Slithering Maze 20: Gentle Tides and Quiet Fury

Basysus 29, 1278: Not-So-Hidden Temple of the Sunfate Sisters, Mandami Hills. If at first you don’t succeed…

Author’s Note: Kingdom of the Slithering Maze is a serialized fiction story that is a part of a collection called the Windtracer Tales. It follows the adventures of Tela Kioni and her crew dealing with expeditions in and around the world of Awldor. There they hunt down lost, and possibly lethal, relics of the Ancient Order, a near-mythical kingdom lost to the centuries old cataclysm, the Great Collapse.

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Previously: After barely surviving a clash with the lich, Lady Nimad, Tela greets the next morning battered and furious. Blaming herself, she’s caught between aches and a desperate need to save Kiyosi from the lich’s grasp. With a little moral support from Skarri, Tela gets her footing back. Slowly, she explains to the temple guard and Trade-Warden Rhen Shotho the depth of danger Lady Nimad presents. The pasty-pale human isn’t a Fateweaver cultist but a member of the Gatekeeper Society! An ancient cabal of liches seeking to rebuild the fallen Ancient Order. Armed with this, and a rough idea of how to move forward, they return to the ruin to uncover what’s there before time—and Kiyosi’s life—runs out…

Basysus 29, 1278: Not-So-Hidden Temple of the Sunfate Sisters, Mandami Hills. If at first you don’t succeed…

It seemed simple to me.

Head back to the lost temple where I’d nearly died. Dig up an ancient model that may, or may not, have a hint of how to get into another temple turned death trap. Then, use said hint to save my best friend’s life. Oh, and I probably needed to do something about the really angry water elemental that guarded the place.

I also jumped out of perfectly good windows on occasion.

Still, this all felt like a reasonable idea. Naturally, I didn’t expect it to turn out that way.

After a solid morning meal of eggs, grilled vegetables, and coffee, we rode out to the Mandami Hills. This time with a small escort of three Trade-Wardens, one of whom was Rhen Shotho. The hills were just like before—dry and dusty, with plenty of dark green fescue grass that waved in the chilly breeze.

It was a lot simpler getting back into the Sunfate temple this time. Especially since its hidden door stood open, and the standing stones were under close watch by the Trade-Wardens. After a few mumbled greetings to the sour-faced centaurs, I was back underground in front of the glassy reflection pool.

“That fire’s still burning around the edge of the room.” I pulled off my goggles, and pressed the back of my hand against my nose, trying to block the burnt, smoky reek. “It should’ve died off by now.”

Oily smoke clawed at the air with stringy black clouds. Gray-black stains had smeared across the tan sandstone brick walls.

The sharp stench of burnt oil had mixed with the scent of old blood and acrid dust in the worst possible way. I felt like it wanted to rip out my breath for the sheer fun of it.

Even better? The room’s stern, water-skinned occupant was still there. She sat calmly on the floor in the middle of the temple, still garbed in amber, dragon-glass armor. Around her was a hastily made warding circle of charcoal. Her silver spear was near the pool, out of reach.

She didn’t look at all happy to see me.

Mikasi joined me while Nicodemus and Skarri warily patrolled the room for nasty, leftover surprises. Rhen and two other Trade-Wardens loitered near the stairway out, looking professionally disgruntled. Atha? Well, the healers wouldn’t let him come out and play because of bad behavior while bandaged. Mikasi nodded at the elemental.

“She doesn’t look happy.”

I studied the elemental with a narrow-eyed sigh.

“No reason she should. We did barge into her temple and make a mess.”

I rubbed my nose again. The scents of dry clay and burnt radish-seed oil were determined to make my head ache.

“At least she’s sitting still, and her silver spear is out of reach.” A sigh tumbled out of me. “Ready to try this again with the statues?”

Mikasi pursed his lips. Slowly he gave the statuary, especially the one with the bloody stain, a pained look as if he’d tried to lick an onion.

“Same places as before?” He asked as he crossed to a statue. “A person in front of each statue, and one by the pool?”

“The same,” I nodded. “Only without the stabbing and blood. I’d really like to make it through a temple without getting bloody.”

“I agree,” Mikasi grinned. After a calculated look, he stepped in front of the elderly-looking, viprin-shaped statue of the Hungered Sister. “Tela, this tile feels off.”

