Eight Era, cycle 1721 – cycle of the squatting dog, season of Unkh, day 291

Ember landed with a heavy thud and started to slide, but a hand shot out and gripped her, steadying her on the slowly swaying metal surface.

Quest update: land dispute

Hurrah, you’ve survived the place we warned would be dangerous; congratulations? Or perhaps you’re just bloody minded?

Regardless, have a reward: body mutation – oval blood cells that allow you to suffer a greater degree of dehydration – and yes, we do mean suffer. You chose to enter after all.

‘Is this a boat?’ Ember shouted over the noise.

‘Train!’ Ember couldn’t tell whose voice it was in the din. ‘There’s an entrance this way.’

Ember was tugged to a gap in the metal, which she was instructed to climb down into. Then, she passed through a thick door and into a rather grand-looking, narrow chamber or corridor.

‘What is this?’ Ember was completely bemused.

‘A train, lass.’ Lyre was grinning manically. ‘One of the wonders of the world, hey?’

‘Yes, but… what is a train?’ Ember insisted.

‘Well, it’s like a… a carriage, but it’s much bigger, see? Although it only runs on these metal bars, so you have to lay metal bars all over the bleedin’ place. Not only that but, because it’s so long, it doesn’t turn much, so you’d better hope you want to go in a straight line, otherwise it ain’t much use. Plus, this train and the track took centuries to lay, and it needs to be patrolled regularly to protect it against fiends. Trains are amazing but impractical,’ Five Nine explained.

The train they were in was lined with wood, which wasn’t something she associated with dwarfs.

‘Oh, it’s a funicular! Where are the others?’ Ember asked.

Five Nine pointed inside. ‘They’re further ahead; a few carriages had passed before you jumped. Norton stayed up top for Holly.’

The train was lit with large chandeliers, and plush carpet absorbed the sounds of the heavy dwarven boots. They moved through the corridor and into a room with a large counter; a gnome with a scraggly beard appeared behind the counter, holding a cup of overly milky tea.

‘May I help you?’ he enquired.

‘Yeah, how much per train ticket?’ Five Nine asked.

‘Where are you headed?’

‘Just to the next stop will do.’

The man’s brow crinkled. ‘Is that all?’

‘Aye,’ Five Nine concurred, nodding.

‘One moment, I’ll just check the system…’ He fiddled with an abacus as he checked a chart attached to the wall. ‘Got any family up there?’ the gnome questioned, chatting as he worked out the price.

‘Not personally; I think the wife has some, though,’ Five Nine said.

The gnome looked at Ember.

‘I ain’t married,’ Ember replied indigently. ‘Got any liquor?’

‘My mistake; the name’s Gatt. Yes, we have several varieties of alcohol.’

Ember licked her lips nervously. ‘Got any… vodka?’

‘I think so,’ Gatt answered.

Ember moaned.

Five Nine rolled his eyes. ‘I’m Five Nine; she’s Ember.’

‘“She” wants vodka,’ Ember reiterated.

‘The drinks trollies are every other carriage. That’ll be fifty… six silver each,’ Gatt concluded, finally finishing his calculation.

‘I don’t have that much,’ Ember said flatly.

‘Well, there’s always the old way; the time was when you could earn your passage,’ Gatt offered.

‘I can do that; I’m not scared of a little work,’ Ember agreed.

‘Well, I’m not working,’ Five Nine declared, and he handed over some coins.

New quest: make yourself useful

Do what it says.

A head popped out from the next carriage down. ‘Are yous coming or what?’

Ember looked around then pointed to herself. ‘Me?’

‘Take your time, why don’t you? It’s not like we’ve got schedule now,’ the man continued.

Ember swallowed, remembering the last time she did manual labour, shook her head and scurried over.

The carriages all looked freshly waxed and polished and were in bright colours and with rich wood. It was a beautiful train; even Ember, who’d done some nefarious things in some fantastical palaces, could appreciate the effort involved. There were lots of doors, so presumably lots of rooms; she sneaked a look at the inside of one and discovered it contained brushed metal and waxed wood. It was definitely waxed, as the smell was in the air, though it was surprisingly pleasant and soothing. The rows of rooms made the corridor a little cramped for two people to stand in side by side, but the wide windows and empty tunnels made it feel less cramped. The springy carpet felt like Ember was standing on a mattress and the—

‘No return?’ The man had a strange accent, one of those mixed accents that sounded like it was two different people speaking intermittently; his voice cut through Ember’s thoughts.

‘What?’ Ember asked.

‘One way?’

‘What does “one way” mean?’ Ember asked, confused.

‘It’s no problem; I’m just a little surprised. So you’ll be put to work, then?’

‘Yes, a working ticket.’

The man nodded. ‘I’m Malik, and yes, I’m a mimic,’ Malik stated, as if it was obvious.

‘A what?’

‘Yous don’t know? I find it better t’ state it at t’ start, as people mistrust my kind.’

‘Right, I don’t understand or care what you are.’

‘Work is simple ’n’ tiring. Can you make tea or coffee? A good cup, I mean? Our clients expect a certain level. If not, there’s plenty of other work you can be doing,’ Malik said, returning to his explanation of the job.

‘Tea, I guess. I’ve had coffee; it tastes like burned beans, right?’

‘Well, maybe we won’t getcha on coffee. Clive, our server, is sick with brain fever, so anything you do’ll take the pressure off,’ Malik clarified, tapping his head.

‘Brain fever? Is it serious?’

‘No, he gets turns occasionally. You’ll need a uniform; you can wear Tammy’s old things. Don’t mind wearing seconds, do you?’

Ember shook her head; most of what she owned was second-hand.

Malik pointed out the first few cabins in the carriage, saying they were for the staff; inside, Ember found a pile of clothes, with only a thin layer of dust coating them. Clearly, not everywhere was as spick and span as the public areas. The uniform was a brick-red top and a pleated, knee-length, burgundy skirt, which Ember wore up past her navel, as she always wished her legs were longer. It was a strange outfit for a dwarven train, though Ember would later discover it was because she’d dressed from the lost and found, not in the uniform for the train. She found a pair of buckled, black shoes to complete the odd ensemble, and then she stepped back out, looking around for Malik, who had disappeared.

‘I say, young lady, will you assist me?’

Ember turned around and spotted the head of an elderly gentleman with short, grey hair and a high-collared shirt.

‘Sir?’ Ember adopted her subservient persona.

‘My puersine is missing,’ the head said.

‘Your…?’

