Chapter 85 – Stone Cold

  Of the sounds Cole expected when he got down into the ruins where Roxy had shot, laughter was pretty far down on the list. He ducked through a partially collapsed archway, rifle raised. But he lowered it once he got a look at the scene.

  Beth laughed so hard she was clutching her sides, and Roxy standing over the remains of what looked like a stone statue with smoking barrels and a red face.

  “What happened?” asked Cole.

  Beth pointed at the overturned statue that was still glowing from Roxy’s afterburn affix. “Big scary statue startled ya girl, there,” she said.

  Roxy stared daggers at the teenager, then shot an abashed look at Cole. “I thought I saw it move,” she admitted. “Out of the corner of my eye.”

  “Great reflexes, though!” said Beth. She mimed shooting a gun from the hip, “It was like Blam! Blam!”

  Cole relaxed somewhat but didn’t drop his guard. He moved over to the statue, which resembled some of the flying creatures they’d seen on the previous floor. He nudged it with his foot. Nutmeg sniffed at it.

  Howie caught up, assessing the situation. “Hostile statues?” he asked.

  “Stone-cold killers,” said Beth, cackling.

  Howie shrugged. “Maybe it’s like a Weeping Angels thing?”

  Cole had never seen Roxy with such a genuine look of terror in her face when she glared at Howie. “Don’t even fucking joke about that!” she said.

  “What’s that?” asked Cole.

  “It’s from a TV show,” Beth supplied helpfully.

  Besson leaned down to inspect the figure next to Nutmeg. “If it was a monster, it would be ablating, right?”

  “If it were actually dead,” said Howie. That made Besson back up and recall Nutmeg with a whistle. But still, the statue remained on its side.

  Beth looked around. “Oh, come on, you’re all acting like this place is haunted!” she said.

  “I’m not going to rule anything out,” said Cole, looking around. “Let’s keep moving.”

  The ruins themselves were strange to Cole. On Earth, ruins had a logical explanation. Here? Was there really once a city, a civilization, even, in this desolate volcanic hellscape? Or was it a regular area before some upheaval in the ant farm saw it transformed into a lava-lit labyrinth? And who had made the statues? Had anyone made them? Hell, they could be Dallemonte’s equivalent to a diver and treasure chest in a fishbowl—just window dressing to spruce up his pet project. Greebles to make the tower feel lived-in and not just suffered through.

  The stone halls and paths led vaguely downward in the same vein that the previous floor had led up. Dallemonte had cleverly layered his maze. Chambers led out onto grand arches that passed over lava flowing through deep canals where glowing serpents bathed in the molten rock, and between spires of black, glassy stone that scratched at the ceiling—but didn’t quite reach. Even more concerning, the roof of the cavern didn’t seem to be connected to anything. The distant walls still had the strange, kaleidoscopic colors shifting and swirling in the heat-haze of the baked air, letting the god look inside at whatever drama he wanted to witness. But how close was his attention, anyway?

  Cole felt the constant prickle of vague attention on the back of his neck. That wasn’t helped by the occasional bones of a long-left party, often squished into a corner where they’d either been trapped or decided to make their last stand. There were enemies here. Monsters, or worse. As soon as one of his charges recovered enough to mark enemies, he burned it. But nothing appeared looming in the halls of the city—at least nothing close enough to be of concern. Winged creatures haunted the upper reaches, and they slipped past occasional lumbering monsters headed back toward the concentration of climbers they’d left in their wake. That suited Cole fine, as their goal was to get Beth Black to the next safe area alive and well. But the lack of confrontation felt… unnatural.

  Dallemonte wanted champions. But he wanted them through trials of blood. Artian spoke to that, when Cole finally decided to ask him.

  “Each of these trials is less hospitable than the one that came before,” said Artian, talking absent-mindedly to fill the silence. “And thus, fewer strive to challenge them. Yet less succeed. The ninth floor had a room of reward and the chance to leave this accursed demesne. To think, only a few weeks effort could see many freed from the shackle of these halls. But few enough are brave enough to seize that chance and all are too mad to trust.”

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  “Present company excluded, of course,” said Cole.

  Artian shot him a nervous smile. “Ah, well the safety of city walls never called to me, as it were. Too much like a cell—not that I’ve ever seen the inside of one, naturally.”

  “Naturally,” Cole agreed.

  “I also had little choice. We were bound to that retainer by a soul link, you see. Until his death freed us.”

  “Well I don’t plan to bail out,” said Beth, strutting through the black stone streets as if she owned them. “I’m seeing the top of this bitch. And then, maybe when I’m rich and more powerful than God? Maybe I’ll find a new world. Become their queen or something. Artian, your country in the market for a warrior queen?”

