Blade of Glass: Chapter 39

This is bullshit. It’s a lot of bullshit! Meriwether sprinted until he couldn’t anymore, then tried to push himself to merely run, breath running ragged in his chest. I need a plan, and I need it fast.

Fire chewed the camp ahead. Meriwether headed toward it, Sight of Day at his side. The cat’s golden eyes were hard, like he hunted dangerous prey. His bow was in hand, and Meriwether was reminded that here he was, with a borrowed knife and no skills.

Hey. I’ve got some skills. He hunkered beside a tent as it verged a makeshift road. Vhemin ran past, heading south. Meriwether almost ducked from cover when ten passed, but Sight of Day held his shoulder. A woman strode by, all black armor and cruel smiles. She was beautiful, but like the sun was to ice. Her face was hard, skin red, hair black, and she carried two glass swords. Meriwether felt his heart stammer as she walked past. It was like the world bent to her will and wanted to carry him away with it.

Sight of Day’s hand tethered him. It was warm, soft, and strong. Peace. He closed his eyes, swaying, and when he opened them the woman was gone.

Lightning slashed the sky to the south, the boom impossibly loud. Meriwether stumbled, hands over his ears. Sight of Day’s eyes were wide, the cat’s ears flat against his head. Meriwether looked, and saw dead, charred Vhemin around two Knights. “Fuck me,” he breathed. It was Israel and Vertiline. Their armor gleamed, but their skin was sunburnt. She’d had it worse than him, her ghost-pale skin giving way to a lobster’s complexion. Israel fared better, but both had windburned faces and the haggard look of a hard trail. They had no horses. Just steel and glass.

Two Knights came from the west, and another burst from the tent line to Meriwether’s left. They lined up with the black-armored woman, who could only be Nicolette. Meriwether did the math. We’ve got ourselves a road-weary Valiant and a sunburned Chevalier, versus a Champion and three Chevaliers. Not good. He almost went toward all the trouble, but Sight of Day’s hand on his shoulder anchored him to the ground.

The cat snapped fingers in front of his eyes. {It’s the Sway. Do not listen to it.}

“But she hasn’t said anything.” Meriwether blinked, confused.

{The Sway isn’t always words, friend. It is the thing your heart wants.} The Feybrind turned Meriwether to the temple. {But your heart needs that.}

At the base of the temple, two figures slumped. Armored Geneve and leathery Armitage. Both were unmoving. Meriwether was running again before he could work out what heart needs was all about. His cloak billowed behind him as sand shifted under his feet. He stumbled more than once, but the Feybrind caught his arm each time.

Lightning boomed behind them, and an answering slash followed. The ground shook with the fury of the Light. The air tasted of metal and anger, and his teeth itched. Meriwether slid to a halt beside Geneve as Sight of Day loped to Armitage’s side.

Her head lolled, eyes only half open, and blood soaked the sand beneath her. “Meri?”

“I’m here. I’m here! What do I do?”

“Help me up.”

“Don’t be stupid. You’re injured.”

Her eyes opened, flashing anger. “Don’t call me—”

“And there we have it.” He gave her a smile. “You just needed the right motivation.” He got a shoulder under her. She grunted, then groaned as he hauled. Geneve’s armored body was heavy, but it wasn’t the time to compare her to a sack of grain. “Now what?”

“There’s a disc, like this one, over there. See it?” At his nod, she gave him a gentle push. “Put your hand on it.”

“And then what?”

“Pray,” she suggested.

Meriwether hurried to the other disc. Armitage slumped beneath it, head back, but his breath clattered in his chest like a huge baby’s rattle. Sight of Day looked up. {He’s still alive. Shame.}

Lightning cracked behind them, the brilliance reflected in the metal temple wall blinding Meriwether for a moment. The sound of wind came, the tremendous howling of a tornado, and Meriwether’s cloak whipped about him. He looked at the disc, squinting through the hail of sand. It looked like dull metal, smooth, worn by time. What’s this supposed to do?

It didn’t matter. He was here, had a hand, and most importantly, Geneve asked him to use it. He put his palm against the disc, glancing to her as he did.

Geneve nodded, and put her hand against her disc. The ground jolted, and a low rumble shook Meriwether’s bones. The sand vibrated beneath him, and then it felt like the whole world shifted. The wall spoke as it cracked wide. “ENTER.”

* * *

Meriwether’s hands were slick with Geneve’s blood. She’d fallen after triggering the door to open, so he’d dragged her inside, armor scraping as it skidded across the ancient white floor. Sight of Day pulled Armitage after, and the door sealed behind them.

