Shapes bled into view. The s ilence melted into the sound of distant fires and the echo of alien birds.
He came to a wooden bridge decorated with bones. The bridge spann ed a deep chasm.
He was no longer in the Citadel. He ’ d found the Carrion Rift.
Cross looked around. T he Black Citadel was behind him, with its bladed halls and piles of bones and its utterly dead smell. He stood on the edge of a plain of smashed black ice and oily stone. Purple mist curled against the ground. The sky was dead black.
The Rift lay before him, a massive rent in the dark earth. Green and black fumes filled the depths of the canyon, roiling poison smoke filled with vague shadows and monstrous calls. The walls were broken and jammed with jutting bones and gaping holes. Mounds of smelted quartz formed a crude ledge near the iron-chained bridge. Massive skulls — likely Doj — decorated the poles support ing the chains. The bridge rocked and creaked in the acid breeze. A path paved with glittering black scales led to the bridge.
Cross slowly stepped forward and looked over the edge.
We search.
The Obelisk of Dreams would be below, in the depths of the canyon, but there was little chance he’d be able to descend and find it, at least not without magic. He doubted his hybrid blade would grant him the ability to fly.
What, then? What the hell am I supposed to do?
He looked ahead. Dark shapes moved in the distance, silhouettes hidden in walls of grisly steam. They were giants, and they haul ed some large box es or crate s.
Or the obelisk. Shit.
He crouched low and stepped onto the bridge. It rattled and shook, and for a moment he gazed into its impossible depths. Stories told of the Carrion Rift being filled with deep channels of blood water and the half- submerged remains of cities destroyed during The Black. Monstrous aberrations and mutated horrors lurked there, things that had never known sunlight or clean air.
Cross carefully made his way across, holding onto the chain railing for support. The bridge pitched and almost threw him over the edge. F umes filled with acid whispers slithered a round him.
One hand on the chain, h e jogged across as quickly as he could, his eyes on the silhouettes within the smoke on the other side. He knew what was waiting for him.
Once off the bridge he ducked behind a low wall made of smoking dark ice filled with stone sediment. The ground was cold and hard. He waited, and watched.
As he’d feared, the giants beyond the smoke were Sorn: nine-foot tall humanoids with stony grey skin and mismatched steel and leather plate armor, short capped helmets and steaming thaumaturgic equipment, steam- driven hammers and large repeating pistols. Each had a single yellow eye in the middle of a wide forehead cove red with short horns. The four Sorn moved in and out of the smoke. They circled a twenty-foot wide hole in the ground. The hole was uneven and jagged, like something had fallen from the sky and punched through the earth.
The Sorn shifted large c rate s and steel-rimmed boxes filled with i ron t ools, welding torches, chisels and hammers. A nother broken wall of ice granite stood on the other side of the hole, and beyond that the world spilled into open dark plains.
Cross watched the giants erect a trio of iron beams to form a pyramid over the hole. Bolt guns punched thick iron nails through the metal and into the ground. One Sorn wore a face-mask and used a massive acetylene torch to bind the tips of the beams together. Another Sorn gathered lines of cable and a pulley.
They planned to descend.
That must be where the rip is, he thought. The way back to the real world. The place where they ’ll take the O belisk.
Something sounded in the distance behind him. He heard a boom ing sound, like dropping bombs. The dark sky rippled with twisted arcs of chain lightning. He smelled the tang of ozone and rain, a distant and half- remembered memory from his childhood.
Something was happening at the Black Citadel.
They’re looking for me, he realized. How they couldn’t have known he was there already was beyond him. He felt sure the spider had been a guardian pet of the Shadow Lords, a minion or a marauder in their service. And he knew it had s een him. Never mind that. They’re looking for you now. You don’t have a lot of time.
H e continued watch ing the Sorn from his hidden position. H is body was tired and cold, and the hexed fumes that pour ed out of the Rift made the air taste sick.
O ne of the Sorn hauled some sort of generator or engine towards the hole. Thick rubber tubes and hoses pumped translucent fluids into vibrating no zz les. The device sound ed like an airship’s turbines, and soon it filled the air with such noise it was impossible to hear anything else, even the distant echoes as the Black Citadel came to life. The Sorn plugged pneumatic filters into the engine and sprayed pale grey smoke into the hole. Cross guessed they were sen ding purifying fumes to make the air below less poisonous.
It’s now or never.
He raced forward. The grinding engines masked the sound of his movement. He ducked low and kept close to the shattered walls, and he used the columns of fused mountain rock for cover a s he dart ed between the crates. He dug around near the top of a box until he found what he was looking for. Cross stayed low and kept his breaths shallow and even so he wouldn’t be heard.
With the Sorn ’s attention on the hole, Cross stepped up and sliced open the fuel pump on the machine. Foul-smelling liquid ran all over the ground and formed sticky pools.
The Sorn turned soundlessly, and one moved to inspect the damage. Cross slipped back into the shadows and kept his body pressed tight against a twisted wall of glacial rock. He was thank ful the Sorn had poor night vision.
His m ind flashed back to the city of Rhaine. He saw Graves and Cristena and Stone. He’d watched them all die at the hands of the Sorn, and even though the giants responsible had all been killed, a hatred for the predatory race still burned deep in his heart.
He aimed the flare gun between the Sorn’s legs and fired. The engine fuel caught alight. Cross ran. He heard weapons being readied behind him, and he half expected to be shot in the back by massive nail shots or ball rounds.
The blast shook the air. Heat washed against him. Cross leapt over a low wall and threw himself back against the stone to use it as cover while he brought his arms up to shield his neck and head. His eyes stung from explosive fumes. His skin felt like it was melting, and when he breathed in it was like swallowing jet fuel.
He waited. After a few moments the series of explo sions stopped. He heard flames and smelled toxins and burning skin.
He carefully stood up and checked himself. He hacked up bloody phlegm, took a deep breath. He was okay.
The dig site was in ruins. The engine was split open and spewed ghastly spirit unguent that looked like slime milk. Thick bursts of oil bubbled and sank into the ground. A handful of the rock walls had shattered and fallen to pieces in the blast. Drifts of yellow smoke from the plains billowed across his path as he quietly walked back towards the hole with his blade in hand.
Two of the Sorn were dead. T heir grey flesh had been blown open by the blast, and their innards were exposed to the salty air. Their central eyes were still.
A third giant still lived, and it struggled a nd dragged itself across the ground. Its back and head were covered with burn marks, and the skin had torn away from its abdomen, where meat gristle and dark blood spilled out.
It looked at Cross as he stepped up and sliced open its throat. It died silently.
Cross scanned the perimeter. There was no sign of the fourth Sorn, and that worried him. Strange alarms blared in the distance, booming drum pattern beats mixed with arcane klaxons.
Maybe the spider he’d seen hadn’ t been associated with the Shadow Lords after all. Maybe it truly was his spider, there to ensure him he was on the right path.
He tried not to think about the murals…about the images of the spider as it destroyed cities.
Dark cries sounded through the sky. There was nothing beyond the mists and smoke around him except for pitch black plains. He felt like he stood in the middle of nowhere.
We search.
