10-18-2017, 06:30 PM
The tunnel walls shimmered in the torchlight, condensation and mineral runoff sparkling. At times the tunnels narrowed considerably so that only two at a time could make it through. Those carrying the crates struggled
through the passageways so much Armande found it necessary to pause, so as to not get so far ahead.
Not that he knew the way, for all of this leading. Matvei- his hand, he though sardonically- was constantly pointing out branchings and forks. The tunnels were not all solid stone, either. Millenia of erosion had worn holes, some large and some small, connecting to other, far smaller tunnels and branchings. Some 'walls' were little more than stalactites or stalagmites, as if dripping molten wax had hardened.
In truth, those narrow openings and small tunnels concerned him more than the stench. Well, the same anyway. The tunnels sloped down at one point for hundreds of meters and they found themselves traveling through what had to be a cloud of whatever gases had been released. His throat clenched and eyes watered and he tried not to breath as he pulled up a side of his garment over his mouth.
"Tell everyone to cover their noses and mouths, he said, voice muffled. But Matvei understood and motioned for others to follow suit. As Armande waited impatiently- those crates, those damnable and precious crates!- he watched as the people coughed and wretched, as tears streamed down faces.
None were children. Valeriya and the Monk with her seemed youngest. The old ones, he thought grimly. He wondered how many would survive. The downward turn seemed to last forever. After some interminable time he whirled on Matvei, his irritation getting the better of his normal self control. "Why did you bring us this way!"
Matvei seemed to shy back, still calculating as always but ow showing fear.
"Great Father, this was the quickest shortest way,"
he said, the sound of his voice unapologetic through the folds of his cloth. He waved at the air around them. "I have never seen anything like this before!"
he said.
Armande steeled himself. The man was right. He would know nothing of the settling of heavy gases. Still, a part of himself- the animal part he usually kept a on a leash- was stalking about, a lion in a cage, wanting to be out, to be free of this trap.
"Keep going!," he turned, trying to choke down the pain and keep the tears from his eyes. He ignored the cries behind him. What happened happened. When they were safe, they'd know the cost of this exodus.
The tunnels widened into a larger opening and mercifully started upwards and the tension he hadn't realized he was feeling in his chest seemed to lessen. The air seemed clearer too. He turned for a moment as he moved ahead to give everyone room.
Just then something caught the corner of his eye, a dark shape- or shapes- faster than the shadows cast by the flickering torches. A scream ripped through the group, then another. He had his sword out, blade telescoping, pushing his way through but by then it was too late.
A woman- she could have been 40 or 70, for all he could tell- lay on the ground as did another man- this time more clearly old by the wisps of white hair fringing his bald pate. Massive bite marks in their legs and throats dribbled blood into a pool that grew steadily.
Not just their own blood. Three cherufe lay there, still twitching as holes in their torso and sides leaked inky black.
And Armande smiled as he looked up at the people. Four of the Khylsty stood there at the ready, eyes alert and scanning the darkness, stone and bone knives poised to strike again.
Khylsty. Deadly. His.
He did not need to tell them to keep alert. Just as his hands did not need to be commanded by his brain to wield a sword or fire a gun. They knew what to do.
He nodded to them- to all of them- with a hint of a smile. "You've done well. We must continue. We will meet the Eye soon." Some smiled- small smiles, to be sure. "We go above. To our destiny." For some, the smiles broadened.
And he felt pride in his chest.
The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful. The few cherufes that attempted to come after them claimed no more victims. He instructed Matvei to speak to the others and determine how many they had lost. It took only moments. Twelve. A large blow, to be sure. But the strongest had survived. And Armande had his core of iron.
Finally, light from ahead indicated they had reached their destination. There, slashes in her dress, scratches at her arms, dark mass of hair with bone and stone decoration, stood Valeriya. And for the life of him, she looked like a queen, a barbarian queen, eyes seeming to pass over her people.
Armande walked up to her and gave her a small nod of his head. He bent forward, his mouth almost touching her ear- her hair tickled his nose in a way he hadn't felt in years- and pitched his voice for her alone. "Well done My Eye. Well done Valeriya." He straightened and looked her in the eyes- green eyes- it was always the strong green eyes....
And for the first time in years, Armande Nicodemus, Vicar of Iscariot, Regus of the Atharim, actually smiled. Voice loud for everyone, he said, "Let us go to the Above!" He had crossed the River Styx into Hades, and now he was returning with an army behind him and Valeriya by his side. He had cheated Hades. To the surface. To meet his foretold destiny.
through the passageways so much Armande found it necessary to pause, so as to not get so far ahead.