It closed on a battle between Nicolette, Israel, and Vertiline. They moved faster than Meriwether’s eyes could track, and the brilliant slashes of white Light blinded him. It wasn’t the warm glow of sunlight, but a bright actinic glare as glass blades clashed.

With the door shut, silence held court. Meriwether knew there was a battle between titans outside, but in the temple? Nothing. Pure, stale calm. The air smelled of age beyond counting. He fussed with Geneve but wasn’t sure what to do. Blood ran a trail from the door to her still form. Sand mixed with it, clumping in ruddy patches.

He spared a glance for Armitage. Sight of Day yanked bolts from his body, but the creature didn’t respond. Armitage took five times as many hits as Geneve. He might die. He came here to help his people, and the Feybrind, for all he’s a monster. Yet he falls at the finish line.

Meriwether ran a hand through his hair, and felt it stick because of Geneve’s blood. He heaved her over, examining the hole in her armor. The puncture was an uneven, jagged-toothed snarl in the metal. Blood clotted the hole, but at least the leaking seemed to have slowed. If we can keep her still, then maybe she’ll be okay.

He didn’t know what to do. Sight of Day finished yanking bolts from Armitage, then joined him by her side. The cat’s golden eyes were gentle. {She will be okay.}

“How do you know?”

{Because there is a storm inside her.} Sight of Day shrugged. {Can’t you see it?}

“I see she’s … dying.” Meriwether rubbed his face, then realized he smeared blood across his cheek. It tingled a little, like there was enough poison in her blood to make his skin itch. He wondered what she’d felt like standing by the door as fever’s fire ran in her veins. “Can we do anything?”

{You mean, can I do anything?} The cat shook his head. {There’s nothing to do.}

“What—”

The room spoke. “Salve.”

“…the fuck?” Meriwether finished.

Sight of Day’s ears flattened against his head. {We should be careful. There are forgotten evils in the temples of the ancients.}

The room droned on. “Welkom. Willkommen. Nau mai. Svāgata cha. Zhelannyy. Velkommen—”

“Uh, hello?” Meriwether looked to the ceiling, like the Three themselves were up there talking to him.

The room paused before saying, “Welcome.”

Meriwether nodded, but slowly, like he’d been hit with a club made of wonder. Now his brain had a few moments to do something other than fret needlessly, it nudged him to take in where he was. The room they’d entered through the massive door was enormous, easily fifty meters to the left and right. The external wall followed the curve of the building, but because the temple was so large, they looked straight at first blush. Walls were of the ancient’s smooth white material they used to build their ever-living structures. The interior was a marvel of a glassy wall material, strangely opaque, which reached to the ceiling thirty meters above.

Dust silted in the corners, but surprisingly little for the passage of eight hundred years. There wasn’t a cobweb to be seen. Moldering piles of metal and leather were heaped in rows. Meriwether eyed them, trying to guess their purpose. They weren’t Artifices. He mentally shook himself. Time to unlock the secrets of the ancients later. Look for danger.

An interior wall had a jagged hole punched through it. Splinters of glass lay on the floor. “That looks like how the Vhemin got in.”

Sight of Day nodded. {I wonder if breaking the glass triggered the temple to protect itself.}

“There aren’t any Artifices. Not like at the plague city.” Meriwether hugged himself. The temple was cool inside, as if it didn’t remember the heat of the day at all. “How does it protect itself?”

{Magic.}

“Maybe.” The ceiling gave a trembling glow, then faded. Meriwether pursed his lips. “Where’s the light coming from? It seems like it’s everywhere.”

{The walls.} The cat raised an eyebrow. {Like a thousand glowworms are trapped deep inside. Which, if true, means it’d suck to be a creation of the ancients.}

“I’ve got an idea.” Meriwether took a step back from the wall. “Let’s find a way out.”

He spun at a cough that turned into a retch. Armitage curled over, dry-heaving. “I feel really bad.”

“You looked like a pincushion.”

“That’d do it.” Armitage levered himself upright, glancing at Geneve. “What happened to her? Scratch that. Whohappened to her?”

“Poison.” Meriwether clasped his hands together. “On the bolts.”

“Right. Yeah, that stuff doesn’t bother me too much.” Armitage scratched under his armpit. “I’m feeling better already.”