‘My puersine! It’s like a baby bear. He was only here a moment ago and now he’s missing. Would you help me search?’

‘Of course; that sounds like a cute pet.’

‘It isn’t a pet; I keep it for research purposes.’

‘You’re an alchemist?’

‘My specialisation is hermeticism. My name is Barry Blurr; you might have heard of me?’ the man replied, a hint of modesty threatening to creep into his voice.

‘I can’t say so, sorry. What does it look like?’ Ember asked as she walked over to him.

‘Oh, grey and off-grey; nothing particularly distinctive, even for a puersine. But I need it for my research.’

Ember stepped into Barry’s quarters and blinked. There was no way his quarters should be so large; it looked as large as Ember’s old hideaway. There was a large jewel in the middle of the room, which was half imbedded in the ceiling. Now that wasn’t normal, was it? The light streaming in through the window was refracted by the crystal, and the room was lit up like a fairy princess’s bedroom. Boxes and luggage cases were strewn around erratically, along with gold-coloured metal objects, unusually tailored clothing and silver-coloured metal objects. A missing pet would be difficult to find in such a place.

‘Do you have any food to lure it out with?’ Ember questioned, bending down at the first object that a pet could possibly hide under and picking up a handful of clothes.

‘I think it found some,’ Barry stated, disgruntled.

‘Do you mind packing some items away? It’s a bit cluttered in here,’ Ember enquired tactfully.

‘A good point; this is all rather inconvenient. My research!’

Ember shuffled around on her knees, thinking that this was the least humiliating act she’d performed on her knees. Her hand plunged into the depths of a pile of clothing, and she touched something squidgy, sticky and damp.

She nearly screamed.

Choosing between pulling her hand out and coming face to face with whatever she’d put her hand into or simply cutting off her arm at the elbow was pretty much one of the hardest decisions Ember had ever needed to make. She’d stuck her fingers in a lot of things over the years, and it’d never ended well – especially when she was doing it on her knees. Just when Ember was settling on cutting her arm off and wondering where she might find a sharp – or even a blunt – knife, the thing moved, and Ember’s body went cold. An involuntary shiver ran through her, and she decided that a knife would no longer be necessary: she would simply bite her arm off. A cold, clammy thing pressed against her palm, something soft and hairy rubbed against her hand, and the pile of clothing shifted. A grey head poked out of the clothing and blinked at Ember.

A surge of relief swept through Ember, and she laughed out loud; the evil imaginings of her mind had been proved false, and she wouldn’t need to lose her arm after all.

‘Ah, my puersine. You found it,’ Barry said.

It looked like a tiny bear, but its hair stuck out like a lions mane, the head was oddly triangular and its upper incisors stuck out a little from betwixt its lips (it was definitely a betwixt kind of creature). Its ears lay flush and folded against its head, and Ember scratched it under its ears.

‘Don’t let it go,’ Barry commanded, reaching out as though he could pull it free himself.

Ember dived in with her other hand, grabbed the puersine blindly and pulled it free.

It looked around at her, unimpressed; it was the kind of look that cats had perfected.

‘Be careful of its wings; they’re delicate,’ ordered Barry.

Ember looked; there was indeed a pair of wings, and oddly, she couldn’t see where they were attached. They looked like bat wings but sized for this small bear. Ember ran her hand over them; the puersine didn’t pay any attention to that, it just turned its head and gave her a withering look. Ember scratched its chin, and it let her. Barry used the puersine being distracted to place onto its head a device that looked like someone had magnetised a leather belt and dropped it into a box full of metal wires.

‘Now where did I put my… ah!’ Barry picked up a tuning fork from the bed and tapped it a few times in an expectant way.

‘Was that all you needed, sir?’ Ember asked.

‘What? Oh yes; yes, thank you.’

Ember nodded, and she left the strange man and the unimpressed puersine to it.

‘There you are; here, put this badge on.’ Malik held out a flat rectangle of wood that was about the length of his thumb; it had her name on. ‘Go and see Miss Hedge. She’s a Denisovan… just t’ prepare you for that; she’s crotchety about something.’

‘Who’s Miss Hedge?’ Ember queried, rubbing her finger over the name badge; her name felt engraved on it.

‘A real charmer,’ Malik said before knocking on a door and poking his head inside. ‘You alright, Charlene? Healer Gardner’s on t’ way.’

Ember looked at Miss Hedge’s door; everything on the train so far had been spotless and shiny, but the door Malik indicated as being Miss Hedge’s had cracked and peeling paint, smudged metal and discoloured glass. Even the carpet outside it looked the worse for wear. Ember was confronted with incense and lazily rolling smoke as she opened the door, coupled with the generous shape of Miss Hedge; her chunky clothing left little clue to her shape. Ember’s mind instantly brought up an image of the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland.

Miss Hedge looked around and then squinted at Ember. ‘My goodness, were we ever so young? Tea?’

‘Um, no, thank you,’ Ember declined.

‘You’ll meet a dark stranger,’ Miss Hedge said offhandedly.

Ember blinked, frowned, opened her mouth, couldn’t think of anything to say and closed it again.

‘It is rather expected of me,’ Miss Hedge offered by way of explanation.

Ember looked at the teapot and cups, the cards, and the clouded orb on a small table set at the side of the room. ‘You tell fortunes?’

‘I do, dear.’

‘I met a tall, dark stranger once; he mugged me.’

‘Most amusing,’ Miss Hedge declared before rummaging in her large, floppy bag and then extracting from it jam-and-argan-butter sandwiches, which she placed next to a cup of dark tea.

‘I thought the train would do food.’

‘Oh, it does, but that dwarf Bernd will forget to wash his hands, and I don’t want to catch anything.

I’m a half-breed, so I’m prone to illness.’

Ember thought about what Miss Hedge had just said. ‘That’s your foreshadowing, is it? That he won’t wash his hands?’

‘Yes, however, anyone who knows Bernd can guess he’s not going to wash his hands.’ Miss Hedge waggled a finger and then took a bite from her sandwich. After a moment’s mastication, she cleared her mouth with a swig of tea. ‘I need a great many things, but it’s you about whom I’m more concerned. You’re not prepared for this journey.’

‘You mean life? Who is?’ Ember sighed.

‘Here, take this pack of cards and pick one,’ Miss Hodge offered after washing down another bite of sandwich.

‘Any one?’ Ember said rising an eyebrow.

‘Take one at random,’ Miss Hodge clarified before dipping a hand into her bag, feeling around inside it for a while and pulling out a pipe. ‘Want one?’

