Hope stood in the centre of her magical light. She spread her arms out and lifted her head, posing and preening before the masses. The workers rushed towards her, but encircled her at a distance, they were amazed but also slightly afraid. Their noses snuffled and their eyes peered at the mage. Some hunched down in worship, and soon others followed. The entire gathering hunched down, like a worship hall of boulders. Hope’s light dimmed but she kept the radiance large enough to take in the front of the crowd. There were tears in countless eyes. They muttered and chanted and emitted scents of reverent flavours.

Brunhilde shifted in place and eyed their escape route. The entryway was the only passage out she could see. “Hope.”

Hope ignored her and looked down at the prostrate mass. She spoke to God-greeter, but her voice was for the crowd.

“I have great tidings from the Saviour. Your work has been recognised. We bring a gift.” Hope put her lantern down. “I entrust this to your faithful priest, God-greeter. You will have your own holy light in the darkness.”

God-greeter stared at her and then shuffled forwards. He stroked the lantern and then picked it up with great care. He held it up above him and Hope let her light die. Now he was the centre of the light, his gangly arms held up the lantern like a lightning bolt handed down from the gods.

Hope backed away towards Brunhilde. The assembly began chanting and wafting more reverent scents into the cavern.

“That’s your generosity? To give them a lamp?” Brunhilde said in a low voice.

“I gave them some light to keep,” Hope replied. She looked at Brunhilde with a hurt expression.

“That doesn’t help them at all. They’re still enslaved as forgers. By a lying book-headed scoundrel.”

“Oh… that’s true. But what good would it be to anyone to set them free? They would still just live down here in the dark.”

“That’s not the point. If they knew there was a way to the surface. Giantshit, if they knew there was a surface then they have the option of visiting it. What they do with it is up to them. A vision of your own destiny gives you choice in that destiny. When I see that little man,” Brunhilde growled and twisted her hands.

“They look like they’re enjoying themselves. What do you want me to do?” Hope said.

There was movement in the crowd. Slowly the congregation walked forward, and one by one touched the lamp reverentially. A long procession of the carvers moved into and out of the light, whilst God-greeter muttered in his own language over them. At the edges of the lantern light the worshippers stared at their hands and each other, peering at the details they could see even in the dim light.

“Before we give him any plunder, I can force him to confess to me.”

“Confess what?”

“He lied to me. I don’t like that.”

“He didn’t lie. He just didn’t tell the truth.”

“A serpent blames his poison. Dishonesty is dishonesty. I have a grudge against him now,” Brunhilde said.

“There are bigger things to hold a grudge against,” Hope said. Brunhilde huffed in reply.

After the hushed happening, Brunhilde showed God-greeter how to work the lantern, and gave him a flask of oil to replenish it.

“Ask your Saviour for oil if he wants more offerings,” Hope said. “It will be a test of courage. He may protest and ask for his light back, but give him no offerings until he gives you more oil. Resist his pleadings.”

The strange citizens of this place listened to God-greeter translate Hope’s commands in a kind of a daze. They seemed afraid that this gift would be taken away from them, and also afraid of its power.

“Resist the Saviour?” God-greeter said. His body shook at the thought of it.

Hope lifted one hand and again the light of her magic flooded the cavern. This time it swirled up and made a glowing picture of a giant lantern, hanging in the darkness. The empty galleries and the abandoned rock face were illuminated again.

“Do as I say!” she shouted. The crowd fell onto their fronts again and called out. The lantern picture smudged and then collapsed. The light fell in drops like motes of ash, bright things that rained onto the congregation. They held out their hands and marvelled at the tiny lights that slowly died down.

“Yes, yes, yes!” God-greeter said.

God-greeter stowed the lantern away reverentially and invited them to stay to eat. Brunhilde politely refused and asked him for guidance to the Coil. Though willing there were many areas forbidden to him by the Saviour and he could only accompany them to the edge of his allowed hunting grounds. He took them up through the knotted passageways of burrows until they came back to the familiar sight of the dead city’s architecture. He waved goodbye from the edge of his tunnel as they thanked him.

“Remember the oil,” Hope shouted out to him. He shook with fear but bowed and nodded to her from his tunnel.

“I’m impressed. It was generous to encourage him to stand-up to that snake-tongue. You are not completely spoiled,” Brunhilde said. She patted Hope on the back.

“Something about their pathetic ugliness touched me. I wouldn’t want to be stuck down here in the dark. I am quite generous, really-” Hope said and stopped suddenly. “I know where we are.” She was staring at her mental picture of the city again. “Maybe that little trip was a short-cut after all.” She marched into a corridor and Brunhilde followed after her.

They came to another courtyard. After the messy tunnels of the rock carvers the formal lines of the city began to feel cloying and endless. Brunhilde rubbed her eyes.

