Chapter 4
Gerde went to see Wolfgang. The stone casket greeted her like an old friend. She touched his shiny, new silver heart, back in its familiar place. There must have been something in the air of the small cemetery that prevented the heart from tarnishing despite the damp coldness of Rittersburg. Perhaps it was from her handling it so often, rubbing away any potential blackness, holding and turning the heart over and over as if it were really a part of him. As if there were really still some connection between their worlds.
(I want him back too badly.)
She was always surprised at the bright pain that still lived inside her. It had been almost three years now, two years since his nephew had taken residence at Schloss Ritter.
"He is not like you, Wolfgang. My loneliness only grows angrier. He does not even... realize."
Gerde looked at the casket and remembered the body when they presented it to her. She did not want to look, to remember him frozen in death and extremis, without her aid or comfort. She was afraid that his face would be twisted, unrecognizable, and that would be her last memory of him. Gerde had shaken all the previous night anticipating that cold moment, wishing they had just cremated his body immediately so she wouldn't have to look, wouldn't have to regret, wouldn't remember...
Maybe in the last moments of Wolfgang's Shattenjager life he had glimpsed the unimaginable.
His body was certainly mangled - chest cavity exploded, trails of flesh and normally covert organs dripping over the morgue table, hands clenched (his fingernails had pricked through the delicate inner muscles of his palms) in hopeless pain. She couldn't look up from the last wound.
"Can you identify this person, miss?"
She remembered when he walked out the door that morning. He had been happy for weeks upon discovering a lost relative, and someone he described as "strong willed, intent, and so Young!" he chuckled, happy that the Ritter clan still had such a potential warrior. Wolfgang himself had suffered a setback several years ago when he learned a valve in his heart had grown suddenly weaker. It was not an unexpected result of his Shadow Hunting experiences, especially since he could never say no to need, and seldom rested enough. They had gone over the possibilities. Operations that might shore up the break, but could not rejuvenate old, worn muscle. Retirement, or the finding of some trusted assistant that could help him in his tasks. But such an assistant would receive no help from the Ritter talisman, and Wolfgang could no longer offer physical protection. Then there was the alternative of just going on...
"Wolfgang! You cannot just ignore this."
Wolfgang got up steadily from his desk and walked to her. He took her hand, but she stood stiffly and defiant. Gerde knew rightness, and he wasn't going to try to convince her otherwise. He sat lightly on his desk, knowing its purpose and dignity was not made for this use. "Gerde," Wolfgang smiled slowly, "No Shattenjager has ever died in bed. It wouldn't be... traditional."
"Why can't you just retire?" she said, as she began to shed her stoicism. "You are the last Ritter. You have earned the right. What difference would a few years make?"
"A few years of persisting versus a decade in front of the fire?" He looked at Gerde, such laughter in his eyes. "I wouldn't want anything more from this life." Wolfgang sobered, love dissipating. "And what would you think of me for doing that?"
"You deserve something back from this work before... before..."
What about our child? she thought suddenly, and grew very white.
Wolfgang held her, but she did not cry, despite the coldness.
She was not crying now, as she touched his hand, and again felt coldness.
"Miss?"
She looked up at the young attendant's face. It was alive and warm, eyes so very bright, reminding her of the gifts of life, so easily taken away. She had almost fallen in love with dead flesh, wanting to cross that frozen wasteland, to join lost love.
Gerde sighed deeply, and looked at Wolfgang's face.
At first she thought the attendants, or maybe even Gabriel himself, had tried somehow to alter his face to spare her. She was expecting something terrible, a look of such fear, such pain, or worse, of surrender. The knowledge that evil was a force that could never be overwhelmed by mere mortal flesh, either from without or within, and that such desires were fool's errands. These things she feared, but expected. Not this.
Wolfgang's eyes were so full of light, so alive, she thought for a moment there was some dreadful mistake. He had seen something so... wondrous, that it had given him hope even in his last moments. She couldn't help but softly brush his cheek, to try to reawaken this frozen moment in time, to share his sight. His lips were not clenched, his mouth ungrimaced, and Gerde lightly caressed his hair in wonder. Wolfgang did not look depleted, or old, or weak. He had seen something before dying, something that overwhelmed anguish, something that conquered.
"Yes, it's him," Gerde quietly said to the witnesses. "Yes, it is truly him."
