Elements 03 - Monsters of the Earth (43 page)

The opposite bank was only forty feet away, a solid mass of greens and of blacks scarcely darker than the greens. Alphena tried to walk down—and slid instead, because the clay was so slick. She splashed into the dark water and felt immediate relief.

“You don’t have to keep holding me, worshiper,” the idol said tartly. “Dig my base into the bank so that you have a hand free.”

Suddenly concerned, he added, “But you mustn’t leave me. You won’t leave me, will you, Alphena?”

“Of course I won’t,” she said, putting as much assurance as she could into the words. The idol’s base tapered almost to a point, and the wood was as hard as metal.

Alphena looked at the river. There could be a pack of crocodiles hiding under water that was as dark as the forest floor. “First, will you warn me if something is creeping up on me?”

“Of course, Alphena,” the idol said. His voice no longer grated on her; she must be getting used to it. “And I will watch when you sleep. I am generous to my worshipers, you see.”

Alphena ducked her head under the surface. The river was surprisingly cool. Even its grittiness felt good as she rubbed her bare palm over her legs and torso to scrub off the blood.

Sleep—real sleep, not throbbing unconsciousness—sounded blissful. Though—

“First, is there anything I can eat around here?” she asked.

“The Ethiope brought seed cakes to sustain him while he watched,” the idol said. “The food the Ashangi had gathered will have rotted by now. But—”

With a suddenly hopeful lilt.

“—can you catch fish?”

“No,” said Alphena. “And I wouldn’t know what to do with a fish if I did catch it. But I’ll try the seed cake when we go back.”

One thing at a time. One step after another to the end, whatever the end was.

But after this bath, Alphena was feeling more optimistic about at least the next few steps.

*   *   *

B
REATHING HARD AT THE TOP
of the ramp, Corylus faced the sunken entrance to what he hoped was a bridge to the Waking World. He could no longer see the bronze man, but he heard his laughter and the clash of his feet on the stone floor. Though Talos had not followed Corylus and his teacher, neither had he returned to the niche where he had been waiting motionless when they arrived.

“He never behaved that way before,” Oliva said, her brow furrowed with surprise. “I wonder if there’s something wrong with him?”

“You knew Talos was guarding the passage?” Corylus said, keeping a rein on his temper. His blood was up for a fight, and running back a few paces hadn’t been enough to calm its surges.

“Yes, he’s always been there,” the dryad said, still trying to work out what had happened. “But he didn’t move ever. The other automatons tend the garden.”

“Thank you, mistress,” Pandareus said calmly. “You’ve given a very clear account of the situation from your viewpoint.”

Corylus laughed and sheathed his sword. Pandareus had provided a neutral summary of what had just happened. It was the sort of thing that the master’s students should have been able to do instinctively themselves.

Corylus looked at his teacher. “My body reacted without waiting for thought,” he said, “which is good, since it saved our lives. My body was also talking without thought, which is the sort of thing I should have known to avoid even before I became your student, master.”

He bowed to Pandareus, then to Oliva. “I apologize to you both.”

The dryad’s brow wrinkled still further. “Why…?” she said. Brightening like a sunrise, she said, “Oh! You mean you do want to have fun with me after all? Oh, that’s wonderful!”

“I regret that I have forbidden my student to have fun in the fashion you imply…,” Pandareus said in magisterial tones. “Until he has completed the duties which the present crisis have placed on him. Perhaps afterward.”

He cleared his throat. Oliva blinked, again out of her intellectual depth. From the way she was beginning to pout, she had at least guessed that she and Corylus were
not
about to make love.

Corylus was trying to keep a straight face. He bowed to Pandareus and said, “Of course, master. My duty comes first.”

The problem was that he didn’t see any way of getting past Talos. Unless there were potential allies here in the garden, Corylus and Pandareus would have to find another way of following Alphena.

“Mistress Oliva?” the old scholar said. “How do your automatons light the fire in their kiln?”

“
I
don’t know,” the dryad said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t
like
fire!”

“Of course,” Pandareus said, nodding. “I should have realized that. Well, I trust they will allow me to snatch a brand from the kiln itself. That’s probably a better choice anyway.”