“More of these endless tunnels. I’m tired, lets rest,” Brunhilde said.

“We’re almost there,” Hope protested.

“Still, I think it’s night time,” Brunhilde replied. She put her hands against the stone wall and tilted her head up. With her eyes closed she imagined the sky above. Stars should be wheeling above them now. “It’s night time, lets rest and see the Coil tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Hope said. She yawned and dropped her pack besides a doorway. “Are we just going to sleep here on the stone?” She peered into the abandoned house, it was filled with soggy moss.

Brunhilde dropped her pack down on the floor and lay down with it as her pillow.

“You could sleep on a spear-point,” Hope said. She unpacked her bedroll and paced the courtyard, testing the floor with her boots for the flattest possible spot.

“My cousin Sven Hardneck did that for a bet. He won a ship-full of mead. Slept quite well at that,” Brunhilde said. She was already half-asleep. “What do you think we’ll find down here?” She yawned.

“Things. Powerful things.” Hope dropped her bedroll to the floor and sat cross-legged on it. She closed her eyes and studied the magic within her. Memories of her schooling, the ruthless masters, the assassination attempts, ran through her mind. Despite that she always found it reassuring to recall the arcane formulae and run through apprentice exercises in her mind. Tense a muscle here and feel how its opposite responds. Apply a magical force in one way and the problem responds in another. The world was filled with opposing and complementary forces. All vying for control of their small domain. “What the Sun dries, the Rain douses, what the Sun dries, the Rain douses, what the Sun dries…” she chanted in her head. Her breathing slowed and she mustered her strength for whatever dangers lay ahead.

Brunhilde reached out and doused her lantern. For a while the only light came from Hope’s tattoos as she meditated. Then that faded and they were in pitch black.

In the night Brunhilde came into a dozy half-awake state. She opened her eyes. She closed them, then opened them again. The same darkness each time. She tensed up and then remembered she was leagues underground. She turned her head to see if she could sense Hope. Maybe the princess would glow in the dark with her strange magic. Only darkness. But then something, a light. A far away, soft blue speck of light.

Brunhilde sat up slightly. “Hope?” she said. There was no reply.

The light came closer, but stayed the same size. Brunhilde rubbed her eyes and tried to focus on the maddening speck. It was approaching her, but at the same time leagues away. She crossed and uncrossed her eyes but still the strange intruder was making its way towards her.

She groped on the floor for her lantern. Instead of stone she felt a lush carpet. She looked down, and saw a glowing impression of her hand. She tousled the fibres and motes of light erupted like dust from it.

“Hope?” she called out again.

Brunhilde dragged her hands roughly across the floor around her. Light blossomed up and illuminated the surroundings. She was still in the courtyard, her gear was besides her. But there was no sight of her companion.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Hope? Are you playing some magical joke here? If you are, I’ll wring your royal neck and feed your bones to those moley creatures!” she shouted. She jumped to her feet.

More motes of light were approaching. They twinkled and danced slowly in a procession. When she tried to remember it later it was impossible to tell how it happened. One moment the specks were like pollen grains in the wind, then she saw the pattern in them. Figures in dancing finery span from the tunnels. Dancing partners held out their hands and joined each other. People leaned from the windows around the courtyard and waved and laughed at the dancers.

One of the them held its hand out to her. She reached out and took it. She heard the music now. Grand fine music that reverberated throughout the whole city. The tunnels were really the chambers of an instrument. Everything was built around this harmony. She wheeled with her dance partner. Her eyes watered at the beauty of the music and the dance. These must have been a great people. She felt welcomed into their embrace.

“Thank you,” she said. Her feet moved with the music, her blood swayed to the tune, dancers around her sung and called out in a strange language. They moved away from the courtyard and into a tunnel. Her partner guided her expertly in the moves of the dance, without knowing how she was re-enacting a great celebration from the history of these tunnels.

She heard another sound. Rushing water. She stumbled. The music swelled and her partner drew her into a spin. She leaned into the joy of the dance, but the noise kept irritating her. She felt moisture in the air, the sound of water became louder. She stumbled again. Her foot slipped on wet stone and the music was gone. The dancers faded into motes and she was in the dark.

She tilted in the air and fell. She felt herself slip off a stone ledge. Only her reflexes saved her in the dark. She gripped at the stone floor, her fingertips dug into the carved flagstones. She was dangling from a ledge in pitch black.

Brunhilde swung her legs forward, trying to find a solid contact where there was only air. The bottom of the stone ledge dug into her belly. Her finger-joints shook as she tried to pull herself up. She cursed herself. She had gone mad down here away from the sun.

“Hope!” she shouted. She heard a rushing sound, the noise that had awoken her from her strange dream. There was a waterfall behind her, she could feel its moisture now. How far had she danced in her sleep?

