Riddle in Stone (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book One) (25 page)

This one seems to be flowing fairly quickly. Maybe it heads to the River Gate.

Or maybe it flows into another giant chasm like the last dozen streams you followed.

“Hold this,” Edmund said, shoving the last of their torches into Pond’s free hand. Kneeling in the calf-deep water, he peered into the crevice into which the stream raced.

You aren’t going to crawl down there are you?

Why not? It has to go somewhere. Look how fast it’s moving.

You better hope there aren’t any Red Jaws lurking about, or worse. Heaven only knows what beasts dwell this far below the mountains.

It’s too shallow for Red Jaws.

You’re taking a risk.

I have to take risks if we’re going to get the hell out of here. I want to go home!

“Stay here,” Edmund said.

“Right,” Pond replied, the sizzling torch casting an orange glow across his round face. “But . . . what if something happens?”

“Like what?” A drop of cold water from the ceiling struck Edmund’s already damp head. He shivered.

Pond shrugged. “Goblins? Turd?”

“Use the knife I gave you.”

“Right!” Pond said. “How about if I scream for help instead?”

“By all means. I’ll return to lay pretty flowers on your corpse.”

“Right. Okay then. Off you go!”

Edmund lowered himself into the cold water, his hands and knees sinking into the gritty red clay at the bottom of the stream. He couldn’t stop his body from shaking.

Damn, this is cold!

He peered into the narrow crevice again, the swift current swishing around him. The opening seemed big enough, but he couldn’t see down it more than a few feet.

You’re going to get stuck one of these days. You’ll get stuck and then you’ll die a slow death, trapped forever under these accursed mountains.

Pond would . . .

Edmund considered his companion.

Pond stopped humming. “What?”

“What would you do if I got stuck in one of these?” Edmund asked.

Pond’s shoulders lifted. “Call for help?” he suggested.

Edmund shook his head. “Look, if I ever get stuck and can’t get free or if I get hurt or I’m about to get captured or something, I want you to kill me. Slit my throat or stab me in the heart. Do you understand?”

“Absolutely.”

“So you’ll kill me if the time comes?”

“Oh no! Not a chance.”

Edmund threw up his hands.

“So what would you do if I got stuck down here? Just leave me?”

“No. I wouldn’t
leave
you. I’d probably pull on your legs or push or . . . something.”

“And if that didn’t help?”

“I’m sure things would work out in the end.” Pond winked. “They always do.”

He’s kidding.

Maybe . . .

“Give me the knife.” Edmund said. Pond handed it to him. “I’ll kill myself, thank you very much. I’ll be b-b-b-back in a few minutes.”

Pond waved. “I’ll be here.”

Trembling with cold, Edmund scrutinized the opening a third time. It was definitely large enough. He just hoped it led somewhere.

If I don’t get out of here soon, I’ll—

What? Jump into one of the gorges?

Maybe. It would be a quick and relatively painless end.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

He began crawling. Almost immediately damp darkness enveloped him. Frigid water lapped at his chin. His toes and elbows dug into the silt-covered ground, propelling him forward.

The walls of the tunnel narrowed. His shoulders skimmed the wet stone. The top of his head grazed against the low ceiling. He flattened himself more, the water now up to his shivering bottom lip as he slithered along on his stomach.

Damn the water is cold! I wish we had extra wood for a fire. I’m going to need to thaw out after this.

You’ve felt worse. Just keep going forward.

The stream turned slightly. Edmund followed, his head bumping into the unseen ceiling a second time.

That drew blood.

You’re fine. Just concentrate . . . and don’t panic.

The water inched higher. He tilted his head and exhaled out the corner of his mouth. As he pulled his numbing body through the darkness a few more yards, his splashing repeated endlessly around him in the coffin-like tunnel.

The water rose. To breathe, he lifted his pursed lips closer to ceiling; he was practically kissing the rock. Squirming forward into the blackness, his chest and stomach slid along the bottom of the stream.

The passage dipped abruptly. Edmund’s face plunged into the cold water. He retreated, spitting out water that had infiltrated his mouth. He coughed, long hacking coughs that bounced his body against the surrounding stone.

This is stupid. If you don’t get stuck here, you’ll freeze to death or drown.

That’s better than dying here of old age.

With searching hands, he felt the sides of the passage before him.

It’s wide enough.

Yes, but the water goes all the way to the top. Better turn back.

Why? I know what’s back there. I have to go on. I have to find a way out.

You’re going to regret this . . .

