Lyanna’s boots clinked against a small patch of needlegrass as she hiked uphill, through dense, steamy woodland. High on all sides the mountains rose, the peaks of the Cyclopean Bones. Travel over those colossal, rocky formations was impossible, and so she and the remaining hunters sought the mimic by trudging through the clefts and valleys between them.
They presented their own obstacles too, however, for as stark and desiccated as the ridges above were, moisture gathered in the low points of the range, and created lush and overgrown pockets of vegetation and wildlife.
None of them were beyond the abilities of her group, but still the monsters were often all around. They had ventured deeper than any expedition in centuries, and many of the creatures they faced were totally alien to them. Alien and deadly.
It was just one night past that another person had been taken, a young mercenary, grabbed off a rock while he was amusing himself by urinating off a cliff. One moment he was there, just visible at the edge of camp in the dying light, the next he had vanished without trace in the grips of a six-legged leaping shadow.
Or had that been two nights ago now? Lyanna was starting to lose track of the days. Each one was the same for her. The same toil, the same unending hunt… the same hateful glares and ache of worry and guilt.
Her metal-soled boot crushed another pungent blue fruit against the grass, and she almost slipped. Behind her, Reynard steadied her arm.
“Thanks,” she muttered quietly.
The two of them continued on up the animal trial through the valley.
It was littered with more of the fallen, overripe fruits, ten times as many on the ground, festering, as still hung on the trees around them. The air was nauseating with the scent of fermenting sweetness, and small insects and other strange mountain herbivores were everywhere, feasting. They’d even had to drive off a swarm of razorflies lower down the valley that afternoon.
They dared not eat the unknown fruits themselves, even if they’d smelt more appetizing, but as Lyanna regarded the scene of carnage she had no appetite anyway.
When the expedition had first set out from Faron they had numbered in the thousands, yet now, like the strange blue fruits, only a handful of them survived.
Had it really been two weeks already, since she left behind their temporary home in the Relentless Rat, and set out on this cursed quest?
For all that time, and all the disasters and deaths throughout their long, painful journey into the heart of the mountains, they felt little closer to catching their quarry. The mimic was almost directly beneath them now, yet hard as it was to tell through so much rock and earth, it seemed to her spells to be miles away yet.
It did no good to tell that to the others however. If not for Jalera’s cool head they might have come to blows already. Lyanna couldn’t blame them, after everything she’d done.
It had all seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Burning the supplies had been the only way to save Reynard, and then the guildmaster… Bomond had tried to kill her little brother. But even so, her deeds more than any had caused the downfall of the expedition, and cost so… very many lives.
As such there was little she could say to the simmering hate and anger of the survivors. Instead she took every chance she could to hunt or pathfind, scouting ahead, away from the rest. At that moment the sun was beating straight down on them, the others taking a break in the intense midday heat, but Lyanna felt better away from the group, moving rather than thinking.
It gave her heart that Dolm was speaking to her again at least. He had been her truest friend for years now. For the moment, however, they were separated. When the trail they were on forked he had taken Marcus to investigate the higher, cliff-top path. That had been a few minutes past, leaving her and Reynard alone.
Dolm would be talking to Marcus as they explored the upper path. The man had done so much for her already, but he was still determinedly working on her brother, trying to clean up her mess and mend their fractured party. Marcus was talking to her again, even if he was still surly and resentful, but with a little luck Dolm might get a laugh out of him by nightfall. She wasn’t sure things would ever be quite the same, but perhaps, with a little luck, they would be united again.
Their mother would have wanted that.
As painful and frustrating at it was, she couldn’t blame Marcus for his anger. He was hurting too, afraid and confused, let down by the only family he had left. Even now, as they were traipsing through the Cyclopean Bones in the hunt, their mother lay in unending sleep, slowly wasting away.
Lyanna wanted nothing more than to be there at her side… to look on her face… to see her open her eyes again. It had been so very long.
They had pinned all their hopes on the expedition. If they couldn’t at least catch the mimic, then they’d never be able to return home… let alone afford the treatment that was just barely keeping their mom alive.
Even if they succeeded, and returned as heroes, Lyanna suspected they would have to leave Bellwood. Too many people had seen her attack Bomond, and those assistants of his had known everything.
There were also more immediate worries to deal with.
Not just catching the mimic, but surviving the dangers of the mountains, including the Harpies and the many other species they ruled over.