Corylus stood quietly. He didn’t have a plan of proceeding, but his teacher clearly did and would deliver instructions in good time.

Pandareus turned to him and said, “Master Corylus, can you bring a jar of oil here? I want to pour the oil into the passage and ignite it.”

“All right,” Corylus said. “I’ll bring a jar.”

“And while you’re doing that…,” said Pandareus as he set off in the direction of the kiln. “I’ll look for a torch.”

Pandareus gathered an entourage of dryads as soon as he stepped away from Corylus, but they didn’t seem to be pestering him any more than a flock of chickens might have. Corylus grinned at Oliva and said, “Would you lead me to the sheds where the oil is stored, Cousin?”

He didn’t need her help finding the sheds that they’d passed only minutes before, but it was a friendly thing to say. Besides, he might well have other questions.

“Oh, I can do that!” the dryad said, beaming out of her pout. “Come along!”

She took his hand in hers and skipped off with him. Her grip was firm and hinted of more strength than her appearance suggested.

“What are you going to do with the oil?” Oliva said. “Are you hungry?”

Yes, now that you mention it,
Corylus thought. Aloud he said, “I believe that Master Pandareus intends to try to burn Talos so that we can reach Vergil’s bridge. Talos won’t let us pass, as you saw.”

“Here’s the shed,” Oliva said. She pursed her lips, thinking.

Corylus bent, gripped the end jar in the outer row, and straightened his knees as he lifted it to his shoulder. It was heavy, but it wasn’t a real test of his strength.

The automatons nearby didn’t appear to notice what Corylus was doing. They probably did, as Pandareus had shown, but it wasn’t a problem so long as they didn’t interfere.

“How will fire make Talos let you go past?” Oliva asked when she had finally formed the question. “He’s not made of wood, you know?”

Corylus was taking shorter steps than he usually would have because he wanted to keep the jar centered over his feet. There were plenty of others if he happened to drop this one, but he—he smiled at himself—preferred to do things right the first time.

“I know that,” he agreed. He also knew that olive oil didn’t burn hot enough to melt bronze, at least without a bellows. “Master Pandareus is a very wise man. He has a plan.”

Pandareus
was
very wise, but he didn’t necessarily have enough practical experience with metals to know how much heat was required to melt bronze. Corylus didn’t have a better idea. Rather than carp at the scholar’s plan untried, he was going to do his best to execute it.

Pandareus was waiting with a branch sawn to the length of his arm, burning at one end. It was from a fruit tree, not an olive tree; Oliva eyed it with no more than a dryad’s normal distaste for fire.

“Ho! Humans!” Talos called from the base of the ramp. His four swords danced in an inhumanly graceful pattern before him, then stilled. “Come down and let me cut you to collops! You cannot pass me!”

“If you’ll unstopper the jar,” Pandareus said, “the oil will run down the ramp. Then we can light it.”

“If you want me to…,” Corylus said. “I can pitch the jar to the bottom of the ramp. You can throw the brand into the oil when the jar breaks.”

The base of the ramp was only ten feet away and downhill besides. Corylus wondered what would happen if the jar’s weight hit the bronze man—and also whether more than whim prevented Talos from coming up the ramp to close with the humans.

“Yes, that would be ideal,” Pandareus said. He spoke in the same approving tone that he would have used in class for a pupil’s well-turned phrase.

Talos was laughing again. Corylus leaned back, then pitched the jar outward with both hands. He didn’t run toward the opening to add to the inertia of the throw, because a stumble would take him down the ramp into the swords. The only question then would be whether the bronze man killed him quickly or by slices.

Talos met the jar in the air with the point of one outthrust sword. If the blade really was bronze, it was of a harder alloy than Corylus had ever seen. The terra-cotta shattered in a spray of oil, but the sword neither bent nor broke. Talos didn’t even rock backward.

“Do you plan to drown me?” Talos said. “It will take more jars than one, and I cannot be drowned anyway!”

Pandareus threw the branch awkwardly. It bounced off the ramp’s sidewall and caromed into the passage below. Talos’ swords chopped it into bits despite the bounce and spin, though that just meant the missile fell on the oil in a dozen blazing fragments instead of one. Low yellow flames spread across the surface like reflections dancing from a pond.