"Miss? I have gotten these things for you." The quiet priest handed Gerde a small, satin pouch with treasures inside. It shifted as it passed between the two, contents hard and solid inside its soft exterior. She thanked the priest, who quickly departed. The first thing she took from the sack was a heavy, silver cross and chain. The cross was elaborately decorated, so it was hard to see the little latch and perfectly fitted casing surrounding its body. She pulled down hard on the impaled Christ figure on the cross, which slid easily away to reveal a sharpened knife beneath, slim, razor-like, and very deadly. She held the knife between her fingers, felt its precise weight and delicate balance, and knew its efficiency. This weapon she would hold close to her, concealed for ready use. She slid the cross off the chain, united scabbard and sword, and put both back into her pouch. It clattered amongst the other items inside, useful weapons for unseemly foes. Her researches had not left her unknowledgeable.
Gerde picked up Wolfgang's heart once again. It silvered in the light, polished by her hands and tears. She wove the heavy chain between some figures in the elaborate carving. The heart hung slightly askew, but its beauty, and she hoped ability, was undiminished.
It's nothing more than a sentimental talisman, she thought to herself, yet... yet...
The lamia had come to Gerde, had said she knew her, and her sacrifices. It was a gift to her, silver blessed a hundred times so that each, no matter the worlds, would sense the other's needs.
Who are you trying to meet again at the end of this journey? she scolded herself. Be careful of your desires, they will blind you. It was a wise caution.
Still, she felt, as she put his heart into the pouch, he had chose to continue. "Shattenjagers don't just lie about when things need to be done!" She smiled at that remembrance, and walked from the shrine.
*********************
Gabriel awoke to smothering heat. Chemical smells sharpened the air, burning breath and skin alike. The apparitions, still in his mind, lunged at him, and he gasped in the too enclosed space. Dust and dirt followed the sharp breath, suffocating him further in the caustic, extreme dark.
(Calm down, there's nothing here, he commanded himself, true or not.) Increasing panic would not help him breathe, and he took short sips of air, testing. The sudden moisture that had sprung to his eyes, mouth, and face as he choked evaporated in the terrible dryness, and childhood fears whispered to him about this dark, unknown place.
"Rainsford? Grace?" He tried their names in the stillness, listening for movement. Perhaps this was the place the others were taken. Nothing sounded in the blackness, not even the slight scrambling of little lives.
Knight cautiously felt around his enclosure. To his right was a solid wall, with a ceiling just a few inches above him. Clouds of dust fell on him as he brushed his hand across it, and he quickly turned his face away from the debris, his eyes burning. Yet, even from his slight explorations, he could tell the surfaces surrounding him were very linear, measured, telling him he was in a built structure, not one formed naturally. Formed by exacting humans, or something. He shifted to his left, nothing blocking his movements in that direction.
Within a few feet, he felt the even surface he was sliding on drop straight downward, and could not at all sense how far the distance was to true ground. Stretching upward, his fingertips seeking sight, he felt another straight ledge in the wall, giving him some idea of the structure he was in. To back his guess, he felt the side of the wall beneath him, but was almost pulled off balance in the slippery, dust filled hole, and quickly pulled back, panting. He trusted there was something down there also, equal distance to the space above him.
An image screamed at Knight. Hundreds of melting bodies, lined along those walls, honeycombed within like shelved pottery in a massive kiln. Most were dead, but a horrible number still struggled feebly. Ghosts, perhaps, telling him their story, about their suffering, and their gods. Those bodies he imagined would have turned to dust long ago in this heat - the ashes filling his lungs at the very moment.
(I have to get out of here. Now.)
His thoughts turned to his own, blind prison, with walls too straight and smooth for any good handholds. Plans of using the ledges to climb down were still plausible, but... Already his small, exploratory efforts had left his torn shirt clinging to him with sweat, but it began drying immediately. Not a good sign. He did not know how long he had lain there, drying out, but Gabriel began to feel dizzy from thirst alone. He had to get out of the building heat, which seemed to come from within the walls themselves, quickly, before he passed out again. Knight turned over in the narrow space and looked over the edge. He imagined he might see the red glow of fires far below, explaining this furnace, and perhaps a clue as to how bodies were moved up here in the first place. There must have been staircases somewhere along the edges, unless their occupants, or captors, had wings. No light broke through the complete darkness surrounding him. (Maybe giant, blind termites or spiders built this place, he thought flippantly. Maybe I should just wait around for the next piggyback ride.)
