59

(Candle)

When the Fox Hears the Rabbit

Candle followed the soft patter of the Necromancer girl's feet through the dark until the sound faded into silence. She came to a halt, surrounded by the darkness and clenched her fists in frustration. It had been a surprise and a delight to hear another voice in the tombs, even one speaking heavily accented Ancient Teurek. She didn't blame the child for running at the sight of Belias. Candle would have done the same.

Now that the girl was gone the tombs felt oppressively quiet and there was nothing to give her direction or inspiration. There was no light and no sound, only deep unending night. Inching her way along the corridor in the pitch-black was unpleasant and painful, and her progress was slow. She bashed her foot against a gutting rock and swore under her breath. The stillness was interrupted by the soft chuckle, dripping with malice.

"Let me help you, Mistress," whispered Belias. She couldn't see him but she could feel his hulking presence next to her and feel his breath on her ear. It was almost a comfort to have him there. Almost. "Let me help you," he repeated. "I can make a light for you. All you have to do is say the word, and then we can leave this place..."

"No," she said, a smile tugging at her lips. Her demon surely knew the reason she was wandering the tombs looking for his grave. He was many things, but she did not think he was stupid. He must know that she was looking to destroy him and the fact that he was rattled gave her hope.

A handful of luminous witch-lights blossomed into life, illuminating the veined rock walls of the tomb and the hulking mass of the demon beside her. Belias leered at her, his mouth a gaping wound of black in the deep shadow of his face.

"I can help you," he said. "Do you not prefer to see? Or do you enjoy crawling through the dust like a pathetic, sightless worm? You are truly nothing without me."

"Thank you," she said, moving up the passage with speed before he could change his mind. "For the light." As long as he demanded nothing in return she would be foolish not to take advantage. She didn't look at him but strode onwards, refusing to engage. Nothing good would come of a conversation with the demon. The walls here were chiselled from natural rock and sparkled where the light hit the right angles. In other circumstances, it might be considered beautiful.

Ahead the corridor split into two archways. To the left, she could see a hint of a stair, while to the right were more grotesquely piled bones and the yawning blackness that suggested a deep room. She hesitated in front of them, then chose the right-hand passage.

"The other door," hissed Belias, wisps of black escaping from his face and trailing through the air in agitated smudges.

"This way looks fine," she said, moving through the ossuary, keeping a sharp lookout for imps, or anything else. She wondered briefly where the strange little girl had gone and what she had been doing wandering the catacombs in the first place.

Her gaze swept across the room with its many bone altars. Over by the far wall, above a dusty pile of urns, she could see runes scratched in the wall. Walking over, she examined them with some satisfaction, rubbing her thumb over the groves. Belias stalked behind her, his eyes hooded. She didn't meet his gaze, afraid of what she would see in his eyes. They were back in the main catacombs, which meant Belias' tomb could not be that far away. He must know it too. His cooperation was suspicious in the extreme.

Candle walked on, searching for a feature she could recognise – anything to give her a clue to the whereabouts of the grave she was seeking. Turning out of the ossuary, she passed beneath another carved archway. This one had a motif of skulls and anvils – easy to remember. It led to a shallow flight of stairs, its walls adorned with ghoulish patterns of bones, which tickled her memory. She was sure she had seen this part of the maze before. Up she went, as fast as she dared, searching her memory for a clue to her whereabouts.

Her foot stepped out onto empty air, and she lurched forward, only just catching herself at the edge of a precipice which appeared out of thin air before her. The demon laughed, the sound bouncing around the cave. The stone floor which just a moment before had seemed all too solid, had suddenly given way to a gaping pit of nothingness. A gust of air moved up the sides of the wall, blowing her hair back as she gasped and scrambled back. Belias had been playing with her. The patterns of bones were gone, and the shallow flight of stairs had vanished. The ossuary had been an illusion.

"The other way looks... less treacherous," said Belias, with unbearable smugness. "Perhaps you should reconsider...before you hurt yourself? Of course, you know, best...Mistress."

"Fine."

Candle turned back, her heart pounding. The feeling of the ground dropping away beneath her foot had been... unpleasant. Adrenaline was still coursing through her veins and she felt a little weak at the thought of how close she had come to toppling into the abyss. She needed to play along, at least for the moment. If Belias felt too threatened he might decide it was better to walk her off the edge of a cliff than to let her get too close to his dusty remains with her iron and moonsilver dagger.

Retracing her steps, she took the left-hand doorway that he indicated and climbed the steps she found there. Belias floated behind her, his witch-lights illuminating the path. Was he leading her back to the entrance? She needed to find water, and something to burn. That was the only plan she could come up with. Her eyes slipped to the dusty wrappings of the corpses and she shuddered. But she was growing desperate.

The stairs came out on the layer of the catacombs where she had seen the cells. Pausing at the top, her stomach rumbled and she pressed a hand to it before carrying on. How long had it been since she had eaten?

"Shall we hunt?" asked Belias. "I too am hungry."

"No."

"I can feel your hunger mistress. For food and power. For salvation. Let me give you these gifts. I can help you. Clearly, you are incapable of managing by yourself. You know this to be true. You have always needed your friends to rescue you. Here, take this gift. A gesture... of goodwill."

The demon held out a sandwich with two hands, his face twisted into the horrible caricature of an innocent smile. Candle's nose twitched, and her stomach groaned at the sight and scent of the food. It was just the sort of bread that she liked, brown and fluffy and plump with freshness. The top of the sandwich was sprinkled with seeds and inside she could see folds of cheese and tomato. She swallowed. She was so hungry, her stomach ached. But the last time Belias had offered her food it had turned out to be an illusion of human flesh. Down here, in this pit of dead bodies, she could only imagine what he had found to enchant for her.

