Chapter 12

  Jonathon sat with his back against the cool stone of the ziggurat’s backside, his breaths shallow and labored. He had known he couldn’t take the stairs since he would have been spotted too easily, so he decided to climb up the back…what a mistake. Not only were there no stairs, but each “step” of the ziggurat was higher than he was tall. So, at each level, Jonathon found himself looking for hand and footholds and rock climbing to the next step. His muscles ached from the climb, his palms scraped raw from gripping jagged stone edges. In the end, he had no clue how long he had been climbing, but he was certainly glad it was over now.

  As he rested, he thought again about his confrontation with Cass. He thought about the feast down below and wondered how many had already retired to their tents since he had left. Had his presence been noticed? He shook his head and recentered his thoughts. He remembered most of the path to get down to the room, but he wasn’t sure just how confident he felt in that knowledge. He wondered just how vast the structure was and how long it would take him to find his way out if he did get lost.

  Oh well, it didn’t matter, he was pretty sure he would be able to get it right once he got down there. He took stock of his equipment: five darts and a blowgun. A light load to be sure, but he didn’t see how he would need anything more. Honestly, he only needed two of the darts, one for each guard outside the door, but he wanted one or two extra just in case. The fifth he hoped to study and potentially make his own version of in the future. Being able to incapacitate people could come in very handy if they ever decided to attempt raids on larger, more defended areas.

  Once he had caught his breath, he stood up and made his way along the edges of the ziggurat toward the front entrance. He suspected his three biggest hurdles would be the entrance, the library, and the guards at the very end. The guards were the only ones that would require action on his part, the others may or may not even be an issue, but the likelihood of someone being in those rooms was…well, actually pretty low, that’s why he chose to do this now instead of another night. He put the thoughts aside and peeked into the large chamber that he would have to cross.

  There were pillars along the length of the room that he would be able to skirt around, and plenty of shadows for him to conceal himself in. Surveying the open portions of the room, he didn’t notice anyone else. Still, he thought as he shrugged to himself, better safe than sorry. He quickly darted from the outside entrance to the nearest pillar and shadow. He took stock of the room once more. Still no one. He found the next shadow and silently skirted his way to it. He repeated this process down the entire length of the room. Thankfully, the torches on the inner portions of each pillar provided consistent cover to the backside for him to conceal himself behind. In the end, he could have just walked down the center of the hallway and been fine, as he never saw a single guard. Whatever, he told himself, it was good practice.

  Having reached the back of the room, he was able to see the door The Matriarch had taken him through. He took a chance in the light, dashed to one side of the door, and listened for signs of life coming from down the hallway. Nothing. Completely quiet.

  “I guess it was really smart of me to have chosen to do this now,” he silently joked to himself, “apparently they let everyone off for the festival.”

  He quickly passed through the door and began making his way down the hallway.

  As he entered the hallway, he felt a sinking in his gut as he realized just how stressful the rest of his heist was going to be now. Unlike the grand entrance before, this hallway was just that: a hallway–no crevices to hide in, no pillars to hide behind, nothing, just a straight hallway with the occasional split.

  At least he still had some shadows, he thought to himself as he looked down the hallway. There were pockets of light from wall-mounted torches, but they were spaced every thirty feet or so, giving him much more time in the dark than the light. Still, there was only so much the darkness would do for him if someone came along with a friend, or worse, a torch! Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it at this point. So, he began his long journey down the hall.

  Right at the end of the hallway, left at the second intersection, another left, another left, a right. Jonathon slowly traced the path he had etched into his memory earlier that day. After walking for about ten minutes, Jonathon froze in his tracks. His breath caught, and his heart jumped into his throat. He had heard the last sound he wanted to hear in this hallway: voices.

  Frantically, Jonathon began looking around for a hiding place that he knew he wouldn’t find. The voices were getting closer. How long ago did he pass a room? He couldn’t remember. It definitely hadn’t been anytime so recent that he could go back to it now without losing too much time, or being caught before he even reached it.

  He heard the sound of the footsteps increasing as the threat creeped ever closer to his position.

  Crap, he thought, he was running out of time. He began trying to think of other places he could hide. He hadn’t noticed any points along the wall where he could wedge himself between. Despite what he assumed the age of the ziggurat was, the infrastructure was kept in remarkably good shape. The voices were even closer now. They couldn’t be more than a hundred feet or so. It was hard to tell at this point in the hallway as he was in the middle of a turn and could not see too far ahead, but he had to do something, now.

  The voices were on him now, and two tribesmen turned the corner, speaking in whatever language the Barmuru people spoke in. Sweat dripped from Jonathon’s brow, his breath barely a whisper against the cool, stone walls. Each step echoed in the silence, a deafening reminder of how easily sound could betray him. His heart raced in his throat as the two continued their talk, passing right by him and rounding the remainder of the corner, disappearing out of sight. They had not noticed Jonathon at all.

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  It had been awkward and difficult, but he had managed to get himself off the ground and had been able to hold himself aloft between the walls, feet on one wall, hands on another. Thank the gods they didn’t have a torch, he thought…and the fact that no one ever looks up. He slowly shimmied his way down and continued his journey, finally coming out into the large, domed library.

