started ripping it apart and gulping it down with hardly a chew, then he glanced up and spotted Eli. The scullion’s expression didn’t change, but he paused momentarily, with blood tricking down his chin, dripping into his overgrown beard.

“What? What is it?” the witch demanded.

Eli shook his head at Ismail, but the scullion man had already looked away.

“Thirsty,” he grunted, his voice raspy and worn.

“You thirst, my love?” The witch crooned. “So do I. First you quench my need and then I’ll see to yours.”

Eli watched as she lowered her hood, revealing her face, a rotting mess of pus and decaying meat. Maggots and parasites writhed in the empty sockets of her eyes. The smell was powerfully repulsive, like a physical punch to the face. Eli covered his mouth and nose and gagged. He’d been around plenty of death and infested rot, but none of it living. Clearly she’d died and brought herself back with dark magics – zombification. As far as Eli knew only one dark witch, Darmel the Premonitionist, had immortalized herself this way, but this witch wasn’t Darmel. Eli saw a brand on the sallow, sagged skin of her arms, the bloodlines so faded they were barely visible –
O’A
. He’d seen it before in Ev’r’s journal. It was the inmate mark of O’Tenery Asylum. He realized this must be the Mocking Witch, who Ev’r had fought and killed to save Ismail. The one who had taught her everything she knew of dark magics. She wasn’t a Skreaf, but she was still deadly powerful.

The witch ran her hand along Ismail’s chest, all the way to his pants. Her fingers caressed over the fabric and she leaned closer to him, as though to kiss him. Ismail gritted his teeth, but didn’t pull away, and maggots dropped from her face onto his shirt. Eli gripped his own mouth tighter, trying not to heave, as she licked Ismail’s face with a swollen white tongue.

“Water,” Ismail rasped.

The witch grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his head back roughly.

“First you’ll give me what I want!” she shrieked.

Ismail started coughing, a deep, unhealthy rattling sound. He continued until the witch gave a displeased grunt and shoved him away. She lifted her hood to conceal her face, then stepped back, vanishing into the gray mist of the murk. Ismail slumped onto his side, his body racked with coughs. Eli darted forward, dropping to his knees beside him.

“Ismail!” he whispered, but the scullion just lay there rasping.

Eli holstered his electrifier and grabbed Ismail’s shoulder, rolling him onto his back. The scullion’s eyes were closed again, and his breathing had fallen into a slow and shallow rhythm. The witch had cursed him back into sleep. With his overgrown hair and beard splashed with blood, Ismail looked more wolf than man. He was a scullion-gypsy of the Blackwater Wolf family – just like Ev’r.

Eli shook himself out of his shock and grabbed the chain cutters off his weapon belt. He scrambled to the shackle around Ismail’s ankle and snipped a link of the chain that was attaching it to the wall, but it regenerated straightaway and sealed back over.

Eli stared at it in disbelief.

“Magics. It must be cursed,” he whispered, then cast a wild glance around them, expecting the witch to return at any moment. He grabbed for his weapon belt and pulled out every tool he could think of that would break a chain, but each time the chain snapped, it reformed just as fast. His heart hammered louder than his thoughts, which roared like a hurricane round and round inside his mind.

Ismail groaned, restless in his unnatural sleep.

Eli tried again, covering the chain with liquid ice, then smashing it. The chain broke and mended immediately. He stood up. Nothing was working to break the chain, so maybe he could send something to dig it out of the wall. He grabbed one of his newest inventions from a pocket on his belt. It was a burrowing drill, a small claw-like digging device, its design based on the hands of the Tangelan Burrowers, the technique copied from the burying-beetle human-breed bloodline. He’d initially thought of it for underground rescues or implantation of tracking or explosive devices into buildings, but it seemed just what they needed here.

He rapidly programmed it, then pushed it into the wall of the grave beside where the chain vanished. It blinked to life and he sent it through the dirt with a hand-controlled remote. It dug successfully, rapidly, following the length of the chain deep into the mountain earth and deeper still, on and on. Eli sensed the moments passing, counting the drips of sweat that rolled off his face as he waited for the drill to find the end of the chain and bring it back. Soon it became apparent – there was no end. The witch had thought of everything. Eli turned to Ismail; his face twitched and a growl rumbled in his throat, but his eyes remained firmly shut.

“I’ll try the chain again,” Eli said to himself, racing back and dropping down at Ismail’s feet. He examined the manacle. It had the same green hue to it as the chain, which suggested it had been cursed as well. A horrible thought came to Eli: the only way out might be amputation. He had enough fast-acting drugs for it to be humane. If it was between that or staying here, he was sure Ismail wouldn’t argue. He leaned in close and saw that Ismail’s ankle had deep scarring all around where the shackle had embedded in the flesh. It looked like … teeth marks … as though Ismail had tried to bite his own foot off many times over – which meant it was growing back just like the chain. Eli’s throat tightened.

“I’m getting you out,” he told the sleeping man.

He felt over his belt and pockets, touching everything, desperately thinking of what options were left. His hand closed over something smooth and round that didn’t seem familiar and he pulled out a Khaiti green diamond with the words
Beatlebee Bellbeater I
inscribed on it. His nerves jumped and he almost dropped it – touching someone’s gravestone was extremely bad luck. He didn’t remember picking it up.

As he stared down into the shimmering green, Ev’r’s words on dark magics came back to him –
Any symbol can be used for good or evil depending on who is using it. It’s not what the symbol
is
– it’s what it can
be
in your hands. They intended harm –
you
intended help and your intention behind that particular symbol was stronger than theirs. It’s a fundamental of magics.

He was no wielder of magics, but the green diamond had saved him once before – and his intention to help Ismail was suffocatingly strong. He held the diamond up, summoned all his strength, then threw it at the chains, crying out, “Break!” The green gem bounced off and rolled into the dirt. The chains remained intact. Eli scrambled for the diamond and grabbed it back up. That hadn’t gone as hoped, and Eli sensed time was starting to turn on them. The flame torches were flickering, the shadows creeping closer. The witch was returning.

Eli shut his eyes, searching it for answers. Ev’r spoke from his memories:
Skreaf magics are based on symbols.

But what did the diamond symbol mean? In the desert that day he’d thrown his pendant at the Skreaf and yelled “Stop”. It had blocked them from attacking …
blocked them
… an idea took root and sprouted. Without pausing, he grabbed up his cutters and snipped the chain again. With super-speed he jammed the diamond between the two chain links before they could reconnect. The cut part of the chain started snaking about, desperately seeking a way back to the link, but the diamond was blocking it.

Eli let out a cry. “We’ve done it!”

He snatched some tape from his belt and bound the diamond firmly onto the end of the chain that was still attached to the manacle around Ismail’s leg.