Taking three deep breaths, Edmund lunged forward, but his feet slipped on the gritty clay covering the bottom of the stream. He floundered. Instinctively, he yanked his head up, cracking it against the ceiling. This time he knew he drew blood. He could taste it in the water.

Reaching before him, his fingers found cracks in the walls. He pulled. His body raked across the streambed. His shoulders grated against the walls as they closed in. Then he stopped, unable to go forward or back.

Trapped!

Completely submerged, Edmund thrashed and turned. His nose hit something—what, he couldn’t tell, maybe the ceiling, maybe the sidewall of the tunnel. More blood mixed with the cold water. His lungs burned as they attempted to retain their air. His legs kicked. His arms pulled. Slowly he scraped through the bottleneck, rocks gouging into his back and stomach.

Forward or back?

Forward! Hurry!

He surged onward, panic washing over him like the stream’s icy current. Heaving his head up, he cracked it against the ceiling a third time.

He felt air.

Angling his head, he lifted his lips above the waterline and gasped, his chest heaving.

Relax. Everything is fine. Just relax. Relax . . .

Relax? I almost died back there.

You might die here if you don’t relax.

His pulse began to slow.

You’re freezing. Go back and light a fire.

No, I have to see if this flows into the River Gate!

When his pulse calmed somewhat, he resumed crawling in the blackness.

The passage widened. Soon, he was on his hands and knees again, his head completely free from the water. Frosty air kissed his face. His body convulsed with uncontrollable shivering.

Damn, it’s cold!

Across the bottom of the stream, Edmund’s fingertips found more cracks. But something was strange about them. They were straight and seemed to form rectangles.

Bricks?

His hands swept over the walls to his side.

More bricks?

Maybe this is an aqueduct of some sort.

Searching above his head, he couldn’t find the ceiling. Gingerly, he stood up, his hands outstretched. Cold air flowed over his nearly naked body. Sounds of his quaking echoed in the darkness around him.

Is that a breeze?

Don’t let your imagination run wild. Find something to burn. You need light and heat. You’re going to freeze to death soon.

Shame you didn’t bring the torch.

It would be soaking wet and useless.

And what about Pond? He’ll never be able to get through that crawlway. Never in a million years.

First I have to figure out where ‘here’ is.

Shivering, Edmund felt the wall to his left. It was smooth, like polished metal. He felt the top of his head. There were two growing bumps and a small cut. His nose was also bleeding. But he could tend to that later. Dripping, he stepped out of the stream and followed the wall.

Almost immediately, his legs bumped into something lying on the floor. Judging from the hollow clatter of it collapsing, he guessed what it was. He bent down, his hands gliding over a rib cage, then a skull picked clean by rats or some other animals.

Human?

Maybe. Maybe a large goblin.

Maybe it’s another Pit Dweller who escaped and died in these damn mines.

His fingers skimming around the floor, Edmund found what he was looking for. Casting his spell, he lit the scraps of rotting clothing. His eye adjusted to the light. A crumpled white skeleton grinned up at him.

That’s going to be you and Pond soon.

Not if I can help it.

He glanced around, holding the burning fabric as close to his shivering body as possible without dripping water on the tiny flame or burning himself.

He was in a room. Not a cavern or a natural passageway or even a mineshaft, but a beautiful triangular room constructed of three smooth walls of white marble and a tiled floor resembling autumn leaves of yellow, brown, and red. The stream at his feet flowed into the basin of an elegant brownish-green fountain at the room’s center and then flowed out through seven brick-lined troughs arranged to resemble a radiant sunburst. The remnants of what appeared to be a statue of a childlike angel reaching up to the heavens lay in pieces scattered about the dust-covered floor. Overhead, a crystal chandelier glinted under a thick blanket of cobwebs.

The flames eating the ancient fabric began biting Edmund’s trembling fingers. Draping the cloth over one of the skeleton’s thighbones, Edmund added more scraps of clothing and tufts of long grey hair that he found nearby. The flames leapt and crackled. Puffs of black smoke whirled upward.

What is this place?

I haven’t a clue. It wasn’t made by goblins, that’s for sure.

Stepping through one of the three doorways to the room, Edmund found himself dripping water in a wide corridor crisscrossed with thick cobwebs, swaying slightly in a faint breeze. Strewn about the floor were more bones and debris.

Look at that. That mail. It’s been sliced open like it was nothing. And that shield there is nearly cut perfectly in two!

Iliandor’s metal? When did he or his knights fight underground like this?