“Amazing how many villages an’ all there are up here,” Reynard said, as they walked. “S’like there’s a hamlet in every other valley. Prob’ly as many people livin’ up here as there is back in Bellwood.”
Lyanna too had been amazed by the sheer proliferation of settlements and the complexity visible as they skirted around them. The inhabitants of the Cyclopean Bones weren’t living as savage raiders in caves and huts; they were building walls, houses, even halls and communal structures. Farmsteads and ranches were littered about the wilds of the mountain range too, and livestock pastures spread through any gap in the peaks large enough to accommodate them. Smaller, steeper slopes and hills were used too, grazed by mountain animals or home to orchards and gardens. There were even terraced ponds with unknown crops growing in them.
She had never imagined the Cyclopean Bones could accommodate so much life, or such elaborate, complex lives.
It was frightening to think that so many powerful creatures were hiding up in the gaps between the mountains. They had already experienced firsthand what just one of the species of the Bloodsucking Forest below could do.
“Not people, monsters,” Lyanna reminded her vulpine companion. “Like the ones who destroyed the rest of the expedition. Jalera was right to try to avoid them, even if it makes the trip take longer.”
Reynard’s ears drooped at the words, but he didn’t try to argue.
“Least they’re stayin’ in their villages.”
It was true – dangerous as it would be to encounter harpies or other organized monsters on their home ground, they hadn’t actually seen any of them outside of their settlements in many days.
“It’s strange,” Lyanna said, “there are so many of them, and their villages are larger and better developed than anyone realized… so why aren’t they out patrolling the area? Or working their fields and tending to their animals? They don’t even seem to be hunting and foraging….”
“Maybe… the Naga came up here too, after we did? They coulda attacked the Harpies, scared everyone inta holing up in the villages. Drawn off anyone what can fight to the North.”
“Why would they? Don’t the Harpies control the whole mountain range? That would start a huge war.”
“Maybe the Naga’re after one,” Reynard proposed, “they hate the Harpies, y’know, way they talk about ‘em’s no bettern’ how they do humans. Enemies ta conquer. If they thought they’d win, I’d say they’d try. An’ we know they’re in the mountains too!”
If anyone could threaten the Harpies it was that towering, golden Sultan, gleaming with rain and the flashes of thunder. More frightful than his armies had been the supernatural powers he wielded, enough that without Bomond’s defense even Jalera had chosen flight.
But the Stormqueen was famed throughout the Gulf and beyond – a near mythical existence, commanding the fury of the skies and showering her foes with lightning from beyond their sight.
As a student of the rare art of lightning magic herself, Lyanna knew how terrifying it could be, even with her level of mastery.
“I don’t see it,” she said in the end, “they were in the mountains for us, Reynard, to hunt us down. That means the Naga just picked a fight with Bellwood, so why go after the Harpies at the same time?”
The young vulpine halted in the shade of a low cliff, and leant on his wooden spear. Ostensibly he was catching his breath after the climb, affected by the thin mountain air, but he was too fit to be so badly exerted by the hike. He seemed more anxious than exhausted.
“What’s going on, Reynard? How do you know the Naga entered the Cyclopean Bones, instead of going back down to the forest?”
He hesitated, but Lyanna looked him in the eye with the stern insistence she had learned over her years leading a party.
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“Tell me what you know, or we could all be in danger.”
The fox’s ears flattened, and he hung his head as his body seemed to slump.
“It’s… it’s ‘cause the Naga din’t come up this way for us,” he said, pushing the words out, “they had no idea we was there, so… so that means they gotta be aimin’ for the Harpies. No way they’d have their king an’ all them warriors leave home for lessn’ that.”
Lyanna stared at him in confusion. “How could you possibly tell that they didn’t know we were there?”
He was silent, eyes flicking back down the trail behind them, towards the denser jungle of the valley below. The others were down there, but they were still sheltering in the undergrowth around a stream, taking a rest in the heat of the mid-day sun.
“Reynard, please, tell me what you know.”
He grimaced at her plea, and as if with great effort spoke.
“It were that night, when you set me loose! I were jus’ tryin’ to get away, like you helped me to, but… that rat Arn, he lied ‘bout the path, sent me inter a monster nest. Barely got away, an after I fell off a cliff!”
Arn… she should never have trusted the man. He was too helpful, too eager to win her over… but why? Even now she couldn’t understand what he gained trying to get Reynard killed. But a growing unease was creeping over her as the fox spoke on, and she guessed where the story might be going.
