Fowlhunter [GL]

Vesuvio’s tour of the mines continued, Ennanis following in his footsteps.

“The spirits of the Agni are known for bringing prosperity to all who will accept them,” Vesuvio’s voice rumbled as the elevator descended, the cords of pulleys whizzing up past him and into the cavernous air. “Kanch is the richest region in all the undercloud because we are so close to Mount Casca. By being directly connected to its ranges, we are directly blessed with its fire. When we are born and die on this land, our ashes will become part of this mountain. If we are pious and devoted, we will be born as angels in the next life, and then ascend to Paradise, freed from this mortal sorrow.”

He turned to Ennanis beside him. “The spirits are cleansing as well, for the soul marred by worry. Meditation will ease your mind, if you are feeling as unwell as you look.”

“Perhaps,” Ennanis said morosely. This place especially, the dark fog and pressing walls, made her feel constantly on edge. By now she hadn’t seen daylight for thirty-six hours. Since she’d first entered the mines, she was quite inclined to agree with the… weak-sacks from outside of Kanch. She couldn’t see how such a place might ease the mind.

The elevator clanked to the bottom of the shaft. A bell chimed, and the doors slid open.

Ennanis’ breath left her when she took in the sight before them; it was then that the atheistic angel understood, if even a little, why humans were so prone to religion.

They were in a cavern below a cavern. Back when Ennanis had been a cadet, they'd had many visiting trips around the undercloud. One of those trips took her platoon to the National Aquarium of Wataron, with clear tanks full of rippling water where they watched schools of fish swim between weeds and coral. This was somewhat similar to that, but on a scale so much larger, grander scale that… no, it was silly to even compare them at all.

From the level of floor up to the ceiling, a screen of grated glass stretched three-hundred and sixty-degrees, a circle all around the elevator. There were none of the oil lanterns pervasive in the upper caves, for there was no need for them. An omnipresent red cast across the rocky ground; through the glass, shone the source of the light that engulfed the cavern.

Large bubbles drifted up from the bottom of the ‘tank’ and to the dark, viscous drink of lava. But those were nothing. Nothing compared to the massive, curling knot of pure fire, coiling in the centre beyond the glass.

It went on and on and on, with no beginning nor end to it. It moved in a way that struck Ennanis as belonging to something that could only be alive, roaring, racing over the glass like a flaming snake, or eel or… a dragon. Ennanis felt herself drawn to it, tips of her wings fluttering with interest, and when Vesuvio did not stop her she walked up and placed her palm flat on to the glass. It didn’t burn like one expected it to, but she could still feel the volcanic heat pulsating underneath.

“A special glass,” Vesuvio explained. “The same alloy as the one in the bunker. Extremely thick, to keep the Agni and its spirits safely behind it.”

“Does it really keep it contained forever? Won’t it wear away eventually?” Such a thing, if escaped containment, would surely raze this mountainrange to the ground.

“Oh, the Agni isn’t always here. The spirits come and goes freely,” Vesuvio said. “When they leave, in its absence, we repair and replace the grates. It is a coordinated process.”

“Who is this ‘we’?”

“So straightforward,” Vesuvio delighted, “you truly are an interesting angel. Well, I don’t think that’s what’s most important here. The most important thing to know is how we obtain our amethyne. That is done through our privileged worshippers, of course. Let me show you.”

They left the viewing chamber up the elevator. They re-entered the cavern at the surface of the pools, where all the mouths of the tunnels surrounded them. Kids were wiggling out of the holes, dressed in their miniature hardhats and protection vests. Many of them were carrying large metal buckets, filled with orangey-black rocks.

“Good job, Moru,” Vesuvio praised a black-haired little boy, who staggered under the weight of his bucket, which was brimming with these molten rocks. Ennanis watched as he scraped the droplets out of the bucket and into the collective pile that all the workers were gathering. The boy wiped his sweaty brow, bowed to the director, and waddled off to place his empty bucket up against the vents of some machine. He grabbed a fresh bucket and disappeared down a tunnel.

“That boy was always good at gathering amethyne,” Vesuvio said, pleased.

Capri’s brother, Ennanis mentally took note. “That’s supposed to be amethyne?”

“When it cools down, it will be,” Vesuvio said. “It’s very unique. You wouldn’t guess that such a lovely shade of purple could come from something so… well… red. The dust wiggle down the tunnels, getting as close as they can to the Agni-warmed surface, where the best amethyne ores form. When brought out and cooled fully, it is ready to be processed and cut. Done right, this method produces the finest quality of amethyne you can possibly achieve.”

“Done wrong,” Ennanis said, “I imagine that the lava can melt a kid’s face off.”

