Chapter 5
Canary
Mags was walking down a narrow stone corridor, the walls cold and damp against her fingertips as she trailed them along, seeking some familiar texture in the unyielding darkness. In her other hand she held a lantern. The flame flickered weakly, burning a dim, aether-fueled blue. Her heart pounded, echoing like a drumbeat in the oppressive silence, and she could feel the thud of it in her throat, threatening to choke her. The air was heavy, thick with an unidentifiable scent that clung to her nostrils, something ancient and long forgotten. The light her lantern provided was pitiful, swallowed almost entirely by the overwhelming darkness that pressed in from all sides. But it was all she had, this meager flame, and she clung to it desperately, drawing what little comfort she could from its false warmth.
Ahead of her, the corridor stretched on endlessly, a relentless tunnel of stone and shadow. At its far end, barely visible in the dim light, stood a door. It was painted a deep, emerald green, a color that seemed almost alive in the dull gloom. Intricate runes, white and glowing faintly, adorned its surface, their meaning a mystery that teased at the edges of her mind. She had to reach that door. It was vital, though she couldn't say why.
She walked, each step a determined effort, her boots scuffing against the uneven stone floor. The door remained distant, unattainable, no matter how many steps she took. Frustration built within her, a growing storm that threatened to consume her. She quickened her pace, the need to reach the door becoming an obsession, a singular focus that drowned out all else.
But the corridor seemed to mock her efforts, stretching and elongating with every step, the door always just beyond her reach. Panic gnawed at her resolve, a cold, insidious whisper in the back of her mind. Behind her, she heard the faintest sound, a whisper of movement, a rustling in the darkness. She turned, but there was nothing there, only the unyielding black, shifting and writhing like a living thing.
She pressed on, her pace becoming a run, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The sound of children screaming pierced the silence, a chilling cry that echoed off the stone walls and sent a shiver down her spine. The darkness of the hallway behind her became a hungry maw. The Maldrath. They were there. She knew it. Could feel their hunger, their malevolence, like stinking hot breath on the back of her neck.
She ran harder, her legs burning with the effort, her lungs straining, but the door remained distant, unreachable. The corridor stretched on, and on . . . and on. She could feel the darkness behind her, closing in, the Maldrath swarm drawing ever closer. The lantern in her hand flickered, the flame guttering as if it too were giving up.
A voice, soft and insistent, whispered in her mind. The door is locked. Despair wrapped around her heart like a vise, squeezing the last of her hope. Even if she reached the door, it would not open. She knew this with a certainty that chilled her to the bone.
Yet still she ran, driven by a fear she could not name, a need to escape the darkness that pursued her. The lantern's light faltered, and in that moment of near darkness, the corridor seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing tight, suffocating. The door, that tantalizing promise of safety, remained as distant as ever, a cruel, unreachable beacon in the night.
image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]
Mags awoke with a start. Her heart hammered in her chest, a wild and frantic rhythm that seemed to echo like the desperate pounding of feet on stone, down an endless corridor. She sat up in bed, the thin sheets tangled around her legs, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. The room was cold, the chill seeping into her bones, and she shivered, rubbing at her eyes with trembling hands.
The night outside was still dark, the sky an unbroken expanse of black. She could just make out the faintest hint of dawn on the horizon, a promise of light that felt as distant and unreachable as the door in her dream. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet touching the cool wooden floor, and winced at the sudden shock of cold. Sleep had come easily enough, exhaustion dragging her down like a stone, but it had been a cruel and fickle mistress, leaving her wearier than before.
With a groan, she pushed herself up, her muscles protesting the movement. The room spun briefly, and she steadied herself against the wall, taking a moment to let the dizziness pass. She made her way down the spiral stairs, each step a creak and groan of old wood under her weight. The house was silent, the other orphans still deep in slumber, their dreams untroubled by the horrors that haunted her own. Careful not to make any noise that could wake the children, Mags made her way to the yard behind the orphanage.
The outhouse loomed in the darkness, a squat and unremarkable structure, but it served its purpose. The night was still, the only sound the distant whistles and hisses of the garuda from the stables down the road, and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. She hurried back inside, the night chill biting at her exposed skin, and paused in the hallway, her gaze drawn to the closed door of Sabo’s room.