“It was some naga what picked me up, only… they were as surprised as I was. They were goin’ the same way as us, but they din’t know we was there at all ‘till they snagged me. I… I tried not ter tell ‘em, but they made me, an’ I never thought they’d really attack….”
Tears rolled down very human cheeks as he spoke, and once again Lyanna was reminded of Marcus. Even their screwups were familiar.
He clung to the spear as if to hold himself up as he went on.
“They was gonna kill me… spearhead were already in my neck! I-I din’t wanna tell them nothing, even after what the Baron an’ his lot done to me, but they were killing me! Like the expedition was gonna! I’m… I’m so sorry, Lyanna, I was so scared an’… angry for what they did…. So I told the Naga where the camp was….”
The human could feel her blood rushing, her hands trembling as she tried to make sense of what the vulpine told her. If the Naga hadn’t known they were there, and had time to prepare and coordinate their attack, or if the expedition had time to arm and ready themselves….
This boy, luckless and abused, had been the downfall of them all.
And she was the one who sent him into the arms of the enemy.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, tears pouring down his cheeks, “I know I’m weak an’ pathetic and a traitor… jus’ like what Elmina an’ the rest think! B-but I didn’t betray you, Lyanna! I made ‘em promise me, promise they’d not hurt you or Thunderbolt, or the other beastfolk!”
Bitterly she recalled the offer the Naga had extended to them that night.
“What were we supposed to do, just break ranks and walk away while they slaughtered the soldiers and mercenaries, even the priests and baggage carriers? And just trust them to let us live?”
His eyes were wide in horror, and his lip trembled as he saw her anger.
“I’m sorry Lyanna…. I-I’m truly sorry, honest… I know I shoulda let them stab my throat out. I wish I had! Woulda been a lot less dead that way…. I just… I’m afraid to die….”
Her bubbling rage was fuelled by desperation, by the terror of fading hope for her mother and the doom that seemed to enclose her from all sides, in large part thanks to Reynard it seemed.
Even so, seeing that painful, self-loathing look in his features, Lyanna found tears were in her eyes too. She recalled that night of the storm, and her fatal choice, between Bomond, and the entire expedition, on which her mother’s fate hung, and her brother Marcus, about to be struck down.
Even before that, had she not endangered the expedition for that very life he too had fought to cling on to?
She was no better than the vulpine.
Her shaking hand found his shoulder, and she gave a long, painful sigh.
“I… can’t say I forgive you,” she began, “but… I understand, Reynard. You were just trying to survive. The Baron, the Lastborn and Arn pushed you into an impossible situation. This… all of this is on them, and on me, just as much as on you. More so.”
“That’s all you have to say?!”
The voice rang out, harsh and bitter as it echoed against the rocks.
A face glared down at them from atop the cliff, and Lyanna’s heart was in her throat as she recognized the features of her brother.
The faint realization came to her, that the branching paths had run closer to one another than she imagined, but it was far too late to think of that.
Marcus’ mouth and brow were contorted with fury, his eyes burning into her and Reynard.
“That fox admits he betrayed us all, and you can ‘understand’ it?!”
“Kid, stop,” Dolm said, coming into sight at his side, “we can’t do anything now. We bring this up and people will be at each other’s throats. That’ll be it for us.”
“No Dolm! You almost had me fooled, but she’s shown her true nature again! A traitor just like the fox!”
He looked back down at her with a sneer of disgust.
“You really don’t care about mom at all! Or me! You’d let her waste away and die for some stinking animal who ratted us out to the Naga! Gods, he probably went and found them on purpose for revenge, and you swallow that sob story about how they tortured him?! You’re pathetic!”
The tears wouldn’t stop flowing as her brother laid into her from his vantage point, but her mouth didn’t move. What could she possibly say to him? Things had been getting so much better. She’d really allowed herself to hope that some day he’d understand, even forgive her.
“Marcus, don’t-”
“Shut up, Dolm!”
The boy threw off the hand on his arm.
“You don’t have to worry, any of you! Unlike Lyanna I know how to do what’s right for the only family I have left; mom.”
As he turned and stormed away, Lyanna’s hopes were left in ruins.
~~~
Evening in the mountains was painfully beautiful.
The heat of the day had passed, and the sun was low above the peaks, gilding the clouds with radiance. In the other direction the sky was a pastel display of pinks and purples, and directly overhead rays of sun cast striking shadows across the scattered clouds, many miles long.
Somehow the magnificence of the mountain sky was second to that of the place which lay beneath it.
