Brave Story (49 page)

A little further down, the stone tunnel took an abrupt turn to the right. At the corner, Wataru paused and pricked up his ears. Hearing nothing, he quickly turned the corner, sword held ready.

Nothing—just the tunnel hewn from the rock continuing on into the distance. Wataru stuck his tongue out.
See? I’m not scared.

The tunnel had grown narrower, and the ceiling was low over his head. The width of the passage as he walked was irregular—sometimes widening, sometimes narrowing. He finally reached the end, a solid wall of rock, with a hole at the bottom near the floor just large enough for a person to crawl through. The faint white light was coming from the other side.

I don’t like this one bit.

Wataru didn’t fancy going anywhere more cramped than the tunnel he was already in. But if he didn’t go through the hole, this was the end of the road. He looked around but didn’t see any other passageways.

Oh well.
Wataru set the lantern down by his feet, and pressing himself to the ground, he peered through the hole. As he expected, the passageway continued on the other side. It seemed to be dimly lit, and he could feel a faint breeze on his cheeks.

Right.
Steeling his body, he thrust himself headfirst through the hole. The wall was thin, and he was quickly on the other side.

He took a look around. The place he was standing was significantly different from the previous passageway he came from. A large dome stretched above his head three stories high. The chamber was very wide—about the same size as his schoolyard back home.

Wataru found himself unable to believe that such a large space could exist underground without some visible means of support. He looked around in amazement. On the far end of the chamber, he saw two more tunnels disappearing into the distance. The tunnel on the right seemed larger, and had some long metallic objects lying near it. There was nothing remarkable about the tunnel to the left, except—of course—for that suspicious white light pulsating from its depths.

The sound of a thin trickle of water was coming from somewhere. Wataru felt a sudden thirst in his throat.
One thing’s for sure: I’m not drinking any water in this place.

Wait, my lantern!
Crouching down, Wataru reached back through the hole he had just crawled through, when, right before his eyes, his lantern was
taken away
. Something like a long black arm, dried like a mummy’s, reached out and snatched the lantern out of sight. It had happened in an instant.

What was that? What thing has an arm like that? Was that even really an arm?

Was it his duty as a Highlander to crawl back through the hole and investigate? What if that strange arm belonged to some kind of monster? It could even be a thief. A mummy thief!
Whatever it is, I have to get that lantern back.

But then again, he was standing in an area that was plainly lit—though Wataru had no idea how. And there was that same white light shining from the corridor on his left. He at least had someplace to go without the lantern.
I’ll just keep moving forward. There, I’ve made my decision and I’m sticking to it.
It’s not that I’m scared to meet the owner of that nasty, dried-up arm. Really.

Holding his Brave’s Sword before him, Wataru took a few cautious steps toward the middle of the chamber. From here he could see that the metallic objects piled up in front of the right tunnel appeared to be spears—primitive things made of simple metal poles sharpened at one end. Also, he could also see traces of some large platform having been attached to the wall. Here and there along the rock were marks left by some sort of fastenings. In other places he saw the wall was discolored and scorched black with soot—perhaps where torches had been attached. Wataru looked around carefully, tracing the outlines in the rock, finally reaching the conclusion that whatever had once stood there was not entirely unlike an altar one might see in a church in the real world. Maybe this was where Cactus Vira and his followers had worshipped.

Then what are those spears doing there?

Chapter 8
The Dead

Two voices began arguing inside Wataru’s head.
One wanted to check out the mysterious, darkened right-hand corridor. The other, a far more persuasive voice, cautioned to let sleeping gods lie, and go down the left, toward the light.

As he stood, pondering his decision, something emerged from the tunnel on the right. It was a person in rags.
Somebody lives here!
Using one of the spears as a walking stick, the figure came forward tentatively—slowly making its way to the altar remains. Wataru stood rooted to the floor, unable to move.

That’s no person.
Though it might have been once. It was a skeleton. A skeleton, wearing rags wrapped around its bony frame, and walking with a spear. With every step its jaw would rattle.

Relax, I have to relax. I’m not frightened.
Wataru closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, repeating those words to himself.
I beat the four statues in the Cave of Trials—they gave me wisdom and bravery. I’ve even got the protection of the firewyrm! No bag of bones is going to send me running.

The skeleton, now at the altar, stood clinging to the spear and swaying gently from side to side. Then, with a hollow knocking sound, it collapsed into a formless pile of bones.

Wataru steadied himself and began to walk toward the right-hand tunnel. He noticed right away that the spears by the mouth of the tunnel were baked with grime and rust.

Only the entrance of the tunnel was clearly visible. But when Wataru held up his Brave’s Sword in front of him, the blade began to glow with a wan light. It was almost as if it was catching that white light coming from the other tunnel and somehow augmenting it. It wasn’t as bright as his lantern, but it was more than enough to see by. Wataru held his sword high and began to walk.

He had gone about four or five yards when he saw what looked like wooden bunks stacked three high on either side of the tunnel. He stepped closer and saw that they were full. There were people in the bunks.

Not people—skeletons! Bunk beds filled with bones!

There was a clattering noise behind him. Wataru spun around to see one of the skeletons, wrapped in rags, fall out from its bunk. Arms held out, it began walking toward him.

Wataru leapt backward, too startled to shout. He dodged the skeleton’s bony embrace, but got nicked in the nose by one of its fingers. The skeleton waved its arms like it was doing the breast stroke, then fell to the ground with a clatter.

Wataru heard a sound like a racing locomotive. It was his own breathing. He wiped his forehead with his hands and looked up.