  This room seemed empty as well. As he began crossing the room towards the left side, he paused. He thought about the end of his journey and the two Banshees that awaited him. They were at the end of a long hallway, with torches, and nowhere else to look. How was he going to incapacitate them with these blow darts that he had never used before? He looked at them as a thought crossed his mind. He quickly crossed to the nearest bookshelf and quietly moved some of the books off the shelf, enough to make a small clearing. He then took out the blowgun and examined it. After a minute or two, he figured out how to properly load the weapon and use it.

  He aimed at the bookshelf and blew. In an instant, a dart appeared on the shelf. Amazing! It had crossed so quickly! Unfortunately, it had completely missed the area he was aiming at and had landed in the spine of a nearby book. He went to retrieve the dart and found it was still in good shape. He reloaded the blowgun and tried again. This time, he hit the area he was aiming for. The blowgun was surprisingly easy to pick up and use, he realized.

  Jonathon continued practicing his aim with the blowgun and testing its range. After about ten to fifteen minutes, he decided he had tested his luck of remaining in this room alone for long enough. He felt moderately confident in his ability to at least hit a human from thirty feet away.

  He replaced the books on the shelf and continued toward the left side of the room, crossing the threshold and continuing his journey. After another twenty minutes or so of lefts, rights, and straights, Jonathon began having doubts about his memory. He figured he hadn’t been walking long enough to definitively say he had made a mistake, but he was also starting to get anxious about how long he had been walking.

  Sure, the hallway looked familiar, but how unfamiliar could a hallway look anyway? They all honestly looked the same down here. He could have easily made a wrong turn somewhere and be completely lost in this temple. His mind began to wonder about what he would do if he was in fact lost. How long would it take for him to find his way back, or for someone to find him? How would he try to explain his presence here in the first place? Would they believe anything he said at that point? And what if they decided to punish him?

  As this myriad of futures and problems were running through his mind, Jonathon made a right at the next intersection and found solace for his thoughts. There, at the end of the hallway, stood a door with two Banshees standing guard on either side. Considering the minimal number of Barmuru in the temple so far, the likelihood that these two Banshees just so happened to be guarding something else seemed low to him.

  Now the hard part: incapacitating the Banshees. He crept as far down the hallway as he could, just outside the light of the first torch. Damn, this would definitely be testing the range he had practiced at. On top of that, he had been practicing on a still object. Once the first Banshee went down, if he even hit her, he would have to deal with the second one, who would most certainly be moving. A hand grasped Jonathon’s stomach as he thought about how precarious of a situation he was actually in right now. He closed his eyes and took a few seconds to breathe. He had come this far. Dangerous or not, he could not leave here without the piece. He loaded the first dart and raised the blowgun to his lips. He aimed at the first Banshee on the left, center mass. He didn’t have to hit anywhere specific; he just needed the dart to pierce the skin to do its job. He aimed slightly upward and blew as hard as he could, hoping this would add some range to his attack. The dart struck the first Banshee in the thigh. There was a grunt as she felt the dart pierce her skin.

  “Who goes there?” she barked, her voice already beginning to slur from the sedative. The other Banshee turned quickly to see what was wrong. Jonathon loaded the second dart and aimed at the other Banshee, hoping to hit her before she could raise the alarm or begin charging him. He aimed slightly up and blew hard.

  He heard the sound of the dart hitting the stone to the left of her as it missed its target. Damn!

  Having heard the sound of the second dart hitting the wall, and seeing her partner collapse, the Banshee began charging down the hallway, spear at the ready. The hand that was grasping Jonathon’s stomach now moved to his heart as the threat of imminent death was now charging him. He quickly loaded the third dart and blew.

  Driven by his panic, he had not spent as much time aiming as he probably should have. Fortunately, the distance the Banshee had closed had given him a larger margin of error. It stuck her in the shoulder, and she collapsed just as her spear came within range of Jonathon, crouched in the shadows. Whether or not she had actually seen him was a mystery, one he was certainly glad he hadn’t needed to find out.

  With no obstacles standing between him and the piece, he crossed the final hallway and grabbed the torch at the side of the door. He opened the door, taking a moment to inhale deeply before he entered the room. The torch lit the room, and Jonathon noticed a number of things simultaneously: for starters, the room was not as cold as it had been before; secondly, the torch he held was able to illuminate the entirety of the room; lastly, the compass was gone.

  Jonathon stood there, confused and crestfallen. He began wondering what his next course of action would be when he heard the clearing of a throat and a familiar voice coming from the doorway.

  “You disappoint me, child. Not only do you think me foolish enough to believe your placation, but you also insult me and my people by attempting to steal from us,” The Matriarch said, stepping into the room.

  Jonathon’s heart sank as he turned slowly to face her, his mind racing for a plausible excuse. “I–”

  “I do appreciate you not resorting to murder in your quest for death,” she continued, cutting him off with a raised hand. “Though I wonder if this was out of desire to avoid bloodshed, or fear of engaging in combat?”

  “A desire to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, ma’am,” Jonathon replied, anxiety coiled tightly around his stomach.

  “Then at least you are not a liar, thief, and murderer,” she replied, her voice heavy with disappointment.

  “Attempted theft,” Jonathon corrected.

  A disappointed half-smile graced The Matriarch’s lips. “Right you are, boy. And you remember the punishment for such an act, I presume?”

  Before Jonathon could answer, the sting of the dart hit him like a sudden, icy wave, paralyzing his breath as he slumped to his knees. The Matriarch’s voice, a blend of disappointment and inevitability, echoed unknowable words as his consciousness faded.