She tried to pull herself up again. Light shone above her. She felt Hope grasping her arm. The mage pulled and gripped her, and with her aid Brunhilde was able to pull herself up.

Hope shouted unheard curses and admonishments. Brunhilde stood up slowly and assessed the area. They were standing on a ledge jutting out. She rubbed her shoulders and hands.

Hope pulled her arm and led her back to their sleeping area. She had not gone far.

“What were you doing?” Hope said.

“I saw music. I heard music. But I saw them dancing. They wanted me to dance with them,” Brunhilde said. She leant against the stone and caught her breath.

“I didn’t see anything. What did they look like?”

“Like a dream. Like dead people,” Brunhilde said. She rummaged in her pouch for her chisel. “It is dangerous down here,” she muttered.

Hope watched Brunhilde carve a rune ward by her sleeping place.

“Untouched dreams. Fasten the gate of my mind,” Brunhilde whispered. “There are ghosts down here. Were they trying to kill me?”

“Perhaps. That is the Coil, maybe they were showing you the way. Maybe you imagined it,” Hope said. She watched Brunhilde carefully.

Brunhilde lay down and closed her eyes.

“I don’t imagine things like that. Get some sleep, I’ve protected myself now,” Brunhilde said.

“You’re going back to sleep?” Hope said. The barbarian yawned. Hope sat and watched her companion. She was oblivious to any danger now, secure that her runic carvings would protect her. Hope propped herself up against the wall and watched Brunhilde sleep. She was adamant that she would stand guard now. But soon she too fell asleep.

In the morning, they ate and returned to the ledge. They saw it had been there at night before, now an opening high above allowed daylight to stream down and illuminate a sight more striking than the fallen face or immense gates they had seen.

Brunhilde had almost toppled into a giant shaft, similar to a well. But instead of a bucket on a rope, the centre of this well had huge circular platforms covered in lush gardens. The waterfall they heard was not one continuous fall but a snaking river that fell from platform to platform, circling each garden as it went.

If the gardens had ever been tamed, now they were wild. Trees erupted outward into the edges of the shaft. Some wound up and around the edge like a drunkard leaning on a railing, others had launched seeking roots into the outer walls of the shaft. The central plates were covered in great flowers, strangling bushes, and wild grasses all fighting to grow higher than their neighbour. The stacked gardens were an exquisite sight after seeing only stone and moss down here.

Brunhilde gazed upward, looking for the surface, but could spy only patterns of greenery and thick trunks. She spied birds or bats fluttering far above.

“This is beautiful,” she said. Her hands and feet tingled as she remembered scaling cliffs as a child, to throw sticks into the top of a waterfall and watch them crash down to their doom. She turned to say something to Hope, but saw that there were tears in her eyes.

“What?” Brunhilde shouted.

Hope wiped her eyes and shook her head. She pointed to their left, where the platform became stairs. Brunhilde saw they stood on the landing of a spiral staircase that circled the shaft. In places it was overcome with tree branches seeking for space, or fallen away completely.

“This is The Coil,” Hope shouted.

Brunhilde peered down over the ledge she had almost plummeted from. She counted twenty or so gardens down there, before spray and mist from the waterfalls made it too hard to see.

They made their way down a few circuits of the staircase until they came to a landing blocked with branches. From a lower garden a tree had risen and split like a lightning bolt, until it formed a wide carpet of branches and leaves, pressing against the walls.

Brunhilde ducked into the branches. “There’s a way through,” she said. She gestured for Hope to follow.

On the other side Brunhilde looked down at the garden and pulled on the branches. They seemed strong enough. She pointed to the gardens. Hope gave a confused look. The barbarian mimed scooping water and washing her face. Hope shook her head. Brunhilde gave her a pat on the head and climbed back into the branches. She made her way down the tree-limbs, crossing over the abyss and on to the central platform. She dropped down from the tree and waved at Hope.

Hope huffed and sunk against the wall. She watched her companion strip and plunge into the circular river. She rubbed her face in annoyance and felt gritty dust smear around. Brunhilde splashed water in the air like a great fat seal and Hope smoothed out her coat, trying not to look.

Hope’s desire to wash overcame her distaste for climbing. She crawled slowly down the branches of the tree. After an eternity of hideous swaying and careful clutching she made her way to the tree trunk and sunk gratefully down to the earth.

“Hey!” Brunhilde called out from the river.

Here the platforms lessened the sound of the waterfalls to a pleasant wash of sound. It was a relaxing effect. The garden interior was filled with thick trees and vines, but besides the river there was only grass, long and thick but soft.

