A knight? Stranger and stranger. There were plenty of those in her stories, and Papa had told her some Orders still existed today- though he claimed they were mostly an excuse for old men to get together, smoke, and complain about their wives. She'd never heard of this Rosy Cross, though, and Sir Remy seemed to do more than sit around.
"What does 'Hermetic' mean?" she asked him.
"It means I cannot tell you what it means." He winked and went over to the fallen tree, pulling a green glass bottle from a small case on his belt.
Nikha followed him, frustrated. "What are you doing here, then? And how are you here? Do you know what's going on?" She felt like an idiot, doing nothing but asking questions, but what else could she do?
Sir Remy ignored her as he thoroughly doused the tree with the bottle's contents, a fluid whose astringent smell reminded her of lye. "Stand back," he warned. An instant later the stuff burst into purple-white alchemical flame, violent and searing-hot. Nikha's mouth gaped open in shock, but before she could shout at him for setting her home on fire the flames snuffed themselves with a foomp. Nothing was left of the tree but powdery white ash.
"Don't want it leaving seeds, now do we?" said the knight in answer to her astonished look. "Of course, we'll likely be burning the whole place down anyway, but I've got to go in and make sure that won't make things worse first. I would leave, if I were you."
Nikha had even more questions now, but the first on her tongue was a short one. "What? Don't burn down the house! Why would you do that?" She tried to put a stern look on her face, but ended up looking more distraught than angry. "My- my father's in there!"
For the first time, Sir Remy's expression grew serious. "Then you ought to thank me. If he lives, the fire will be a mercy compared to what he is going through. This is a bad a case of contamination as any I've ever seen. Worse. It must be contained at any cost."
"But what does that mean?" Why couldn't this ridiculous knight say anything that made sense?
Reltane put a hand on his hip and gave her an appraising look. After a moment, he said, "Someone here has trafficked with powers inimical to human life. Called names that should not be spoken, opened doors that must remain shut. Whatever they have brought through must be extirpated, their person and knowledge with it." He briefly closed his eyes and took a breath. "Even revealing this is too much, and I must be off. Again I say to you: leave this place, if you can."
Now what did any of that mean? She understood the words, of course, but what was he talking about? Heathenry? Witchcraft? The thing in the gallery which she really wasn't going to think about? And something else...
"Wait. You're leaving?" Nikha asked, hating how childish she sounded.
"Yes. And I cannot have little girls tagging along and getting underfoot. Leave or stay, it is your choice, but do not follow." The knight went toward the glass-paned door leading inside.
Oh, now that was rich. That wasn't what she'd meant at all. "Of course I'm not following you! You should be following me! Help me find my father." The man was utterly rude, but he could certainly shoot. He would be helpful to have along.
Sir Remy turned to face her, the sneer on his face now quite unpleasant. "Why would I do that?"
"Because...because you're a knight! When you find a lady in need, you're supposed to help her!" The ones in her adventure stories always swore oaths to that effect, at least. "What about your knightly honor?"
He barked out a humorless laugh. "Honor? I'm afraid I have used all mine up, and never received any in return. I have run right out. Good luck, and goodbye." He turned and went into the galleries while Nikha glared a hole in his back and fumed.
What kind of phony knight just leaves a little girl by herself? she thought, choosing to ignore the fact that she'd been trying to act as grown-up as possible. Satisfied he was not going to suddenly change his mind, she huffed out a sigh and got her pack. After going through it to make sure nothing had broken- and calling Sir Remy every foul name she could think of under her breath all the while- she pulled out the roll of bandages and wrapped the scrapes on her arm. The burning sensation had subsided a bit, but they still hurt. She had to cover most of her forearm, the white linen nearly matching her skin. She refilled her bandoleer too, then made the last few balcony jumps without incident.
Just before she left the balcony, something occurred to her: if Sir Remy was going to burn down her house, why hadn’t she simply shot him? The thought made her frown. I doubt I could have gotten the drop on him. That was true, but he fact was she hadn’t even thought of it as an option. Though it worried her in a way she couldn’t quite articulate, she had to keep such things in mind.