‘What flavour is it?’ Ember said, sniffing the offered bag of tobacco.

‘I mixed a few mushrooms into it.’

‘Nice!’ exclaimed Ember, and she took a pinch of the tobacco before rummaging through her pockets for her cigarette paper.

Once she had her roll-up sorted out, Ember picked up a card and frowned. ‘This isn’t even a playing card.’

Miss Hodge shrugged, but Ember had to wait for her to wash the sandwich down before Miss Hodge could reply. ‘I don’t read the cards; I read the fate through a medium. The medium is chance, not cards.’

‘I don’t like fate; I prefer free will.’

Miss Hedge’s eyes widened as her hand passed over the card. ‘There’s a battle, a retreat and a defeat.’

Opening the tea pot, Miss Hedge frowned as she swirled around the contents inside before checking inside her bag and looking out of the window.

‘Something wrong?’ Ember asked.

‘I’m going to forget to wear my rain jacket tonight.’

‘Oh.’

Miss Hodge took another card. ‘I see the surface in your future, which is strange when you travel with dwarfs. And yet more blood, alas. The first time, you’ll bathe in the blood of dwarfs; the second time, it could be either dwarf or surface-dweller blood – the choice is yet to be made.’

Miss Hodge bit into another sandwich and took the last card from Ember.

‘Well?’ Ember asked.

‘Well, I’ve given you two free readings, my dear.’

‘So what was the third card about?’

‘Curiosity. My grandmother used to read five cards regularly; I watched her read seven once.’

‘I don’t know what that means,’ Ember replied, confused.

‘I never expected you to understand.’

Ember waited awkwardly.

Miss Hedge looked at her oddly, swallowed and said through a mouth thick with argan butter, ‘You may go now.’

‘Oh, okay then.’ Dismissed and feeling rather embarrassed, Ember left with no real idea of what any of that had been about.

The next few cars were all sleeping carriages, then there was a communal area with Chesterfield-style sofas; mixed-sized tables made from thick, dark wood; and various newspapers with titles such as Modern Barbarian and Prestidigitation for the Perplexed. It took twenty minutes for Ember to pass through the first cars; the opulence of the train was impressive, and she felt like she was walking through a wealthy town.

‘Do you know how to use one of these things?’ a voice called out.

Ember looked around; a few people were talking and looking at her curiously.

‘Yeah, you, Ember,’ the voice confirmed.

Ember spotted a man holding a black kettle. ‘A kettle? Sure, place it over a fire and wait.’

‘Right, we’ve got goats’ milk, rancid goat butter, nut milk, milk from insectiles, yak milk, errant alpaca milk—’

The man seemed to want to go on, but Ember held out a hand. ‘How’d you get milk from an insect?’

‘The same way you get it from nuts; I think its ground chitin. For tea, you want a teaspoon of milk; if they ask for second spoon, then it’s a farthing.’

‘What’s that?’ Ember asked, confused.

‘A farthing is quarter of a silver coin or twenty-five copper, a halfpiece is half a silver coin or fifty copper, a silver thruppence is three silver pieces, a sixpiece is six silver, a shilling is twelve silver, a florin is twenty-four silver, a gold is sixty silver, a half-crown is two gold and thirty silver, and then a crown is five gold. We don’t do anything for more than a crown. Coffee of the day is mudspeck; check on the coffee grinder to see what it changes to tomorrow. The label’s here. Collie will be out at six o’clock with dinner; she’ll deal with orders and requests, so you don’t need to worry about that.’

*

It wasn’t long before Ember became bored serving tea and coffee, so she started looking around for a distraction. Everything seemed to be in order, so she went around to the few people present with a vague idea that she was meant to be engaging with them.

A hirsute man of nearly sufficient proportions for two people spoke with elaborate hand movements and was engaged in a heavy conversation with a soft-spoken, patient-looking man. The latter had a wide mouth; a wide nose; short, curly, salt-and-pepper hair; and thick lines covering his aged, leathery face. The two made for an odd couple; the animated, large man had a big cup of light-coloured tea, and the mellow, comparatively small man had a cup of dark espresso.

‘Enjoying yourselves?’ Ember asked when there was a lull in their conversation.

The hirsute man nodded at Ember without paying much attention to her, but his friend studied her more carefully, his eyes lingering for a moment on her acne scars. His expression didn’t change as he took note of Ember – he gave the impression he studied everything carefully.

‘Then Umbra, champion of the Seven, cleaved Hateya from head to groin and her blood flowed into a pool. As her heart was so pure, her blood was like crystalline water and it formed the oasis that Al-’Ain, as it’s now known, became dependent on. Her lifeblood, when still warm, was one of the many possible sources for the water of youth or the liquid that purified the grail. Yet the council said nothing when the abomination rose from the tar pit and the monstrous metal golems raided Al-‘Ain and destroyed our history,’ the large man declared.

‘It’s only a story, Malory; I don’t believe a word of it myself,’ the small man soothed.

‘Every time a civilisation stands above the rest, the monsters target it. They’re a natural force, a check and balance for when we become too progressive. Why else does no civilisation outlast a millennia? The daemons watch us and keep us constrained in growth. If we accept this and return to our peripatetic origins, they’ll leave us be. Xenophobic cordon lines in the sand, which that self-appointed rulers call “borders”, only allow them to hold us to ransom. Movement is freedom. We should be like the dwarfs; they’re all of one clan.’

Ember let them be, finished her circle of the carriage and then decided to continue her exploration. She left the carriage, walked along the corridor and reached a room that seemed to have no walls; a cold breeze swept through the carriage, but it wasn’t what you’d expect of a room completely open to the elements. Ember held out her hand to where the wall should be and felt the same nothingness that had accompanied the barrier in the desert. She stood and watched what little of the world she could see pass by, lulled by the motion. As Ember made to leave, she noticed a figure camped in a large chair, the wings of which had hidden them from view. She caught the person’s eye, but it was just a dwarf enjoying the view, like her.

Ember carried on exploring, and after a while, she entered a room where the noise assaulted her ears; after the quiet and gentle pitching of the other carriages, it took a moment for her to become accustomed to the cacophony. It was also hot, with large metal tubs full of steam, and washboards protruding from huge buckets. On the opposite side of the room, large clothes presses were lined up, each of which had a pool of water under it. The last time Ember had been in a laundry room, she’d taken an iron off the fire and used it to beat off an attacker. She’d also disguised herself as a washer woman to enter a mansion and garrotte the chief butler, or whatever title they went by.

