13 – A Harsh Welcome

The long marble staircase was the steepest Ward had ever been on, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he felt a bit of vertigo sending queasy butterflies into his stomach. Some of the other challengers spoke to each other. A few made quips, trying to lighten the mood, but most were silent as they climbed down the precarious, seemingly endless stairs. Ward looked over his shoulder a few times, trying to gauge how far they’d gone, and after the third such glance back, he could no longer clearly see the exit.

“Where’s the light coming from?” a high-pitched feminine voice asked behind him.

“No idea. These challenges were crafted with more mana than even an archon could muster,” a tall, leather-clad man to Ward’s left remarked. Hearing him, Ward wondered what he meant by an “archon” and tried to mentally add it to his list of things to ask Grace when she showed her face next.

“Who made you the expert?” This speaker, Ward recognized; he was one of the Tarnish locals—Fost, if he remembered correctly.

“Not an expert. I just said I don’t have any idea. Are you stupid or just looking for a quarrel?” The tall man looked over his shoulder and scowled down his long, angular nose at the much smaller local hero.

“Neither,” the kid mumbled, then leaned close to his sister and began a hushed conversation. Ward figured he was trying to save some face. He was contemplating whether he should move ahead, hang back, or just continue in the center of the pack when a loud gong sounded from up above.

“Gate’s closed,” said a voice from behind him.

“Gods, but these stairs are long!” cried a woman a few steps ahead of Ward. He adjusted his straps with his thumbs and kept trudging downward, endlessly appreciative of his newly healed knee. He tuned out the small talk around him and focused on the shadows obscuring the most distant stairs ahead.

After a while, he thought he saw a different quality to the light down there, like maybe it was growing brighter. He was thinking about mentioning it to the group, wondering if anyone else had noticed, when a different sound echoed through the air, up and down the long, marble stairway. A strange, crystal chime rang out—ding!

“What was that?” someone asked.

“No idea . . .”

Ding.

“Again!” someone cried.

Ding, ding.

The way the sound was increasing in speed and intensity made Ward think about an alarm, and he began to wonder if it was a warning or a signal that they needed to hurry the hell up. He decided to go with his gut, and, despite the steep incline and the vertigo threatening his balance, he began to hop down the steps two at a time. Some of the other challengers called out questions—what was he doing? Did he know something? Was he daft?

Ding, ding, ding.

Ward felt intensifying anxiety as the chime continued to increase in volume and frequency, and soon, he was recklessly leaping down steps four at a time. At least half the other challengers were rushing with him, and the big, hatchet-faced man who’d threatened Fost stumbled and fell headlong, almost tripping up another challenger who barely dodged him. Ward heard a loud crack when the man struck the steps, heard him cry out, and, glancing back, saw him struggling to stand, one arm hanging limp.

The end of the stairway was apparent now—a dimly lit expanse of marble floor that stretched away from the bottom step. Ward figured he was only fifty or so steps from the bottom when the chimes began to ring incessantly: Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. He leaped, pell-mell downward, and he’d just hit the second-to-last step when, with a smooth, softly grinding snick, they rotated into each other to form a seamless, horribly steep ramp.

Ward’s footing slipped out from under him, and he fell to his butt but only slid a short distance before he struck the marble floor feet first and somersaulted forward to flop onto his back, his pack cushioning the impact.

The people close behind him suffered similar fates, but as he hurriedly scrabbled into a seated position and turned, Ward saw many hadn’t been so lucky; they tumbled and careened down the steep marble slide, rapidly approaching the unforgivingly brutal floor. Ward scrabbled backward so they wouldn’t crash into him and saw others doing the same, and then those who’d refused to run or hurry down the steps began to impact with sickening thuds, cracks, screams, curses, and, in quite a few cases, eternal silence.

“Jesus . . .” Ward breathed, still scooting backward away from the falling challengers and the stairs that had become a treacherous slide. He’d seen some messed-up stuff in his day, but watching those people crash into the white marble floor, spattering it with red in many cases, was a new one for him.