Nikha went inside at the last of the Stag Galleries and immediately moved for the stairs. The basement was her next goal. Things were a bit off, here. The paintings on the walls had changed. There, a ship sailed upon purple seas and the figures on its deck were far from human. In another the sky above a field was black, not blue, making the sun seem like a blind and glaring eye. The wheat below had all gone gray. Every single one was hung crooked, too, which put her on edge almost as much. She didn't run into Sir Remy, which made her a little happier. Not only was he rude and mean, she was in more than enough danger without having him shooting at her.
The stairwell was full of dust: pale white motes that sifted down from the ceiling and made it seem like it was snowing indoors- though they were not cold. Her boots kicked up drifts of the stuff as she tromped down the stairs. She did not try to catch any flakes on her tongue; who knew what it was or where it came from. She was in the middle of descending when there was a noise, distant and muffled by walls, but still quite loud. It was a drawn-out squeal that reminded her of the trumpeting elephant she'd seen at a traveling circus once, but lower and more monotone. Nikha stayed frozen for a few seconds after it stopped, but nothing happened. Shaking her head, she took the rest of the steps two at a time.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
After going down two flights, she'd reached what looked like the bottom. Nikha knew better. Beneath the stairs, she kicked away the snow-dust built up along the baseboard and pressed the hidden latch with her toe. A concealed door opened in the wall, swinging on oiled hinges. The regular entrance to the basement was near the kitchens, but the low hill upon which Eldergrave was built was riddled with tunnels. There were plenty of other ways underground, and for one reason or another some were secret.
Yesika- she found a lump in her throat at the thought of her- had told Nikha this one was used by some old von Kranssov lord to make clandestine visits to his paramour. Nikha, through the context of her adventure tales, understood this word to mean an attractive woman other than one's wife. Why this lord hadn't just married her instead of making secret passages she didn’t know, but she was grateful for it now. Beyond the door was another flight of steps, narrower and all of gray stone.
Embedded in the dressed blocks of one wall was an old-style phlogiston valve, looking rather like a brass spigot knob. She cracked it slowly open and a few of the arc-sconces lining the way down crackled to life. Perhaps half stayed dark, their converters degraded by time and neglect, but there was enough light to see by. It would have to do. She closed the door behind her and kept moving down.
The stairs were long and straight, and she found herself thinking about what Sir Remy had said before he so rudely departed. Called names…whatever they’ve brought through… It kind of sounded like he was talking about a war summoner. They could touch someplace beyond the world, even bring through energies and beings with the right training. They were tightly regulated, though, required to join the Imperial Army at a young age-and Nikha had never heard of them being capable of something like this. So what did that leave?
Father Geriomov had always been warning Nikha to beware of witchcraft and heathenry, speaking in vague terms of dark powers and temptations that led to one’s own ruin. What he actually meant Nikha had never asked-the man seemed suspicious enough of her already, what with her looks, and she’d not wanted to agitate him further. He’d been Eldergrave’s priest before an abrupt falling-out with Papa. Between that and so many of the staff being let go, he’d not been replaced. Nikha hadn’t minded: he’d always treated her like some kind of criminal, and besides: according to the Megalomartyria any believer could pray directly to the Annoumenos. She didn’t need some old man from Kheritsyn City to intercede. However, she now found herself wishing he was still around, if only to provide some insight into whatever had happened. Maybe this was witchcraft.
The witches in most of her books were just ugly old women who cursed people. Sometimes they drew magic circles, like the one in the unthinkable room, so maybe that was it. Other times they made deals with demons, which always turned out badly for the witch in the end. Trafficked with powers inimical…opened doors that must stay shut. Doors… Nikha remembered the strange graffiti on the ceiling of one of the galleries. “Are we the doormen, or the door?” she muttered. None of it made sense! The more she learned the more she didn’t know, and the whole thing just gave her a bad, bad feeling.