Skarri slithered over to the Storm-shed Sister as Rhen walked to stand in front of the pool next to me.

I glanced in the water just to make sure that the stonemason model was still there. After all that had happened, I didn’t want to take any chances.

“What do you mean? It’s just a trigger plate, right?” I frowned at the submerged chains and model. “When it worked before, the chains moved. I think I see a pulley system down there.”

Mikasi scowled at his feet, shifting his weight.

“It’s something about how it sounds.” He leaned a little to the right for emphasis. “Maybe I’m not heavy enough?”

The sandstone tile rocked slightly with the faintest breath of grit—a whisper of a dull, hollow echo. I walked over to inspect the tile.

“Hm. Maybe. You could get Nicodemus to sit next to you.”

When I stood up, I met the water elemental’s flat gaze across the smoky room. Before? She looked irritated enough to pull someone’s head off. Now, her expression was calm. She looked almost curious. I stepped away from Mikasi, and noticed that her eyes trailed me.

Halfway to the third Sunfate statue, I stopped and sighed. My skin prickled at being stared at like a bug. I turned, giving her a pensive look.

Most think water elementals are just walking puddles with an attitude. Sometimes they are. They can control water, shaping it however they want. For instance, make a giant fist to smash a hapless mercenary against a statue, making said mercenary resemble an unpleasant pasta sauce.

But when they’re here among us flawed mortals, they appear mostly human. Why? No idea. Magic and I aren’t on speaking terms enough for me to find out. But the water elemental that stared at me looked like a rather tall, blue-skinned and cobalt-haired human woman with a damn lot of muscle.

She was a really patient one, too, watching as if to see what would happen next. I wasn’t sure if that worried me or not. It made me second-guess myself, then second-guess the second-guess. So, a third-guess? I lost track.

“Oh, no. Not unsettling at all,” I murmured. “What do you know?”

The elemental didn’t answer, so I walked over to the Sunbound Sister statue and stood in front of it.

Like before, nothing happened for a heartbeat as the air went unearthly still. Then the sandstone tiles rattled underneath us, even the ones in front of the pool.

Submerged chains pulled taut. Centuries of grime flaked off in large black chunks. A gurgle and clunk of hidden gears grumbled from somewhere below the floor.

“Do we really know this is a good idea?” Skarri asked with a worried hiss.

“Oh, likely not,” Mikasi, ever the optimist, replied with a sunny grin. “But I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The temple guard hunched her shoulders, then shot the pool a withering look as if she questioned her life-choices.

All at once, the submerged model shuddered as if cold. Tiny rooms rocked and quivered, which made the water churn. Bubbles rose, turning the placid surface into rolling chaos. Then the model touched the air.

As water fell away, the polished rock caught the yellow-orange firelight in the room. It reflected it, tossing it between each tiny wall, then magnified it. The entire model seemed to glow with a wet, inner sunlight born of the nearby fire, rippling around the room.

I rubbed my hands against my trousers to scrub away nervous sweat. Already my eyes mapped out tunnels, passages, and what looked like hidden corridors between the tiny walls. Using a knife, I jammed it into the floor tile so it remained pushed down, then scrambled closer to the model. The others joined me.

“Lots of long halls with cloisters. I can tell this used to be a temple.” Tiny marks near doorways caught my attention. “Looks like they’ve marked the traps near the doorways and longer halls.”

Skarri turned a small crank, which rotated one of the tiny rooms.

“Maybe to plan different alterations?” she suggested.

Mikasi leaned over and traced a long, uneven path around and down the outside of the model with a finger.

“This rough tunnel looks like a way inside.”

I nodded. “It does. Now we just need to find the other end.” A paranoid suspicion roosted in my mind. “They’re digging down…”

Skarri looked up from a miniature round room where several tunnels intersected.

“Herd Tolvana? Their excavation?”

I chewed my lower lip.

“The same,” I replied. “Not sure they’re trying to dig under the door. What if they’re looking for this tunnel?”

“It’s in the Deeplands,” Rhen rumbled casually, as if mentioning that subterranean realm of death was like ordering coffee.

I flicked a sharp look at him. The Deeplands were not my favorite subject, even if I seemed to wind up in the damn place.