Sight of Day rolled his eyes. {Which way to your people, my people’s salvation, and certain doom?}

Armitage hauled Geneve onto his shoulders, draping her arms over one shoulder, legs over the other. She didn’t fold easily, being encased in armor, but it didn’t seem to bother the Vhemin. For all Geneve was a Knight, built like stone and steel came together into one material, she looked tiny on his shoulders. “All three of those things are this way. C’mon.”

He led them through the break in the wall, strides sure and steady. Meriwether hurried to keep up. “We should leave her here.”

“Don’t be a dick.” The monster didn’t turn to face him. “Soon enough someone’ll work out how to open that door. They’ll drag another sorcerer from someone’s ass crack and shove ‘em against the opening disc, and then we’ll be fucked. Second, we’ll need her hand to open the jail.”

“I’m not a sorcerer.”

“That’s apparent, runt, but the door didn’t know that.” He stooped to get through the broken wall. Meriwether wanted to urge him to be careful, but he didn’t knock Geneve against any of the jagged edges. “They’ll fire up another portal.”

Sight of Day slipped through behind Armitage before Meriwether could follow, and darted to the side. Meriwether gave a last glance at the entrance chamber, it’s glowing walls, and floor slicked with a Knight’s blood. Eight hundred years this place stood, and when we got here we bled all over it. 

Once through, Meriwether stopped, struck dumb. The interior of the temple was huge. About five hundred meters in the distance another glass wall bisected the area floor to ceiling. Inside this chamber, the walls held what looked like open-air levels. The middle of the room held a chamber of the same opaque glass as the walls. A dark, immense shadow lay within. “What’s that?”

“Dunno. Couldn’t get it open.” Armitage trudged on, following the curve of the inner chamber. 

Sight of Day padded to Meriwether’s side, and put a hand on his arm. {Look. Up there.}

Following the line of his arm, Meriwether saw lettering on the side of the chamber. It was etched into the material, each letter as tall as he was. He followed the glyphs, trying to work out what they spelled out. They’d started at the final letter, so it took a few steps to get to the start.

SKY FORGE 01.

“What’s a sky forge?”

“Ancient’s bullshit. Who cares?” Armitage hadn’t slowed, his course unchanged.

Meriwether cast a glance over his shoulder at the dark shape within the chamber. “I care a little, I admit. I mean, what’s inside it? What’s it do?”

“After eight hundred years, seven-eighths of fuck all,” Armitage rumbled. “But if you like that, you’ll love the next room.”

Sight of Day shook his head. {I don’t think the ancients made with wisdom.}

Meriwether clapped the cat on the back. “If they were as smart as they seemed, they’d still be here.”

Armitage led through another break in the glass. The chamber beyond was bisected like the last. This one had shelves of massive proportion, each holding hundreds of miniature versions of the shadow-filled chamber outside. These smaller capsules were twice as tall as Meriwether, and about three times as wide.

{I don’t feel good.} Sight of Day looked around, eyes wide.

“This makes me feel weird, too.” Meriwether slowed to keep pace with his friend. “We’ll get this done, and then leave.”

{You don’t understand. I feel,} the Feybrind touched his heart, {wrong. Like how I felt on the raft, or my village, but different. Like someone has a hand on my soul.}

Meriwether stopped, turning the cat to face him. “Your soul’s your own.”

A sad, small nod. {I always thought so, but now I’m not so sure.}

“Let’s get this over with.” He shivered. “Why is it so cold in here?”

{Because they fought the sky’s might and won.} Sight of Day gave a half-smile, but it seemed forced. {Then something worse fought them, and all was swept aside.}

“Hah. Good talk.” Sight of Day’s words made Meriwether feel colder. “Let’s catch up to the asshole.”

“I heard that,” Armitage called. “We Vhemin have very good hearing.”

They picked up their speed, following Armitage through the massive shelves. They seemed empty, but about half were broken open. Inside they were smooth, empty chambers. No materials, or wondrous lights. Just empty, timeless absence.

They’d almost reached the far wall, heading for another break, when Meriwether spotted something in a broken chamber. He swerved off course, jogging over. Laying half in, half out of the glass was a skeleton. Time had withered all but the bleached bones and a few scraps of fur to nothing, but it was unmistakably a Feybrind. It looked like the cat had fallen on the broken teeth of the chamber, perhaps eviscerated itself, and died here.

Meriwether looked around the chamber, rubbing his arms for warmth. “They died here, alone.”

{How do you know?}

“Because if they had friends, they’d have carried the body away.” Meriwether pressed his hands against the glass beside the sad collection of bones. “I’m sorry you died here. I’m sorry I don’t know your name, otherwise I’d carry it to the People for you.” 

