The Forgotten City (33 page)

D
iega tumbled out of the cave tunnel and slammed down into boggy black mud. She lay half-stunned, staring up at a brown sky, electricity convulsing inside low-hanging clots of dark green clouds. Masses of tiny, biting insects swarmed through the air, fouled by noxious gases burbling and belching up from the swamp. Her senses retuned and she fought the desperate drag of the mud to sit up. Beside her Shawe struggled, with only one functioning arm, to keep Copernicus’ face clear of the filth. Diega lunged over to help. She slid her hands under Copernicus’ head and he stirred, fighting to open his eyes, but the poison had now spread further and he couldn’t manage it. Diega felt as if her heart were ripping apart, a burning pain radiating across her chest. She cringed, unable to stop her distress from surfacing. Shawe cursed beside her. His arm was a mess, the skin sloughing off around the new stab wound, but his expression was still set into sheer unyielding stubbornness. Diega had always hated that look, but now she knew it meant he was going to race death right to the end, no matter what. And it was coming fast.

She grabbed painkillers and some of Eli’s slowing and healing serums off her belt and prepared to inject them into Copernicus, but he jolted away as she tried, struggling to say something.

“He doesn’t want them,” Shawe interpreted. “He needs the pain to keep him going.”

“I don’t want him to suffer,” she said.

“He loves it,” Shawe said. “All that serious soldier trutt – deprivation and resilience and other such stupidity. He’s always too trutting serious for his own good.” Diega thought she saw a flicker of emotion in Shawe’s dark green eyes.

“Here, then.” She tried to inject the painkiller into the gangster’s arm instead, but the needle broke off, unable to puncture his skin. He laughed roughly.

“Don’t bother with me, sunshine. We don’t have the time.” His eyes met hers and she understood what he meant. Her heartbeats hammered faster. They had to find the healing plants right now.

Diega stood, looking for bearings in the swamp, a barren slough that stretched out indefinitely on all sides but one, where a clump of straggly trees led into a forest cloaked in a thick miasma mist. The mud left no trace of prints, and all their navigation equipment was still down – which left them again at the mercy of finding someone to beg for help, except, unlike Rambeldon, this place looked completely deserted. The sky here was even gloomier, overcome by the alien darkness consuming the entire planet.
The X
. Diega glanced toward Caesar, standing several paces away. He was swiping his muddied hands down his shirt in a compulsive frenzy that bordered on panic. It seemed so completely out of character for the usually unshakable Pride King that it struck instant fear in her. She thought he must have been poisoned, or possessed or whatever the trutt else could go wrong. Shawe saw Diega staring and snorted.

“Kitty doesn’t like getting dirty.”

Caesar’s golden eyes snapped to them, and Diega saw humiliation, overshadowed immediately by cold anger. He released a deep rumbling growl and started to shake, his face distorting alarmingly between human-breed and lion.

“What’s happening to him?” Diega asked, backing away.

“He’s turning,” Shawe said, standing up.

“Into what?”

“The Lion. If he loses control over it, it takes over, then the beast comes forward and the man becomes the shadow.”

“You had to make fun of him, didn’t you!” Diega yelled at Shawe. “Make him stop. We need him to carry Copernicus.”

Shawe shook his head, looking around them. He spotted Caesar’s blade in Diega’s belt and pointed to it. She handed it to him.

“Here, kitty – look at this.”

Shawe threw the blade at him and Caesar snatched it out of midair. He turned it over in his mud-caked hands and the touch of it snapped him out of his turn.

“My father gave me this,” he murmured. “He was the greatest man who ever lived.” Caesar crossed himself three times and kissed the blade.

Shawe gestured for Diega to hand over his weapons and other belongings and when she did, he took a long swig of his flask, “And my father gave me this. He was the biggest drunk who ever lived.”

Caesar eyed him with cold contempt. “Perhaps the second,” he said. “A man who disrespects his father’s name is no man to me.”

Shawe’s stare hardened and he clenched a fist. Diega stepped in fast before everything unraveled again.

“Maybe you had a father who cared if you lived or died,” she said. “I didn’t, neither did Copernicus – in fact, his father tried to kill him. Buried him alive. Should he praise his father for that?”

Caesar looked down at her, his expression unwavering. “Whatever he did, he made him the man he is today.”