Good times.

There were a few people washing in the room, all of whom were human.

‘If you’ve come to drop some clothes off, then it’s three bronze coins per top, five per pair of trousers, one for socks and undergarments, and two for night clothes,’ a woman stated, looking up from her washing tub.

‘Five for trousers?’ Ember challenged.

‘Trousers get dirtier than the rest. Oh, and it’s ten to get blood out,’ the woman added.

‘Actually, I’m on a working ticket, may I still get my clothes cleaned?’

‘Of course, dear, but I’m sorry we don’t do a discount for staff.’

‘That’s fine; what about a discount for quantity? I’m Ember.’ Ember started pulling clothes from her storage bag; she almost gagged at the smell.

‘You get one bronze coin back for every ten items you have washed. And the name’s Magda.’

Ember handed over her clothes and put her bag to the side. ‘May I leave this here?’

‘Sure, we’ll keep it safe.’

‘So why are a load of humans cleaning on a dwarf train?’

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

‘The dwarfs are too cheap to hire other dwarfs,’ a condescending voice replied from behind a particularly large tub.

‘It’s true; we make a pittance,’ Magda agreed.

‘So how’d you hear about this train? I’d never heard of one before,’ Ember explained.

Magda shrugged. ‘Just by chance; we were in a nearby village, and this old dwarf asked if anyone wanted work.’

‘Fair enough. Where does this train go?’

‘I’m not sure; we don’t get off much. One dwarf town is much like any other. We’re saving up to return to a human settlement.’

‘In that case, why work for the dwarfs?’

‘Dwarf money can be spent just like anyone else’s,’ the person with the condescending voice answered once more.

Ember left them to their laundry, went out of that room, and soon entered another hot, stuffy room – this time in the form of the kitchen carriage. Pots were bubbling away merrily, pans were spitting and hissing with gusto, and pre-sliced vegetables were arranged in orderly piles. There wasn’t an open flame in the room, and the amount of cooking activity was incredible, but yet again, the place seemed understaffed. A lone female orc with muddy, curly hair and large, expressive eyes was testing a concoction baking in a large oven; someone else was chopping and dicing and remained mostly hidden from view; but other than that, the carriage was empty of staff.

‘Hey, I’m Ember, the new girl… just passing through,’ Ember announced.

The orc looked up. ‘I’m Anita, by the way, and that’s The Joy of a Full Moon During the Daytime, but everyone calls her Moondance,’ she said, pointing at herself with a knife and then jabbing it towards the mostly hidden figure.

‘Goddess of the Nine, but that’s a good curry. I told you the secret is to make it a day early,’ Anita said, smacking her lips loudly. ‘Shame they don’t make barbecue-style griddles or something, I haven’t had anything smoky in ages.’

‘Meat is murder. If animals could talk, you wouldn’t eat them; that’s setting a double standard,’ Moondance replied waspishly.

‘If plants could talk, I wouldn’t eat them either, and my old man could do a mean barbecue jacket potato,’ declared Anita.

‘Butter melting over the salted skin of a steaming jacket potato is the only meal to start winter with,’ Moondance agreed.

‘Every time I’m cold and wet, all I can think of is chilli paneer,’ Ember added, her stomach rumbling, and the smell of food cooking in the carriage literally making her salivate.

‘Grub’s up in an hour; we’re good here if you want to head to the back? We picked up a new carriage and it sounds like they could use a hand,’ Anita suggested.

‘Sure, how many carriages are there?’ Ember enquired.

‘Seventeen with this new one: eight passenger, one for the crew, laundry, kitchen, one for meals, one silent carriage and a scenic one.’

‘Is that the one with invisible walls?’ Ember asked, remembering the remarkable carriage.

‘Yeah, it’s something, right? Then there’s the drinks carriage and… I’ve lost track,’ Anita finished.

‘And that last carriage; that’s a strange one,’ stated Moondance.

‘I like strange,’ Ember concluded, rubbing her hands. ‘Thanks for the heads up.’

And with that, Ember left the kitchen carriage and entered what she thought was the final carriage.

Sconces dimly lit the corridor, though the feeble light did little more than make the darkness less intrusive. There was also a strange closeness to the air, like the build-up to a thunderstorm, and the air was saturated with water to the extent that the walls were damp. The floor was vibrating as though there was less protection from the rattling of the train than in the other carriages. As she moved deeper into the carriage, she could hear the muffled sounds of people nearby; as Ember approached them, she was tackled by something heavy, large and cumbersome.

‘I got it, Abe; quick, before it rises!’ the person on top of Ember cried.

‘Got what, Alex? It hasn’t moved!’ Abe’s muffled voice called back.

‘Then what have I caught?’ Alex replied triumphantly.

Torchlight appeared from behind an obstruction that Ember hadn’t even noticed in the gloom. ‘I think it’s a human.’ Abe, the torch bearer, was mostly out of sight but seemed to be wearing a heavy, thick leather suit, which dripped from the damp air.

‘It can do that!’ Alex sounded terrified.

‘Get off me,’ Ember demanded, trying to push the person off, but whoever was on top of her was also wearing a leather suit and was too heavy to move. ‘And why are you dripping?’

‘No, it is a human,’ Abe retorted.

‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you properly.’ Alex shuffled his feet.

‘Why’s it so dark in here?’ Ember asked. She adjusted her clothing as she stood up.

‘We can’t have daylight, and we need to keep it cool and damp in here. I’m Jitiksha, though people call me Abe, and that’s Alex, who’s also known as Alex,’ Jitiksha said with a laugh.

‘Ember; and what have you dripped on me?’ Ember sniffed at her clothes.

‘A fire retardant. Well, Ember, what brings you into our neck of the woods?’ Jitiksha asked conversationally.

‘Right now, regret,’ Ember decided.

‘Okay, well, we could use a spotter. The chimera is peaceful at the moment, but who knows with that thing?’ Jitiksha offered.

‘Do I need thick clothes, too?’ Ember asked.

‘No, no. We’ll deal with the chimera; you just keep a look out for anyone else wandering in.’ Alex’s voice was muffled as he’d attached some sort of thick leather mask around his mouth.

