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In with three please
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Mar 27, 2024 22:26
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| # ¿ May 14, 2024 20:27 |
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The Shape in the Catacombs word count: 1486 The clang of an alarm gong rang as Daya slipped the Sapphire of Akhenus into a belt pouch. The alchemist’s sleeping draught was not as potent as advertised, she thought. Her eyes darted around the room as she searched for an escape. The doors out of the secluded hall led into the keep proper, where a wall of sharp steel held by stout soldiers was approaching her; slim windows opened out to a sheer drop to the sea, hundreds of meters below–if she could even squeeze into the miniscule arrow slits. That left the last resort. Her client’s gravelly voice rang out in her memory. “Do not venture in without a sure escape–but if you find yourself in an untenable position, you may find respite through the catacombs. None of the keep’s soldiery will follow you there.” Her position appeared untenable, and the sound of thumping boots outside the door confirmed this feeling. Daya jammed a brazier against the door and ran to the opposite wall. She explored the bricks with her fingertips, searching for a catch as she heard heavy shoulders ramming against the door. In the very moment she heard the brazier crash and the heavy doors burst open, the disguised mechanism clicked, and began to grind as stones swiveled slowly to expose a black maw leading down into the darkness. An arrow clanked off the stone inches from her head, and Daya pressed into the growing aperture to find some cover. Boots thumped across the floor, and she pressed harder against the interminably slow bricks, until she squeezed painfully through and stumbled down the top few stairs. Letting out a whoop of relief, she scrambled down the stairs as quickly as she could, though the inky darkness was broken only by a slim beam of light coming from the passage above. The meager illumination was blocked by a bulky form, and Daya pressed herself against the wall, prepared to dodge another arrow. No missile came, though–she was only subjected to a grim chuckle as the guard triggered the mechanism, and the bricks slowly knit themselves together, plunging her into gloom. It was in the nature of Daya’s occupation that she must frequently work in the dark, but this was beyond her normal milieu. This darkness was complete, suffocating, pressing down on her like a great, amorphous beast. Her breath quickened as she cast about, hoping to see some glimmer of light. And a glimmer there was–a feeble blue glow leaked from the pouch at her belt. Daya drew forth the Sapphire of Akhenus. The magical gem threw out a sickly blue glow that succeeded in piercing the dark enough to illuminate a few steps ahead, but it did little to disperse the oppressive weight of the atmosphere. Daya took a deep breath and set forth into the catacombs. *** The danger of the catacombs seemed more legend than reality. Daya had made her way through a series of burial halls that housed nothing but dust and bones and ragged cloth. A careful application of the latter two, along with a flask of oil, provided her with a serviceable torch, which did much to dispel the fearsome atmosphere that struck her when she first entered. Where fear had fled, a sort of timeless boredom had taken its place. Daya had lost all track of how long she had been wandering the catacombs, and the mapping of the twisting corridors had taken some time. Now, though, she was fairly certain she had narrowed the possibilities down to a corridor hidden away behind an ornately carved pillar. It seemed that the air here was fresher, unless that was the sweet perfume of hopeful imaginings that she was breathing in. This path extended longer than the others, unbroken by chambers for nearly half a mile, before emptying out into a strange dome-like chamber. The walls were covered in a tessellation of flat facets that looked so smooth and even as to unsettle her somehow–Daya had never seen such exacting craftsmanship in her life, and for some reason it made her skin crawl. “Welcome to my home,” a voice said from the other side of the chamber. Daya’s eyes darted to the source of the sound, where a shrouded figure stood. “I am the story-keeper, the yarn-taker, the collector of tales. If you give me a tale, I shall let you pass.” A shiver ran up Daya’s spine. Something was amiss here. “A tale? That’s all you require?” “So long as it satisfies, you need not worry.” “And what shall satisfy?” Daya asked as she moved slowly forward, hoping to catch the figure in the pool of light from her torch. It did not seem to move, yet stayed just out of reach. “Quality or quantity, that is all that is required. If one tale does not satisfy, I shall ask for another, but I will trade you food and water for your exertions.” “Is that all?” Daya laughed lightly. “And here I had been given to understand there was a great threat hidden away in these catacombs.” She edged closer, but the figure was still out of sight. “No threat, no indeed. I merely take tales.” “Take? So the tale will be yours?” The figure hesitated, and Daya knew she had struck upon a condition of the figure’s bargain that it did not want known. She had heard of things that steal away memories as sustenance, draining the teller until they were a husk. She pressed closer to the figure, but it merely led her round the chamber in a slow, dance-like chase. “What is one tale in exchange for freedom? The door to the wilderness is hardly much farther. You are nearly free. One tale, and you are home free, as they say.” Daya kept circling round the chamber with the figure a little ahead of her, scanning out the corner of her eye, waiting for her moment. “You say one tale, but insist you must be satisfied. Will you coddle me so, when one tale turns to a hundred? Will you dangle freedom before me to induce the thousandth tale? The ten thousandth?” “What is the cost of a tale in the face of starvation within the maze of these catacombs? You shall–” The figure broke off its words in a guttural bark as Daya made a break for the exit out of the chamber, towards what she dearly hoped was the freedom the figure promised. She made it a half dozen strides before a chill force restrained her. She looked down and saw tendrils of living shadow entwined around her waist. The umbral tentacles drew her slowly but unstoppably towards the figure. “I apologize if I gave you the impression that you had a choice,” the figure said, his voice morphing into something guttural and inhuman. As Daya was drawn near, she saw the figure resolve into something human-shaped but constructed of writing shadow. A bulbous shadow-head began to rise, threatening to expose some horrific visage to her. Without thinking, she threw the lit torch with all her force into the being’s face. It screamed and released her. Daya dashed to the exit, tripping and scrambling in the guttering light of the torch. She reached the doorway as the light died entirely. With all her strength, she ran in the darkness, one hand on the wall, lungs burning from exertion. Before long, she saw the sallow glow of light that heralded a cloudy dawn, carved in the shape of a cave mouth. A rushing joy welled up in her as the light grew nearer, first twenty strides away, then ten, then five– Once again, the chill of death enveloped her leg as the tale-stealer’s guttural roar shook the very stone of the passageway, drawing Daya back a dozen feet. She yelped in despair as she turned to face the being. “I do so prefer to draw the tales from the teller slowly, as it is so much more sustaining. But I can devour them all at once, if need be. And I am so very hungry,” it said as closed the distance, now running on massive tree-trunk limbs of shadow, filling the close space of the corridor. Daya searched her pockets for any weapon that could prove potent against the being, all to no avail. Finally her hand closed around the smooth facets of the Sapphire. As she drew it out, a shuddering scream ripped from the being. Daya cast the Sapphire into its misshapen shadow-head with all the force she could muster. The feeble glow of the Sapphire seemed to grow, as if feeding off its opposite in the shadow-being, until it let out a blinding light. With a keening, deafening note, the Sapphire shattered into nothingness, and took the tale-stealer with it. Daya sighed, dusted herself off, and strode into the growing daylight. At least she’d been paid half the fee up front.
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Mar 31, 2024 22:05
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