For a moment, she considered knocking, but the silence from within told her all she needed to know. Sabo had decided not to join her after all. A pang of disappointment twisted in her chest, but she couldn’t blame him. The journey she was about to embark on would be a perilous one, and he was right: her plan was half-baked at best. But Mags had never ran away from Kruno’s demands and she wasn’t going to run away from the Deep and the dangers that lurked within its bowels. It was her steadfast nature that kept the orphanage, and all of the children who called it home, safe.
She moved on, her steps slow and deliberate, and stopped in the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of water using the pitcher on the counter, the cool liquid soothing her parched throat.
Back in her bedroom, she dressed quickly. Pants, sturdy and worn, tucked into thigh-high boots scuffed from countless miles. A tunic, cinched at the waist, and her cloak, clasped at the collarbone. She reached for Mithra, the sword a comforting weight in her hand, and strapped the belt and sheath to her hip. Her satchel was next, packed with her standard travel gear, though she decided to leave her bow behind. It felt strange, going without it, but the sword would have to suffice and she didn’t imagine there would be ample opportunities to hunt for dinner while exploring the depths of the Deep.
With a final glance around the room, she set out into the predawn darkness, the streets of Solstice quiet and still. The city was waking, a few early risers already stirring, their movements shadowy and indistinct. She walked with purpose, her steps firm and resolute, and made her way to Blackfire Manor.
The manor loomed ahead, an imposing silhouette against the faint light of dawn. Two figures waited outside, their forms stark and solid in the gloom. Radmilo, hulking and rotund—a backpack sitting like a mountain at his feet—and a slight woman beside him, her posture tense and wary. The woman was about Mags’ height, with pale, almost pink skin and thick, dark eyebrows. Her wheat-blond hair, parted down the middle and tucked loosely behind her ears, caught the first rays of sunlight, turning it to gold. While the soft, feminine features of her face betrayed her, the woman’s clothing was otherwise layered and worn in such a fashion to hide any and all natural curves. Mags pegged her as Jyvaskan, recalling that the people of the floating island nation were pale of both skin and hair. But it had been years since she’d seen anyone who wasn’t Olenish, so Mags really had no idea where the foreign woman was from.
Radmilo’s grin was wide and toothy as he introduced the woman. “G’morning, Mags. Boss man said he’d make sure you were taken care of didn’t he?” He stuck a fat thumb at the woman. “Bidelia here is a fine little Canary.” Radmilo crossed his arms, beaming with pride. “And she’s already staked out the entrance to the dungeon while we were waiting for you to get back. Wastin’ no time, we did.”
Mags greeted Bidelia with a nod, her eyes taking in the woman’s slight frame, trying to deduce any hidden strength that might be there. There was something sharp and wary about her, a coiled energy that reminded Mags of a cat ready to pounce. Despite this, Mags couldn’t help but be disappointed. She would have expected a Soulsinger to be, well, more. Her mind drifted to the noble who had been a passenger in the carriage attacked by the two Maldrath she had recently hunted down.
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“And are you planning on accompanying us? Kruno didn’t have any other pack mules available?” Mags said, eyeing the pack at Radmilo’s feet.
Radmilo laughed. “No way in hell. My talents are better suited for drinking, singing, and making sure everything is going smooth here in town.” He scratched his belly. “But this here is everything you, Bidelia, and. . .” Radmilo trailed off, looking around confusedly for a moment. “Don’t I recall you yesterday sayin’ there was a third?”
“It’ll just be me,” Mags responded tersely. She shot a glance at Bidelia. “And Bidelia.”
Radmilo chuckled again, the glint of a golden tooth catching the light of the lanterns posted near the front gates of Blackfire Manor. “All fine by me. The more provisions between the twos of you.” He lifted the massive pack with a single hand and dropped it closer to Mags. The pack hit the cobblestones with a thunderous impact. Mags’ shoulders ached at the thoughts of carrying it. “Best be off. Boss don’t want us wastin’ any more time,” Radmilo said with a smile.