Suddenly her foot came down on a step that wasn’t there, and she was too busy catching her stumble to keep ruminating. She managed to fetch up against one of the unpleasantly slimy stone walls, then turned around. Indeed, the tread of the last step was gone. Beneath it wasn’t stone or dirt, though. There was just…black. Like a hole, but the meager light didn’t penetrate at all. It just didn’t look right-and after the worm tunnel Nikha was very wary of dark places in tunnels. Nikha drew her knife and made to poke it within the space. It got close, then stopped. Nikha frowned. She drew back and prodded a few more times. Same result. Her knife would get just to the edge of the blackness, then stop as if she’d hit something. The resistance had just a bit of give, like a rubber ball. Careful but curious, Nikha extended a finger and slowly moved it closer and closer to the hole. It got to the edge and would go no farther. She couldn’t feel anything there, no friction or texture. Her hand just stopped in thin air. Still scowling, she sheathed her knife and kept going. I’ve got no idea. Not that that’s a shock.
She’d only been this way once or twice, but the stairs seemed longer than they should have been. More and more of the solid holes appeared the further she descended. Most were in the walls, looking like missing bricks, but all exhibited the same strange behavior. Finally, she hit the bottom. It was almost fully dark, so she fumbled around for a little while before finding the phlogistic valve on the wall. Gingerly Nikha opened it, and more or the neglected sconces crackled to life. They were of cast pewter, the arc-chambers cradled in curving, vine-shaped arms. The one closest to her emitted a squeal before flashing painfully bright and popping. Blinking away eye-floaters, she was relieved to see most of the others stayed on.
There was only one way to go, so Nikha kept moving, her boots echoing on the slate flagstones. The walls here were of gray stone blocks left slightly rounded, the mortar between them crumbling. Every ten yards or so she passed wooden bracing beams, so old they were dry and hard as the stone around them. She spotted a few ‘missing’ bricks in the walls and ceiling, just like on the stairs. Her shoes were far from the only sound. She heard the distant thud of engines, the sluice and gurgle of water flowing behind the walls. Eldergrave was built on a hill, but it was a low one and the water table was high. Nikha’s grandfather had had a steam pump installed just to keep the basement dry, and Papa paid a steamfitter called Tarasov to keep it running. Nikha hoped she’d find him safe down here. He was a distant sort of man, but had always been nice to her.
The course of the tunnel twisted and turned but never split. But for one or two short sections, there were always enough functional sconces to see by. They let off the acrid smell of scorching dust, heated as they were for the first time in years. Nikha had never come this far in her previous explorations, and the geography was probably twisted anyway.
This is almost nice, she thought. While it was rather dim down here, the air was comfortably cool and just a little moist. On days when it was too cold or rainy to run about in the von Kranssov estate’s forests, Nikha had made a game of exploring the tunnels beneath Eldergrave. She would imagine herself to be Procurer Armitage or Renette the Huntress or some other adventure hero from her novels, in search of lost knowledge or valuable relics. She’d even begun a map. However, after an occasion involving a hidden door and a luckily unlit fireplace, Papa had forbidden her going past the main basement areas. It was one of the few things he did forbid- to Ossoff’s eternal frustration- so she’d taken him seriously. Coming back down here would have been pleasant under any other circumstances.
Just after she’d had this thought, of course, Nikha encountered something unnatural. Upon rounding a sharp corner, she found herself facing another dark stretch of tunnel. Halfway down it was a column of pale light. It looks like a heaven-bridge, she thought. One saw those looking out over the plains on overcast days. The sun would shine through a hole in the clouds, and a great pillar of sunlight would run from ground to sky like a bridge laid by angels.
This bridge was tiny indeed, though: Perhaps eighteen inches across, and slanting down from ceiling to floor at a slight angle. Getting closer, Nikha could see no source for its light. it was oddly self-contained too, illuminating nothing beyond its borders. It was like looking through a spot on an old mirror where the silvering had flaked away. She trusted it not at all. Acting on a half-formed instinct, Nikha pulled an empty case from her belt and tossed it through the light. For a moment the brass flashed bright as fire-and then it was gone. Nothing landed on the other side. For some reason this scared her more than anything she’d seen since waking, with the possible exception of the-No. Stop it. She couldn’t even muster the defiance to glare at it, instead meekly shuffling around and moving quickly away.