“You clambering…” Hope shook her head and pushed her hands against the firm ground. After a few moments of recovery she went to the edge of the waters and tested the flow. It was slow moving and clear.

“Be careful. There could be anything living here,” Hope said.

“Isn’t it wonderful? Maybe some fish were washed down here in a flood. We could set up camp here,” Brunhilde called.

“Fish? It’s a desert up there,” Hope said.

“Ah true. Maybe we walked so far that we’re out of the desert. Or maybe the fish all got washed down here and that’s why it’s a desert.”

“Your scientific understanding of the natural world astounds me,” Hope said. She cupped water and let it flow through her fingers. She sniffed at it. It seemed clean enough.

“I can hunt, I know the forests and rivers,” Brunhilde shouted. She turned and dived under the water.

Hope washed her face and hands. The water was cool and sweetly refreshing. She stripped and carefully washed her body, watching the pulse of light across her tattoos. Even this short time away from the sun was draining to her. She missed having servants to pour water over her and scrub her clean. But the water was cool and the dirt and dust of the desert and tunnels wafted away in the slow current of the river. It was a relief to be clean again.

Presently Brunhilde strode from the river. She stood and shook herself, spraying water out onto the grass. She stared into the garden. “We could live here,” she said.

“Please, dress,” Hope said.

Brunhilde turned and spread her long arms. Her scars and muscles made her a warrior sight even naked, pale and pink from the cold water.

“Do I offend you?” she asked.

“Only royals are nude. Commoners must always be dressed,” Hope said.

“For all you know I am a princess, in my lands,” Brunhilde said. She twisted and shook her braids to remove water.

“You’re not,” Hope said.

“A secret princess. I would never tell you,” Brunhilde said and narrowed her eyes.

“Definitely not,” Hope said.

Brunhilde turned away and studied the garden. “Nothing lives here. The grass is too long. Nothing to eat the grass and nothing to eat the grass-eater,” Brunhilde said. She stroked her hands over the tops of blades of grass and stared wistfully at the abundant plants in the interior of the garden.

“How does the light get down here?” she wondered.

Hope finished washing herself. She dried herself off and turned back to the barbarian. Brunhilde was walking naked through the grass, peering at the plants and sniffing flower blooms. Hope pushed through the grass and made her way into the thick bushes. She caught a glimpse of what she was looking for.

“Here, look,” she shouted out. Brunhilde came over and peered over her shoulder. “See, the core.” Hope pointed to a glowing pylon in the centre of the garden. Brunhilde craned and peered for a better sight. It was a thick column, like quartz, cut with patterns similar to Hope’s tattoos. Light shined out from it.

“It brings the light all the way down here. A hundred gardens. All fed by the Sun. When you control the heavens, you control the Earth,” Hope said. She sounded melancholy. Drops of water fell from Brunhilde’s hair onto Hope. “Put some clothes on!” she commanded.

“I used to swim naked in ice water,” Brunhilde said.

“Why do I want to know that?” Hope said.

“Warriors share stories of their victories. When I die, if my stories live then Old Man Moon won’t be able to take me. I’ll live forever in the glory lands with my ancestors. If I die down here, tell them I saw gardens from the skies, and swam naked in a river taller than it was long. Tell them I danced with murderous ghosts and clung onto life by my very fingertips!” Brunhilde shouted upwards with her arms spread.

“Neither of us is going to die. There’s nothing down here that could threaten me,” Hope said. She turned back to the river and pushed through the long grass.

“Sounds boring,” Brunhilde said. She followed and dressed slowly, not wanting to leave the clean water.

After climbing back to the stairway they continued downwards, searching for the landmark in Bedehv’s notebook. They found it several landings down. A root seeking more earth had thrust over the abyss and into the wall, buckling the stones above it. The root curved out of the ledge-way like a sea serpent breaching the surface of the sea. Hope showed Brunhilde the matching drawing in Bedehv’s notebook. They were close to their goal. They entered the archway and left the sound of the waterfall behind them.

They did not walk long to find the abrupt ending of the corridor. A wall blocked the entire passage, there were arcane sigils inscribed in circular patterns across it. They set down their packs and Hope stood before the wall.

“Vis-Dimmud. We thought you were lost forever. Now show me your secrets,” Hope whispered.

She closed her eyes and stretched out her arms. Light glimmered in the wall, racing around the delicate lines into the centre. The patterns started to look like streets of a great city. Brunhilde felt a dizzy shift in her senses and she fancied she was flying above this old city at its prime, watching people move below. She saw a light from a window and her view zoomed in, she saw a face, it turned to look at her- Then she fell backwards against the wall, a nauseous feeling in her stomach saving her from being dragged into the vision. She pushed her hand against the stone floor beneath her.

The pattern completed and the wall shifted and slid away. The doorway was open and they saw what it had protected.