The Trade-Warden cleared his throat over the uncomfortable attention from the rest of us. He sighed, swatted the air with his tail, then pawed the floor uneasily with a hoof.

“Well, I’m just a Trade-Warden investigator and not a Windtracer, but I think I recognize some of that tunnel route.”

Rhen leaned over, tracing the route over the model.

“That reminds me of some smuggler tunnels we had to shut down a mile from here. Might be connected. If this model is oriented right, they’d line up. Those smuggler tunnels wandered through the upper Deeplands.”

Skarri nodded and then waved a hand at the model, forked tongue flicking the air.

“A hidden tunnel would make sense. In my people’s history, what happened at Toshirom Ifoon was kept quiet.”

A chill slithered down my spine. Some really bad things in history came from ‘kept quiet’.

I swapped an uneasy look with Mikasi over that. Stonemasons had been contracted to cut in and turn that temple into a tomb with bonus death traps. To keep that quiet? I knew there was a good chance we’d find a lot of dead stonemasons in there. Mikasi knew it, too.

He leaned on the edge of the model, then scratched Nicodemus’ head as the cheetah sauntered over.

“The model is attached to the chains, so we can’t bring this to Lady Nimad,” he murmured. “But we’ll need to tell her something if we are going to get Ki back. What if we tell her about the smuggler tunnels but send her to the wrong place?”

“Sounds good, but she’ll see that coming.” I rubbed my eyes as I felt the weight of too many choices—and lives—on me. “We need a twist. She’ll hang onto Ki for as long as she can unless she’s got something better.”

I stood up straight and stared into the middle distance as a brand-new, all-fresh, stupid idea came to me. The moment I thought of it, I knew the others would have a fit. So, I told them anyway. They absolutely had a fit.

“No!” Skarri said emphatically, rust-red eyes hard.

“Tela? That’s not…” Mikasi objected uneasily, raising a finger “…well, all right. I see it. What if we follow at a discreet distance? Hit her with blow darts? I’ve got a new poison I want to try out.”

“Windtracer, you can’t offer yourself in trade to lead her on a wild prairie hound chase. Directly going at a lich is suicide,” Rhen growled.

Right then, I missed Atha’s lightly barbed commentary about Windtracers throwing themselves at dead things.

Once they were done with the collective fit, I glanced around at the three of them. A withered sigh bled out of me.

“I don’t like this,” I began. More objections started, but I held up a hand. “Wait, let me finish before you call me a madwoman. I know just how dangerous it is to confront a lich, since I’ve done it before. Now, Mikasi’s smuggler tunnel idea is good, but needs a twist.”

I waved a hand at the others.

“None of you can come along. Lady Nimad will expect Skarri or Mikasi. Even Atha isn’t a good idea. You Trade-Warden? I have an uneasy feeling she’s been planning for Trade-Warden-shaped problems for weeks.” I drew a long breath. “So while I lure her out, all of you will get Ki out of her claws. Which means, I’ll need a little help for my part.”

Mikasi frowned at me, puzzled. “Help from who?”

I raised my eyebrows at the inventor.

“Some help she won’t expect,” I said, then stepped away from my friends.

The fires around the room were a neat, burnt-oil stinky trick to light the place. They were dramatic, and temples love drama, but I realized they might have another purpose.

After all, lining the walls of a meditation chamber with a fire pit just so people could see was excessive.

But as a leash?

I turned and locked eyes with the water elemental. Then, I started across the temple toward her.

It was perfect.

I stopped five paces short of the warding circle. The elemental studied me in wary silence. But I saw the curiosity in her storm-blue eyes become careful apprehension.

Without a word, I bowed respectfully, since elementals were all about respect. They also can’t speak any known language we mere mortals have. But the Ancient Order figured out that problem a long time ago.

“Saint’s quiet tides,” I signed to the water elemental using an Ancient Order sign language. “We need your help. In return, I’ll set you free. Shall we bargain?”

A slow shimmer rippled under the elemental’s cloudy, blue-toned skin.

Slowly, her mouth curled, and her smile was all sharp reefs and storm clouds.

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Windtracer Tales is a work of pure, unashamed fiction. In fact, it considers itself rather fancy and quite proud of itself. Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or reanimated is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot.

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