East and West huge peaks rose up from the green of the valleys, twin spires of stone that were bare and rocky, framing the small plateau between them, and the immense formation that consumed most of the space.
Like the mountains, the vegetation failed in turn as it closed in around the structures, for the edges of the area were ringed by clusters of vents. They opened up in stony, mossy ground, and every few minutes one or more would erupt with plumes of boiling hot water, soaking their surroundings and ensuring that the plants stayed well back.
Their first warning had been the river they were following – when they stopped for water that afternoon they found that it ran hot – but the scale of the phenomenon before them exceeded anything Lyanna had imagined. Their river was just one of half a dozen that flowed away in multiple directions, draining the steaming hot springs and billowing vents. It wasn’t even one of the larger flows.
The sheer volume of water that emerged from the core of the formation was incalculable, but more of it seemed to flow away underground, at least initially.
That was due to the gigantic sinkhole that had eaten away the plateau surface, gnawing at the sides to create a deep and fearful gulf through which spires of hardier rock emerged like fangs from a twisted set of jaws.
Spires they were, but also chimneys, erupting regularly with towering jets of water, much of which evaporated as it was fired up into the skies. Each was formed by surreal clusters of pillars, perfectly shaped into hexagons, interlocking as if they had been cut to fit by the hands of the gods themselves.
At the centre of it all was a pit, deep and dark, into which much of the water cascaded, returning to the Underworld, and whatever strange and fearful monstrosity heated it. There were also side tunnels clear of water. Some showed signs of Formorian activity, where layers of strange chitin had accrued.
Their quarry, the mimic for which over a thousand people had departed Faron, and for which so many lives had already been lost, was at the bottom of that hole in the world.
Lyanna had wondered to herself as she repeated her spell, what possible force could drive the monster into so terrible a place. She worried that it could be that the creature had simply returned home – that would explain their rarity on the surface at least.
Marcus, still fuming from the afternoon, had insisted they go down there after it.
So far as she could tell the boy had held his tongue on the awful revelation Reynard had dropped upon her, but it seemed to driven him to reckless impulse instead. Worse, others had agreed.
All were, naturally, adventurers and mercenaries who had never ventured into the Underworld before.
Jalera had more sense, as did those more seasoned among the uneasy companions. They had agreed to stop there, to wait and observe how the creature was moving before they risked the depths themselves.
It was well they had, for that night Lyanna had reported, with breathy, relieved words, that their prey was on the move. Upwards.
The welcome news had led to a minor celebration, what little alcohol they had being passed around… although, somehow, never to Lyanna herself.
She didn’t much care, she was more concerned with keeping close tabs on the monster below them, and on the brother who she was watching getting progressively drunker with Pice and the Hunting Hawks.
Quietly she offered a prayer to Soleil, that her brother would hold his tongue. Already the air was thick, not just with moisture, but malice, the camp more one of enemies brought together by common need, than allies collaborating for mutual benefit. If they knew, about her or Reynard, even Jalera might not be able to control the situation. The diamond-ranker might even have the poor vulpine killed just to calm the others down.
No wonder he sat near her, shivering as the light faded. It certainly wasn’t the cold affecting him. They had no need of fire for warmth when even the ground itself was heated to the touch, but with the plateau so humid they made one instead for dryness and light. At the pace the mimic was approaching it could be days before it reached them, and so they settled in for the most comfortable night they could, using broad-leafed trees and bushes to create shelters against the mists that rolled towards them from the great maw in the earth
It was a sleepless night for Lyanna. Every hour or so she checked on the mimic, and on the camp. She wasn’t sure which she mistrusted more, but she needed both if she was going to save her mother.
~~~
Hurtling through the endless blackness atop a platform of ice over a boiling eruption of water, Berenike allowed herself to wonder if she was going to survive to see the surface again.
She’d always taken it for granted that when her time came, it would be up there. On the wing, most likely, battling for the sake of her people. Perhaps, if she was fortunate, it would be in bed, many years ahead.
No family would be present. She was long estranged from her mothers and sister, ever since joining the flight corps. When she became a Valkyrie she had also resolved herself not to bring daughters of her own into the world – too many warriors died young, and left behind their little ones. She aspired instead for her passing to be surrounded by her friends.
Faces came to her mind, of wingmates and people of the Eyrie, ladies she’d dallied with, drinking partners, even her long-time enemy in Phitaht, the champion, Xenia.