“Do you think I will burn?” said Talos. He bent and scooped up oil on the flat of one blade. It ran down his arm and shoulders as a lambent tongue. “Come down and die!”

“I can bring more oil,” Corylus said to his teacher. “We have as much of that as we want.”

“This should be enough,” Pandareus said calmly. “If it works at all, that is.”

Talos continued to laugh. He bent down to scoop up more burning oil.

Light, as sparklingly bright as an eruption of Vesuvius at night, erupted from the bronze man’s left heel. The sizzling jet carved into the polished granite wall behind him.

Talos cried out and tried to straighten. Instead he toppled to the floor of the passage, still bent over.

The blaze from his heel spluttered and ceased. By contrast the flames of the remainder of the olive oil were scarcely visible.

“Well!” said the dryad. “He never did
that
before, either.”

“What happened, master?” Corylus said. He grinned and added, “Master indeed.”

“Well, I don’t consider Apollonius a trustworthy source,” said Pandareus. He kept his tone measured where a lesser man—almost any other man—might have crowed in triumph. “But according to Alexo, Thales also claimed that the essence of life was sealed into Talos with a lead plug. While the oil flames could at best soften bronze, I was altogether more hopeful about their effect on lead solder.”

He smiled broadly. “Correctly hopeful, I’m glad to see.”

Corylus hugged the older man. “Master,” he said, “you are living proof of the value of a rhetorical education.”

He stretched, releasing the tension that had built up ever since Talos had appeared.

“And when the flames burn out,” he said, “we’ll see where Vergil’s bridge leads us.”

*   *   *

H
EDIA HAD BEGUN TO SEE FACES
peering from the walls of the tunnel as they walked past. They stayed close to the demon, the only source of light now that the entrance was what seemed a mile behind them. Hedia’s eyes were getting used to the dim glow.

“Melino?” she said. “Look at the stone. It’s carved into faces.”

“No,” said the magician without turning his head. He was hunched like an old woman carrying firewood, though he no longer needed Hedia’s help to keep up with the demon.

“Look at it!” Hedia said sharply. It didn’t really matter, but she resented having the man dismiss her statement without bothering to check it.

She touched the wall to emphasize her demand. Her fingers brushed flesh rather than basalt. She yelped in surprise and skipped sideways, bumping Melino.

He stumbled but recovered by clicking his staff down. He chuckled in a cracked voice, but he still didn’t turn to look at her.

“Others have come this way,” said the demon over her shoulder. “Some of them remain. They are not dangerous, but what caused them to remain is as dangerous to you as it was to them.”

The faces were turning so that their eyes could follow Hedia and her companions, but they moved slowly and their expressions were agonized. They reminded her of bandits crucified outside Carce at the gate to whichever road they had infested, husbanding all their remaining strength to keep from suffocating when their arms could no longer hold their chests high enough for them to breathe.

Hedia swallowed. She focused her eyes straight ahead and crossed her hands in front of her. She would like to wash them, wash the one that had touched the wall, at least.

It was the changing echo of her and her companions’ feet on what again was a stone floor that alerted her, not anything she saw immediately. The demon halted. The tunnel beyond branched to right and left.

Doesn’t she know which way to go?
Hedia thought, but she didn’t speak aloud.

A deep shadow lifted itself like a cloak of filth at the mouth of the left branch. It opened huge yellow eyes; it was a toad larger than an ox. Its tongue licked out and back.

Melino was shivering and his face had no color save that of the demon’s rosy light. He said, “You must let us pass, Paddock.” He sounded like a dying beggar.

The toad’s laughter gurgled like oil at a roiling boil. “Must I, wizard?” it said. “
I
do not think so.”

Melino raised the
Book
in his left hand. “Paddock,” he said, his voice stronger. “You
must.
”

The toad grunted. Its dark mass quivered; Hedia poised to run.

Instead of attacking, the toad slopped to the side in a series of awkward motions. When at last the way was clear, the demon walked down the left-hand branch.

Melino staggered after her without hesitation. Hedia waited until her companions were far enough ahead that she could sprint past without risk of bumping into them.