Poisonwell
Page 25
“Only two?” Tyrus asked.
“I do not debate or negotiate, Tyrus. I have been taught by the wisest minds in all the arts of rhetoric, logic, and persuasion. Believe me when I say that I have thought this through. Join us below when you are ready, or not at all.” She turned and started back down the passageway.
Annon watched as the Empress and Mathon descended the carved steps of the tunnel entrance. He was awed at the aura of power that exuded from her, not from a weapon or an item she carried, but from the pure iron will she possessed—it felt as immovable as a mountain. Her face was pretty, if weather-beaten, and she had clearly aged well and lived a healthy lifestyle. But her exterior was a mask for a fiercely independent will. He hoped that someday he would possess such an attribute. She was stronger than any of the Thirteen he encountered.
As he stared up at the jagged, massive cliff face, it reminded him of the horrors they had faced at Basilides. He felt Nizeera tense by his leg.
I sense spirit beings inside the tunnels. They are aware of me. They are more ancient than I am. They bid me not interfere in this test.
Annon’s skin crawled. A pit of dread opened up inside him. Should he warn Tyrus? Is it a trap?
Not in the way you think. It is a test.
Tyrus took a few deep breaths, glancing from side to side. “Annon. Phae. With me. The rest will follow behind. Be ready.”
There was a collective intake of breath, Annon included. He had not suspected for a moment that Tyrus would choose him. A surge of gratitude thrummed, but he still thought Tyrus was making a mistake. Nearly any of the others would have been better suited.
Without brooking comment from anyone, Tyrus descended into the tunnels. Annon and Phae, glancing in shock at each other, followed behind. He felt the presence of Nizeera withdraw, as if something veiled her mind from his. He swallowed in a panic.
“Tyrus,” he said, catching up. “There is something—”
“Say it quickly,” Tyrus interrupted. His face looked intense and worried. “She’s testing me. I need my wits at this moment. If you have something to aid my thinking, then do so, but do not trouble me about my decision.”
“Nizeera can’t interfere,” Annon said. “There are spirits here that are older than her. Ancient spirits, probably banished from Mirrowen. I sense them, but they have not spoken to me.”
“Thank you,” Tyrus said. “That was useful. If you have any thought as to the nature of these spirits, you need to let me know. I chose you to accompany me because of your Druidecht lore and because you know my full plan. If I don’t make it out of here alive, then you need to continue.” The way he so casually talked about his own death made Annon tremble inside. “Phae, your abilities may also be called upon. Be ready. This is like playing a game where our deaths are the stakes and we don’t know any of the rules. I apologize if I’m curt. I’m trying to keep us all alive.”
“What do you want me to do, Father?” Phae asked.
“Nothing yet. Just be ready. I want you close to me.”
The tunnels were lit by illuminated rock crystals with small oil lamps set inside them. The tunnels had a jagged nature with crevices of varying heights and depths, causing the light to spread at inconsistent intervals and conceal what lay ahead. The path was not straight but wound downward until it reached a vast chamber, the main living yard of those with the leprosaria curse. Annon could see it organized into kitchens, cesspits, and useful labor such as blacksmithing, tanning, and carving. Side tunnels branched off, revealing a honeycomb lattice of interweaving connections.
The Empress walked directly ahead of them, still holding Mathon’s hand. “Each colony is organized much like a hive of bees,” she said, drawing their attention with her clear, cheerful voice. “Each worker has a duty to perform. Some gather food. Some defend. We keep our waste separate. Have you noticed that among the cultures of lizards and ants and other creatures that dwell harmoniously together? My ancestors studied their habits and saw with remarkable precision how each breed handled their societies in similar manners. In a way, we have truly gone back to our roots. We thrive when we work cooperatively. Each does his or her part. It takes many bees to make a few drops of honey. Added together, however, and the comb is thick with it.”
“Indeed,” Tyrus replied with a neutral tone.
Annon surveyed the Boeotians staring at them, saw the blistering skin and rashes. Everyone he could see was afflicted with it. Some had lost the ability to even walk. It was a cruel fate to be sure. He wanted to cover his mouth to avoid breathing the air but recognized such an act would be insulting.
