Viola’s
shame began to dissipate as she picked her way through the rubble and it was
replaced with a sense of trepidation. She’d heard so many rumours about what
the Tlaxacans might have left in the old city that she really didn’t know what
to believe. The rumours had revolved
around blood and death, the use of powerful necromancy – the stuff of unquiet
dreams. On this day, however, in the
bright early summer sunshine, this all seemed very unlikely. The city just
looked old, abandoned and harmless. She’d have a quick, but reasonably
thorough, look around and then report what she’d found. It was just walking
round a ruin, after all.
After about ten minutes of careful movement, following the trace of the
old west road, she could clearly see the shattered remains of the old east
gate. It had been a massive four-door portal, with a defensive space between
the two sets of two doors. The iron doors were now lying broken on the floor –
they looked as if they had been torn off their hinges. Above the gate the city
wall had gaps in it, so that in some places the wall was only about three feet
high. She could have scaled the walls
just as easily as walked through the main gate.
Once she had reached the gate she peered through the wide entrance.
Beyond was a sea of rubble – no building had been left more than a few bricks
high and everywhere was covered in a thin layer of white stucco and plaster
dust. She was also astonished by the amount of twisted metal, of all possible
shapes and sizes, that was scattered about the ruins. The Tlaxacans had clearly
wanted to destroy this place completely – she wondered why.
She gingerly made her way through the entrance, checking for movement
as she did. There was no sign of anything living except for a few bushes of a
shrubby purple flowered plant that seemed to have established sole control of
the site. She looked down and realised that there was no soil, and this seemed
to be the only plant that could survive.
This was more than a wasteland, it was a dead land. She shivered, even
though the sun was strong.
She wondered what she should be looking for – this didn’t seem like the
kind of place where anything useful could be found. Maybe for a scholar,
though, it was a treasure trove. She wondered whether Kath would be
disappointed when she finally saw the extent of the destruction.
She looked up at the distant bell tower – it was about a quarter of a
mile away but was easy to locate, its elegant cream stone a stark contrast to
the grey-white debris below it. It looked like an orthodox tower, of the sort
that was illustrated in drawings of West Visneorian cities and towns. Here,
however, it looked completely out of place. As she strained to see the top of
it she felt slightly giddy, as if the space at the top were spinning. Maybe it
was – she’d have to get a little closer, even if she really didn’t want
to.
As she moved carefully between the blocks of masonry she wondered at
how silent it all was. Where were the birds, she wondered. There were no
pigeons or rooks, or little sparrowy birds pecking away at scraps. And most
strikingly, to her mind, there were no giant red kites. In Ortia they were
everywhere, soaring overhead in search of carrion. How could it be that nothing
lived here, after 900 summers? The hairs on the back of her neck started to
prick up, and a strange sickness filled her stomach. For a brief moment she
thought she might vomit. She felt panic creeping up on her – what on earth had
caused that? She smelled the air and touched the dust on the ground. She forced
the panic back. Then she closed her eyes and concentrated on her feelings.
Although no-one was looking, she nodded. This was a magic effect – something
had cursed this ground. Nothing would come near because nothing could tolerate
the curse. It was now quite clear why no Ortian patrols ever came inside the
ruins. She knew that this would only get worse the longer she stayed inside the
city. She’d better hurry; she wouldn’t be able to resist forever the growing
urge to flee.
In a few places there appeared to be lower areas that might once have
been chambers or tunnels. She crouched down next to one of these areas; there
were old steps leading down into darkness. Perhaps these were the places that
they needed to explore. She walked down the steps, each slow footfall an
exaggerated experiment, only to find that there was a blank wall and yet more
rubble.
She looked
at a few more of these areas with steps but none of them seemed to lead
anywhere. She stopped for a while. She was panting, partly out of fatigue and
partly out of fear. The desire to run away began to grow in her again. There
was nothing here, she told herself – she’d just go back to the others and tell
them that the place was a useless ruin.
She looked up at the bell tower again. Was that the bell? She squinted,
trying to see the top of the tower more clearly. She found herself imagining
the bell ringing. In her head it sounded wonderful, a sound so clear and pure
that it drove away her panic. She hesitated and the sense of terror returned.