There was no telling how far below the ground was, or if there was a chance he could climb down to it in his present condition. He could try going across, but it would only take more effort in a place he sensed vastness, and there was no guarantee he would hit an easier way down. By going downward, which was physically easier, there was a chance he might come to a walkway of some sort. But possibly he was lucky. Perhaps they were as lazy as he, and just shoved him in at pretty much ground level. He took off his watch, and tossed it over the ledge, listening. He thought he heard some sort of noise a long distance below him, but could not be sure. The thought of that distance took his breath away.
(Get a hold of yourself, Knight. Just try for the couple of ledges you know are below you. It's only, maybe 5 feet. It's a step. And if not, at least it'll be quick.)
Gabriel couldn't do it. His mind raced at the thought of that drop. (What was this place? Some sort of vast, brick oven, drying out bodies for some huge feast?) He lay there for another minute, heat rising at his chest, indecision racking him.
(They may come back soon. Who knows how long you've been here already?)
He took a final deep breath, swung his legs and waist over the drop and found (thank God) the theorized space below him. Still on his belly in his own chamber, he tried to ease his palms down to the edge, giving himself some more length so his feet could find the next step below. It was a mistake.
Knight starting falling out of the compartment. His shift in weight was pulling him over, and there was nothing to grab hold of. He barely had time to even acknowledge the deadly error before his shoulders hit the ceiling of the narrow enclosure, and he instinctively braced a hand against it. He stopped his fall, but not his heart, which was racing with afterthought.
It's a good thing I can't see enough for my sensible fear of heights to kick in, he thought optimistically, without even trying to look behind him, or thinking on it.
"NATURAL fear of heights? Maybe it's really fear from all those times that you've been dropped on your head? Sorry, I meant charged headfirst into things?" That's what Grace would have said. Damned straight.
He more gingerly flailed his legs below him to find the next ledge. (And here we go again, Knight. But not quite headfirst.) He threw his free arm beneath him, and found a small purchase on the carved rock below. There was still some unworn, decorative carving on the edge of the ceiling of the next chamber. He didn't know what they depicted, and he certainly didn't care. Knight vice-gripped his palms together to let his feet find balance in this fly-walking exhibition. Sweat was pouring off him, and he couldn't imagine how much further he could go. But he did not think of that, as he covered each foot of that wall, and his muscles began to shiver. Slowly, he was making the descent.
About 60 feet down, he heard a yell still too far below him, and hugged the wall even tighter as his heart quickened. He could not identify the sound, let alone the voice, and felt he had no breath left to answer. Gabriel thought of stopping (he would have to at some point), of swinging himself somehow into one of the holes, and trying to respond to the call. He slid his legs further into the vault his feet were now on, and found it was an easier maneuver to do than he had thought. It was a dangerous strategy, to stop for awhile, rest, and then find he could not start again. He probably had no friends here, and might not want to meet up with anything he heard moving about. Knight could also easily imagine himself, even in this heat and caustic air, or especially because of it, getting drowsy and... But it was the only voice he had heard for, perhaps, hours? He had to try.
Halfway in, he found the crypt more recently occupied, and the rotten, dried out corpse churned to dust beneath his feet and made the surface too slippery. Knight tried to kick it out of the space, or at least further into dust, making more room, but clouds of strange, choking particles made the alcove impossible for him to occupy. Like Rainsford had done, some of the bodies had been filled with poisonous berries, sweet in the burning, but acid in the consumption. Others must have been treated with various poisons, after or before death, and he tasted almond on this tongue (arsenic? Strychnine?) among the various chemical smells. He backed out of the grave, his feet slipping on the fragmenting surface, but the effort was too much. The movement was overcommited, and though he struggled desperately to retain them, his precarious handholds slipped. He fell, unable to maintain his balance, tumbling into the abyss.
*******************
Rainsford had seen Knight make some unexpected, quick motion with his hand, and the flash of something as it flew past the fire and into the darkness. Then Michael saw almost nothing at all.
The altar had flashed up as if a tankard of gasoline had been poured onto it (causing him to unwillingly turn away for a few seconds), and then (he thought) there were some strange movements in the air above, and then...
Blackness.
He had clambered over with his reignited lantern, but was half blinded by the too bright eruption, and now there seemed nothing to see.
Gabriel was, of course, gone.
"Knight! Knight!" Michael voiced uncharacteristic vulgarities. Unfortunately, nothing cursed him back in the dark.
He hoped, though even this was dreadful, that the explosion had flung Gabriel somewhere close by and that the lack of any light meant, at least, that his body was not ablaze.