Skeletons were rising from every bunk. Some clung to the edge of their beds, others held on to the back of the skeleton in front of them. The sound of their bones rubbing together was like the beating of a thousand moth wings.

Their eyes—swimming in empty sockets—were fixed on Wataru. The army of bones made their way toward him. Wataru felt the hair on his nape stand on end.

Suddenly the strength returned to his legs, and he fled. He didn’t think he had come that far down the tunnel, but the distance back to the entrance seemed to take forever. The hall of worship was filled with dim light, and it seemed like the tunnel was even brighter. His escape. His road to freedom. Wataru ran like the wind, and found himself going nowhere. It was like he was running in a dream. Skeletal hands reached out, pleading and grasping. They hooked his clothes, they looped through the belt at his waist, and they yanked at his hair.

Wataru realized he was screaming. The skeletons were going to charge him, collapse upon him in an avalanche of bone, burying him under their weight.
I can’t let myself fall! I can’t fall!

Wataru was so panicked he couldn’t run straight. He felt his speed decreasing. Bony arms reached out from behind and grabbed his shoulder. He brushed them away with such force he lost his balance and nearly fell to one knee, clawing at the air to keep on his feet.

That was when he noticed the bars jutting down from the top of the tunnel.
A portcullis
. If he could get out of the tunnel and drop that behind him, he could lock those skeletons up forever. There had to be a lever somewhere—a trigger he could activate.

He looked around desperately. There, just inside the tunnel mouth, stretched a length of rope hanging from the portcullis above. With a mighty swing he brought the Brave’s Sword down on the rope.

There was the slightest bit of resistance, and the rope split cleanly in two. With a great screeching sound, and dust flying everywhere, the steel trap came hurtling down. For an instant, everything went black.
It’s falling too fast! I’ll be trapped inside with them!

Another fleshless hand clutched at Wataru’s sleeve. Its strength was ferocious. Wataru screwed his eyes shut and dove, headfirst, for the tunnel entrance.

The portcullis nicked the tip of his toes as it crashed down. The metal bars successfully trapped and crushed the skeletal horde.

Face down on the floor, Wataru crawled farther away before he had the courage to turn and look. Behind the sturdy bars, the skeletons lay in a pile of bones. The force of the impact had shattered them into bits and pieces. But he could see various arms and skulls still struggling to extricate themselves from the debris. Hesitantly, Wataru stood and walked closer to take a look.

Things were moving. Bony fingers twitched, searching for his boots, and jawbones rattled, snapping for his toes. Wataru’s chest seized up with fear, and he had to take a step back.

“Who are you guys?” he asked in a whisper. The bones made no reply. “Why are you here? Were you the believers? Did Cactus Vira shut you up in here? Or did you shut yourselves up?”

Eventually the movements slowed, then stopped altogether. Soon they were nothing more than brittle bones, lying scattered on the cavern floor.

Wataru took a deep breath and let the tension go out of his shoulders. He then turned toward the tunnel on the left. It sloped slightly downward.

How far down does it go, I wonder?

It was more or less straight down, only snaking to the right and left now and again. The further down he went, the brighter the light seemed to grow. It eventually grew so light he could see writing and painting on the damp stone walls.

Here was a man who looked like he had been crucified. Here was a crowd of people kneeling before an altar. Here was a man cutting the head off an animal that looked very much like a darbaba. Beneath these images was text that Wataru couldn’t read, written in ink the color of blood.

Above the praying figures stood a single man—more of a silhouette, really—pitch black, its arms spread wide. On closer examination, it didn’t look human at all. Its body was far too massive, and something like horns grew from its head. Behind it a great disk shone like the sun. It was almost as if the darkened figure was trying to block its light from those who knelt before him.

Was the figure with the horns Cactus Vira?

Wataru noticed something else as he continued his descent into the earth. There were many sconces set in the wall, and torch fragments scattered about on the ground. They were all quite old, but they did not appear to have been simply discarded. Rather, they looked like they had been broken on purpose. He passed a broken lantern that clearly had been smashed against the tunnel’s wall.

It was obvious that many people had come here before Wataru. And wherever they were going, they weren’t allowed to bring light with them. They had to discard their torches and lanterns before they were allowed to proceed any further.

He continued down. The tunnel grew narrower and began to gradually rise and fall until at one point it plummeted in a steep incline. Wataru looked up to see a hole in the rock wall about a foot above his head. The white light was emanating from that hole.

Wataru jumped, catching on to the rim of the window-like hole with his fingers. Straining, he was able to pull himself up and crawl through. The room into which he emerged was so vast, its ceiling so high, that for a moment it was all Wataru could do to stare, gaping in awe.

This chamber was at least twice the size of the hall of worship he had found before. Wataru was standing on top of a small rock jutting out of the floor.

Except he couldn’t see the floor. Everything was covered with water—it was an underground lake. The water was clear, beautiful. The pure white light was streaming from its depths.

Whoa.

The underground lake was shaped like a pentagon. Seen from above, the entire room would have looked like a giant gem, breathtaking in its beauty. The more he looked, the more Wataru felt like he would be sucked into its depths.

Finally, he managed to tear his eyes away and look at the walls for some other exit. Here and there he saw protrusions much like the one he was standing upon. If he jumped and picked his way over the rocks just right he thought he could make it to the edge of the water.

He moved carefully, measuring each jump. It took quite a while to finally reach the rocks at the lake’s edge. The tension he felt took his breath away. Standing at the edge of the water, the white light was more brilliant than ever, and his ears were filled with the sound of waves lapping at the stony shore.
Odd that there should be waves. There isn’t any wind.
Wataru thought there might be a spring of some sort toward the middle of the lake.