Never, according to the history books.

Never ,according to the history books you’ve read, you mean.

Edmund poked the webs with the flaming thighbone. They disappeared in great sheets, leaving behind grey wisps swirling up to the ceiling. He stalked down the corridor, knife in one hand, the leg bone in the other. Bits of glowing ash dropped to the ground as he passed.

Don’t go too far. You don’t want to get lost.

Something crunched under his feet.

Stooping down, he picked up a piece of the black substance that covered the floor.

Dirt?

Why would there be a pile of dirt here?

He squeezed it in his hand. A rancid ammonia smell made his eye water.

No! It’s not dirt. It’s—

His heart leapt.

It’s bat guano!

And where there are bats, there’s an exit!

Pond emerged from the icy stream, hacking and sputtering. He cast himself on the tiled floor next to the now one-legged skeleton, gasping for air. “I thought . . . I thought you said . . . that . . . that it was an . . . an easy . . . crawl!”

“Did I?” Edmund replied, brushing the cold water from his quivering body. His skin, though now clean, had a bluish tint to it. His fingers were winkled and without sensation. But he didn’t care. There was an exit somewhere nearby and he was going to find it—or die trying.

“You did.” Pond coughed some more. “Mother’s milk, you called it. Keep your head down, you said. Easy as walking, you said. You didn’t say anything about that part in the middle.”

“Imagine that. Anyway, here you are.”

“Like a drowned rat crawling onto the deck of freezing ship!”

“You’ll live. We’ll feel warmer as s . . . s . . . soon, as soon as we dry off.”

“Maybe. But I can’t feel my fingers. They’re completely n-n-numb.” Pond looked around as he sat shivering. “Wh-wh-where, where’s here, by the by?”

“I don’t kn-kn-know. It seems to be some sort of deserted subterranean fortification or city.”

Maybe it’s Álfheim.

Don’t be absurd! That’s only in children’s faerie tales.

How can you say that after everything you’ve seen since leaving Rood? Elves exist. You met one! This could be their ancestral home.

It could be hell for all I care, as long as it has a way out.

“It’s colder here,” Pond said, wrapping his wet arms around his dripping chest. “Wherever here is.”

“Yes, and the, the, the air is moving. Can you feel it? There’s an exit somewhere, an exit to the outside. We need to find it!”

“All right. Sounds easy enough. But what about the winter? We’ll need clothes and supplies.”

“The winter might be over for all we know. But first things are f-f-f-first. Our primary problem is that our fuel for a fire is precious little. Soon we’ll be completely in the dark and I don’t want to stumble blindly into some trap.”

“Right,” Pond said, getting to his feet. “Then you lead on. I’ll guard our rear.”

Holding the thighbone with a small scrap of burning fabric, Edmund led Pond down a wide hallway.

“Pick up anything that you find that can b-burn, clothing, wood, hair—anything,” he told Pond, pausing to determine which way the breeze was coming from.

“Right!”

“And try not to get them too wet, if you can manage it.”

Pond picked up the rotting remains of what might have been a wall tapestry or rug.

“Do you really think there’s an exit nearby?”

“Absolutely!”

There has to be . . .

If there isn’t, I’m going to kill myself.

They took another hallway. Alabaster statues standing in gilded recesses in the wall greeted them, their hands lifted in tokens of welcome and goodwill.

“These aren’t goblins,” Pond said, tapping one of their dusty legs. “They don’t look like humans either.”

Edmund continued walking slowly through the gallery, shielding his tiny flame from the wafting air. “They’re elves.”

“Elves?” Pond snorted, his laughter falling heavily on the debris-covered floor.

Edmund gestured to the statues’ pointed ears and angular facial features. “See.”

Pond’s chuckles died in his throat. “You mean . . . they, they actually existed? The tales are true? The children’s tales about . . . about them and . . . and magic and—?”

Edmund raised an eyebrow, half-smiling at him.

“Oh,” Pond said, scratching his dripping beard. “Right! I keep forgetting what you can do. I’m sorry. It’s just that ever since I got captured, everything seems like a dream, you know?”

“Well it’s time for both of us to wake up from this nightmare,” Edmund replied.

They reached a gathering hall lined with columns of clear crystal. They glittered in the light from their small flame, sending rainbows dancing throughout the room. Mouth open, Pond gazed up at the vaulted ceiling and the murals of elven children running naked over green fields dotted with yellow wild flowers.

