Gloom clung to the tunnels before them, reluctant to part even at the touch of the light from the flames of their torch. They seemed almost more alive than was natural, swaying and parting before them, before once more curling in behind them after they had passed. Against the torchlight it pushed, testing it, trying to envelop the light and plunge all into dark.
Anubarak looked around at the shadows, eyes wide and nervous in his movements as he followed behind the tall Ishkinil, almost crowing her as he did. He did not like the place, not the unnatural dark, the tight confines of the tunnel or the silence that lay heavy upon it. It was only the presence of Ishkinil, seemingly unperturbed by all that transpired around them, that kept him from running, from fleeing back through the tunnels to seek out the welcome touch of the sun above once more.
Along the walls of the tunnel that they followed, they caught glimpses of carvings and of murals, ones an age old and much worn and faded. Dark figures could still be seen, things of long and spindly limbs that scurried across them, as well as more images of the Shahadi, and other monsters, not just of myth and legend but nightmares as well. None walked the earth any more, if they had at all, for which Anubarak was thankful, for the sight of them upon the walls was fearful enough. To meet them in the flesh would be terror itself.
He tried to pay them no attention, yet found that harder said than done, for the cast of the torchlight played across them as they walked, and the flickering flames appeared to make the murals dance before them, to leer and gyrate in ways unnatural. The deeper down the tunnel they walked, the heavier the fear of the place set upon him. Terror heightened in him, and as a result he imaged that he heard noise all around, not just the scamper of tiny feet, but other, worse things, of whispers and dissonant tunes played on infernal instruments, tunes not wrought by the hands or mind of men. In the shadows, it seemed as figures twisted into being, hands reaching out, grasping, only to fade away at the touch of the torchlight.
When Ishkinil came to a halt, he almost stumbled into the back of her, so distracted he had become. She turned to him, giving him a sharp look. “Take care,” she said softly, “For we have come to the end of the tunnel.”
Anubarak looked beyond her, seeing that the shadows ahead lessened, for the tunnel levelled off and opened out into another chamber, one far beneath the ground that had long been hidden for view or knowledge.
Webs were flung across the opening into the chamber, and these Ishkinil slashed away, cutting a path through. She thrust out her torch into the chamber, to see what it held.
A light seemed to catch at the entry of her torch, of reflected flames caught up by crystals held within the walls, to be sent forth in a shimmering array of rainbow light. It bathed the chamber the two entered into, a cavern that had not been carved out of the earth by hands, but one natural in its origin. Crystal growths protruded from the wall, and ancient rock formations were on display, of stalagmites and stalactites that grew from the floor and ceiling, of frozen shawls and ribbons and flows of creamy stone that dripped and seeped forth.
All, though, was dominated by what lay at the heart of the chamber, an object not natural, for unknown hands had carved and constructed three statues of enormous proportions there, reaching almost to the ceiling of the chamber. Of green stone they were, so dark as almost to be black, of three Shahadi, standing around a bowl of red stone that stood as high as Ishkinil. Each figure grasped in its hands a long knife and a stone heart, holding their hands aloft. Behind the bow, opposite to where they had entered, a raised stone dais stood, looking down over the bowl.
“An offering bowl,” Ishkinil observed as she looked upon the tableau, voice little more than a whisper.
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“Offerings of what?”
Her answering smile was rim, a flickering of her lips and no more. “It would best not to know, I feel. The Shahadi were not kindly masters, and pain was the currency of their power.”
“Why would any wish to sacrifice to fiends such as these?” Anubarak wondered.
“There are always dark cults, hidden away in the recesses and corners of the world, or, for those bold enough to proclaim it, out in the open. Many seek power, by whatever means, and the Shahadi possessed that, and more. There was great risk, bargaining with such as these, but though who wrought this thought little of it. They are long gone though. It has been an age since any stood here and gazed upon this. It would be for the best that no others found out about it either, and be tempted by powers best not meddled with.”
A shudder convulsed Anubarak even at the thought of it. There were horrors enough in the world without adding ancient ones to deal with as well. “This seems not to have turned out as we expected,” he mused. “The rumours spoke of wealth to be had for the bold and yet I see none here at hand.”
“I think, perhaps,” Ishkinil responded, “That it was not physical wealth that they referred to, and it does not exist as we perceived it.”
“What, then, could it be?”
“Power, perhaps, or knowledge.” She shrugged, indifferent. “Or it could be that there never was any wealth, and it was simply meant to lure the unsuspecting here.”
“A trap you mean?” Anubarak asked, spinning about as he did, looking all around, sword wavering his hands.
“Aye, maybe once, but long has this place been abandoned. Come, there is no need for concern. That danger has long passed. For now, I wish to have a look around, to see what else may be hidden here.”
Thus saying, she headed out deeper into the cavern, with its crystals and statues, though not once did she let her guard down, for safe though it might have appeared she knew well enough to not take anything on appearances sake.
To the statues she went first, climbing up onto the dais, there to peer down into the offering bowl. What she saw she mentioned not, and nor did Anubarak feel like asking in case he got answered he did not wish for.
She looked up at the statues. Anubarak watched as she sheathed Dirgesinger and set her torch resting up against the leg of one of them. To Anubarak’s surprise, she began to climb it, swinging swiftly up its legs, across its torso, to stand upon its shoulder and look at its head. She drew from her side not Dirgesinger but a stout knife and this she used to pry something from the statue’s head, all the while perched precariously on its shoulder as she did, far above the ground. Once she had completed her task, she sheathed the knife again and began he decent, coming down as easily as if she had been walking along flat ground.
Upon reaching the ground, she held up the item she had recovered, studying it in the light of the torch. A clear red stone shone in her hand, almost the size of a clenched fist. It reflected the torchlight, blazing a bright red.
“Is that what I think it is?” Anubaras asked, almost breathless with wonder.
Ishkinil shook her head. “Nay, it is but cheap coloured glass, made for show. Maybe once a gem was set in the statue, but if so long ago was it replaced.”
“That is most disappointing.”
Ishkinil laughed, a short sound little more than a snort. “Do not trust anyone, especially not cultists who follow ancient horrors. It was one of them, no doubt, who replaced it.” She tossed the red glass towards Anubarak, who tried to catch it, fumbled it and let it dropped. The glass eye clattered to the ground, bouncing and rolling towards the great stone bowl, disappearing beneath it.
Anubarak sighed as he watched it go. “For a moment there I thought we might have found the promised great wealth.”
“Great wealth ever lets to naught but trouble, I have found,” Ishkinil told him.
“I think I would be willing to risk it.”
Ishkinil shook her head, though she smiled as she did so. “Then let us press on, to see what else may be here that might satisfy your cravings.”
“Wait, what was that?” Anubarak asked, for he heard the start of a sound. Ishkinil raised her hand, motioning for silence, alert to it as well.
There came to them a soft whispering noise, faint at first, but growing stronger with each passing moment, as if it was drawing nearer. No words there were, but instead what sounded like the rubbing of two surfaces together.
A groaning of stone interrupted the noise and the three statues shuddered and shifted and move, their raised hands reaching down towards the bowl.
“Balshazu’s teeth,” Anubarak exclaimed as from the great stone bowl black smoke began to flow, spilling over the edge to flow across the floor. All the while a hissing came from it , sizzling in the air.
And from out of it, danger poured.