As the two moved off, Ember followed until the view of the door in was blocked. There was the soft sound of heavy chains shifting under strain – like the sound at a dock as boats gently pull against their restraints – then a deep rumble, which had the hairs on the back of Ember’s neck standing up. As she watched, a shape shifted in the gloom; something was moving towards her as the chains clinked again. At first, it seemed like a large snake or basilisk, yet as it drew closer, it seemed to fold in on itself, its profile altered, and now Ember could see that it looked like a heavy-set creature with paws the size of her face and a mane that framed burning, deep-brown eyes above a maw that could break bones. In the poor lighting, what little of its skin that could be made out seemed to be grey, and if Ember had known the term, she’d have described it as being like plate metal. What was visible between the plating was the same deep brown as the creature’s eyes.

‘Grub’s up!’ Alex called, followed by the wet slap of meat hitting the floor.

Ember blinked, the creature was gone, and she staggered back.

Affliction: mesmeric gaze

You’ve been caught in a mesmeric gaze; your mind has become befuddled and confused. You’ll be unable to move, think or function. You’re completely undefended for as long as you remain in the sight of the creature casting the mesmeric gaze.

Affliction finished: mesmeric gaze

You’ve survived the mesmeric gaze! Huzzah!

Ensuing from your success, you gain 5 levels of mental resistance; don’t do that again!

‘What… what the… what the… what the hell was that?’ Ember stuttered.

‘We got lucky, as it didn’t even bother to wake up, and you hear stories,’ said Abe.

‘That’s cos we’re pros!’ Alex boasted.

‘Didn’t you see it?’ Ember called to them.

‘See what? Thanks for the offer, but it doesn’t seem like we needed help after all. Whoop, whoop!’ Alex cheered.

Ember swallowed and shook her head; her blood was cold, her stomach was churning and a sweat broke out over her skin.

So that was a chimera; she’d hate to face one in the wild.

This was a literal crazy train, and Ember decided she really liked being on board. It was strange that it was a dwarven invention; they didn’t seem like the puckish kind, but this train was catering for all sorts and seemed to hold just as many mysteries as the dwarf tunnels themselves. That thought made Ember wonder just how large the world really was.

*

Eventually, the train journey was over; it’d taken several days before they disembarked at an unimpressive stop.

Quest completed: make yourself useful

Reward: five silver

Clusters of two- and three-storey detached buildings curved from the walls, illuminated by deep-bowled chandeliers, so that the light only penetrated upwards. Tamed beasts roamed around, and although Ember recognised the alpacas, a lot of other beasts were new to her. Some of the alpacas were well armoured and carried heavily armoured riders.

‘See those birds?’ Five Nine pointed at what were indeed birds – in a tunnel!

‘Yeah…’ Ember replied confused.

‘They’re haast eagles,’ Five Nine said proudly. He pointed off into the distance. ‘In that lake, there’re goblin sharks, and the occasional great auk passes by on migration.’

Ember scratched her head before asking, ‘What’s your point?’

‘So many surface dwellers think our tunnels are just monster pits, but this is a full ecosystem.’

‘Believe me, I know.’

‘Seems busy,’ Ash commented as he watched a party of armour-suited dwarfs ride past.

‘Now you don’t often see full armour,’ Norton agreed.

The train stop was less a town than a hamlet, yet it had grown from crudely scattered shanties placed in a natural clearing. Some rather inventive dwarf had used the underground vegetation to build huts in a wattle-and-daub style instead of having to carve the huts out of the wall as usual.

‘That forest’s Marciana Silva, though the locals call it Abnoba Mons.’ Lyre forestalled Ember’s question. ‘We get underground forests down tunnels; this is a natural glade, built by us for herb farming and the like. After the train line was driven through, it was visited by Anasy; don’t ask me how they found it.’

On the western edge of the village lay a clear, still lake, its surface only occasionally disturbed by tentacles. On the far eastern end of the clearing sat a range of mushrooms as tall as hills; at the foot of one was a cave entrance, with the vegetation cleared away and a well-worn footpath leading to it.

‘People go inside a mushroom?’ Five Nine asked, pointing.

‘You’ve not heard of Marciana Silva, Five Nine? Those mushrooms are where the silver in Marciana Silva comes from. Organic silver is mined from mushrooms,’ Lyre explained. ‘Anyway, we won’t go that way.’

‘What caused the forest to grow? Is that normal for underground?’ Holly asked with all the confusion of a surface lover.

‘Well, this area does have a third name.’ Alban tucked his thumbs into his belt and nodded. ‘Old texts have this place noted as… Labyrinth.’

There was a heavy, expectant pause; Alban and Lyre exchanged disappointed glances.

‘What do they teach young dwarfs these days?’ Alban shook his head sadly.

‘Labyrinth is why you don’t find dwarven mages,’ Lyre added expectantly.

‘Dwarfs don’t have the mental capacity for magic,’ Holly announced, and then she immediately turned brick red. ‘I mean… that’s what some people say.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard that. But as always, the truth isn’t so simple,’ Clang said. ‘The reason racial stereotypes are stupid is cos we aren’t born equal. Some dwarfs are born with the ability to store magicka.’

‘I’ve never heard of a dwarf who could cast,’ Five Nine cut in.

‘Well, don’t be ignorant, but I can tell you why you’ve never met a caster: the Crown pays a hefty salary for them to live here,’ Lyre elucidated.

‘Why?’ Ash asked.

‘Wait, let me guess,’ Ember interjected. ‘I’m quite good at getting a feel for a place in case I need to break into somewhere or escape in a hurry. I’ve put a lot of points into perception and similar attributes. I’m going to say that these mountainous mushrooms are the reason mages are brought here.’

‘Mostly, yes,’ Alban confirmed. ‘There are other reasons to bring them here, though I can’t deny that the mushrooms play an important part. Do you know the common name for organic silver? No? It’s “mithril”. All mithril comes from here.’

‘What’s “mithril”?’ Holly queried.

‘Some sort of clothing. There was a contract to steal a mithril vest once; five thieves tried and died before the contract was annulled,’ Ember suggested.

‘It’s an exotic metal. Mithril is immune to puncture and slash damage, with a 50% resistance to having a bone broken. It takes the damage occurring at one point and spreads it out,’ Lyre clarified.

‘So how’s it mined?’ Five Nine asked.

‘It’s created by algae growing inside those mushrooms; mages do some mage trickery to get it out. Don’t ask me,’ Lyre answered.

‘So why call it Labyrinth if it’s giant mushrooms?’ Ash asked.

‘The name has nothing to do with that. Look at all the plants, fungi, and other flora and fauna; it’s remarkable,’ Alban began, gesturing around. ‘An’ what’s most remarkable about it is that the cave walls – as far off as they are now – are retreating.’

‘Retreating?’ questioned Five Nine.