That was really odd. How could thinking about the sound of a bell she’d neither
seen nor heard make her feel better? She forced herself to look away from the
tower. She still felt slightly better – perhaps she’d search around for just a
little longer.
After a few more minutes poking around she noticed a dark hole just
under a huge wall, which must have once belonged to a mansion of some kind.
There were still the vague outlines of figures and animals on the walls. In
this case there were no obvious stairs, just a round pool of darkness. Maybe
she could lower herself down. She hesitated, there was something odd about the
hole - it was in direct sunlight, but no light seemed to be entering it. In
fact, the darkness inside the hole seemed vaguely reddish.
She reached down and picked up a handful of dust, of a kind that could
easily be whipped naturally into the hole by the wind, and sprinkled it over
the entrance. The dust sizzled, with a red glow, and then disappeared. That was
odd. She tried it again, with the same result.
That was very odd. She bent down so that her face was parallel to the
surface of the void. It was as if the hole had a thin red skin over it, which
seemed to prevent light from leaving it. She blew as gently as she could over
the taut membrane – it fluttered a little, like the surface of a flat still pond,
and made a tiny ‘phewww’ sound. She put her ear to the ground as close to the
hole as she felt safe. There was a distant roaring, like flames on a vast
bonfire. Where did that come from? She moved a few yards away, lay flat, and
then put her ear to the ground again. There was no sound at all. By now her
mouth was very dry – should she go back? Now, she really wanted to leave again,
but had she done enough to justify her mission?
Someone had stoppered up the entrance with a magical seal, but
why?
The growing sickness in her stomach and the weirdness of the dark space
made her hurry on. They’d have to come back, if they really must, to see if
there were any more of those things. She’d make her way to the bell tower and
then retreat. Just the thought of
getting closer to the bell made the virtual ringing re-sound in her head. Again
the sickness and fear retreated a little. She rubbed her clammy hands on her
tunic and headed on.
The way was relatively clear now leading to the tower. This area must
once have been a plaza, certainly some kind of open space. It was easy to walk
over the white crumbly remnant of whatever the floor had been covered with;
tiles perhaps. She stopped, looked down, and peered. What was this surface? It
seemed to be made of rods and spheres. What were they? Then she realised –
these were not rods and spheres, these were bones and skulls. Stretching from
here to the tower were the remains of an incalculable number of creatures,
apparently humanoid, but all too broken up by the wind and rain to be
recognisable. So many things had died in front of this tower. She stood stock
still for a moment, feeling so very cold. She trembled and heaved. What had it
done to them?
Her mind was slightly calmer than her reflexes. It realised that she was at least ten feet
into the sea of bones, so if she was going to be pulverised it would probably
have happened by now. Anyway – it was all so long ago. She took a few more tiny
steps – and then a few more. She finally
found herself at the bottom of the tower.
The tower at its base was completely free of bones and rubble. The
cream marble of the structure was smooth; there was a single door at its base.
It had no handle or keyhole. The door was iron banded with dark wood and looked
immensely solid. Above the door, in archaic elven, was clearly engraved:
Οφία μου έκανε: κανένας θα με καταστρέψει
This was hard to read, Viola had only a smattering of this most ancient
of all elven languages. She mouthed the text phonetically to herself: ‘Ophia
moy ekane: kanenas tha me katastrophsei’. What did that mean? She thought
very hard for a second, dredging up her old schoolgirl lessons: ‘Ophia… made…
me…none… shall…mar…me’.
She relaxed just a little – this was an Imperial construction, however
strange and it had been built by Ophia, who was known to the western world as
Quiena. Quiena had helped save her people before, and maybe this would help
them again. Also, she was now sure that
at least one bit of Dwarven magic survived, so at the very least Kath would
want to have a good look at it. She tried to push door open but it was either
locked or too stiff to move. Staring up she could clearly make out the shape of
a giant bronze bell in the top storey of the building. She had a strong desire
to climb up and ring it, so that she could see whether it made the same wonderful
sound in reality that it was still making in her head. No, that really would have to wait. With an effort she shut off the mental
tolling and turned tail and ran, allowing the tide of panic finally to
overwhelm her. She didn’t look back until she was well through the gate and
could see grass and trees again.
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