“I still can’t believe this,” he said. “Elves! Who would have thought? I wonder what happened to them! Or what else from the old legends are true. Wights? Dragons? Demons! It’s enough to make your head spin.”

Edmund beamed. “We’re almost out of here. I can feel it!”

He peered down one passageway and then another. Both went off into darkness.

“What do you want to do when you get home?” Pond asked, handing Edmund a handful of threads from the tapestry he found.

Edmund added them his small fire.

“I mean,” Pond went on, “are you going to go back to selling books and all that? Or are you going to continue adventuring?”

Taking care not to drop the burning cloth at the end of the leg bone, Edmund resumed walking through the chamber. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Well,” Pond said, as if raising a delicate issue. “If . . . if you’re interested, maybe we could go into business together or something. Books, textiles . . . I can sell anything!”

Edmund grinned at him, his cheeks actually hurting from his growing joy. “I bet you can!” he laughed. “I’ll tell you what, when we get out of here . . . ” he said, stressing the word ‘when,’ “I’ll get you the best shop in Rood, right on the town square. And you can sell anything you like! We’ll be partners.”

“Partners,” Pond said, mulling it over. He nodded. “All right! I’d like that. It’s a deal. What are we going to call it? The store, I mean?”

Shielding the flame with his hand, Edmund moved slowly to the next doorway. “I don’t know. How about, ‘Things You Can’t Get In A Pit’?” He laughed.

Pond followed, apparently weighing Edmund’s suggestion.

“Let’s go this way,” Edmund said, inclining his head toward a doorway to their right. “The breeze seems to be coming from over here.”

Edmund blew lightly on the smoldering embers on the end of the femur. They glowed dark red and erupted into orange flames as he added another precious few threads of rotting fabric. He looked up, the fire reflected in his widening eye. His mouth moved silently. The flaming fabric slid off the femur and fluttered to the floor, singeing the thick dust at their feet. The fire went out.

He pointed in front of them.

“There,” Edmund said in awe.

Cutting through the blackness like a beacon, a golden light illuminated a distant archway.

“There!” Edmund repeated louder.

Freedom!

Edmund tottered toward the light and then began running. Pond followed, crying out and jumping, his arms waving above his head. They reached the archway, shielding their eyes from the brilliance. Cold, fresh air gushed down on them.

Finally! Freedom!

He wanted to shout for joy.

Free—!

They were in a perfectly circular chamber. Around them, light reflected off walls of polished silver. A sarcophagus trimmed in glittering gold and flashing sapphires sat on a raised dais in the middle of the room. On the beautifully tiled floor, snow melted into small holes. But it was to the ceiling where Edmund’s gaze drifted. His smile dissipated.

No!

Dazzling sunlight streamed from a shaft directly over the sarcophagus.

“No,” Edmund said, squinting up to the blue morning sky. “No!”

“Maybe we can somehow climb up there,” Pond said. “It’s probably only a hundred feet or so.”

More like two hundred feet straight up. Then you’d have to get past the bars.

Edmund collapsed to the floor, his tears of joy turning bitter.

I can’t believe this!

“Hey,” Pond said, rubbing Edmund’s bare, damp back. “It isn’t all that bad. There has to be an exit somewhere around here. I mean, it isn’t like they built this place and didn’t have a front door. We just gotta find it. That’s all. In the meanwhile, we have light and we can feel fresh air. Everything is good, you’ll see.”

Edmund choked. “Oh, shut up! Just shut up and leave me alone, will you? We’re going to die in here. Die.” He sobbed.

Falling back against the gem-studded sarcophagus, he stared up through the shaft, the sunlight illuminating his tears.

Just end this. Take your knife and end all of this.

“Edmund,” Pond said. “You—”

“Shut up! Will you? Just . . . just shut the hell up and . . . ”

Pond was peering out an archway across from where they had entered the chamber.

Scowling, Edmund pulled himself to his feet and staggered to where Pond was standing.

They were high up in a magnificent cavern bigger than anything Edmund had ever seen before. Its stone ceiling was fashioned into a perfectly rounded dome the color of indigo. In it flecks of white and violet twinkled like stars in the gloaming.

Below the dome, built on a series of ledges, appeared to be a small city. At the bottommost level was a kind of town square with the remains of fountains and benches, sculptures of fruit trees, fronts of what might have been shops, and an avenue bisecting the ruins. Leading away from them, the avenue disappeared into a gaping tunnel, fifty feet high and at least twice as wide. From the tunnel, bright sunlight shimmered.