Clang cut in and started one of his infamous digressions: ‘This place was first written about some three eras ago, right? Scholars hoping to find out about Göbekli Tepe often found notes and descriptions about kraken, okay? So these dwarf scholars used texts of this sort as trade or good-will gifts for surface dwellers. What do dwarfs care about ocean beasts, see? So, the studies of these materials were relegated to land people. Occasionally, those up there tried to tell us of these studies, but they weren’t taken seriously; some of our scholars found it interesting from a “so why are these texts found in our tunnels?” perspective, but little else. Then, one of our scholars heard about this place and that lake…’ Clang pointed to the lake. ‘That has a monster in it. See, you can notice tentacles even now. This scholar was… I can’t think of the word… but he specialised in things that came from the surface and are now found underground. He was fascinated by the phenomena of the maelstrom; somehow he got it into head that this place was brought underground. He said that the three things – Göbekli Tepe, kraken and the maelstrom – were linked and that the scrolls we gave to the surface dwellers referenced a sunken land: this place. Suddenly, the study of the text was given more credence. This place was tiny at the time, see? The lake was some 50 square feet in area and disappeared into a cave wall. Then, a second serendipitous chance happened: one of the people with the scholars was a mage, right? He detected traces of magic. He interacted with it, and kablam! The area started expanding, the mushrooms were discovered, and all sorts of uses were found for the plants here. The expanding walls of the area gave it the name “Labyrinth”, as every time you turned a corner, a new part of the cave was discovered. The tomb of Lycaon was located, and all sorts. We believe this was once a thriving surface area. We’ve found graves of dwarfs, goblins, kobolds and other races; they all seemed to have lived together under the control of some fiend that they were forced to worship. A forgotten epoch of our and others’ history is being rediscovered.’

Pulling a compass from his pocket, Norton watched the needle spin constantly, and it even – and this should have been impossible on a flat compass – seemed to flick upwards on a couple of occasions.

‘That’s not surprising really,’ Alban said when Norton pointed it out. ‘Magic does strange things, and Labyrinth is charged with magic. It makes Labyrinth one of the most dangerous places on the Sphere. We’ll need to buy a thaumatological rig, right? Otherwise, the magicka’ll build up, and we’ll be prone to magical attacks. There’ll be a 50% increase to damage, increasing to five times damage from magicka attacks if it builds up!’

‘Where’d we buy them?’ Norton asked.

‘We need to speak to Claude Macon, who’s apparently an expert on Labyrinth cartography – if that isn’t an oxymoron, considering how bizarre this place is. It might be worth checking with him for any maps. Alisha Moure… or is it Mare? I can’t pronounce it. She’s been on more expeditions here than anyone else, so we’ll by our equipment from her,’ Lyre replied.

‘Very well, lead on,’ Norton stated.

Lyre and Alban looked around, frowned and looked around again.

‘I have a map on me; just one second,’ Lyre said, rummaging through his pockets and eventually finding it in a back pocket. ‘Right, so we’re here. We came through that way; no, wait… that way.’

‘This is very reassuring,’ muttered Zyol.

‘This way; put your best foot forwards,’ Lyre ordered in a mock strident voice, and he marched on.

‘I spent three years employed here; I learned to cast light spells and all sorts. I had a friend who claimed to have spied a magcargo once – a magcargo!’ Alban said.

‘It’s a shame we’re only using this place as a layover,’ Ember commented.

‘Oh aye, people spend their lives here; the mages never leave because… well, why would you? The saturation of mana is incredible, see?’ Lyre stated, nodding.

‘You mean the saturation of magicka; mana is when it’s inside you,’ Holly replied.

‘Well, it’s not a field I know about, but the saturation of mana allows you to store more mana,’ explained Lyre.

‘It’s for cleansing the chakra points,’ Alban corrected. ‘The saturation allows them to be cleansed. Some people here have cleansed all seven now.’

Flynn was scurrying over some bioluminescent moss, snatching and biting at flying insects, all of which easily avoided the terrapin.

The party moved on, passing a lone broken, weather-worn pillar sticking up from the ground; as they passed, the depth of its shadow shifted subtly. A pile of earth rippled like something was tunnelling beneath the soil. It tracked the party for a few paces, and its meagre trail of churned earth went unobserved. As the creature neared them, it started to circle them, calculating its attack. The party vaulted a broken wagon that was blocking their progress, and the creature crept into the shadows of the wagon, but it didn’t reappear.

They walked on with nothing disturbing them; they passed through copses of unhealthy-looking trees that were thin enough for a dwarf to wrap their fists around, and so old and dry that they were as tough as stone, although some looked partially chewed. Many vibrant flowers were growing: deep-purple flowers like foxgloves and white buttercups with black swirls.

Holly nudged Ember, pointing. ‘Dragon’s liver,’ she said.

‘What’s so special about that?’ Ember replied.

‘You put it in a funnel or something, pour water through the funnel, and the flower prevents any little creatures that live in the water from passing through. So if you’re desperate for a drink and you stumble across a stagnant pond, you can pour that water through the flower and drink the water that makes it through. It’s good in alchemy for filtering your potions.’

They stumbled across an abandoned camp, and after checking the campfire, Zyol declared that whoever had made it must have left in a hurry. ‘They’d made a camp to last the night, so where are they?’ he’d said.

There was a blood stain on a pile of rocks. They circled the rock outcrop but couldn’t find any other traces of blood. The rocks looked like they had been punched out of the earth from underneath. Norton checked the blood stain, moved a few rocks to the side and called the rest of the party over; he’d discovered the half-collapsed entrance to some underground passage. It didn’t seem to have been created by design, as the pattern of the rocks and the crude passage seemed to be the chaotic work of nature.

Norton was brushing his hand gently over a rock, his fingertips occasionally following the pattern of erosion. ‘You see the pattern here? It’s far too deliberate to be random; I think it’s a langue carved on some of these stones. The entrance must have collapsed. The floor shows a distinct pattern of being worn down by foot traffic, just by what must have been the entrance; here, see? It’s as though people congregated here before going down.’

Flynn seemed to have taken note of the observations and started to wiggle and claw his way through the rocks; he soon disappeared.

‘Well, Flynn seems to have discovered a passage behind those rocks,’ Ember stated, laughing.

For a while, they worked to create an opening and then headed down a rather claustrophobic passage that opened out into a domed room with cracks in the roof, which let light come through like pillars of gold.