“I do not debate or negotiate, Tyrus. I have been taught by the wisest minds in all the arts of rhetoric, logic, and persuasion. Believe me when I say that I have thought this through. Join us below when you are ready, or not at all.” She turned and started back down the passageway.
Annon watched as the Empress and Mathon descended the carved steps of the tunnel entrance. He was awed at the aura of power that exuded from her, not from a weapon or an item she carried, but from the pure iron will she possessed—it felt as immovable as a mountain. Her face was pretty, if weather-beaten, and she had clearly aged well and lived a healthy lifestyle. But her exterior was a mask for a fiercely independent will. He hoped that someday he would possess such an attribute. She was stronger than any of the Thirteen he encountered.
As he stared up at the jagged, massive cliff face, it reminded him of the horrors they had faced at Basilides. He felt Nizeera tense by his leg.
I sense spirit beings inside the tunnels. They are aware of me. They are more ancient than I am. They bid me not interfere in this test.
Annon’s skin crawled. A pit of dread opened up inside him. Should he warn Tyrus? Is it a trap?
Not in the way you think. It is a test.
Tyrus took a few deep breaths, glancing from side to side. “Annon. Phae. With me. The rest will follow behind. Be ready.”
There was a collective intake of breath, Annon included. He had not suspected for a moment that Tyrus would choose him. A surge of gratitude thrummed, but he still thought Tyrus was making a mistake. Nearly any of the others would have been better suited.
Without brooking comment from anyone, Tyrus descended into the tunnels. Annon and Phae, glancing in shock at each other, followed behind. He felt the presence of Nizeera withdraw, as if something veiled her mind from his. He swallowed in a panic.
“Tyrus,” he said, catching up. “There is something—”
“Say it quickly,” Tyrus interrupted. His face looked intense and worried. “She’s testing me. I need my wits at this moment. If you have something to aid my thinking, then do so, but do not trouble me about my decision.”
“Nizeera can’t interfere,” Annon said. “There are spirits here that are older than her. Ancient spirits, probably banished from Mirrowen. I sense them, but they have not spoken to me.”
“Thank you,” Tyrus said. “That was useful. If you have any thought as to the nature of these spirits, you need to let me know. I chose you to accompany me because of your Druidecht lore and because you know my full plan. If I don’t make it out of here alive, then you need to continue.” The way he so casually talked about his own death made Annon tremble inside. “Phae, your abilities may also be called upon. Be ready. This is like playing a game where our deaths are the stakes and we don’t know any of the rules. I apologize if I’m curt. I’m trying to keep us all alive.”
“What do you want me to do, Father?” Phae asked.
“Nothing yet. Just be ready. I want you close to me.”
The tunnels were lit by illuminated rock crystals with small oil lamps set inside them. The tunnels had a jagged nature with crevices of varying heights and depths, causing the light to spread at inconsistent intervals and conceal what lay ahead. The path was not straight but wound downward until it reached a vast chamber, the main living yard of those with the leprosaria curse. Annon could see it organized into kitchens, cesspits, and useful labor such as blacksmithing, tanning, and carving. Side tunnels branched off, revealing a honeycomb lattice of interweaving connections.
The Empress walked directly ahead of them, still holding Mathon’s hand. “Each colony is organized much like a hive of bees,” she said, drawing their attention with her clear, cheerful voice. “Each worker has a duty to perform. Some gather food. Some defend. We keep our waste separate. Have you noticed that among the cultures of lizards and ants and other creatures that dwell harmoniously together? My ancestors studied their habits and saw with remarkable precision how each breed handled their societies in similar manners. In a way, we have truly gone back to our roots. We thrive when we work cooperatively. Each does his or her part. It takes many bees to make a few drops of honey. Added together, however, and the comb is thick with it.”
“Indeed,” Tyrus replied with a neutral tone.
Annon surveyed the Boeotians staring at them, saw the blistering skin and rashes. Everyone he could see was afflicted with it. Some had lost the ability to even walk. It was a cruel fate to be sure. He wanted to cover his mouth to avoid breathing the air but recognized such an act would be insulting.