"Knight! God damn it!" The altar was completely turned to ash, and Rainsford could not restart it for further light. He felt absolutely guilty for sending the boy (whom he had accused, threatened, intentionally tormented, blamed, and maybe even hated from the beginning) into doing this thing, which he only half believed would even work. He had hidden safely in the shadows, on the pretense that there actually would've been time to do something (Grace, he convinced Gabriel, and himself, had gotten away, for awhile). But maybe he just knew too much of what was really going on, and didn't have the courage to confront it himself. I really did want him gone, he thought truthfully. And that, somehow, that sacrifice (betrayal) would bring her back. That's how the legends had it.
He held his ranting and tried to listen for any movements or sounds of life.
"Knight!" he called again, hoping for a response.
He heard it then. It was coming from the opposite direction he thought Gabriel would have been thrown, but he heard it.
The crystal mountain was humming.
*********************
Gabriel fell into black waters, and didn't know which end of him faced upwards. He relaxed, letting the pleasure of moisture renew his senses. In a few moments, he began floating upward, and helped his rising with vigorous kicks. He saw absolutely nothing, as before, and could not know the distance to surfacing. His lungs ached, for part of his breath had been forced from him when he hit the unexpected sea. Yet, he had already escaped death once, and would struggle before it could come for him a second time. He surfaced without even realizing for a few moments, still holding his breath, until he felt his wet hair clinging to his cheeks and eyes. Gabriel took deep, frantic, shuddering breaths, and was nearly sobbing with exhaustion and shock. His heart felt near bursting, thumping painful warnings to his temples. He swam with leaden boots still on, fearing he would need protection as he tread the fiery, awful ground of this place, and could not kick them away. Heading in a random direction, he hoped to find the borders of these waters, or some spot to cling to and rest. Gabriel had no guidance, the voice was silent now, but somehow felt eyes upon him, merry, terrible eyes. They watched him, with greed.
"Morrigan!" he called out, treading water, hoping for some direction, even if deceptive. There was a very slight echo, whispering to him of the vastness of this place, and that he was still deep within its well. Nothing else answered his call, but silent laughter. Gabriel feared he was in a maze, created by the gods for their delight, to test or torment their willing sacrifices. (This is how they teach, he thought. It's what I had pleaded for at the altar.) And this was only the very start of his lesson.
Knight's calves began to cramp, and he felt his strength giving out. He could have been swimming in circles for all he knew, but felt it was the expanse of this place that confounded him more than his sense of direction. He was getting too tired, and hardly made any more distance in the invisible sea.
"Gabriel?" He heard someone call his name from his right, not too far away. He immediately changed directions toward that call. It did not come again.
(Oh God, please let it have been a real voice.)
He got closer to where he thought the sound came from, and almost collided with the curving structure before him. He felt around its surface, hoping for... for...
Unbelievably, there was some sort of entrance about a foot and a half above this sea's surface. He grasped the opening, but found he could not pull himself out. All he could do was hold onto the structure, and let his exhausted body spasm in the blood warm waters. He floated for a few minutes, fighting the fear that this escape would close if he did not use it soon. He felt cold, even though his surroundings were too warm, and knew absolute depletion was very close. Maybe his body was already in shock. It would please the gods to see him so close to release, a child's effort away, and for him to drown beneath it. When it was time, he let his fears erupt and give him strength to make this last effort. Pulling himself up, his shoulders and arms screaming in disbelief and protest, he couldn't believe it himself when he made it inside the tunnel, and the whole structure didn't vanish, laughing. Inside the space he felt cooler dryness, calming warmth, and peace. Knight couldn't help himself, as he blacked out in the stillness.
**********************
Michael picked his way along the edges of the mountain. He was absolutely crazed for doing what he was attempting. Rainsford was no hero. He was an old man, who should have been lying in his sleepwear at this hour, or maybe reading, fragrant pipe already halfway consumed. His backpack lay some 80 feet below him, in the darkness, and only a ghostly line and transcendental hooks secured him from a nasty fall. The moon was almost directly over him now, outlining the valley below in breathtaking beauty. Silver forests and mirrored lakes happily greeted their spectral bride in her full splendor, honoring her with quiet, awed contemplation. Owls softly hooted and night creatures chased in this brightest part of night.
Though this had always been one of Michael's undared dreams, he had no time to take it all in. The light would soon pass overhead, behind his current position, and any attempt to find what he sought would go with it. He veered more to his right, knowing somewhere close by was the crevice he had spotted once on one of his twilight hikes.
It was a night almost a month ago that Michael saw a strange smoke drifting down from these hills. It was too cold for a mist to form, yet this smoke flowed downward, heavy. The only thing he could come up with was that there were some strange carbon gases developing inside these mountains, and some sort of bizarre volcanic activity was going on. Rainsford had talked to some geology colleagues at his college, who laughed at the notion that volcanoes could be forming in Scotland.