‘Pillars of gold, really? Lyre, that’s so cliché, although I do get what you mean. I love the way the dust passes through it. That does make it look a little like a pillar, yeah,’ Alban mocked.

‘What’s disturbed the dust?’ Five Nine asked, looking around.

‘There,’ Ash shouted, pointing and hurrying over to a dark shape in the corner. ‘He’s injured; devils, there’s a lot of blood here.’

‘Here,’ Ember offered, pulling a bottle from her pack.

Ash wetted a cloth in the liquid and cleaned the wounds, pouring a little more liquid into the deeper cuts.

Alban pulled another bottle out and placed the lid against the man’s lips. ‘Swallow,’ he commanded.

‘Sweet mother mercy!’ Ash exclaimed as he stripped the figure to reveal the injuries.

The man’s face was pale and drawn; his right arm was held across his chest, trying to clutch it closed. His chest was ragged; bits had been torn open, strips of skin were hanging free and blood coated everything. His left arm appeared to be missing, and the blood pooled on the floor was already drying. Nobody spoke, but it was evident their healing bottles were going to waste; this man wouldn’t recover.

‘What happened? Are there others in your party?’ Alban asked softly as the man’s health stabilised in the low 20s.

The man opened his eyes slowly; it seemed to cost him a major effort. Even more colour drained away as he opened vacant eyes, which failed to focus; instead, they moved sluggishly in vague directions.

‘Five,’ the man said, his voice slurred and his lips moving like heavy weights. He paused to swallow and his face twitched in pain. ‘The others are inside. Oh gods, they’re still down there.’ He swallowed every few words, his voice slipping as he spoke.

‘What happened?’ Alban repeated.

The man’s head dropped to his chest; a red tongue brushed across his lips, leaving a smear of blood; and he struggled to raise his head again.

‘It came alive; we wanted the heart, but it came alive, and I ran. I wasn’t fast enough; I heard them, but I wasn’t fast enough. Seamus was screaming; Dimitra was silent, so maybe she made it? I got to the stairs; I heard them screaming, but I thought I was free,’ the man said. He leaned his head back against the wall, his breathing slowed and the colour left his eyes as he joined his friends in the afterlife.

‘Damn! It sounds like Seamus died, but maybe Dimitra survived. And what of the others?’ Alban closed the man’s eyes.

‘I think that if I were this man, I’d want us to check on my friends,’ Ash said.

‘Agreed. We can’t ignore this,’ Norton concurred.

They dropped their packs and moved on, carefully avoiding the dead man’s bloody footprints.

The next room was decorated with statues in various poses: one of them depicted someone arched backwards, walking on all fours; another had a man whose chest was comprised of ribs made into spokes and whose stomach was bloated; and a carved banquet was set against one wall with people enjoying it in various states of jesting.

‘Creepy. Like a temple to clowns or something,’ Norton observed.

‘Is there a god of clowns and jesters?’ Five Nine asked.

‘I really hope not; maybe a nightmare daemon?’ Holly added.

‘There’s Suibhne, and he’s properly insane,’ Zyol grunted.

‘What’s creepy is following a dead man’s bloody footprints,’ Ash cut in.

Lyre nodded.

‘Who draws moustaches on old paintings?’ Ash questioned, looking at the paintings on the walls.

‘Perhaps the same people who loot a library,’ Lyre replied as they passed through a thick, heavy oak door.

‘They vandalised the old statues as well; what’s the point in that?’ Ash added.

‘Perhaps they were looking for gems and missed a few,’ Norton said, bending down and picking up a white crystal. ‘The statues must have been inlaid with gems.’

‘Fucking looters; they have no respect,’ Five Nine declared.

‘Sounds like they died in agony, so I think they learned their lesson,’ Ember interjected.

‘This book is by that man that Clang likes; I’m not even going to try to pronounce his name,’ Zyol stated, holding up a book.

‘Ithell Colquhoun,’ Clang confirmed, taking the book. ‘Oooh, this is a good one, too.’

‘Those damn illiterate mercs! Why toss through books if you don’t know what’s valuable?’ Alban was spluttering with anger.

‘This one’s had the cover torn off, and the gilt seems to’ve been scraped at. Perhaps they thought it was real?’ Five Nine mused.

‘Morons. Even if it were real, that’s hardly a bronze-coin-worth of gold,’ Alban raged.

‘You’re fortunate; by your own admission, you’re well educated and wealthy. As an outsider, I can see how desperation claws at people like this,’ Ember added, placing a few books back on the shelves.

‘But this is just wanton vandalism,’ Alban challenged.

‘Nobody is hurt; these items don’t belong to anybody. This is a victimless crime committed by people barely hanging to their survival with their fingertips,’ Ember argued.

‘Everyone is a victim of this crime; it’s history that’s lost,’ Lyre said, but without any real vigour in his words.

‘There’s an iron gate here. By Sargon, it’s been ripped out of the brick wall! Look at this: that brick’s too clean for an old wound. Ah, footprints! I thought so; they come this way. See the way bookshelves have fallen? This were hidden; I wonder what made ’em realise a gate was hidden here,’ Lyre pondered, studying the floor.

‘Perhaps this place has a history we don’t know about, and this door is mentioned somewhere in the chronicles of some custodian, and down there is a lost treasure,’ Holly hypothesised, her mouth watering.

‘That’s a lot of vagaries; I’m not sure I follow,’ Lyre replied.

‘You know about the Sampul tapestry? Well, maybe the people who once lived here were responsible for the destruction of the Sampul tapestry by taking it away with them. Someone who lived here, perhaps even the captain of the guard, wrote a diary and someone read it, then they hired this lot to investigate, as the diary says the remaining tapestry was hidden away in a vault beneath the library?’ Holly expounded, hardly pausing for breath. ‘You’d be amazed how many quests people get by flicking through random books.’

‘I see,’ said Lyre, who didn’t.

‘Actually, it’s a known fact that just opening the first page of a book is enough to get a quest from said book,’ Ember explained. ‘It’s why so many book shops charge a fee to enter the shop. You go in, open every single book at a random page and wait to see if you get a quest. Sometimes the quests are waiting for a person with a certain attribute or level of knowledge before they appear.’

‘There’s no sign of the others; they must still be trapped down there,’ Zyol stated as he led the way through the broken gate and down a spiralling, narrow stone staircase.

‘Whatever attacked them was locked away down here, so I doubt we’re about to find a tapestry,’ Lyre suggested, still confused by Holly’s digression.

‘True, and chances are it can attack at any moment, so be on guard,’ warned Ash.

