A small black fox slipped from the shadows of the old city’s buildings and squeezed through a hole in the dilapidated iron fence that surrounded the cemetery. She crouched behind one of the headstones at the periphery of the cemetery and briefly turned her head to watch a larger fox flick his ears in irritation and search for a larger hole. She turned back to peer at the Temple at the center of the city—appearing in patches of dark and light gray as the almost full moon was covered in broken clouds.
Don’t you already have the information you were searching for? Why come out here in his morbid place when you could be sleeping safe in your bed?
Her tail twitched. I’m not doing any sleeping when I have a clue to follow. If you’re so tired, why don’t you go back to bed?
The larger fox approached her from behind and then swiftly imprisoned her tail between his paws. Not without you.
She whipped her head around, coming nose to nose to him. You aren’t suggesting…
And what if I am? It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?
Cad! She freed her tail from his paws and slapped him on the side of his muzzle with it. You weren’t breaking into my room to follow me at all, were you?
Oh, I was. Don’t mistake me about that. But on the slim chance that you weren’t heading out on a bit of adventure, I thought you might be amendable for a bit of…midnight talk. It isn’t every day that an unmarried lady asks an unmarried man to stay the night as a guest.
Aren’t we doing some midnight talking now?
Not the sort that I had in mind, but I suppose I’ll take whatever I can get.
She hit him again with her tail, but he only gave her a foxy grin. So my uncle had gone to that shop to order needles made of different kinds of resins like amber and soft stones like jet.
Do you know what those needles were for?
Perhaps. She didn’t tell him that the needles would have to be attached near the bottom of her uncle’s machine in the same place that Elliot Waterstone had attached the metal needles on his prototype that he had shown the Academy weeks before. On the prototype, the metal had been rubbing along a moving belt of rubber that had moved negative electrical charge into a small metal dome. If something came in contact with the dome when the machine was turned on, there would be an electrical spark between the dome and that object. She was fairly sure she knew how her uncle’s methods had worked. He would have experimented with a great many different materials in order to get the greatest amount of spark or electrical charge for even his prototype. So why had he ordered needles made of resins when he had already found the combination of materials that collected the maximum amount of spark? Elliot Waterstone must have figured out that something else must be behaving similarly to electricity.
You’re not telling me everything again, he told her. You like trying to confound me, don’t you?
I wouldn’t have guessed. You seem to read my mind quite well. But if that is the case, then we’re even. Sometimes your actions are beyond my comprehension.
Really? He seemed pleased. So what are you doing out here for? From all appearances, no one is coming to the Temple now.
Then that’s perfect. The amulet shop owner had mentioned that there were certain places that the Ancients built their temples because there were places where the energy—some would say magic, I suppose, and your apothecary friend Long would call chi—is stronger than the rest of the country. Without anyone else around, it would be a perfect time to go exploring.
He shook his head. Exploring? What for?
My uncle was interested in going into Old Amanthus for something. He never told me. He never explained to Tarlton who he only consulted with briefly. My uncle had been working with electricity machines in the later part of his life. Electricity is a form of energy. So it would make a sort of sense that he would try visiting places where it is said that there is a greater accumulation of energy.
And you think the Temple is one such place?
It’s a possibility. I never really noticed the last time I was here because there were so many of those old pagan worshippers doing, well, something. She wove among the tombstones with Caradon keeping up with her. She could still sense his bewilderment. Truth be told, she wasn’t too sure herself. But if her hunch was wrong and the Temple, on this night, was simply another structure built by the Ancients—nothing more and nothing less than any of the other buildings built recently—then she was back where she started. Or rather even less than where she started. She no longer had her uncle’s notes.
Without occupants, the Temple was dark and colder than she had remembered. But in her fox form, her eyesight in the darkness was many fold better and she could make out the pedestal in the center of the main room with its black bowl sitting on top. She swiveled her ears and heard nothing.