"If we start feeling the earth tremble, Rainsford, we will then go scout out your moonlit discovery, and give you full credit. What sorts of refreshments do you take with you on these walks, anyway?"
He had come back for days after that talk, looking for the vent that such gases could escape from. Michael had only spotted it, through his high powered binoculars, because some sickly, yellowish grasses and plants had found a foothold in the loose dirt of the opening, and he knew the look of carbon dioxide poisoning. Marking the area, he had planned to come back with surveying equipment and grappling to uncover this mystery. He had actually stored some of the equipment out there in a semi-buried strong box just so he would have less to carry on the day he decided to try for that climb. Of course, no one else seemed interested in helping him with this puzzle, and busy days easily drifted by at the college. Now he was doing the climb in the dead of night.
The mountain still hummed beneath him, and he imagined a warmth (perhaps echoes of the hot day?) pulsing from it. He felt he was climbing some sort of live creature, with a vast heart.
(Or maybe it was more like a machine? But one that watched...)
Rainsford hand came across some of the grasses, which easily pulled away from the mountainside. He lost his grip, but the rope harness bore his shift in weight as he turned in the air, waiting patiently for the ropes to swing him back to the opening. There weren't many plants growing along these bare rocks, and he was confident that he had found the place. More loose rock and plants tumbled free as he climbed on top of the break, which was more a V-shaped fracture in the mountainside than a true hole. Michael's feet slid as the breach angled downward, and he saw how narrow the cleft was. He released more rope that was tightly wound at his waist, hoping that his supply of line would last to the end of this adventure. It would be a long, steep climb back up if his calculations proved wrong, in air he could not guarantee. He sniffed, knowing that pure carbon dioxide itself had no smell, only suffocation, but there was seldom such purity in nature. He caught no whiff of sulfur, of those smells associated with burning stone, and knew this was also no assurance. Such activity could arise at any time, absolutely unpredictable, especially in a place where such things shouldn't be occurring at all. Rainsford had thought of bringing some sort of filtering mask, but knew there might not even be enough breathable air to filter. And any sort of oxygen tank, even the newer, lighter, industrialized plastic ones, would be extremely awkward to carry, and ones large enough to provide adequate air and time would not have fit with him through that narrowed opening. So perhaps it was good he had not bought any of those things. That practical thought did not provide him any comfort, as he had hoped.
Rainsford half climbed, half-slid (minding not to cut the frail integrity of his rope on sharp rock), down into the mountain.
**************************
Gabriel felt only slightly thirsty when he came to. He didn't remember where he was for a minute, his eyes not adjusting to the complete blackness. He sat upright, perplexed. There was a very slight noise from the water slapping against the metal structure he was in. Gabriel remembered falling into water, and...
He remembered it all then, and felt dizzy, his cringing mind trying to escape again into unconsciousness. He put his back against the curving wall behind him, trying to think his way through what must have been, though he had only heard about them and never truly experienced one before, a panic attack. He was glad he had waited to have one when things seemed relatively quiet. Or maybe it's just pure panic. Why do people have to label these things? Opposing, random thoughts began distracting each other in his head, and he began to feel a little better. Knight was, after all, in a better place than he was in (two hours? Three? He could not know) before, and was very tempted to just stay where he was.
(That is part of the game, he chided himself, to take away your will to act. To make you lamb-like to their desires, and grateful when the final cut is delivered. The lesson of humiliation, and mortality.) But Gabriel felt it working. He did not want to move. Better to just cower and wait for fate than to act and waste effort, since either brought the same results in this maze.
How do you want to die, Shadow Hunter? Did you not think this revenge would come?
He could easily imagine their glad contempt if he chose to stay in that safe place, unwilling to move. They would not try to roust him either, with threats of fire, or spectral visions, or unknown voices. They would just let him lie, life ebbing as days passed, knowing that he had chosen this cowardice, the pleasing ending of a once noble line.
Gabriel moved back to the opening of the tunnel and reached down for a few gulpfuls of the warm water. He didn't notice its taste before, or lack of it since there was no life in it at all, except a dim, dim remembrance of old, worn blood. Still, he stopped himself from spitting it out, and felt better for having consumed it. He turned back and looked into the unending blackness, no points of light visible, no clues to its path, no knowledge at all of all the mute (for now) things that lay ahead. But like his family line had always done, Knight moved forward into the darkness.