“Help me!” Ward turned to the cry and saw the young woman from Tarnish, Haley, trying to pull her brother out from under a larger man who seemed to be either dead or unconscious. Ward hurried over, and while Haley tugged on Fost’s arm, he grabbed his ankle, and together they pulled him free of the big man’s bulk.

“Oh, idiot! Stupid, prideful, dolt! He refused to hurry—thought you were panicking. Well, he should have panicked!” The woman was in tears, and Ward felt sorry for her; he didn’t think Fost would be going anywhere soon. The young man had a split on his forehead beneath which a massive goose egg rose in bloody, purple splendor.

The fellow who’d fallen atop Fost was in even worse shape. Ward had seen plenty of corpses, and he was a prime example of what they looked like—neck bent in the wrong direction, skin flat and lifeless, and not a bit of movement under those prominent ribs. Ward turned away from the corpse and the crying young woman to take stock.

He tried to tune out the noise and look around, ignoring the whimpers, sobs, curses, shouted questions, and exclamations. They were in a long, low-ceilinged gallery, rectangular in nature and entirely constructed of the same smooth white marble as the stairway. Something like fifty yards ahead, opposite the horrible ramp that led up to Tarnish, was a copper door. Ward could just make out the shadow of a depression or void before it.

He wanted to go and investigate the door and the area before it, wondering if it was a pit or just a step-down, but he couldn’t walk away from all the people needing help. That didn’t stop some, however. Two men, one with a sword and one with an axe, carrying backpacks and dressed in sturdy, chain-link armor, began walking away from the injured and bewildered folk. Ward called out, “Hey! You noticed the timer on the stairs? The chimes? What if going up the hall starts another? You mind waiting ‘til the rest of us are ready to move?”

The two slowed, and the one on the right turned to regard Ward. He was a hard-looking man with scars around his eyes, a rough, patchy black beard, and a scowl that would probably have made a child cry. “We’re none of your business. No prizes for helping the doomed.” His voice was a hoarse growl, but it didn’t faze Ward.

“Good attitude. All right, asshole. You and your pal go find the next trap for us.” Ward waved his hand, flicking his fingers in dismissal. He turned back to the sobbing, cursing folks, the slowly-getting-it-together people, and the other ones like him, those who’d survived the fall unscathed and were hanging around trying to help. He counted seven dead or unconscious and four with broken bones. He began to help move the still, possibly dead people out of crumpled piles, pulling them clear, dragging them out of the blood.

Some people were clearly skilled in first aid, helping to bandage split heads and splint broken bones. Ward watched and helped where he could, but the truth was, despite his years on the force and his time in the Marines, he’d never been much good at that sort of thing. He was helping to tie a sling for a young man’s broken arm when someone near the ramp shouted, “Get off him! Bloody scavenger!”

“Piss off! He don’t need it no more!” a hoarse woman’s voice growled.

Ward looked to see a tall woman in nondescript brown and green clothes rifling through a pack that had belonged to one of the dead. The man who’d called her a scavenger was standing by, holding a hatchet, clearly contemplating adding the woman to the death tally. Ward frowned, wondering if he should intervene. He was torn between doing the right thing and not getting himself killed or in a situation where he had to start blasting. Would the guy really try to kill her? What would everyone else do? One thing he wasn’t was indecisive, though, and despite his desire to wait and observe, he found his damn mouth speaking up for him.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Hey, buddy. It’s not worth it.”

The hatchet-wielder looked over at him, scowling. “You think we should just rob each other, huh?”

“No, but he’s not exactly going to need whatever she’s taking. Is it worth getting in a fight? Worth killing for? If you don’t care about the killing, think about what happens if you get injured. This place doesn’t seem forgiving.”

“Well said,” an older woman, well, probably Ward’s actual age, said from where she knelt, helping to splint up a young man’s badly sprained ankle.

The woman looting the pack ignored the conversation and kept digging, but the man with the hatchet hawked a big wad of phlegm out of his throat, spat it on the marble at his feet, then walked away. Ward turned back to his work, tying the sling around the man’s shoulder.