“The man he is today is a dead man if we don’t move now.” Diega’s words threatened to overcome her. “You said you owed him, so prove it.”

For a moment Caesar didn’t move and Diega feared she’d lost him, but then he stepped closer to Shawe and with a mutual savage reluctance, they locked hands and crouched down. Diega helped maneuver Copernicus into their grasp and they lifted him. Shawe didn’t even flinch as Copernicus leaned heavily on his injured arm, and Diega had no choice but to stand in awe of the gangster’s strength.

“Which way?” she murmured, more to herself than the others, but Shawe grunted, “The forest.”

It made sense to head toward the one place in the swamp that offered shelter, and therefore a greater chance of inhabitants. For once Caesar made no arguments so they started forward, trudging and squelching, making slow progress in the clinging shin-high mud. Diega’s muscles burned and cramped. With every step, she searched for solid ground and found none, feeling depleted and lightheaded with hunger and thirst. She grabbed a quick-boost hydration satchel off her belt and downed it, then offered one to the gangsters. Both grunted a refusal, neither wanting to look weak in front of the other. So she drank the second one as well, and felt an immediate boost in her energy. In the sky above the light kept dipping, over and over. Each time Caesar’s back twitched and Diega was reminded of what the dragonfly had said – once the land was in darkness, an army of monsters would invade. She forced the fear out of her mind and took the lead, her spare blade clutched in one hand. Shawe started to sing and hum a galley tune about brotherhood and war. He really was completely tone-deaf.

Caesar glared at him until Shawe stopped and said, “Something in my teeth, kitty?”

The Pride King narrowed his eyes in a calculating lion smile. “I see you’ve forgiven Kane’s betrayal?”

Shawe snorted.

“What betrayal?” Diega glanced back at the two gangsters carrying Copernicus. She was sick of the whole trutting story. “He cheated with Copernicus’ girlfriend first and Copernicus reacted.”

“You both talk way too much,” Shawe muttered with annoyance.

Caesar clicked his tongue in the gangster way and said, “One of my girlfriends, too.”

Diega shot Shawe a look of disgust. “What’s wrong with you? There’s not enough women in the city without having to break up other people’s relationships?”

“Can I help it if women find me irresistible?” he demanded. “Besides, if K-Ruz and Kane weren’t so pathetic in bed, the girls would never have come to me.”

Caesar and Diega both made dismissive sounds – having a moment of bonding over finding Shawe ridiculous and foul.

“Seriously – how could you do that to your best friend?” Diega asked him, expecting his usual weak blaming. Instead he took her by complete surprise with a flash of sincerity.

“It’s the only regret I have.” He glanced up at Copernicus slumped between them. “He already knows.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” Caesar said.

“Everything happens because of alcohol,” Shawe countered.

“Then stop drinking,” Diega told him.

“Sure, sunshine. I’ll quit right after you quit. How about that?”

He had her there. It was easier said than done – so much easier. She decided to keep her mouth shut.

Finally they breached the first line of trees, thin leafless shapes with rambling branches and twisted trunks covered in warty knots and nodules. The wafting, cloud-like mist became thicker the further in they went, until they could only see shadows through the haze. Birdsong echoed in the quiet – jootoos, whipping whistles and tee tee tees. Outlines of larger bison-like creatures moved through the mist, seeming to be part of it, maybe made of it. The animal activity gave Diega hope there would be people here who would help them, but the further they trekked into the slough without encountering anyone, the more her hope faded. The mud became thicker and deeper, the sky darker, and Copernicus’ head sank low, his grip on Shawe’s shoulder loosening. Diega watched him, her spirits lagging, sinking into a despair more deadly than the mud. Even Caesar looked like he was struggling. Only Shawe kept pushing strongly, until finally he spoke, his voice bellowing in the silence.

“I hear something.”

Caesar lifted his head, his eyes sharpening. “I hear it too.”

“To the left,” Shawe urged, and they started toward the sound with renewed strength.

