Slithering Maze 29: A Little Divide and Conquer

Medilus 1, 1278: Temple of the Slithering Sun. When in doubt? Split up. You get to be a bigger headache to someone else that way…

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: Behind the catacombs, Tela and her crew uncover a hidden room with a lethal trap. But one that whispered a lesson in what might be actually true… or what they’ve really got themselves into. Now, the group faces hard choices and difficult history in the friction that lies between the past, present, and future…

Medilus 1, 1278: Temple of the Slithering Sun entrance. When in doubt? Split up. You get to be a bigger headache to someone else that way…

I’ve never really thought of myself as having good instincts. If I had, I probably would’ve caused fewer headaches for the Windtracer Company over the years. But I did have a keen sense of when things flipped from ‘bad’ to ‘worse’ to ‘are you kidding me?’

Right then, in my expert opinion, it was the latter. Oh, it was so the latter.

The ground rumbled again as if it were hungry, peppering rock dust from the ceiling. A dull pulse of mean beat through my leather boots and into my calves. Behind that, hammered the echo of slow hoofbeats in the distant catacombs—an impending slow stampede of dread.

“What do we do?” Atha repeated with a stern look.

I scrubbed a hand over my face.

“Either they found our cloaks where we stashed them, or it’s just a wandering patrol being careful. Still, bad luck both ways.” I blew out an exasperated breath.

“We’ll need a distraction again,” Kiyosi said. “Give them something better to think about.”

“Agreed.” I glanced at the ancient dam, feeling history tug at me like a moth to a flame. On the far side, Toshirom Ifoon slithered again—or maybe shrugged—but the doors had swapped. “So, first we move fast through the damn dart room, then close up the hidden door. Then, oh, set up some sort of—”

“No.” Atha’s deep, patient voice was like the toll of a funeral bell. “We’ve come too far. Right now? Hyu need speed, not strength. I am strength.” Then he grinned. “Also? A fountain of wisdom.”

I almost objected; wanted to object. But, like when Azure pointed out the obvious the other night, I swallowed my protests—even though my heart knotted up.

“Noise,” I replied softly. “Once you’re past the sun-dart room, shut the hidden door, and use noise. Those Ancient Order catacombs are marble-smooth. Sound echoes. They’ll hear you, but I bet they won’t know where it’s coming from right away.”

The minotaur’s grin was practically sunshine. “If there is one thing I can be, it is loud.” His smile softened, like warm beeswax in the summer sun. “Don’t worry. I will keep them away from hyu.”

“Especially with some help!” Mikasi piped up, patting his vest. “I’ve got just the trinkets with me we can use. Let’s go.”

I blinked, feeling a sharp stab in my chest. “Hold on now…”

“Mikasi? Don’t injure yourself, please?” Sharp concern laced Skarri’s words, as worry lines creased her forehead.

Atha simply glowered at the halfling inventor, holding him back by the collar.

“This is not a good idea…” he began, but Mikasi waved him off.

“Oh, it’s fine,” the inventor said with his customary cheery grin. “One set of echoes can be tracked down. But two in all those marble hallways…?”

Nicodemus promptly padded over and sat on Mikasi’s boots, purring. The inventor glanced down at his smoke cheetah.

“Ah, sorry. Three!” he shrugged. “Three making a commotion will be terribly hard to track down.”

Skarri’s tail tip thumped the stone floor once. I saw a silent battle in her eyes between helping recover the Iraxi, and an intense need—no, a want—to protect Mikasi. Given what I knew of her private nature, the intense emotion there caught me off guard.

Also, when did that happen?

I suddenly felt like I’d missed out on something right under my nose. Maybe it was when I dodged that cave-in; I wasn’t sure. True, there had been little time to breathe, but maybe knowing a lich was involved had made me panic.

“None of this is a good idea,” Kiyosi countered firmly. “You two know as well as I do what that lich and her centaur partners do about problems in their way. Also, this will split us up over half the ruins, and we won’t be able to help each other. Why not just go shut the hidden door and find another way out?”

“Seal ourselves in?” Mikasi squeaked. Skarri shot Kiyosi a stern, narrow-eyed look over Mikasi’s mild panic.

Atha grunted, looking in my direction. So did the others.

I pressed my fingers against my forehead and sighed, carefully avoiding pulling mind magic threads. Somehow, this was my life now.

“Oh, for the days when all I had to do was study history, and steal artifacts from greedy, self-centered people who stole them first.” I slowly scrubbed my hands over my face, hating my next words. “We don’t have time to debate this. Atha, it’s fine; let him go with you. Mikasi?”

The diminutive inventor gave me a look of wide-eyed glee over possible improvisational mischief. I sighed.

“Just… be the best you, and stay alive.”

“You got it! Either we catch up, or we meet back up outside,” he said cheerfully, then squeezed my arm. “We’ll be fine,” he added in a reassuring voice. “You watch your back, too.”

I nodded with a fragile smile.

With a last look, Atha and Mikasi—with Nicodemus a step behind—hurried for the catacombs.

After they left, I faced the underground river cavern. Slowly, I pressed both palms against the cold, lime-coated railing, staring holes at the dam.

The entire chamber reeked of unknown history, wet stone, and old iron. Each trace of mist from the glowing river was a thousand-year-old echo of pain. Skarri and Kiyosi joined me. The river’s soft blue glow cast veiled shadows over her scales and his sea-toned skin.

I forced myself to breathe, following Kiyosi and Skarri down the stairs, boots clipping against ancient stone. As we descended, I watched as Skarri momentarily glanced over her shoulder, eyes damp.

This wasn’t the first time I’d let someone walk away into danger while I went forward—sometimes they were dragged.