“Thank you, stranger.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Ward stood and looked over the survivors, trying to see who else might need a hand. While his gaze drifted over them, he settled his eyes on Haley, collapsed on her brother’s chest, hugging him while she sobbed, and he noted tiny, sparkling motes drifting up from Fost, forming into a kind of twinkling, blue dust cloud around the kid’s body.

“Shit,” he grumbled, stepping back over to them. “Hey,” he said, gently gripping Haley’s shoulder.

She looked up, tears streaking her face, marring the makeup she must have worn for the send-off ceremony. How proud she must have been, standing in front of the whole town, all her peers and elders watching! “What?” She rubbed at her nose, wiping a long streak of tearful mucus on the sleeve of the pale yellow shirt she wore beneath her leather vest.

“I’m sorry to say it, but I think he’s passed.” Ward glanced away at the other tumbled bodies and saw many more with the blue mana dust floating around them. “Him and most of the others who aren’t moving.”

As he spoke, he saw the woman with the green eyes, the ones that shone with mana, squatting near one of the corpses and holding her hand in the dust. Was she gathering some of it? He studied her, watching her hand closely, and then he saw it—some of the stuff went into her skin with tiny blue flashes. “Sorry, kid.” Ward squeezed Haley’s shoulder again, then stood up and walked over to the woman in green.

She seemed to sense his presence and looked up, opening her bright eyes and locking them with his. “Ghoulish, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“I dunno. I guess it’s not really his anymore.”

“Shh!” She held her finger to her lips, then motioned Ward down to her level. When he squatted low, she whispered, “Not everyone knows how it’s done. I assume you can see the mana? Let’s not spark some sort of ambush. These folk might not so blithely look away. I’ve seen my share of witch burnings.” Though she spoke softly, Ward figured it wasn’t necessary. So many people were talking, crying, or moaning in agony that he didn’t think anyone was listening. Still, he nodded to her and winked.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

“What about you? Will you harvest?”

“Hmm? I think I’m holding all I can.” He shrugged. In truth, he didn’t know how any of this stuff worked.

“When was the last time you harvested?”

“A few days back.”

“Well, you should have some more potential by now! You know the mana you gather will slowly improve you, right? Here!” She waved her hand through the cloud of blue dust. “There’s plenty!”

“Huh.” Ward held his hand in the cloud and closed his eyes, concentrating, trying to recapture that state of mind he’d had the other night. To his relief, it came much more quickly to him, and before he knew it, he felt the tingling, electric, cold sensation of the motes entering his skin, first a couple, then several, then a dozen or more. He felt his breath quicken. His arm began to tremble, and if he weren’t so cognizant of the woman—and possibly others—watching him, he might have groaned in pleasure. All too quickly, the moment passed, and he withdrew his hand, opening his eyes.

“That was quick! You’re very sensitive to the mana, but I saw you only took a few motes in. Well, persistence is everything. Keep at it—that shine in your eyes will eventually become a glow. I’m Lisa, by the way.”

“Ward.” He smiled and looked up, glancing around at the tragic folks and the not-so-tragic. The crowd near the base of the ramp seemed lighter, and when he turned to look toward the distant copper door, he saw a small group had gathered there. People were moving on, leaving the wounded and dead to their fate. “I feel bad about these people, but what can we do? The exit’s a thousand feet up.”

“That’s not the exit. The entrance changes—some trick of the magic the architects used. Some say the entrances are actually portals leading to different places; it’s why survivors’ tales don’t really help others to prepare for what’s to come. Anyway, the only way out is through.” She gestured with her head toward the distant group by the door.

Ward stood and looked around. Haley was still sobbing over her brother, but almost everyone else was moving or had moved on. Even those with foot or leg injuries were hobbling down the passageway. Lisa also stood and started that way but looked back over her shoulder to lock eyes with Ward again. “It’s nice to meet another mage. I’m sure we will be separated soon; it’s the nature of these places, but I wish you luck.”

“Yeah, you too.” Ward waved, mesmerized by her beautiful, faintly glowing eyes. Her smile widened as she turned and continued walking.