Mags returned his smile with a tight lipped and squinted eyes smile of her own, hoping it oozed as much disdain for the man as she felt. With a grunt of effort, Mags picked up the pack and slung it over her right shoulder before getting her left arm through the other shoulder strap. “You ready?” she asked Bidelia.
“As ready as ever, I suppose,” Bidelia said, her voice a surprising alto.
Just as they were about to leave, a figure approached from the distance, moving with a familiar, loping stride. Mags squinted into the dim light, her heart skipping a beat. It was Sabo, his silhouette unmistakable. So he isn’t a coward after all. She felt a rush of warmth, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
Radmilo acknowledged Sabo’s arrival with a grunt. “Looks like you’ve got your third after all. Get on with it, then! And pray the empire didn’t beat us to it.”
Sabo and Mags locked eyes, exchanging knowing smiles. She introduced Bidelia, who nodded at Sabo in greeting. He nodded back. And, without anything else to say, the three set off together.
image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]
Mags, Sabo, and Bidelia left Solstice through the eastern gate, the stone archway just large enough for a person on garuda-back to pass under. Mags wondered aloud why they weren’t given garuda mounts for the job if Kruno was so concerned about speed. Bidelia chimed in, “Probably doesn’t want me running away and getting too far before he noticed.”
As they were passing the town’s warding stone, Mags had Sabo take up carrying the pack. “One, to keep me as fresh as possible for when we reach the dungeon. Second, for waiting until the last possible second to join us,” she explained.
He didn’t argue, taking up the pack with ease, muscles honed by years of hard labor. When he slipped on both shoulder straps, he surprisingly grunted with a slight strain until he adjusted the positioning of the weight. “Heavier than it seems,” he said by way of explanation. The pack on Sabo’s back was enormous, reaching over the top of his head, but he bore it without complaint as the three marched eastward toward the Velav Mountains.
They made good time, the city fading into the distance as the sun began its slow climb into the sky. The landscape around them was a patchwork of fields and forest, the air fresh and cool. They took a short break for water, checking the pack the Blackfires had prepared. It contained two full waterskins and five days’ rations for three people, a crowbar, a hammer, ten torches, a tinderbox, one flask of oil, five sheets of paper, a bottle of ink and an ink pen, three bedrolls, and a simple mess kit.
Mags turned to Bidelia, curiosity getting the better of her. “Radmilo called you a Canary. I’ve never heard that term for a Guide before.”
Bidelia shrugged, a wry smile playing on her lips. “It’s an old term. We’re called Canaries because we can sense danger before anyone else. A bit like those birds miners used to carry with them. When diving into a Deep, I can feel the miasma coming off danger. Monsters, traps, you name it. It’s a knack, really. But the official term the Explorers Guild uses for the class is Navigator.”
Sabo looked intrigued. “Are you part of the Explorers Guild?”
Bidelia’s smile faded. “Used to be. Lost my license, fell out of favor with the Guild. Picked up some bad habits along the way. Debts, mostly.” She handed one of the waterskins to Sabo, who took it and put it back into the pack. “Anyway, those debts traded hands, going from one shark to the next. Until I ended up here, in the humble service of the Blackfire Company.” Bidelia gave a small bow at the waist. “Depending on what we haul out of this Deep, my debt might be paid off. To Kruno, at least. Won’t be too long before one of the others finds me.”
Mags scratched the back of her neck. She felt sorry for Bidelia, but understood what it felt like to be in the service of others. She hoped their journey was a success, and Bidelia could have one less debt looming over her.
image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]
The three continued their trek, which took them closer to the Velav Mountains and into the thick forests surrounding its base. The people of Solstice referred to the forest as the Ulava Woods. Ulava was Olenish for “hidden.” But what exactly was hiding in the ancient woods, Mags did not know, and wasn’t particularly keen on finding out. Her Maldrath hunts had occasionally taken her into the forests, though never too deep. She had also accompanied a party of townsfolk into the forest for a boar hunt during the annual festival.
Bidelia led them into the forest. What light there was filtered through the dense canopy, casting eerie shadows that danced on the forest floor. The air grew cooler the deeper the three ventured, the scents of pine and earth mingling with an undercurrent of something Mags couldn’t quite place. The terrain also became steadily more difficult as they hiked deeper and deeper. Mags had to occasionally cut a path clear, and the three were constantly working over thick tree roots and other natural obstacles. Only the melody of birdsong accompanied their panting.