A touch made him turn. Sight of Day stood behind him, eyes sad. {There is a riddle I’d like you to set your mind to. How did one of the People get in here? The Feybrind and Vhemin couldn’t open the temple.}

“Hmm.” Meriwether shrugged. “An eight-hundred-year-old puzzle? My favorite.” He tried a grin on for size, trying to hide his shiver. “Armitage is in the next room. Let’s stop him doing anything stupid.”

{An impossible task, but I feel ready for the challenge.} The cat half-smiled, and there was a little more substance to it this time.

The next room was just as large as the previous ones but was almost empty. Meriwether felt a slight disappointment, like the ancient’s cheated him by having an empty box inside his wrapped birthday present. There was a dais in the center, with three large clear panels before it.

Near the west wall was a line of chambers like the ones in the previous room. The difference was these were full of what looked like cloudy water, and each held a humanoid form inside. Meriwether walked to them. The dais wasn’t as interesting as tanks with people inside.

He got close, pressing his hand to the glass. The shape inside twitched, a hand knocking the opaque glass. “By the Three! They’re alive!”

“I fucken hope so. That’s my tribe in there.” Armitage marched to the dais, Geneve in tow. “C’mon, wizard. Let’s get you plugged in.”

“What about the cat’s people?” Meriwether hurried to the dais, Sight of Day in tow.

“I figure we get my people out, then we work on that problem.” Armitage put a foot on the dais, and the room’s gentle glowing walls shifted to red. He froze. “Or not.”

“Get your foot off it.”

“Good idea.” Armitage removed his foot with care, as if he’d stood on a hornet’s nest and the only thing keeping the insects inside was his boot. No insects exploded out, though. Nothing much happened at all.

Meriwether made it to the dais. The structure looked big enough for five good friends to share space on it, or two or three people who smelled bad. “How’s it work?”

“Step on the dais, and magic happens.” The monster laid Geneve on the ground. “Last time I was here, the witch Nicolette did it.”

“How’d she get your tribe into the chambers?”

“Other Vhemin.” Armitage shrugged. “There were a lot of them and not many of us.”

“She’s … not a witch,” croaked Geneve. Her face was slack, and only one eye tracked the room, but she was alive. “Knight.”

Armitage crouched. “Same difference. Can you stand?”

Geneve shook her head. “Feel … sick.”

“Could you stand if your life depended on it? We’re on a ticking clock here.” The monster counted on his fingers. “While you were out, Nicolette went against your buddies.”

“Iz and Tilly.” Geneve seemed more awake on hearing about her friends. What might have been low-grade panic crept into her good eye. “Are they well?”

“I’m not a seer. They’re outside, with the dust hoppers, the witch, and some angry Vhemin.” Armitage jerked a thumb behind him to the tanks. “There are other angry Vhemin in those things, but they’re angry in our favor.”

Geneve nodded and made to stand. Armitage reached to help her, but she pushed him away. “I can do it. You’ve carried me long enough.” She rose like a baby learning to walk, teetering, almost falling, but made it to stand, swaying, like a blade of grass in the wind. “Maybe a little help.”

Meriwether stepped close. “I’ve got you. Let’s get on the dais. I don’t think Vhemin are … allowed.”

She nodded. They turned a slow, clumsy circle, like it was their first dance and both were shy. Geneve got an armored foot on the dais. The room didn’t shift to red. Meriwether pressed his lips into a line. Courage. She’s half dead and still leading from the front. He put his own foot on the dais.

Nothing bad happened.

They stepped up fully, and the glass panels glimmered, filling with lines of text. Meriwether’s eyes widened. “What is this?”

“Ancient bullshit, like I said.”

The floor before them slid aside, and two discs rose on slender rods. Geneve looked to Meriwether. “Are you ready for this?”

“Not even a little.”

“It’s okay, Meri. I’m here.” She seemed so earnest, despite how pale her skin was, and how only one eye worked properly.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” The joke fell a little flat, but she smiled anyway, because they were in a temple of the ancients, about to face the legacy of a people eight hundred years dead, and that kind of thing deserved humor. “Let’s do this.” He pressed his hand to a disc.

She followed suit. For a second, nothing happened, and Meriwether thought maybe the temple was dead, Armitage’s people condemned to spend the next eight hundred years inside their chambers. Then the floor gave a savage jolt like the start of an earthquake. Dust shook from above, and he coughed. “What did that do?”

Behind him, the tanks clanked, and that’s when the screaming started.

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