"No, thank you," she said, tearing her eyes away from the bread with some difficulty. Her stomach moaned.

"You will die down here in the dark," Belias hissed in her ear. "And not a soul will mourn your loss. No one will even notice."

He vanished, taking his witch-lights with him, and the passageway was plunged once more into darkness. Candle heaved a sigh and inched her way forwards, hands exploring the walls and her feet edging forewords.

A sound caught her attention, and she stood listening. Was that the distant murmur of voices? She carried on towards it and after a few minutes, she was surprised to be able to see the floor. Dimly, but the stone was unmistakable. Somewhere up ahead shone a light, and someone was whispering in the dark. Turning a corner, she found the source – a smoking rush torch in a sconce on the wall. By the flickering, smoking light she could see a row of cells, the bars thrown into deep relief. Unlike the ones she had seen previously these were occupied, and it was from inside that the faint noises had come. A miserable group of people lay in dank straw, most of them asleep.

Candle crept up to the bars, looking down at the gaunt men, women and children who lay huddled at the back. Those who were awake stared back at her with wide, frightened eyes. Her hand went to the door of its own accord, and she tugged at it, trying to pull it open, but it would not budge.

"You need the key," said one of the prisoners, cracking open an eye and staring up at her. He was young, perhaps a year or two older than Candle, although it was hard to tell under all the dirt. He was pale, and like the strange little girl she had met in the tombs, spoke heavily accented Ancient Teurek. It took Candle a moment to understand his words.

"Where is the key?" She asked, and he shrugged. A shock of blond hair fell over a face that was all sharp angles and bruises. He gripped the bars with white knuckles, his face urgent.

"How did you get out?" he was saying. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

"I –– my name is Candle," she said, struggling to remember her lessons.

"Never mind, never mind," he hissed, his eyes darting along the passage. "Can you help us? Do you know the way to the surface?"

"I don't," said Candle. "I'm lost. I can try to help –"

"Abenathi."

"What?"

"My name is Abenathi."

"How did you all end up here?" Candle cast her eye over the dejected group that included men, women and a few children – all of them thin, all of them with the same pale, sickly look as Abenathi. Candle wondered how long they had been kept below ground.

"The dragons abandoned our village," said the boy, his eyes focused not on Candle but on the space behind her as if he expected a Necromancer to appear at any moment. The thought made her shoulder blades twitch. "I'm here with my brother and uncle. We are all that is left from our village."

"Dragons?"

"You're not very bright, are you? Never mind. Listen, you have to find the key and help us. We never know when they will come and take one of us."

"The Necromancers? What do they do to you?"

Abenathi shrugged. He was so thin the gesture looked painful.

"Sometimes they just slit wrists and let us bleed out." He said, his eyes hollow. "Into a decanter of course. Sometimes they take parts."

"Parts?"

"An arm, an ear." He turned his head. "Someone's coming. Hide!" He pushed her away, his hands poking at her side. "Hide! And then come back and help us! Do you promise?"

"I promise," she said.

"Go – go!"

Candle ran and hid behind a stack of old crates, as two figures emerged from the gloom of the crypts. The Necromancer was a man, pale and stately in silver velvet. His beauty was inhuman, his skin luminous and the planes of his face handsome and haughty. Candle did not like the look of him one bit. A lightning brother walked a step behind him, a scowl on his brow, and she pressed back into the deep shadows, afraid they would see her.

They strode to the cell and stood looking at the prisoners, with their backs toward Candle. The humans had all scuttled to the back of the cell, their eyes wide and fearful. Two of the children began to cry, and their young mother shushed them, clutching them close. She looked as scared as the children.

The brother unlocked the cell. Candle craned her neck to try and see where they put the key but it seemed to disappear into the brother's pocket. The mismatched pair stood before the cowering humans, regarding them with cool eyes.

"That one," said the Necromancer pointing. The shifter grabbed Abenathi by the throat, holding the boy up for the Necromancer's inspection. He kicked ineffectually at the shifter, clutching his throat and making gurgling noises. A small scuffle broke out amongst the humans as they held back another boy who must be Abenathi's younger brother. Tears streamed down his face as he tried to reach the shifter.

The Necromancer didn't even look at the disturbance, regarding Abenathi like an interesting project.

"Snap its neck," he said. "I don't need it fresh."

Abenathi looked up at the bird brother with wide eyes.

"Please–"

In the shadows behind them, his brother sobbed. The shifter met his gaze, his face expressionless. Then he broke Abenathi's neck with brutal efficiency. Candle let out a gasp and sank lower in her hiding place. Sobs and moans came from the cell and then she heard the sound of the metal door swinging shut. Footsteps sounded over the stone and she peered out to see the Necromancer disappearing into the passageways, the bird brother carrying the limp and broken body of Abenathi over his shoulder. The boy's head bounced against the shifter's shoulder, his eyes blank and staring.

They were soon swallowed by the night, and Candle crept out of her spot. The humans inside had settled back down into listless piles. Abenathi's brother was sobbing, comforted by the older man Candle could only assume was their uncle. They both stared up at her with hopeless eyes. The children whimpered in their mother's lap, and the young woman crooned a song to them, her breath coming in fits and starts has she fought back her own sobs.

Abenathi's brother lifted swollen eyes to Candle's face.

"Run while you can," he whispered.