“Oh, brother!” Grace said, suddenly standing beside him.

“Jesus!” Ward took a step back and slapped a hand to his chest, exaggerating his surprise. “Trying to stop the old ticker?”

“I saw how you stared at that woman. She’s nothing special, Ward!”

“Well, she knows more about mana than you do. She showed me I could harvest again, for one thing.”

“Hush, you big doofus. That crying girl is staring at you. I never said you couldn’t harvest again, by the way!”

Ward turned back to Haley and saw that she was, indeed, looking up from her brother’s corpse, her tear-streaked face splotchy and swollen, big brown eyes trained on him. She wiped at her nose again, and he could tell she was about to say something to him, so he beat her to the punch, stepping closer. “Hey, we should get moving. What if another timer starts chiming or something.”

“I can’t leave him like this!”

“Tell her his spirit’s already gone; that’s how you can see the mana. He doesn’t care about his body.”

Ward frowned at Grace, but she had a point; maybe it would help. “You know, Haley, between you and me, I can see the mana floating out of his body. His spirit already moved on. He wouldn’t want you to get yourself killed or hurt trying to watch after his dead body.”

“Truly?” She choked out another half sob and wiped her nose again. Then she looked down at the body, and fresh tears sprang into her eyes. “But . . . he’s my brother! We were going to do the challenges together, and he’s already dead!”

“Yeah, it’s a real raw deal. Come on, though.” Ward held his hand down to her. “You don’t want to die here, too. Think about your folks.” She sniffed, nodded, and took his hand in her hot, almost feverish, slender fingers. Ward pulled her up, and they started walking. He let go of his grip on her hand, but she held on to his for a few seconds, and he felt a wave of genuine empathy for her; he’d been in the shit when he was her age, deep in the sandbox, but he’d had boot camp before that and a bunch of brothers-in-arms. She must feel terribly alone.

“Oh, Ward, Ward, Ward,” Grace sighed, strolling along beside him. “You aren’t that girl’s dad or,” she looked him up and down, “anything else. Don’t get bogged down trying to carry her along, ‘cause these challenges can be a real . . . challenge.” She smirked, apparently enjoying her attempt at humor.

Ward didn’t answer, not wanting to look like a nutjob in front of Haley or the other people they were fast approaching. It wouldn’t have mattered, though—when he looked down to see what kind of face she was making, Grace was gone. Was she afraid the woman in green could see her?

“Anyone have a grapple?” The armored man Ward had earlier challenged stood near the edge of a sheer drop ten feet before the closed, copper door. The hallway was wide, so despite the number of people vying for space, he could easily see the sharp edge of the marble floor and the darkness beyond. The door sat in a smooth marble wall with no ledge, no hinges, and no handle or knob visible.

“What are you going to hook a grapple to?” Ward asked, consciously trying to keep his voice level, friendly, even.

“I dunno. Was gonna see if something might catch between the door and the marble . . .”

Ward wanted to look down in the pit, but he also didn’t trust all these strangers, so he worked his way toward the wall on his right and sidled up to the ledge, keeping his back flat against the stone, ensuring no one could surreptitiously give him a shove. When he looked over, he saw about twenty feet of marble shaft descending and then nothing but blackness. “Looks deep. Anyone drop a rope down, or a light, even?”

Ward, of course, only had his one lantern. For a moment, he wondered where he’d dropped his pocket flashlight and figured he must have left it on the ground back on Earth, where he’d almost died.

A woman near the center of the tunnel held up a brightly glowing fist, distracting him from his thoughts. “I have glow stones. I’ll drop one!” Ward watched as she held her fist out over the pit and let go. Then he blinked as a bright ball of golden light fell downward. It brightened the shadows, exposing more shaft, and descended, seemingly forever, until it was nothing but a tiny, flickering ember swallowed by blackness.

“Gods!” Haley breathed from beside him.

“Yeah. That’s damn deep.” Ward had just spoken when a chime rang through the catacombs, echoing off the marble walls, ding.