Not that he knew the way, for all of this leading. Matvei- his hand, he though sardonically- was constantly pointing out branchings and forks. The tunnels were not all solid stone, either. Millenia of erosion had worn holes, some large and some small, connecting to other, far smaller tunnels and branchings. Some 'walls' were little more than stalactites or stalagmites, as if dripping molten wax had hardened.
In truth, those narrow openings and small tunnels concerned him more than the stench. Well, the same anyway. The tunnels sloped down at one point for hundreds of meters and they found themselves traveling through what had to be a cloud of whatever gases had been released. His throat clenched and eyes watered and he tried not to breath as he pulled up a side of his garment over his mouth.
"Tell everyone to cover their noses and mouths, he said, voice muffled. But Matvei understood and motioned for others to follow suit. As Armande waited impatiently- those crates, those damnable and precious crates!- he watched as the people coughed and wretched, as tears streamed down faces.
None were children. Valeriya and the Monk with her seemed youngest. The old ones, he thought grimly. He wondered how many would survive. The downward turn seemed to last forever. After some interminable time he whirled on Matvei, his irritation getting the better of his normal self control. "Why did you bring us this way!"
Matvei seemed to shy back, still calculating as always but ow showing fear.
"Great Father, this was the quickest shortest way,"
he said, the sound of his voice unapologetic through the folds of his cloth. He waved at the air around them. "I have never seen anything like this before!"
he said.
Armande steeled himself. The man was right. He would know nothing of the settling of heavy gases. Still, a part of himself- the animal part he usually kept a on a leash- was stalking about, a lion in a cage, wanting to be out, to be free of this trap.
"Keep going!," he turned, trying to choke down the pain and keep the tears from his eyes. He ignored the cries behind him. What happened happened. When they were safe, they'd know the cost of this exodus.
The tunnels widened into a larger opening and mercifully started upwards and the tension he hadn't realized he was feeling in his chest seemed to lessen. The air seemed clearer too. He turned for a moment as he moved ahead to give everyone room.
Just then something caught the corner of his eye, a dark shape- or shapes- faster than the shadows cast by the flickering torches. A scream ripped through the group, then another. He had his sword out, blade telescoping, pushing his way through but by then it was too late.
A woman- she could have been 40 or 70, for all he could tell- lay on the ground as did another man- this time more clearly old by the wisps of white hair fringing his bald pate. Massive bite marks in their legs and throats dribbled blood into a pool that grew steadily.
Not just their own blood. Three cherufe lay there, still twitching as holes in their torso and sides leaked inky black.
And Armande smiled as he looked up at the people. Four of the Khylsty stood there at the ready, eyes alert and scanning the darkness, stone and bone knives poised to strike again.
Khylsty. Deadly. His.
He did not need to tell them to keep alert. Just as his hands did not need to be commanded by his brain to wield a sword or fire a gun. They knew what to do.
He nodded to them- to all of them- with a hint of a smile. "You've done well. We must continue. We will meet the Eye soon." Some smiled- small smiles, to be sure. "We go above. To our destiny." For some, the smiles broadened.
And he felt pride in his chest.
The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful. The few cherufes that attempted to come after them claimed no more victims. He instructed Matvei to speak to the others and determine how many they had lost. It took only moments. Twelve. A large blow, to be sure. But the strongest had survived. And Armande had his core of iron.
Finally, light from ahead indicated they had reached their destination. There, slashes in her dress, scratches at her arms, dark mass of hair with bone and stone decoration, stood Valeriya. And for the life of him, she looked like a queen, a barbarian queen, eyes seeming to pass over her people.
Armande walked up to her and gave her a small nod of his head. He bent forward, his mouth almost touching her ear- her hair tickled his nose in a way he hadn't felt in years- and pitched his voice for her alone. "Well done My Eye. Well done Valeriya." He straightened and looked her in the eyes- green eyes- it was always the strong green eyes....
And for the first time in years, Armande Nicodemus, Vicar of Iscariot, Regus of the Atharim, actually smiled. Voice loud for everyone, he said, "Let us go to the Above!" He had crossed the River Styx into Hades, and now he was returning with an army behind him and Valeriya by his side. He had cheated Hades. To the surface. To meet his foretold destiny.