Carrie Vaughn - Kitty in the Underworld

I stared. Sudden gooseflesh covered my skin, even though the temperature wasn’t that cold. The cave was insulating. But I was naked and vulnerable. I did have a clearer idea of who my enemy was, though: fanatics, of unknown origin and purpose. Small comfort that they seemed to need me for something not involving blood sacrifice and death. I couldn’t shove my mind past the crazy part.

“I don’t understand,” I said, fiercely as I could manage. Wolf was present, glaring out in challenge. My teeth were bared. That didn’t seem to make a difference. They were all very good at maintaining neutral expressions. They had a plan, and so far I hadn’t done anything to disrupt it.

“You will,” the vampire said, turning a cracked and ominous smile.

“Like hell,” I muttered. If they wanted to keep me here, they’d have to work for it.

Likely, one of the openings in the cave led out, and one didn’t. Fifty-fifty chance. I looked at them both, trying not to give away that I was looking, and made a plan. Neither exit had an obvious slope, up or down. The whole place was flat, so that didn’t help. The two lycanthropes stood near the left-hand tunnel, which meant my chances of reaching it before they stopped me were slim. I might be able to fight them both off, but I didn’t want to bet my freedom on it. On my right, the human magician stood. Her, I could flat outrun. Of course, the vampire would probably be able to stop me no matter what. Unless, just maybe, his ancient, wizened appearance meant that his strength and reflexes had also decayed. I could hope.

I couldn’t prepare, I could only go.

I launched, running as I stood, stumbling forward and letting gravity do the work. Still cramped and woozy after shifting just a few hours ago, I hadn’t had a chance to stretch and unkink my muscles. Couldn’t think about it. Just aimed myself at the tunnel and ran. Didn’t look behind me, only saw my captors’ reactions out of the corner of my eye. Appearing startled and determined, they came after me. I had to be faster.

And hope this was the tunnel that would take me out of the mine.

Leaving the wider space, I escaped into darkness, under an arcing passage of stone. Two parallel steel lines imbedded in the tunnel floor formed a pathway—rails of a former oar cart system. The tracks glittered, covered with a patina of rust and crystallized minerals, running through the previous chamber as well. They gave me a path to follow.

The ceiling became lower and cut into my speed. I suddenly wished I was Wolf, able to cover this ground in seconds. Then the tunnel began to slope—downward. A bad sign, but I was committed. Maybe it only sloped down a little way before sloping back up. Please …

The tunnel opened into a chamber, roughly round and lit by another of those battery camp lanterns, giving off the palest glow, just enough light to be able to navigate by without crashing into the rough-cut walls.

I slid to a flailing stop in the middle of the room, looking around, desperate for an exit that wasn’t there. It was a dead end. Fifty-fifty chance, and I picked wrong.

Trapped and panting for breath, I noticed the markings on the floor. Dark lines and curves drawn in precise patterns, symbols placed at regular intervals. I could just make out more symbols on the walls, and amulets of metal, bone, and wood secured in place, corresponding to the marks on the floor. I stepped softly, following the track of the pattern, tracing with my gaze until the whole of it became clear—a five-pointed star inside a circle, about fifteen feet across. Traditional European arcane symbolism. This was a magician’s ritual space.

Maybe I’d spoken too soon about the sacrifices.

Footsteps pounded into the room after me, the four of them fanning across the entrance to block my escape. I was trapped. But I stood my ground, staring back at them. Not ducking a millimeter in the face of their challenge.

The white woman, the magician, drew up the rifle-looking gun she’d been holding hidden by her leg, and fired. I turned, an instinctive move to protect myself rather than an attempt at escape, which would have been futile.

A familiar punch and sting hit my shoulder. Snarling, I yanked out the tranquilizer and threw it away. Too late, it had already delivered its dose, and the tingling spread through my chest and arms. Stumbling, I retreated to the back wall. Started to press myself against it, but itching stopped me. There was silver here, just as there was silver everywhere.

The magician loaded another tranquilizer dart and fired again. Woozy now, I was more concerned with getting away from the wall than with dodging the shot, which suddenly seemed like a distant thing. On the ground, I was aware of flopping like a fish, scraping my skin. Then I couldn’t move at all, and they were all there, looking down at me. I couldn’t read their expressions, however much I wanted to see anger, regret, annoyance, sadness, anything.

I faded out altogether, still confused, unable to figure out how to solve this riddle.

I EXPECTED to wake up back in the cell, the cubbyhole where they’d first put me. I hoped they’d put me there, because my clothes were there. They wanted my Wolf, which meant they wanted me naked, and I was sick of being naked. But the pervasive light and open space meant I was back in the tunnel, the antechamber to the ritual space. And still naked. The grit of the floor dug into the skin of my thigh, shoulder, arm, cheek. I smelled of earth, like I’d been buried.

The vampire was speaking. Intoning, rather, in the formal diction of a poet or a storyteller, like he had before, but this time he recited from a story.

“May the Roads of Enkidu to the Cedar Forest mourn you and not fall silent night or day. May the Elders of the broad city of Uruk-Haven mourn you. May the peoples who gave up their blessings after us mourn you. May the rivers of silt and waterfowl mourn you, may the pasture lands mourn you … May the bear, hyena, panther, tiger, water buffalo, jackal, lion, wild bull, stag, ibex, all the creatures of the plains mourn you…”

The others stood around him, their heads bent in prayer. This was like being in a church service, but for a religion I’d never encountered. I should have been praying along out of politeness, but I was too baffled. I remained still, quiet, hoping they didn’t notice that I’d woken up.

“I mourn for Enkidu, my friend … the swift mule, fleet wild ass of the mountain, panther of the wilderness…”

I couldn’t tell how much time had passed since they knocked me out. It must have been the same night, if the vampire was still here. I might have been out for a few minutes, a few hours. It might have all been a part of a dream. Why was he reciting from the Epic of Gilgamesh ? This had to be a dream.

The vampire continued, “Enkidu, the first beast, wild man of the hills who guides all who come after. The greatest warrior, the greatest friend. We remember, we tell the tale, how great Gilgamesh tracked the wild man through the hills. Gilgamesh, king of men, challenged the king of beasts to battle, to see which of them would rule all, for they were evenly matched and only battle would decide. But Enkidu could see the prowess and dignity of the other, and so yielded his claim to any crown of man or beast. Willingly, Enkidu followed Gilgamesh and became his guard.”

I knew this story, but I’d never heard a version of it like this. In the original Sumerian version, Gilgamesh and Enkidu became friends. One didn’t serve the other. Enkidu was on my list of possible werewolves. Another possible hero for me.

If I hadn’t been a captive audience, not to mention naked, I’d have been fascinated by the way the vampire’s voice echoed in the tunnel, and the way he changed the story to suit whatever arcane purpose he had in mind. Instead of being fascinated, though, my dread built.