3 hours until
clone death
“You know.
Something’s been bothering me.”
“Pipe down,
prisoner.”
“No, I mean it.
Something’s been bothering me about this mission from the very
beginning, because it goes against everything I understand about the
Subway Wizards in general.”
“I swear to God,
if I have to hear that stupid nickname one more time-”
“They’re a bunch
of quasi-religious nutjobs, yeah? Constantly going on about
preserving the Domains in their purest state and whatnot? Still with
me so far?”
“At the rate
you’re going, should be
worried about still being with ”
Gordon threatened.
Henry,
once again, ignored him outright. Now that he’d had a moment to
reflect on it, he felt he absolutely to
get this point across.
“So,
why, of the people
who supposedly
want this mysterious
artifact, did they decide to
toss away all of that
fanaticism and openly acquire
one of their own?”
Deep
in the bowels of the subterranean labyrinth, the group had come to a
halt to rest for a brief moment. Countless passageways branched off
in multiple directions from the entrance they had discovered, slowing
their pace somewhat as they thoroughly explored the apparent inner
sanctum of the Morlocks. It was during this brief respite, while
Gordon was preparing to scarf
down a month-old nutrition bar as
Henry watched on hungrily that the unexpected happened.
He
made a good point. To someone who hated his guts, no less.
The
GC overseer paused mid-bite
to over his words. Letting
the hand that held the food drop away from his mouth, Gordon’s brow
furrowed as he realized it actually add
up, just as Henry had said.
Then,
realizing he didn’t have an answer either, he pushed the thought to
the side and polished off his stale snack.
“Beats
me,” he admitted readily. “But the sooner we get back to it, the
quicker you’ll find out.”
Henry
wasn’t amused. “We’re all waiting on you, you know.”
Gordon
didn’t respond verbally, instead wagging his pointer finger and
patting the holster on his hip while he polished off the remaining
few bites with his other hand. With an audible gulp, he tossed the
wrapper on the ground and stood up.
“Break
time’s over. Get moving.”
And
that was that. Henry and Layla got back to their feet, and continued
on further down the corridor.
< -|- -|- >
Exploring
the catacombs below Liverpool Station was a… surreal experience.
Part of it, to be fair, was
the apparently
ventilation system that seemed to be in place down here. There wasn’t
a single speck of fog down here, something that even the most tightly
sealed aboveground structures failed to accomplish. The mere act of
not having to squint everywhere to make out fine details was throwing
him for a serious loop.
What
was worse, now that he could actually drink in every detail of his
surroundings unhindered,
Henry was having a hard time wrapping his head around how this
place could have come
to be in the first place.
If
the temple up above had taken months to make, then in comparison
where they were currently should have taken .
Every
single branching hall and pathway they came across, every
which way, the walls were lined top to bottom with
finely-crafted works
of art.
From sculptures recessed into awnings depicting historical figures,
to frescoes depicting events that shaped the course of the world, to
highly detailed petroglyphs on seemingly any and every subject. It
felt like a scattered collection of everything a historian might
consider ‘important’, realized exclusively with the help of every
artist who ever worked on the Sistine Chapel.
No
rhyme or reason to placement. You could have a lifelike rendition of
an Egyptian pharaoh stood next to a lithograph depicting the Wright
Brothers first inventing the aeroplane, and it would still be more
organized than whatever planning went into this place.
And they all made heavy use of that same, pitch-black stone.
It
was being used… well, artistically. None
of it was
carved from the strange
material, but rather it was
being used as trims, or to
accentuate certain important elements.
It
certainly grabbed
attention, with
the way that light seemed to slip right past it and ignore the stuff
entirely. Neon-black, almost. Sticking
out like a sore thumb by
merit of
broadcasting a vibrant color to the world.
“What
is this stuff, anyways?”, Henry asked to no one in particular as he
poked the polished obsidian surface of a carving of a horse. “I’ve
never seen it anywhere but the big pillar up above before. Did the
Subway Wizards make it? Is this whole place an artifact, and this is
just one of the oddities about it?”
Gordon and the Harpy, naturally, ignored him. Probably for the best,
they were keeping watch on the way back anyways. Making sure they
weren’t ambushed from behind, and all. Important work.
“What about you, Layla, what do you think?”
Oddly
enough, she didn’t respond from around the corner, either. She’d
ducked into a side room to quick check it out, and she
still in there…
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
But
for some reason, she was being quiet as a mouse.
“Layla?”
He wandered into the room she had entered, curious as to what would
prompt her to ignore the question.
He very quickly figured out why.
This
room was a...shrine, for lack of a better term. The scent of incense
hung cloyingly in the air as he entered, although no smoke could be
seen rising from the few sticks still remaining close to the
sputtering flames of hammered bronze braziers. At
the back of the room, a dais raised a few steps off the ground,
elevating itself over the gathered congregation dressed in shabby,
druidic garb kneeling prostrate towards it.
They
lay perfectly still, in tattered robes and numbering a few dozen,
murmuring prayers in a language that he
could understand
the intent behind more than
he
could recognize it.
No reaction had been made by her intrusion, or his for that matter.
And yet, despite
finally finding signs of life in this abandoned holy site, that
wasn’t the strangest detail by a long shot. Because, what held both
his and Layla’s attention was the double height statue on top of
the dais.
It was… a larger
than life, idealized rendition of Embla Hendriksson. Or, as they both
knew her better, Layla’s mom.
Everyone knew that
she’d been a pioneer in the world of Domain magic. It made sense,
in a… peculiar way, that if anyone were to be the subject of
worship by these crackpots, it would have been her or one of her
colleagues who blazed the trail alongside her or after her
retirement. But, having had the chance to know her personally… this
just felt…
Wrong.