Memories hit me harder than the last quake; especially Kiyosi being hauled away at knifepoint by the lich and her lackeys. A twisted, sickening feeling that if I’d been faster, smarter—just more—maybe he wouldn’t have been taken at all. Maybe I wouldn’t have been dragged off other times.

It was the hazard of being a Windtracer. You chased history until you eventually turned into history.

I shook my head hard, banishing the self-incrimination. That path didn’t help anyone.

Kiyosi was here. Walking. Breathing. Alive. Mikasi and Atha were alive. Skarri was alive. Even Azure was alive out there—somewhere. I fidgeted with the weathered edge of my vest as we walked—maybe I did need to pay better attention to the people beside me.

Halfway down the stairs to the dam, I noticed Skarri subtly glance back the way we came again. It was obvious she wasn’t looking for threats. I gently nudged her arm.

“Hey.”

The temple guard twitched, scales flushing dark on her cheeks for a second when she glanced over.

“Yes?”

I grinned at her while we walked. Part of me wanted to say that Mikasi and Atha would be fine. They’ll be clever and inventive. A real proper pain in the ass to the centaur warriors. I didn’t think that was what she wanted to hear. Not that I was an expert—I had horrible luck with this sort of thing. Still, I gave it my best shot.

“Did Mikasi ever tell you about his workshops in Banye? That little town he’s from?”

A shy smile tugged at her lips, then shone in her eyes.

“Yes. While we were going to rescue Kiyosi.” She cleared her throat. “They sound very interesting.”

I laughed a little. “That’s one way to put it. He has one main one, and several others he occasionally blows up.” I nudged her again. “You ought to ask him to show them to you. He’d like that.”

Skarri’s eyebrow ridges lifted slightly. “Oh, I… well…” Her scales flushed a little. “I’ve my duties…”

I snorted. “Don’t we all? Still—” then I remembered what Azure told me over the campfire “—sometimes you just have to stop running and take a breath.”

Skarri fidgeted with the pommel of her sword, tapping the temple guard insignia. Finally, she gently slapped it with the palm of her scaled hand, as if lightly slapping a thought away. Another shy smile crept over her face.

“True.” She met my gaze with another shy smile. “So, I will if you will.”

I tried not to wince, but didn’t quite succeed. The last thing I expected was for my words to have a double edge to them.

Then I thought of Kiyosi, my best friend, and basically brother, since we were kids. I watched him drop off the stairs where they met the ancient stone dam. Kiyosi knelt to study the obvious difference in age of stone between the stairs and dam.

Losing him to that lich taught me exactly how much time regret gives you.

None.

Just like history.

I walked over to see what he had found.

“So… a frying pan?” I asked with a sly grin. “You got yourself loose from the lich with a frying pan?”

He looked up from the stones at me, grinning. “It’s a little bit of a story. I’ll tell you later, but yeah. Frying pan. At a certain distance, they made a damn good throwing weapon.” He shrugged. “I just did what you do—improvise.”

I snorted, glancing away to look out over the dam. “That’s fair.”

The memory of Kiyosi getting dragged off by the lich rose like a specter behind us. The ground trembled gently, and I let the memory go.

“These bricks were clearly made with two different carving methods,” he continued, brushing his fingers lightly over the damp, gritty stones. “Different ages, too. Proves the idea that the viprin stonemasons didn’t make this place but used it.”

Skarri slithered up to where the gray stone stairs and their landing ended and the dam began.

“I’ve heard the stories of the Temple of the Slithering Sun; was taught them when I was young.” She pursed her lips, shaking her head. “I feel like I don’t know my own people’s history.”

“History, real history, is pretty unvarnished.” I licked my lips a little. “It takes a lot to look at it with clear eyes. Some people can’t, so they try to cover it with a pretty coat of paint that suits them.” I shrugged. “That paint eventually still flakes off.”

Kiyosi stood up, brushing sandstone crumbs from his bare, calloused hands.

“All right. So, what’s the plan?” he asked, lips pulled tight. “Toshirom Ifoon ought to be swapping out another door soon. Just take that door and hope for the best?”

I shrugged.

“It’s all we have.” I bit lightly on my lower lip. “I don’t think the door in is the problem here, though. It’s what’s inside.”

I walked onto the impossibly old, gray-white stone dam.

“The Iraxi?” Skarri hissed nervously, slithering along beside us.

I shook my head.

“Not just. It’s the movable rooms. If the rooms are constantly shifting around…”

Kiyosi nodded as the river roared along around us.

“… then the hallways move,” he said, finishing my thoughts. “Which means the location of the Iraxi moves, too.”

I glanced at them both as I hesitated at the edge of the dam.

“Maybe. I want to hope not, but maybe.”

Skarri frowned into the middle space between us and the doorway into Toshirom Ifoon, then gently touched my arm.

“There could be a pattern to that, too.” She flicked her forked tongue, tasting the air. “In my long-town back home, no one I know follows the Sunfate Sister beliefs. It’s too violent, and just history. But the sun patterns? Everything so far? It’d be consistent with what I’ve been taught; it would be that and more inside.”

I blew out a sigh as the bricks under our feet flexed with a low, angry tremor. For a moment, a portrait painted itself in my mind. A series of shifting rooms that made up the Temple of the Slithering Sun, moving along a path.

“So, the temple rooms will follow the Sunfate path. Got it.” I drew a slow breath, then gave them both my best reassuring smile. “Let’s go find a door marked with the Sunbound Sister’s face.”

We raced along the curve of the dam until we reached the other side—and stopped. There indeed was a door into Toshirom Ifoon.

It had all three faces of the Sunfate Sisters staring out with cheery, sun-bright divine expressions.

“Aile Shavat,” I muttered sourly, then stalked for the door.

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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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