Sabo, who looked about ready to keel over under the weight of their pack, took a moment to catch his breath. Leaning against the sturdy trunk of a tree, he asked, “So, Bidelia, I haven’t seen you use a map once on this hike. How do we know we’re heading in the right direction?”
Bidelia smirked, tapping the side of her nose. “Navigators are highly specialized. I can sense the presence of the Deep. Like a hound on a scent.”
“What other magic spells can you cast?” Sabo asked. “Any chance Mags and I will need to be careful not to get caught in the path of any fireballs or lightning?”
Bidelia chuckled. “Sadly, no. When I say highly specialized, I mean highly specialized.” She frowned and sighed. “Some Navigators are capable of other forms of Soulsinging, but our ability to guide our comrades and destroy Deeps once their aether cores have been extracted is the trade-off. So, no need to worry about any fireballs. My combat prowess is practically non-existent.”
Sabo’s face glazed over. “So, Mags and I are our only defense against a potential host of Shades?” he asked, voice deadpan.
“Correct,” Bidelia said.
Sabo glanced at Mags. “I felt far better when I thought we’d have a full-blown sorcerer to help us out!” He looked as though he was on the verge of tears.
“Quit the belly-aching! You’ve got me, and I’m better than one-and-a-half Soulsingers,” Mags laughed.
Bidelia gave her a smile that was clearly forced. “Kruno certainly thinks so. And I sure hope so.”
“We’re doomed,” Sabo groaned, face in the palm of his hand.
Mags elbowed him in the side. Sabo yelped. Perhaps she had done it a little too hard.
“I’ve already scoped out this Deep. The Guilds use the same levels Soulsingers do to categorize the threat level Deeps pose. This Deep is only a Level C-9.”
Mags and Sabo both returned blank expressions.
“I’m sorry, but that means absolutely nothing to us,” Mags said.
Bidelia’s cheeks flashed a bright shade of red. “Oh, right! My apologies.” She scratched at the back of her head sheepishly. “Erm, well let’s put it this way. A Level C-9 should present few threats between the entrance and the Deep’s aether core. Perhaps a few Maldrath and traps. I’m a Level B-2 Navigator . . . Okay, that’s probably not helpful either.”
Mags patted Bidelia on the shoulder. “No, that’s helpful enough.”
“Rest assured,” Bidelia said. “I should be able to easily guide us to the Deep’s core, and in a Deep of this level, should be able to navigate around most threats.”
“That actually is helpful to know. If only for my nerves,” Sabo said. He smiled but Mags knew him too well. He looks like he may puke at any moment.
It was late in the day when they arrived at a clearing, the ground opening up to reveal what appears to be a man-made portal: a yawning hole in the earth, bordered with ancient stones slick with moss. A crumbling stone staircase descended into the depths, each step worn smooth. If she hadn’t known this was a Deep, freshly formed by the twisting and turning of miasma, Mags would have guessed they had stumbled upon the entrance to an ancient underground structure, forgotten and left waiting for countless ages.
The mouth of the pit exhaled a chill, damp air that carried the scent of mold and decay. The air near the dungeon entrance had the metallic tang of magic. Something about it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand pin-straight. Like the aura of a Maldrath, she thought.
The group broke for a quick meal and to draw from the waterskins. Sabo happily doffed the large pack, stretching his arms high over his head. After their quick break, Bidelia spoke. “Are you two ready to descend?”
Mags stepped to the precipice of the Deep’s entrance, looking down into the abyss. The darkness below seemed to pulse, an unspoken challenge to the brave—or the foolhardy—to descend and uncover the secrets hidden within. Mags felt a surprising surge of excitement, the thrill of the unknown calling to her. She smiled, a fierce, eager grin. “I’m ready.”
They lit their torches, the flames flickering in the growing darkness, and descended into the dungeon. The stone steps were cold and unforgiving beneath their feet, the shadows closing in around them. The air grew heavier, the metallic tang stronger, as they ventured deeper into the unknown.