“Any reward comes with risk,” Vesuvio said benignly. “The dust carry out a very important duty for our kingdom.”

“Stop calling them dust,” Ennanis folded her arms, “they’re human children.”

“Dust is not a derogatory term, miss,” Vesuvio patted the hardhat of a kid as they passed by him. “In Kanch, it is a great honour to be dust. We are all of the earth, you see. But while we clumsy humans are large and unmalleable, dust can take any shape and form. It can be everywhere at once. We call these children dust, because they can be as closer to the Agni than any other living being in the undercloud… and above. It is a great privilege to us. And every single one of them is here willingly. That is why the children are not working… they are engaging in worship.”

“Very poetic words, sir, but I will not hear about how great an honour it is to throw yourself into fire from someone who stands behind a glass screen and watches,” Ennanis intoned.

“I know what the outsiders, angels like yourself, think,” Vesuvio sighed. “But you don’t really understand us. That is why we prefer your kind to leave us alone.”

“I’m afraid I find myself unconvinced.”

“I’ve done my best to explain,” Vesuvio’s teeth glinted in the fire. “Suit yourself. But you’re going to find it very difficult to change something that’s been done for years and years before your time… rookie.”

~~~

Vesuvio invited her to stay in a spare room in the bunker. Keen on being close by to watch the kids, Ennanis agreed. Alone in her bunker that night, Ennanis made contact with Asha first. Asha told her that Jemi was still missing. There was nothing she could do about that.

Then she made contact with Capri. As a sunblood, she could receive communication connections too, which made life easier. Ennanis talked to her about what she had found. It should be easy to fulfil Capri’s superficial wish; to see her brother once.

Ennanis planned on doing much more than just that, though. But for now she needed sleep.

Much as she dreaded it.

The short bedframe couldn’t fit all of her generous height, so she’d had to lay out the mattress on the floor. She’d dragged the length of sheets over from the frame and arranged them on her makeshift bed. Now she sat down on the mattress, ready to lay down. When, in her peripheral, she saw something move.

This… again.

Heart thumping in her chest, she tried to close her eyes. She thought about Amanita Zoleil, who had crouched by her whenever she was panicking, hand on her back, telling her to take deep breaths.

Splat.

Then she remembered Amanita was dead.

Splat.

The Cockatrice had killed her.

She opened her eyes again. In front of her, something dripped from the ceiling. When she looked down, several splatters of red stained the sheets her hands were gripping. As she brushed her thumb over them, it was wet, smearing on her skin.

Splat. Another spot of red bloomed beside her finger, speckling her nail.

Slowly, she lifted her head.

A face was staring back down at her.

It was not so much a face as it was a disembodied smile. For the top half of it was shadow, a slate that covered all identifying features… save for the two holes bored into it, where eyes should’ve been. One dark, an indiscernible non-colour; the other a blinding needle of light. The smile below it stretched hideously wide, like a crescent-moon.

It wasn’t so much a face as it was a bunch of haphazard shapes together, but Ennanis knew her well enough to see what it was meant to be.

Red was leaking, slow, almost lazy, down the Cockatrice’s pale neck. Plick, plick, plick it went, dripping across the sheets and her fingernails. The heat of the room had grown unbearable, a worse oppression than being in the caves with her wings tied to her back; like the warmth itself had transformed into something wet, oozing its way past her skin and muscle and blood, into her bone. Just like how she could see through the woman’s neck. An open flap of decaying skin, flayed cartilage, bits and pieces of trachea, shattered and lodged amidst the bloody mess like skeletal stars. Through the red sky, a metal arrow protruded, a winking silver figurehead.

Ennanis didn’t see the mouth move, but she heard ‘her’; a raspy, disembodied voice.

“Still looking for me, sunshine?...”

The ‘Cockatrice’ was kneeling between her legs. Hands reached out to her face—these alone were degloved, bare and clean.

Ennanis’ neck felt very heavy. Ennanis was breathing, but it was as though her breath was truncated from her. She already knew what she would find if she looked down, but she looked down anyway. The arrow lodged in her neck bent with her, the cold tip pinching her sternum.

She saw her hands again. Both her armbraces were gone. Two identical arrows stabbed through her wrists, one for each, but there was no blood. Instead, she was trembling, overheating, a fever alight in her vessels, her sweat melting through her skin like fire on paper, her body drinking itself alive.

From above her, disjointed through the ringing of her ears:

“Better watch your own back.”

Ennanis wanted to say something, but her throat was open air. So, with effort, Ennanis dragged the damp sheets over her, felt the beat of her pulse slow, until there was no more.