They pushed through the consuming mist, but balked as a desperate scream pierced the air. They scrambled for cover behind a clump of gnarled tree trunks. Diega peered out. In a clearing some distance from their hiding place, a green figure that looked like a Vidris Slimer, an algae-blood plant-breed, was struggling and gurgling, trapped in a pond of sinking death mud. A cluster of giant toads had circled the drowning creature, lashing out sticky whip tongues, trying to snag it for their next meal before it sank out of sight. Diega immediately thought of Eli. He would see this creature and run to save it out of the goodness of his heart, but the goodness in hers was negligible. What she saw was someone who might know where the Eti River was – and there was nothing like saving someone’s life to induce gratitude. She spoke her thoughts to the others.

“What other trutting choice is there?” Shawe muttered. “You distract them while me and kitty get the Slimer.”

The insult furrowed Caesar’s forehead and fury glowed in his eyes. Diega elbowed Shawe and gave him a warning look. He shrugged. “Get going, sunshine.”

Diega gritted her teeth and slipped out from behind the tree line. She kept low, running up behind the toads. The monsters were swelling, releasing deep, barking croaks while the Vidris continued to scream. When Diega was close enough, she yelled out, “Hey!”

The toads’ eyes swiveled toward the sound, and she must have looked like a much better food option than the stringy Slimer because they all started to turn toward her in their plodding way. Diega was already backing up, ready in case they started jumping. As they edged forward, she caught sight of the poison glands beneath their eyes starting to expand. She leaped for cover behind a crooked stump as toxic blood spurted her way. By the sound, the toads were now moving fast. Diega lunged out from her hiding place and took off, running and stumbling through the mud. She drew her blade, preparing to fight for her life, but before she could turn to face the toads, something seized her from behind, sinking three daggers in her and lifting her off the ground. A giant, sucking mouth cavity latched onto her back and she felt a surge of weakness as a massive leech began to drain her. Blackness closed in from all corners of her mind. She couldn’t get the blade around, her arm flailing uselessly.

The leech’s body suddenly exploded, drenching her in her own hot blood, as Shawe stabbed the creature through.

“You owe me, sunshine,” he said into her ear as he dragged her to her feet.

Right behind them the toads were advancing quickly, and more monster leeches were sliding up out of the mud and inching their way forward. Diega’s legs failed and Shawe grabbed her by the jacket, hauling her backward toward the tree line, where they’d left Copernicus. Caesar ran parallel to them, wading through the thick mud, carrying the Vidris. It was panicking, grabbing at the Pride King’s face with slimy hands. Caesar wore an expression of barely contained revulsion. Behind them a leech lunged forward and latched onto one of the toads and the two groups of animals quickly turned on each other, giving them a chance to widen the gap.

Diega managed to find her feet and fought forward beside the gangsters. A distant buzzing sound reached her ears, and for a horrible moment, she thought the queen’s Neridori guards had found their way into Murkmire, but she was even more horrified when she looked over her shoulder and saw a black mass speeding toward them. Long proboscises hung below the thin dangling legs of hugely oversized swamp mosquitos, attracted by the smell of blood.

Shawe shouted a curse.

Diega knew she didn’t have the strength to outrun the fast-moving bloodsuckers. Every step through the thick mud took supreme effort. Her steps faltered again. Shawe looked over his shoulder and yelled, “You giving up, princess?”

The words and fierce green of his eyes spurred her on. Every muscle in her legs burned and shook.

At the sound of the mosquitos, the leeches had begun to re-bury themselves in the mud and the toads were leaping frantically to get clear of their path. Diega glanced back to see a hungry mosquito catch up with one slower toad and make it a blood meal, draining it to skin in seconds. Another mosquito reached Caesar and attempted to stab its proboscis into his back. The powerful gangster boss swung around with exposed claws and eviscerated the creature in one swipe, the gurgling Slimer clutching harder around his neck.

When they reached the edge of the forest, the plant-breed slid out of Caesar’s arms. It uncovered a burrow in the mud and jumped in, holding it open for them to follow. Caesar and Diega lunged and slid through, with Shawe dragging Copernicus right behind. They crashed down headfirst, falling a short distance into more mud.

O
pen-flame torches, chained to the walls, reached creeping, shadowy fingertips across the uneven stone floor to where Eli lay on his side. Consciousness played at the corners of his mind, returning first in sounds – the rising-falling, wailing screams, the scuttling, scratching and gnashing; then in feeling – the pounding inside his head from where it’d struck the ground, the raw dryness of his throat. He swallowed painfully and lifted a hand to his face. The touch jolted him awake from his half-dream state and he struggled to stand but failed, feeling like the only vertical person in a horizontal universe, carrying all the weight of the worlds on his back. He paused a moment to focus his strength and saw the Morsus Ictus lying beside him. He scrambled for it and snatched it up. Clutching the blade in front of him, Eli looked around, taking in his surroundings. A shiver rippled over his back.

