Etherwalker (34 page)

The hallway continued down, then began branching to the sides. Again and again. Yet Enoch knew which path to follow. He felt a surge of adrenaline. He felt . . . welcome.

His head felt better the deeper he went into the facility. There was something about the layout, the precision of the place that just seemed to soothe his thoughts. It was the exact opposite effect of Váli’s number trap—a place engineered so soundly that it nurtured a mind bred to create order.

Enoch didn’t hesitate now to send his mechanical vision along the cables in the ceiling. The pain was gone. The cables led to junctures that led to more cables that led further down into vast generators nestled deep beneath the sand. Most of them were dead and cold, but not all. A pair of these engines still flickered with atomic life, could be brought back to full power with a shift here, some new cabling there.

The structure and design of Babel had been similar to this, but now Enoch understood why it had never resonated with him like this place—generations of city-dwellers had built over and around the place, spoiling the cleanly purposed order of a rocket construction site and turning it into a chaotic city. The conflicting, incongruent layers had been jarring for his mind—still untrained at that point—and he instinctively drew away from exploring. That was why he had never really discovered the dark secret slumbering in those cold chambers.

The memory came with a pang of grief, and Enoch quickly shifted his thoughts back to the here and now.
This
place had remained untouched by the chaos. Even the horrific weapons that had transformed the land above into gray sand had been unable to penetrate the majestic order that reigned underneath. And it was suddenly obvious to Enoch that this had been the purpose of the place. It had been built by people who wished to hold something—to protect something. And to hide something from the Pensanden.

And I am getting closer.

Rooms branched off from the hallway now, and Enoch caught glimpses of incredible machinery in each of them. There was a room full of articulating arms and tools, a room that could build—or tear apart—anything one desired. There was a room with magnetized rails, which could lift, spin, and manipulate a metal object in any direction or speed. One room held hundreds of glass pistons, delicate cylinders that slid over and around each other in infinitely varied patterns. The purpose of these rooms was beyond Enoch’s ken, but the power and mystery they contained stoked his curiosity. He knew that he could spend an eternity here, wandering from room to room. But he had to reach the bottom of this facility. He had to find its purpose. He had to . . .

Ok, just one room.

He chose the smaller door to his right, one that seemed almost hidden beneath layers of bolted steel. At his touch, the layers folded back and parted—it was a simple matter to unlock the codes that held them shut.

He chose the room because it was small and because it felt like something he could pop in and out of without wasting any time. Just a taste of the fascinating machinery that filled this facility. But the room turned out to be fairly . . . disappointing. Just a simple steel table surrounded by twelve tall-backed chairs—steel chairs that resembled enormous ladles, with the handles coming down from the ceiling and bending into cupped cushions. Those were odd, but not very interesting. At the end of the room was a thirteenth chair, one that looked down over the others. It was empty, however.

Hovering over the center of the table, however, was something interesting. It was an object made of light—a
hologram.
Enoch remembered the word from his time in Babel. The hologram was a sphere decorated with various symbols and colors, and other symbols spun around the sphere like flies circling a light.

Enoch supposed it held some great meaning for whoever used to sit here, but he was almost glad that he had chosen the least interesting room here—now he had to get back to the reason he had come down here. He walked around the table, thoroughly unimpressed by the simplicity of this room. Rictus and Sera and G’Nor would come looking for him soon—

And that’s when he saw the body. It was sitting in the chair with its back to the door, which was why Enoch hadn’t seen its occupant behind the tall back. Enoch grimaced—the body had been here for centuries and had withered into a slumped skeletal corpse, which had dried into a husk under endless years of cool, dry air whisked through the tireless ventilation system. There was no smell, no mess or rot. Just a dark, lonely little figure sitting patiently in front of the spinning hologram.

A cave full of wondrous rooms, and I choose the one with a dead guy in it.

Enoch turned to go, but something caught his eye—a glimmer on the thin wrist of the corpse. The light from the hologram had reflected on something. This was interesting—the clothing had dried and warped to become almost indistinguishable from the withered flesh of the corpse’s body, but there was bright, untarnished jewelry still adorning its wrists, throat, and a single ear. Maybe Enoch could bring something back for Sera? He blushed at the thought, but it emboldened him to approach the corpse.
Just one little cadaver, right?
After all, hadn’t Enoch waded through troll blood, mudman poison, and the guts of a regenerative monster?

He decided on the bracelet, a beautifully crafted tracery of silver and steel that wrapped around the thin bones of the wrist like the wings of a bird. It felt beautiful and
correct,
much like Sera. Enoch smiled. Careful not to touch the dry, leathery skin, he grasped the bracelet and slid it from the corpse’s hand.

All that time traveling with Rictus—who knew it was preparing me to be an unflinching grave robber?

He lifted the bracelet up to his lamp to get a better look and gasped. The bracelet was a delicately rendered eagle, with a large ruby set as the eye.

An eagle. On the right wrist.

Enoch checked, and sure enough, there was another bracelet on the corpse’s left wrist that resembled a coiling serpent. The silver scales wound towards another ruby eye.

Enoch regarded the corpse again, feeling a sort of pity. He knew that this place had been built by those wishing to oppose his kind, the Pensanden. It appeared that they could not help but imitate them as well, even wear their symbols. This person, whomever he had been, had wished to wear the Eagle and the Serpent. Had wished for what Enoch had.