As they descended, the light that pervaded the library failed to penetrate the staircase, so they reached into their packs for torches. The yellow light from the torches seemed feebler than normal, and the sound of their footsteps barely reached their ears. It was like the darkness had condensed in its undisturbed rest, and it resented their entrance. It parted reluctantly for their torchlight and rushed in to fold around them after the torches had passed, so that they were at once encased in a tomb of darkness. An unnerving feeling, like someone was following them, was present nearly the instant the darkness embraced them. There was a noise in the distance that was somehow louder than their footsteps, as if the darkness had carried it to them purposefully.

‘Did you hear that?’ Clang asked skittishly.

‘Yes; now hush,’ whispered Norton, who was standing next to Clang.

The party stopped immediately and strained their ears.

Silence.

They moved on again; the atmosphere of fear was becoming as heavy as the darkness, and the party started to crouch, as if the pressure from the darkness was a physical weight.

Affliction: unbaiting presence

Something calls to your racial memory, awakening it in a fit of paroxysm that claws at your unconscious, pleading with it to retreat from the aura emanating from an ineffable presence.

Ember somehow found herself first in the group. A soft scraping noise made her whip round, yet she failed to see anything. The dark was so thick that she wondered if she might be better off extinguishing her torch and trying out her night vision. Licking her lips, she stepped forwards, her brow prickled with a feverish sweat from the building pressure that pervaded the air, which was making her blood cold, and her increasing heartbeat was enough to make her top vibrate.

Then came a new sound: a sharp, metallic clink followed by an angry scratch of flint, and then the distinctive sound of something dry catching alight. A small dot of light appeared before her, moving slowly. It drew closer, then withdrew, grew closer, then withdrew. Its movement was slow and hypnotic, and Ember found it almost impossible to look away.

Affliction: beguiling light

The light, it calls to you…

Ember was close to the light, so close that she actually reached out to touch it, and then a bright light blinded her. She staggered back, covering her eyes and crying out in pain. Blinking fiercely, she tried to rid her vision of the spotty after-image of the light, and then she lowered her arm; a flickering light from a torch had appeared – or more accurately, had been lit – in front of Ember’s face, so close that her eyebrows felt singed. She bent down to pick up the rolling torch. Cold, clammy hands grabbed her wrist suddenly and a face appeared, peering through the light. The arm that held Ember’s was trembling, so much so that she struggled to keep her arm still. The shirt sleeves of the arms gripping her were plastered with blood, and she soon realised that most of the flesh had been stripped away. Ember looked through the flames and into a face that was more like a death mask: a male face drenched with sweat, his short beard splotched with blood. Then, the man’s head moved forwards towards the flames, and the fires burned it; Ember could smell the man’s hair burning.

‘One, two, buckle my shoe,’ the man said in an unnaturally high voice, and then he started giggling like a child. ‘Three, four, a knock at the door.’

The sound of a massive fist striking wood echoed from the darkness.

‘Five, six, they beat you with sticks,’ the man continued, and he started giggling again as he offered Ember a bloody club. ‘Seven, eight, lay the bodies straight.’

At that, some of the darkness lifted to reveal bodies with their arms ripped off, placed head to toe.

‘Nine, ten, you’ve entered its den. Eleven, twelve, where the dead are held.’ He started giggling again as the dark rolled back over the corpses, and then the man said faster and more feverishly,

‘Thirteen, fourteen, it’s a-courting. Fifteen, sixteen, to get you in the kitchen. Seventeen, eighteen, it lies a-waiting. Nineteen, twenty, its belly is empty.’

With a soft puff of wind, the torch went out, something heavy and wet made a loud sound, and the man screamed before the sound was cut off.

Ember stepped back and then jumped forwards as she felt someone touch her arm. Spinning around, she locked eyes with Zyol, whose eyes were almost all white.

‘What’s happening?’ Zyol asked, his words flat and hollow.

‘I don’t know, but I think I’m going to start crying in terror; I feel sick,’ Ember whimpered, her voice shaking.

They pressed on deeper into the room because Ember couldn’t have physically retreated if her life had depended on it – and it very well could have done. But the afflictions imposed upon her forced her feet forwards. Her hand fumbled with her belt, and she pulled a dagger free before thrusting it into her own thigh. Yet the influence pulled her deeper onwards as the blood ran from her thigh and over her hand. The light from her torch found a dark spot on the ground; it was difficult to tell what the stain was, as the light seemed to be drained of colour. Slowly, the dark was winning against her torch. After a few steps further, she could see stains smeared the ground, as though something had been dragged along, and she soon found the remains of a female with half her body removed and her entrails spilled.

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. Ember felt her head start to go dizzy as her heart hammered and her breathing became shallow. She tried to calm her breathing; was she starting to hyperventilate? She didn’t want to go on – she couldn’t – yet her traitorous legs continued to move her further. There was a door ajar that led to a narrow corridor. Ember stood before it, unable to move her body and terrified of what lay beyond. Her hand moved out, grabbed the door and pulled it open. A figure appeared in her torchlight, illuminated somehow despite the fact that the person was far down the corridor and deep in the blackness, which swallowed all. It looked at Ember over its shoulder and moved out of view.

There was a funny smell; she’d defecated in her trousers.

Affliction finished: beguiling light

You’ve been freed – RUN!

Affliction finished: unabating presence

The affliction has left, but will the presence ever truly let you go?

Ember blinked; she’d stopped moving. Hesitantly, she tried to take a step back and succeeded, and again, and again, and then she was out of the passage, turning and running; she ran back until she passed the door, turned and slammed it shut.

The party were sitting in a small circle with Ash leading a ceremony using incense and water.

‘What the fuck?’ was all that Ember could utter.

‘A ritual designed to appease any gods and ancestors present; we light a fragrance as smells can cross the void between worlds. These dungeons have a presence in them: an evil, old presence. I could feel it almost at once, and so I set up a protection circle; unfortunately, you had already become lost to the dark. We should leave. Whatever that is, we have no defence against it.’

Ember licked her lips, swallowed and nodded.

Together, the party all but ran to the stairs and out of the building. Once clear, Ember turned around and walked backwards away from the building, never letting it out of her sight.

‘What do you think that thing down there was?’ Five Nine asked. He stomped over to the old fire, stoked it and got it blazing again before grabbing a bunch of flaming logs and passing them out.

Ember tossed her trousers into the blaze.

‘Gods, that was truly terrifying,’ Holly whispered.

‘We shall move away from this foul place; take food and fire,’ Norton concluded.