Oh how she had hated the gifted amateur bow-woman, for whom victories always came so easily, with such grace and nobility. Yet she admired her too – in her attempts to topple her Berenike had styled her own archery after the highborn sportswoman. In time enmity had become respect, even companionship. Those competitions lingered now, among her fondest memories.
Yes, Xenia too should be there, when the end came. Or so Berenike would have liked.
Her body hurt all over as she lay atop the ice, a deep, tired pain that seemed to suck the strength and life from her. The shivering had faded, as the energy left her, and she could only hug herself, and press against the body of Safkhet.
It was simply too cold, there atop the ice.
Yet she raised no objection. That cold was all which kept her from burning alive in the roil below, even then driving them upwards towards an uncertain fate.
Safkhet had the unenviable task of maintaining their ride against the heat, keeping it frozen solid without freezing Berenike too. The precision required would have been taxing even for a trained witch, and Safkhet was trying to perform the task not with a pinpoint flow of essence like an arrow, but the flooding rush of an avalanche. The Valkyrie had no intention of breaking her focus.
Freezing was far from the only peril they faced. At any moment their path could twist too sharply, or some rocky break in the regular, perfect tube could strike them to shatter the ice. Or they could be spat out into a magma lake, or a Formorian hive. Any number of things could be the end for her.
But none of them would stop the strange girl at her side.
Berenike was sure of that, as she felt the endless warmth of Safkhet’s skin against her, and the immense weight of her mana, pouring out around them. No matter how badly fate beat and brutalized her, Safkhet wouldn’t give up, and she wouldn’t perish. She’d crawled her way up out of a lake of lava. Boiling water was nothing to her.
It had been frightening at first, to feel such a monster awaken within the Eyrie, but now the pressure of her friend’s presence had become familiar, even comforting. The girl was like a figure from of another age, or another reality, so out of place that she even made the world itself seem strange at times.
Stranger still was Safkhet herself, however, who claimed to be an ordinary human, a simple wanderer with no memory.
Utterly laughable.
The humans of the Hronaram Gulf could never have accepted ‘monsters’ so readily. Nor could they have shown such depth and breadth of understanding on any number of topics – not least language. Berenike was convinced that Safkhet could have held a discussion with a rock, if only it could be convinced to open the dialogue.
That went beyond anything a human – or a harpy – was capable of.
So too did her physical and magical capabilities.
Even her ideas were remarkable. Berenike would never have even imagined that by stoppering the tube with ice it would create such an explosive, yet directed force.
That sort of absurdity seemed almost normal around Safkhet.
Before she came into the mountains, Berenike had led a simple life, training, sparring, protecting the people from stray monsters and the incursions of hostile species. It had been a time of peace.
Now she was miles underground, riding an upwards waterfall like an arrow shot from a bow, in their desperate attempt to escape the mechanical armies of the gemstone artificers of the Underworld’s depths.
Saf seemed to attract the surreal and impossible in that way. Or perhaps it sought her out. Either way the small, unassuming woman took it all and flew on.
Her small, cute friend seemed so vulnerable at times, so lost and fearful it made the heart ache, yet there were moments when her courage and her kindness took Berenike’s breath. She had even been willing to sacrifice herself, to let the others escape the Pharyes pursuit.
That was the one thing Berenike couldn’t allow. To the Valkyrie, Safkhet was a gift from Nemoi herself; a ray of hope for the peoples of the Cyclopean Bones. She would be eternally grateful for meeting the strange, sweet girl, and she was determined that she, at least, would make it back to the surface safely. Even if she couldn’t turn the tide of the invasion, Saf deserved at least that much.
Berenike hoped that in time, when the war was over and times were less dire, that Safkhet would be able to tell her, and the rest of the Harpy people, her true tale. What she really was and where she really came from. The girl had alluded to wanting that herself.
First they all had to live that long.
Injuries had robbed her of her strength, and healing, though it saved her life, had drained her reserves too.
And it was cold. So very cold. Her feathers were coated in frost, and her breath hurt to draw.
Whatever else Saf might be, Berenike was glad that she had one dear, dear friend with her, should this misadventure prove her end.
Her fingers were numb, but the pressure in her hand told her she was gripping her companion’s side.
It was well that Safkhet had come up with a better plan than freezing them both solid in a block of ice for the trip.
As her thoughts faded she saw the girl looking over at her in the gloom, lit only by the faint glow of essence scintillating in her eyes.
Berenike mustered a smile, reassurance for her friend, before her consciousness left her.