Kamiskwa thought for a moment, then nodded. “There are warriors who have slain them. They always pay a terrible price.”
“Shoot ’em or what?”
“It was before we had brimstone.”
Nathaniel forced a smile on his face. “I reckon I like the sound of that.”
The Altashee nodded, then looked over. “Nathaniel, what if my coming into the mountains awakened the other men?”
“Somehow I don’t see that a-happening.” Nathaniel began filling a waterskin. “First, I don’t imagine you is the first Shedashee to set foot in these mountains since your grandfathers stopped telling some stories. Second, I would be thinking that the tramp of some hunter’s boot, or the sound of some preacher hollering the gospel would have gone and did wake anything in these here mountains. Lastly, Colonel Rathfield reckons it was his God what split the earth. It’s His responsibility, then, not yours.”
Kamiskwa gathered the canteens and stood. “And you were not lying about being afraid?”
“Just to make you feel good? Iffen I thought it would make you feel better, I still wouldn’t do it. I ain’t never going to lie to you, Kamiskwa. If a lie would make you feel better, you ain’t worth having as a friend. And if you was dumb enough to believe a lie, ain’t no sense in having you as a friend.”
“Thank you.” The Altashee’s amber eyes tightened. “And it is not just the earth shaking that scares you, is it?”
“Don’t reckon it is.” Nathaniel stood and slung the waterskins over his shoulder. “Even after the shaking, this land is beautiful, but the others, they don’t notice it. I love Owen and Prince Vlad, but all their measuring and taking of samples and all, it just steals the beauty. And once a man puts a number on something, another man equates it to money, then the spoiling really begins.”
He shook his head. “What I’m afraid of, my friend, is that this land is going to be dying, and that there ain’t a damned thing I can do about it.”
Chapter Thirteen
1 May 1767 Westridge Mountains, Mystria
In the highest valley, rising from the sediments of what had been a deep and forbidding lake, lay an unearthly settlement the very sight of which froze Owen’s blood in his veins. The scale of buildings mocked that of even the grandest place in Temperance, and rivaled that of palaces and Parliament back in Norisle. Though the walls surrounding the town had been largely destroyed- melted from the way they sagged between towers which resembled half-burned candles-details remained here and there to hint at great artistry.
The expedition had taken three days at what they called Little Elephant Lake to catalogue specimens and smoke as much of the mastodon meat as they could. They hid tusks in a small cave for retrieval on their return trip. Rathfield had protested at the delay, but only half-heartedly. Thousands of animals had died when the dark wind rose from that lake. The sheer magnitude of the slaughter demanded exploration.
And then they moved on and discovered something even stranger. Owen had been in the lead when a treefall gave him a clear view of the city. Even at dusk, as they approached, its terrible majesty slowed their steps. Kamiskwa visibly hung back. Nathaniel moved up with Owen. Rathfield, who had asserted leadership in other times where enthusiasm had flagged, did not push past either of them and stripped the deerskin scabbard from his musket.
Makepeace broke the silence. “I may not be knowing what it is, but I know it ain’t holy. And I ain’t afraid of saying this is about as close as I want to get in the dark.”
Nathaniel agreed. “I reckon we should set up camp over yonder, up by that outcropping of rock. Me and Owen will look around a bit, then join you.”
The Altashee grunted. “Cold camp.”
“Much as I might be wanting fire, I ain’t thinking I want a beacon.” Nathaniel unsheathed his rifle. “Let’s go, Captain Strake. I reckon the Prince is going to want to know all there is to know about this place.”
Owen took a deep breath, then shucked his pack. Hodge offered to carry it to their camp. Freeing his rifle, Owen fell into step with Nathaniel. As much as he didn’t want to be going any closer to the strange ruins, he took a perverse joy in the fact that Rathfield retreated to set up camp.
Did you leave your courage behind in Rondeville, Colonel? Owen blushed the second the thought occurred to him, but didn’t find himself particularly sorry for having thought it.
“I hain’t never seen nothing like this.”
“Nor have I.” Owen pointed to a single tower that had somehow escaped destruction. “There are towers that high in Launston, but you can see where the stones are fitted together. Here, no seams, no mortar.”
“And the color, milky white like a blind man’s eyes. Little bits of color where the sun is touching the top there.”
“Like an opal.” Owen shivered. “There, at the tower’s base.”
The closest thing he could think of to remind him of the statue at the tower’s base was gargoyle, but somehow that didn’t seem right. The sediments, which had dried and cracked, revealed little bits of the statue. It had been carved of a pale green stone and had a massively bulbous head that sagged back away from deep, empty eye-sockets. The creature’s face had no nose, just a pair of vertical slits, and no ears. While dirt covered the lower half of the face, stone tentacles emerged as if some obscene parody of a moustache or beard.
“I reckon that when the Good Book talks about graven images, this is what them prophets and all had in mind.”
The two men moved toward the north, giving the half-buried statue a wide berth. From their new vantage point they looked into the city. Most of the buildings had the same seamless construction, and were quite modest. Two of the three larger buildings had sustained significant damage. A third, set into the mountain’s flesh on the western side of the valley, was by far the largest and appeared intact. In fact, the center of the settlement appeared to be much lower than all of the surrounding area, and buildings leaned toward it as if being drawn down into it. Even so, the stresses that would entail had not cracked any stone.
Owen had only enough sunlight left to make a basic sketch of the settlement. He chose not to draw the statue. He told himself this was because it was largely hidden, but he knew it wasn’t true. It would take more time to sketch it than he wanted to spend around it.
Owen and Nathaniel made their way to the camp. They supped on smoked mastodon meat, which benefited from the applewood they’d use dto smoke it, though it still tasted gamey. Rathfield set up watches, and they all agreed to his schedule. No one believed they’d be sleeping much. Makepeace read Scripture aloud-Hodge and Rathfield chose to listen.
Owen momentarily wished for moonlight, but then decided having a dark sky was better. The city would glow in moonlight, like a ghost from some ancient time. The mountain’s peak eclipsed a wedge of the night sky, which prevented the towers from being silhouetted against stars. He hoped that not being able to see the city would help him relax, but he could feel it lurking there, as if it were an infection in the earth, giving off heat.
He decided it was best that he had no light, for he would be compelled to note all of his observation in his journal. He certainly would make complete notes, as he had at Little Elephant Lake, but were there light he would have put down more of his feelings-admitting to fear and dread. While he was not worried about such admissions casting aspersions upon his manhood, he wasn’t sure he wanted them set so raw on the page. He had, after all, promised Bethany Frost he would let her read what he wrote.
Fear of what she would think of him didn’t give him pause. She had seen him at his utter worst, and had gotten him through it. She had edited the memoir of his previous adventures, and had even suggested cutting or modifying certain passages she felt might be open to misinterpretation. She had read more of his adventures than anyone else save for Prince Vlad, and had protected his interests through her editing.