Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

The young woman let out a long moan, jerking against the guards who held her arms. The old priestess merely redoubled her glare. Janus ignored both, stepping to the edge of the newly revealed hole and peering into the darkness.

“There appears to be only a short drop,” he said. “I will proceed alone for the moment. Wait here.”

“Sir,” Marcus said, “we have no idea what’s down there, or how far it may extend. Please wait until we can be sure it’s safe.”

Janus gave a tight smile. “I have a fairly good idea what’s down there, Captain. But if you’re worried about my safety, you may accompany me. Is that acceptable?”

It wasn’t, by Marcus’ lights, but he couldn’t back down now. He accepted a musket from the sergeant, checked that it was loaded, and picked up one of the oil lamps from the altar. In passing, he said to Fitz, “If we’re not back in an hour, go and get two companies and tear this place apart.”

Fitz nodded almost imperceptibly. Marcus tucked the weapon under one arm, set the lamp on the lip of the gap, and dropped into darkness. As Janus had said, it wasn’t far, and when he stood from his crouch his eyes were only a foot below the floor of the shrine. Janus handed down the flickering lamp, which illuminated the contours of the underground space, and Marcus was reassured to see that it was more of a basement than a cave. There was a small circular space opening onto the mouth of a corridor, which extended beyond the range of the lamplight.

Janus landed nimbly beside him, raising a puff of ancient dust. Marcus handed him the lamp, to leave his own hands free to hold the musket.

“I doubt you’ll be needing that,” Janus said.

“I hope not,” Marcus said. He was having visions of an underground sanctum, packed with knife-wielding fanatics eager to defend their sacred temples to the death. One musket ball would not be much help, in that case, but the loaded weapon still gave him some comfort.

“As you like.” Janus raised the lamp, peered down the corridor, then set off with a confident step. Marcus fell in behind him.

It was a longer walk than he’d anticipated. The faint glow filtering down from the entrance was soon lost to sight behind a gentle curve, and only the narrow circle of lamplight was visible. Ancient stone unrolled in front of them and vanished behind. The air smelled dry, dusty, and dead.

“I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what you expect to find,” Marcus said, to break the silence.

“When I first arrived,” Janus said, “I told you that I thought Orlanko had some reason to be interested in Khandar. That he’s sent his people here looking for something.”

Marcus had almost forgotten that conversation. He nodded hesitantly. “What about it? You think it’s here?”

“I wasn’t certain until we found the tunnel,” Janus said. “But now. . yes.”

“What could be down here that’s so important?”

Janus stopped, setting the lamp to swinging on its handle. Their shadows danced against the walls.

“You were raised in the Free Church, were you not, Captain?” he said.

Marcus nodded. “Though I was never what you might call religious. I mean-”

Janus held up a hand to stop him. “Did you ever hear the story of the Demon King?”

That rang a very distant bell, but Marcus couldn’t bring it to mind. He shook his head.

“It’s part of the apocrypha of the early Church,” Janus said. “The story goes that back in the days of Saint Ligamenti, during the Holy Wars, there was a sorcerer in the east who had carved himself out a kingdom. He called himself the Demon King, or at least that is the only way he’s referred to in surviving records. He used his magic to break every army sent against him, and kept all the surrounding lands in terror. Eventually, the other kings asked the Church to intervene, and the Pontifex of the Black led a Holy War against him.”

“I think I remember,” Marcus said, poking through ancient, musty memories of sitting beside his parents in a splintery wooden pew. “The evil king was defeated, but he escaped the Black Priests, and fled with all his treasures across the ocean. That’s where the Demon Sea gets its name.” He stopped. “You’re not serious.”

Janus only smiled.

“But. .” Marcus groped for words. “That was a thousand years ago. And, anyway, it’s just a fairy tale! Like Gregor and the hundred bandits, or Hugh and the giant.”

“There’s often more truth in fairy tales than you might think,” Janus said. “Not the literal truth, of course. But they represent a sort of folk memory, which at the root sometimes refers to real events. When added to historical evidence. .” He shrugged. “As to whether there was a Demon King, I couldn’t say. But the Pontifex of the Black did lead a Holy War in the east in the third century, and there are too many stories of his enemies sailing off over the southern horizon for it to be mere coincidence.”

“That doesn’t mean they came here . Khandar was only discovered two hundred years ago!”

“Two hundred and twenty-four,” Janus corrected. “But that’s the whole point, really. Cultural studies from those first few expeditions found little coincidences they couldn’t explain between the Khandarai culture and ours. Bits of language, symbols-” He caught Marcus’ look and shrugged. “Most scholars dismiss the idea, but I’ve reviewed the evidence for myself. Someone from the continent was here long before Captain Vahkerson ‘discovered’ the place.”

“So that’s what you think the Last Duke is looking for? Some kind of. . of treasure?” It sounded like the plot of a bad penny opera-some vast storeroom of ancient loot, dug up by the intrepid hero while he rescued his true love. What does that make me? The comic sidekick?

“In a way.” Janus started walking again, and Marcus hurried to catch up. “If you’re expecting a mountain of gold, however, you may be disappointed.”

“Then what’s down here?”

“You’ll see. Ah.” Ahead, the lamplight showed a wooden door set into the rock. “This should be it. We’re right underneath the very top of the sacred hill now. Above us is the Temple of the Heavens United.”

That was the largest and most impressive of the hill’s monuments, a huge sandstone palace covered in grotesque, weathered statues representing hundreds of gods. Marcus had even been inside once, accompanying the prince. There hadn’t been much to look at except for more statues and hundreds of supplicating Khandarai, though the sheer size of the pillared hall had been impressive.

“They cut this underneath the temple?”

“It’s more likely that they built the temple on top of it.” Janus took hold of the ring on the door and gave it a tug. Slowly, groaning with the rust of centuries, it swung outward, revealing a dark space beyond.

Marcus was about to propose a bit of caution, but before he could speak Janus rushed eagerly inside. With his musket ready to hand, Marcus followed. In the light of the oil lamp, the chamber was revealed to be a rough, eight-sided space, with a domed ceiling and crude stone walls. There were no furnishings of any kind, and no decorations. Marcus could see nothing to distinguish this place from the corridor they’d come through to get here. He looked questioningly at Janus.

The colonel stood frozen in the center of the room, his face as slack as if he’d been slapped. His lips worked soundlessly.

“Sir?” Marcus prompted, after a moment.

“It’s not here.”

“What’s not here? What are we looking for?”

“It’s not here !” Janus’ voice rose from a whisper to a shout. He spun on his heel and ran back to the corridor. Marcus hurried after him.