Alex Bledsoe - Burn Me Deadly

I swung into the saddle. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not looking for her, isn’t it?” I headed up the slope into the dark before any of them had a change of heart.

Finally I neared my destination. Lesperitt’s directions had been explicit, and even at night I was able to follow them with no trouble. The landmarks he’d used-rock formations, places where the trees grew in certain ways-stood out as plain in the moonlight as they did during the day. It helped that I knew the area a bit, but the easy directions meant that both Liz and Marion would’ve had no trouble, either. Those poor red-scarf bastards had no idea how close they’d really been.

The horse was speckled with foam, and I should’ve been conscientious and let him drink at one of the streams we crossed down below in the woods. Up here there was no water, only wind, dust and summer heat even at night.

One last bend awaited before the final straight stretch of trail ahead. But something suddenly caused the stallion to balk. He whinnied, fought to turn and eventually stopped dead, emphatically refusing to go any farther. I saw no reason for his abrupt terror, but knew enough to take it seriously. If a good animal gets spooked, there’s always a reason.

I dismounted and tied him to one of the stunted, scrubby trees that marked the top of the tree line. The silence was eerie. I continued on foot, checking the ground as I walked. The harsh moonlit shadows actually helped show that another horse had been up the trail recently, but had gotten similarly frightened not much farther on. Manure showed me where it, too, had been tied.

My ribs tightened around my lungs. A set of small boot prints that might’ve belonged to Liz continued past this spot, and another set, much larger, obliterated them in places.

The trail rose still higher, although the slope was slight and the climb easy. The constant wind blew the path clean down to solid rock and defeated my efforts at tracking. Moonlight bounced off the whitish yellow stone, and somewhere an owl announced its presence, the call echoing among the rocks. I could see for miles in three directions, the fourth blocked by the rise toward the little mount’s peak.

At last I climbed the final bit of hill toward the spot Lesperitt had described. I drew my sword and approached. I considered announcing my presence, but past experience taught me that was almost never a good idea. The place I sought was in a flat spot on the bare slope, with no place for Marion, Candora or anyone else to hide in ambush even in the dark. Except, that is, within the place itself.

After all this urgency, it was anticlimactic. The great split in the rock was about fifteen feet long and five feet wide, gaping straight down into the ground. Again I looked for footprints, but the rocky surface was too hard to show anything. I’d make a wider circle and look for another trail if I found no additional clues.

I crouched at the edge. The rock around the hole’s lip was covered in something black, like soot. I rubbed some on my fingers and sniffed; it was soot. Beneath the scorch I caught the tang of the same oily substance I’d seen the dragon people applying to crevices before. Had it been intended as a marker? Something that would catch fire and burn the ground if a dragon happened by and hiccupped? An impressively practical idea, if dragons actually existed, which they didn’t. Although it did explain why the red-scarves had not used their torches while they searched.

I leaned over the edge and peered down into the darkness. The moonlight made the shadows within impenetrable. I imitated a crow, the only birdcall I could do, and nudged some loose gravel into the opening. If someone lurked below, hopefully they’d think the insomniac bird had poked too near the edge. The gravel bounced off some rocks and quickly fell silent. Bottom wasn’t too far away.

“Liz?” I called quietly. “You down there?” I heard nothing.

I put my sword away and started to climb down. Then I noticed something else. On the opposite side of the opening, four parallel scratches raked across the stone, leaving white streaks where they cut through the dust and ash. I held out my hand and spread my fingers; it was roughly the same size. It certainly looked like a claw mark of some kind, but it was all wrong for a mountain lion or bear. Just below this, on a rock inside the crevice, was another identical mark, as if something had clawed its way up from the cave below.

I got a chill that had nothing to do with the wind.

Then I shook it off. It was the middle of the damn night, after all, and the spot’s isolation would spook anyone. Some random animal used the hole as a den; no big deal. Probably returned to it, found it covered in soot and human scent and ran away.

I carefully lowered one foot and felt my way down. The drop was only about five feet. I landed noisily at the bottom and dropped to a crouch, although my descent seemed to have attracted no notice. A low tunnel headed off directly ahead into the bedrock, and moonlight illuminated its uneven passage for only a few dim feet. The place smelled of char, and something else I couldn’t identify.

The space was far too tight for my sword, so I drew the knife from my boot. I entered the tunnel and closed my eyes, both to listen and to help my vision adjust more quickly to the near-total darkness. There was no sound beyond the wind that whistled down and around the opening. I felt no draft from the tunnel itself, which implied it had no other openings.

I opened my eyes. The tunnel was uneven and jagged, the result of two huge slabs of bedrock separating. No wind or water had come through to smooth the edges. Ahead, the passageway narrowed into utter blackness, except for a strange, dim blue glow. Caves were filled with growths and insects that generated their own light, but this appeared as a flickering line, like a brazier seen edge-on. As it was the only item of interest, I moved slowly toward it, knife held out ahead of me.

“Liz?” I tried again. No response.

The tunnel floor was pitted with holes and uneven spots. The last thing I wanted was a turned ankle down here, so I went carefully. I heard no voices or other movement, just the blue light flickering far down the tunnel.

The place also smelled weird. Beneath the burnt odor was one I couldn’t quite place; I’d smelled gas in caves before, and this was similar, but not identical. I began to get a little light-headed from it, though, and had to stop and lean against the wall.

I glanced down. An odd, bowl-shaped object with irregular edges lay barely visible at my feet. I nudged it, and despite its size it was incredibly light. It was as big as my two cupped hands, with a rough leathery texture on the outside. The inside was smooth as a river stone. I ran my finger along the uneven lip, and a piece broke off.

It sure looked like an eggshell. But what bird was big enough to lay it? And yes, I avoided the obvious conclusion because it was, after all, impossible. But I admit I was thoroughly creeped out. I was also sweating like crazy, and realized the tunnel had grown incredibly warm, far more than it should have. Caves were always cooler than the outside.

My head spun from the weird fumes, and I had to clutch the wall to stay on my feet. “Liz?” I tried one last time, to no avail. I put down the eggish bowl and turned back toward the entrance.

I stopped in mid-motion, though; the blue light in the distance had begun to move closer, swaying in the darkness like a lantern carried in a man’s hand. It was hard to focus my watery eyes, but an ominous black shape seemed to loom behind the approaching light.

I didn’t run-I wasn’t capable of it at that moment-but I did rush as fast as my wobbly legs would go and, with more difficulty than I anticipated, crawled out. I sprawled on the ground, not caring that I’d gotten the black residue all over me. My heart thundered like a waterfall. I lay there gasping, nauseous, and before I knew it I began to vomit. My recent dinner came up with alarming completeness.