You don’t have any instruments with you to detect any accumulation of energy if there is indeed one.
Her ears twitched towards him. I’m not doing any electricity experiments or anything quite scientific either. So far, I feel nothing particularly different about this spot. She cautiously moved forward, toward the pedestal. A few yards away, she stopped as she felt a faint vibration running across the floor underneath her paws. Is someone else here?
He stopped beside her and swiveled his head to sweep the room. No one I can see but I believe someone is indeed coming from outside. Several someones.
They bolted to a hiding place behind a nearby column in time to see two dark robed figures ambling toward the pedestal and the large bowl. One figure was holding a torch and the other a wooden crate with a chicken. The figures murmured an offertory prayer to some old pagan god that consisted of praises and beseeching the god to take their sacrifice as a tribute to his rising powers as some conjunction of planets was drawing closer.
Zan felt all of her fur raise on their ends as a cold, dark power washed over the floor and swirl lazily in the air. A rotten smell began to permeate the Temple. Caradon moved closer to her until she felt his warm body press into her side.
A noxious vapor spilled over the black bowl and the black tentacle slithered out to take the crate and the chicken. There was the destruction of the crate, the death cries of the chicken, the bit of blood. The two worshippers stood transfixed at the sight, perhaps awed by the power and the voraciousness of their god. Then, as the offering was consumed, there was a brief silence as the vapor continued to spill out and the dark energy became stronger. The two figures began to move backward.
Suddenly, the tentacle shot out, as fast as a whip, and curled itself around the foot of one of the figures. There was a scream before the man was lifted into the air and dropped head first into the bowl. There was a sickening crunch and blood trickled over the side of the bowl.
Come on! He bellowed in her head.
She wasted no time as she ran after him, toward the entrance of the temple. But as they got further away from the pedestal, the blanket of dark energy seemed to thicken into a solid wall that blocked off the exit.
It’s some sort of trap! He growled.
She heard the running footsteps and shrieking of the remaining worshipper. Those shrieks were silenced as well. And then there was the sound of grinding bone that made her heart beat faster. The Ancients must have known what that thing was. They would have built another exit for themselves in case things got out of hand.
But where?
She skidded backward and began racing against the side of the main room. The thing in the bowl was still preoccupied with its two human victims as she passed through a doorway into a smaller room, Caradon close behind her heels. Strangely, the dark energy had missed this room and it felt empty of its presence. There was a dark hole in the middle of the room with stone stairs leading downward. Broken hinges clung to the opposite edge of the hole—evidence that there had been a door covering the opening some time ago. She sniffed and thought she detected a faint circulation of air below.
Are you afraid of the dark? She asked him.
Vision is only one of five senses, he replied. I’ll go first.
As he proceeded down the steps, she felt her fur rising again. She looked behind her and saw a black tentacle oozing along the floor, bringing its vapors and stench along with it to the entrance of the small room.
Zan…
Go! I’m right behind you.
The tentacle reached out in lightning speed. In anticipation, she leaped to the side, claws extended, scratching. Something thick and slimy squirted beneath her paws and she slipped when she landed. At the attack, the tentacle reared up like an affronted arm and swung sideways towards her last location. She flattened herself against the floor as the thing smashed into something behind her. She scuttled away, toward the stairs, as an enormous column came crashing down to the floor.
Zan!
I’m coming!
She felt the energy twist behind her, a marker of the thing’s next strike, and she bounded down the stairs, crashing into a warm, furry body as she hit bottom. She blinked and her eyes immediately adjusted to the dim surroundings. It wasn’t pitch dark as expected. There was a faint green glow coming from some sort of mold that was coating the walls. The walls themselves were made of human skeletons.
This is no basement, he said as he nudged at her with his nose. There is a tunnel to somewhere.
She flicked her ears in agreement and they both burst into a run down the tunnel of bone as a thick tendril of hungry darkness above searched for them.
