The stone cobbles underfoot began shaking as another earth tremor shook the city. The building to my right creaked like an old man, gave a splintering crack and listed a hand-span towards me. A rain of rotted wood pattered down nearby. The place was an ill-omened death-trap; no wonder it was deserted. Soon it would collapse in on itself – hopefully long after we were out of here – and then it would be reborn once people got up the nerve to pilfer the stone from the ruined temple to build a new tenement.
As the buildings settled I sensed a tiny tremor of movement from a roof behind me. I opened my Gift, trying to sense any stray thoughts or emotions. I relaxed as a corvun screeched and took flight from behind one of the crooked chimney stacks that leaned like bad drunks over the alleyways.
While I was busy examining the buildings, Charra climbed over a pile of rubble and scanned the ground for clues.
“Walker, look at this.”
Something cracked underfoot and she disappeared shrieking into a hole.
“Charra!” I scrambled over the rubble.
She was sitting on her arse in a muddy hollow half-filled with debris, wincing and holding her chest. Her face and hair were grey with ash. She coughed, spitting mud and blood.
I opened my mouth to comment.
“Don’t you dare say a word,” she said.
“As you wish, my lady.” I lowered my hand to help her out. Stale fetid air wafted up out of a dark opening in one side of the pit, sending a shiver up my spine. “Merciless Night Bitch,” I cursed. “There is an entrance to the Boneyards here. This old temple to Artha must have been built to guard the exit.”
She looked up at me in alarm, recalling our old stories of the things that lurked in those dark catacombs. Once upon a time she had liked to sit with us and listen to gruesome tales of the twisted, broken things gone howling mad down below her streets, but that was when our tales had merely been scary stories of a strange place she would never see.
The stink of the Boneyards summoned the foul taste of bile to burn the back of my throat. Dizziness and terror overcame me. I stumbled, foot falling over the edge, blood flooding my mouth from a bitten lip. Charra’s eyes widened, her arms opening to catch me as I fell, racked by old nightmares of being trapped in the darkness…
Chapter 14
My breath misted the air of the dusty, disused cellar. I was starting to shiver so I pulled the threadbare cloak tighter around my bony, gangly body, feeling like a shabby street rat amidst the finery of the high-born boys that surrounded us. There wasn’t any chance of escaping; they were older and bigger than me, already with hair on their chins, and more importantly they were blocking the only way back. I had no idea how Harailt had got the keys to this room and disabled the wards – the lower levels of the Collegiate were forbidden to initiates and usually heavily guarded, but the corridors had been strangely empty today as they marched us down here. I supposed that Harailt was Archmagus Byzant’s favoured student…
“No,” the fat boy beside me pleaded. “I… I don’t want to go.”
The chorus of older boys kept up the chant: “Boneyards, Boneyards, Boneyards, Boneyards, Boneyards.”
“Are you quite sure of that?” Harailt said. “We have all taken this challenge. Do you not want to be one of us?” I could see the dangerous twitch start at the corner of his mouth. The fat boy was in far more trouble than he realized. “Are you really going to let poor little Edrin here go into the tunnels all on his own?” His half-dozen idiot cronies kept up the heckling chant.
The fat boy looked back at me, swallowed, and lowered his eyes. He edged away from the steps leading down past the huge steel gate that yawned open into unknown depths below the Old Town. The darkness loomed behind me like a living, breathing thing, and I clutched the lantern they had given me even tighter.
The group of seniors pushed forward, herding the fat boy towards me, and towards the entrance to the catacombs. “Boneyards, Boneyards, Boneyards, Boneyards.”
Harailt glowered at me and jerked his head towards the darkness.
I took the hint, and began to descend the steps, taking my own good time about it as some sort of lame protest. Heir to a High House or not, if Harailt had been alone I might have smacked him one and burst his nose, but I wasn’t about to try to fight seven initiates whose Gifts had already begun to mature. Instead I satisfied myself by imagining my fists beating his face to a pulp and his silver-threaded tunic stained with his own blood. Lately it seemed like he found an opportunity to harass me every other day. If things got much worse I’d have to revert to my old Docklands ways and stick a knife in his back when he wasn’t looking. I didn’t want to have to do that. I’d tried so hard to fit in and I was every bit as good as they were! It wasn’t my fault I’d been born in a Docklands tenement and them in lofty palaces.
I reached the gate and looked back, happened to catch the fat boy’s eyes. I flicked a look at Harailt and back again, gave him a curt shake of my head. The boy finally seemed to realize that he didn’t have a choice. He took a great shuddering breath, held up his lantern like a shield, and followed me through the gate.
Harailt gave a sarcastic cheer. “Finally! Go on then, find a relic from the Boneyards to prove your bravery.”
We slowly edged forward into the darkness, batting cobwebs away from our faces. The light from the lanterns went nowhere near far enough down the tunnel. The air was dank and stale, leaving a foul taste in my mouth.
“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to show a confidence I didn’t feel. “We won’t be in here long. We’ll just grab something and run straight back out.” I almost dropped the lantern as the gate clanged shut behind us with an eruption of laughter and jeering.
“What are you doing?” I shouted. “Let us out!” We ran back but it was much too late. The gate was locked and they were running away, laughing and patting themselves on the back.
Harailt was the last to leave the room. He turned, silhouetted in the doorway. “Perhaps if you beg I will come back to free you both.” His lips twitched with derision. “Beg.”
To my surprise the fat boy didn’t immediately fall to his knees offering to lick Harailt’s boots. He was made of sterner stuff than I’d thought. I hocked up a blob of phlegm and spat it in Harailt’s direction.
His face reddened at the insult. “Find your own way out then, you grubby little drudges. You poor excuses for magi do not belong in these hallowed halls. Better get moving before your oil runs out.” Then he was gone. The heavy door thumped closed behind him, cutting off the sound of their mirth.
“I hope your cocks rot and fall off,” I shouted after him, booting the gate and succeeding only in causing pain to shoot up my leg. The fat boy grabbed the spars and tried to wrench them apart, but the gate was completely and utterly immovable.
“Hello?” he shouted. “Hello! Is anybody there?” He kept up the shouting for a few minutes until it finally got on my nerves.
I prodded him in the side. He turned, and it was only then that I realized he was on the verge of tears. “I think we’re on our own, pal,” I said. “Those gangrenous scrotes ain’t coming back for us.” His tears started to well up. Great. Why did I have to be stuck here with the likes of him? “Well, I’m going to prove that those bawbags aren’t better than me. I’m finding my own way out and I’m going to bring back something awesome to rub in their stupid faces.” I backed away from the gate. “You coming?”
He stared at me for a few seconds, sniffling, then looked back out into the darkened cellar. He scrubbed his face with a sleeve. When he looked back the tears had dried up. I was surprised at his fortitude. He stuck his hand out. “Um, hello. I am Lynas Granton. Sorry about…” He waved a hand indicating the whole of himself. “I… I guess we do have to go down there.”