He almost returned the bracelets to the corpse, an act of guilt, but instead frowned and slid them onto his own wrists. Whoever this person had been, he was an enemy to the Pensanden. When living, this person and his people had created the monster that had almost killed Enoch and his friends. Enoch would wear the bracelets as a reminder of that. They fit his wrists perfectly, after all.

And maybe Sera will wear the other one.

The thought made him blush, and he liked the sensation.

As Enoch left the room, the hologram winked out. The door slid closed behind him.

Enoch wasn’t sure how long he continued down that hallway with endless rooms on either side that teased at mysteries beyond mysteries. It seemed like he continued for an hour before it eventually led down to another series of stairs, and then a pair of doors that were sealed with an enormous mechanical lock. The lock was easily dealt with, as Enoch’s
afila nubla
pushed the scrambled notches back into order. Pushing the actual door open was more difficult, as hinges that had been still for centuries squealed in protest.

The next turn brought him to a massive open space, a cavernous room with a ceiling so distant that his lamp could not reach its height. And there was a breeze here, an artificial wafting of air that came from some circulation system in vents far above. Enoch had been walking for hours now, and the soft wind on his skin brought his mind back to his body. His mouth was dry, and his stomach growled.

Sitting back against one of the thick girders that supported this place, Enoch drank from his pouch. He shut off his lamp to conserve energy, finally accepting the fact that he was going to be down here for a while.

Besides, it won’t take me too long to route some of that stored power into the light fixtures running through here. The vent system is still working—some filters set to ensure that this cavern stays dry and clean.

Even without the lamp on, Enoch could “see” the motes of energy running through this place. Could sense the slowly turning fans, the dilating vents, the weight-bearing girders all around him. A measured and silent order that held reign.

And that was when he heard the breathing.

It was ragged and dim, but it was deep. It came from something big. Something close. Enoch froze, grateful that his light was off.

That’s assuming this thing can’t see in the dark . . . 

Images of another shapeless monstrosity like Váli rose up in his mind, and Enoch shuddered.

Constrain. Calm. Control.

The words of command came more difficult than normal—he supposed the recent nightmarish battle had left some marks in his mind.

Constrain. Calm. Control.

The breathing hadn’t moved. And it seemed to be getting weaker. He recognized the nature of the sound from his days as a shepherd, taking care of animals that had been injured. The halting, wet noise of ruptured lungs.

Whatever it is . . . it is dying.

Emboldened, Enoch silently rose to his feet. He slid the lamp into his pocket and slowly drew his blades.

Just like the front room back at the farmhouse—remember the layout. Slip through it like a fish.

There had been another girder just ahead at the edge of the lamp’s light. Twenty-seven steps and Enoch’s toe felt the slight rise of the platform at its base. The breathing was closer. And weaker.

Ten more steps, and whatever it was stopped breathing. Not a careful attempt at being silent, but a rattling, wheezing halt.

Another ten steps.

It is dead.

Enoch counted a full minute.

Constrain. Calm. Control.

He sheathed his
derech
and pulled out the lamp. His thumb felt towards the smooth button on the side, and the light clicked on.

Enoch gasped.

It was a dead draconfly. Bulbous compound eyes, a mountain of black carapace, splayed segmented legs, and the insectile undeath of twitching antennae. One of the monsters that had brought the coldmen to his farm. The coldmen who had killed Master Gershom and cast Enoch’s life into the nightmare it had become.

How did it get here? Was it
from
this place? Did my ancestors leave a draconfly nest buried here under all this sand?

As soon as Enoch thought the question, he knew the answer. This creature was definitely not from here. Something this large would have left marks passing through the narrow hallways and doors he had just been through. This thing had arrived through some other entry—

And . . . it was dead. A yellow ichor had pooled underneath the creature, and Enoch could see several worn fractures along its thorax and wings. It had been driven hard. Someone had raced here, heedless of the cost.

“I knew you would come.”

Enoch spun, dropping the lamp to draw his
derech.
The lamp bounced twice and landed at the feet of a large man only a few steps behind where Enoch stood.

A coldman.

The light angled up along his thick armored legs, as broad around as Enoch’s chest. This coldman was larger than the ones he had seen back at the farm. Taller than Rictus. The plates on his shoulders curved up into horns, and Enoch had to remember that fearsome armor was not worn, it was a
part
of the coldman just as the twitching antennae were part of the dead creature behind him.

I must remember the corpse behind me. The floor slick with blood.

Enoch had drawn his blades and instinctively began mouthing the
pensa spada
as he took a step backwards
.
The coldman didn’t move, just regarded Enoch with flat, hooded eyes that reflected the blue light from the lamp.

“It has been so long.”

Its voice was dry and coarse. Enoch didn’t respond.

“I could have killed you as you stood there. I could have killed you when you sat to rest. I have been following you since you first entered this chamber.”

It was not bragging, merely stating a fact. Now it took a step forward. Enoch held his ground.

“You have some training, but you are too young. Far too young for this to have been a good Hunt. I had hoped for a chase across these sands, for blood and battle.”

The coldman crushed the lamp underneath its heavy foot, and there was only blackness. “Sadly, it will end here. Now.”

Enoch fought the panic brought by the dark, by the words of this killer. He closed his eyes, retraced the distances around him.

Hear.

The coldman was quiet, but he was large. The air would move around it and betray any swift movements. Enoch realized that it must be standing still. It was watching him. He slid into a simple defensive position and waited.

The voice, when it came, was behind him. “I am the Mosk d’Abaddon. I am the Hiveking.”