  “Alas, you’ll find the March little more comfortable than this tower, I fear.”

  They passed through a large building with a fa?ade of stone figures along a promenade. Cole again got the feeling of eyes on him and glanced behind them. He froze. One of the stone statues was facing his direction, which wouldn’t have been remarkable, if the rest weren’t staring straight ahead.

  He called a halt and approached the stone figure. The winged statue didn’t return his gaze, just continued staring sightlessly ahead.

  “What’s up?” said Roxy.

  “This statue is facing a different direction from the others,” he said.

  Roxy looked up at it. “Oh, yeah. I noticed that when we came in. Thought it was strange.”

  Had it been? Cole rubbed his eyes. He was slipping. They needed a rest. They all needed to rest.

  Howie came up on his other side. “Maybe it’s a puzzle. Looks like it’s pointing at something. Maybe it leads to treasure?”

  Cole considered that for about half a second. Maybe it was leading them to treasure. Maybe it was leading them to certain death. Maybe it was just someone’s idea of a joke and was just pointing at a random fucking wall. “We didn’t come here for treasure. Beth?”

  The teenager rushed past him, swinging her dragonbone sword in a wide arc that cleaved through the statue at the midsection. The torso and wings slid to the ground and shattered with a sharp crack that echoed through the hall, and a set of faint glyphs carved across its surface flashed. Wisps of smoke rose from the bottom half of the statue. The others stared at Cole.

  “I’m not taking anything for granted,” he said.

  “What did the brief say about the monsters on this level?” asked Howie. “Stone gargoyle monsters or lava demons in the ruins, or something?”

  Cole adjusted his rifle sling and turned away. “It didn’t even mention the fucking ruins. Let’s go.”

  There was no sun on this level, and no occlusion—therefore, no reprieve from the oppression of the ever-present heat and the dim orange glow of the magma flowing from the walls. Cole called a rest at a raised plaza with a two-story, defensible structure where they bivouacked. Howie had a class evolution to work through after the dragon, and everyone needed time to take and suffer through their second heat protection potion.

  Cole settled back, watching across the space of the open floor to where Beth sat with Roxy, occasionally looking up at the shield maiden as they chatted. Hopefully Roxy was bringing her around, so that by the time the actual rescue team arrived, Beth would be less resistant to being hauled out of Babel.

  A whisper of wind blew across him. Without his enhanced Acuity, he might never have felt it. He turned, reaching for his sidearm, only to encounter Nona, startled by his sudden movement. He relaxed. She dropped on the floor next to him and pulled out a canteen, drinking half the contents before reporting.

  “I was with three of the teams. One turned back after Howie’s demonstration. But two of them kept on into the city. Until one of the parties turned on the other, that is. Both of them thought I was with the other team, so I had to get out.”

  Cole grimaced. “Out of water?”

  Nona nodded. “Survivors took their water-skins and their equipment. Threw the bodies in the magma canals. I lost them after that. But the water won’t last them. They’ll be coming for ours.”

  Cole looked out through the window at the ruins below. This sprawling city could have held hundreds of thousands of people. For all he knew, there were less than a couple dozen people on this entire floor. How inhospitable were the floors Morganstern and her team were climbing? Or hell, what about Hard Tone’s team? Had Moriarty’s team made it to this floor through a different route?

  “Alright, good work,” said Cole.

  “That’s not all,” said Nona. “The monsters in the ruins are avoiding us.”

  Cole tilted his head. “Actively? I thought we were just giving them the slip.”

  Nona nodded. “That girl,” she said, nodding over to Beth, “Shines brighter than a fire on a moonless night. Probably why He Who Watches chose her. Monsters should be charging us from all directions. Those monsters in the caldera on the last floor weren’t just chasing after the congregation of challengers. She was drawing them in like a moth to her flame.”

  Cole followed that thought to the natural conclusion. “So why aren’t they doing the same thing, here?” he asked.

  Nona shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re after easier prey?”

  “Or they can sense a superior predator in the area,” Cole said. “And I don’t mean us. Your old world have any legends about this floor?”

  Nona looked over at him. “Not specifically. But this whole area feels… off when I Soul Schism. Like a malaise. Cities don’t empty for no reason.”

  “A lack of drinking water is a reason,” said Cole.

  “Only if you’re mortal,” said Nona. She looked out the window, just as Cole had. “Some things never thirst for water.”

  That was an issue for after a few hours rest. He’d been driving them hard. Too hard, and in harsh conditions. His team was exhausted and they weren’t going to last much longer without a chance to rest and get their strength back up.

  Besson would take first watch, then wake him up. Cole put his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

  Just a little rest.