The messianic garb
the artist had decided to drape her in certainly wasn’t doing any
favors to that assessment. It looked more like a version that was
everything they’d
her to be, rather than the person she was. At her core, that was a
researcher. A curious mind who looked on at the world in wonder. One
of the first to
be struck by randomly
forming mana, and rather than hide her newfound powers behind fear of
the unknown, had instead taken the leap of faith to show the world
just what might be possible with the help of magic.
Someone
who, despite taking the world by storm, willingly passed on the torch
to others to settle down with the love of her life and raise a
family. That was what he’d liked most about her. She’d never
cared for the notoriety or the fame that came with her work.
All
she’d ever wanted was to share that sense of wonder with others.
Henry
didn’t say a word as he strode forward to be by Layla’s side. He
felt like the least he could do now, was be close by to make her feel
grounded to the world around her. As surreal as this was for him, it
had to be at least twice so for her.
For
a moment, they just stood together and… well… nothing else,
really. Just the two of them, in the moment, taking the time to
contemplate just how off the walls crazy their lives had become in
the prior months.
As
much as this was a high point in that craziness… there was plenty
more to unpack on that front, too.
“…Henry…”
at last, Layla spoke softly as she turned subtly to face him. “…do
you ever just wish all… never
happened?”
The
question came out of nowhere
from his perspective, but he took his time to answer it properly.
Made him toss
around ideas on how to word things best, consider ways he might be
able to sugarcoat his thoughts. But, as much as he might want to
pretend… there was no way he could bring himself to lie to her.
“…No,”
he eventually decided.
“...Why?
What’s so great about Hallow London that you’d want to keep some
of the worst days of your life with you?”
“It’s
not about how bad the past was. It’s about losing the chance I have
to make things better.”
He
sighed, then returned her gaze. “How would I ever be able to handle
the future if I couldn’t live with my past?”
Layla
didn’t respond, but his words seemed to strike a chord with her,
somewhat. The low drone of the Morlocks chanting carried on, heedless
to their presence. Like they both were in a world removed from them
entirely, and vice versa.
“But,
that being said… I do wish
it would end.”
Layla
gave a weak smile in response. “On that, we can agree on, at
least.”
“See?
I’m not a complete sodding mess, after all!” The small joke did
wonders to brighten her mood, and her gentle laughter soothed his
soul, just for a moment. “Now, how about we figure out exactly
what’s going on here, and finally track down this blasted
artifact?”
“Oh…
uh… well…”
“Hm?
What is it?”
A
thin trail of mist snaked from the center of her palm and wrapped
around to a pouch on the side of her backpack. Lifting the flap by
manipulating the fog, the tendril-like arm reached into the pocket to
withdraw something.
“I
have a pretty good idea on what that item might be… this was in the
hands of the statue. I grabbed it before I noticed… before I looked
at her face.”
With
some effort, she retrieved the item from her backpack hands free,
letting it drop into Henry’s outstretched palms. There was some
skepticism on his part, that it was simply found that easily… but
once he laid eyes on it, those concerns were put at ease almost
immediately.
< -|- -|- >
“It’s… a Magic 8-Ball.”
“Well, yes… but there’s more to it than that.”
“
Like what?”
Gordon was not so easily convinced. Despite Henry holding the item in
question right in front of them all, it seemed like he would once
again need to debate his case with the untrusting fellow.
“Well… first of all. Same creepy black stone as that pillar up
above.”
“Okay… not seeing how that changes anything.”
“Second, not just a rock with white paint. It does still work like
a Magic 8-Ball, too.”
He shook it, and Gordon peered at the message inside.
“...Try again later,” the thug read aloud.
“...Yeah, not that impressive for me, either," Henry admitted. "But! If you would be
so kind as to hold it for a minute…”
Gordon obliged bemusedly, but raised his eyebrow once he’d firmly
grasped it.
“Feel that spine tingling feeling yet?”
Gordon opened his mouth as if to speak his mind, then thought better
of it and rephrased.
“Look,”
he cut to the chase immediately. “We’re looking for some sort of
artifact that can be used as a
And, not to mention, a
one.
Something that made these guys change their mind about holing up
underground forever. Now, as nice as this little journey has been up
until this point, I don’t see in any way how
He lifted the orb up by the plastic viewing port and shook it by his
head to emphasize how worthless he considered it.
“-could in any way achieve that. Unless you’d be interested in
making up some lie about that, too.”
Henry snorted derisively. “Artifacts never make it obvious how they
work from the get go. And besides, so far there hasn’t been a
single other item that could possibly even remotely fit the bill. All
we need to do is poke around a bit first to confirm or deny, yeah?”
“Or,” Gordon countered, “I could just-”
He
never got to finish that sentence. The 8-ball flashed ,
causing Gordon to nearly drop it in surprise.
It fell a short distance in freefall before he managed to grab hold
of it again. Now face up, the multi-sided die inside the briny liquid
beneath the viewport bobbed and floated to the surface. On its face,
a glowing blue symbol, shaped vaguely like a teardrop, shone softly
from within the depths.
“The hell is this?!”, Gordon cried out. “What’s with the
Domain symbol for Water?”
A second flash, this time white, shot out from the confines of the
orb. When the light dispersed, Gordon was on the floor, unconscious.
The
chanting in the shrine turned to wails. Joyous praises sung in a
cacophony of unintelligible syllables, but somehow rising into a
chorus that spoke in words
Henry could hear in his mind.
Lepers
to the healer, what was once lost is now found.
May
the broken be whole again.