Along the walls of the corridor, blacked-out canvases hung in heavy brass frames tangled in spider webbing. Eli followed the threads up to a low ceiling, a matted mess of intertwining webs, with silks as thick as rope. Eyes gleamed through the gloom. Dust caught in Eli’s throat and he coughed, the sound echoing down the long, narrow corridor. A terrible, howling wind suddenly rushed from the darkness. It paused to taunt Eli, pushing him one way and then the other, before shoving him against a wall and sweeping away cackling. Beside his head, arms reached out of a blackened canvas. One tried to wrap around his neck, while the others pinned him to the stone. He fought violently against them, stabbing Ev’r’s blade deep into their rot-soft flesh. He ripped free and stumbled into the center of the corridor, his eyes darting from the floor to the ceiling, then behind him into blackness. He held his breath and listened. Faint sounds of a struggle, running footsteps and muted yells, reached his ears.
Ismail …

With fear pounding in his chest, Eli started to edge toward the sounds. The stone floor creaked, groaned under his boots and something scuttled overhead. He reached a sharp bend and paused. The architecture made it impossible to see what was lurking ahead before turning. He clenched the hilt of Ev’r’s blade and ducked swiftly around the corner. A figure stepped into his path, a two-headed creature with a bleached-white body covered in pus-filled sores. It moaned and lunged for him, razor claws pushing out from slimy fingertips. Eli tried to dodge it, but tripped over and slammed into the ground. It loomed over him, preparing to strike. He scrambled up and leaped around it, fleeing fast, his wings beating and legs moving, possibly faster than they’d ever moved before. He left the staggering miscreation behind him, and took another corner into a wider hallway. Strange and terrifying torture devices hung like art on the walls. He tried not to look at them, running past a metal vault door with screaming and groaning echoing from behind it.

The corridor led into another with rows of crypts fixed to both walls, guarded by statue gargoyles. They watched him pass, their dead stone eyes swiveling to keep him in sight. At the next turn he came to a quick stop, hearing the fighting sounds just ahead. He crawled through the shadows and peered around the corner. A clan of mutant creatures, fused forms of machine and flesh, some slithering, some lumbering, others tapping on many insect legs, had Ismail surrounded and pinned to the floor. The scullion struggled against them, using all his skills with little effect. Ismail snarled and sunk his teeth into one of the mutants’ necks, half ripping its head off. The others sought revenge, pounding and kicking him in a frenzy. Eli held the Morsus Ictus in one shaking hand and edged forward, preparing to rush them, but before he could, they stopped. The mutants dragged Ismail to a row of dusty tombs built into the side of the corridor. They hoisted up his struggling form and dumped him into one. From below, dead hands wrapped around the scullion, holding him down, while the mutants slammed the lid and locked it from a place beneath the tomb. Eli could hear Ismail kicking from inside the crypt. The creatures moved away arguing over Ismail’s belongings with grating, raucous voices. They’d taken Ev’r’s backpack and journal – everything she had owned, except for the Morsus Ictus.

As soon as the sounds of the mutants died down, Eli rushed for the tomb, leaping over the fallen mutant’s body. Ismail’s knocking had become slower and fainter and finally stopped as Eli reached the crypt. He struggled for a moment to open the lid, but it was firmly sealed. He dropped to his knees and looked beneath it for the unlocking latch. His fingers crept through webs and grime until finally they found what seemed to be a keyhole. He grabbed the lock-pick from his weapon belt and shoved it into the hole, twisting. The mechanism was stubborn with rust and refused to budge. Eli worked at it, holding his breath, his throat dry and torrents of sweat streaming down his face, stinging his eyes. His arm began to cramp.

“Come on!” he exploded after twisting at it for what felt like hours. He shoved the pick further in and felt it click. The lid of the tomb lifted. Eli scrambled to his feet and looked inside.

It was empty.

He leaned further in and rotting claws grabbed him by the neck and yanked him down. He dropped without relief, wings smashing against rock, until a hand shot out from one side and seized him.