Kingdom of the Silver Sea: Tales from the Age of Aether, #2

MAP OF MARS

MAP OF THE SILVER SEA REGION

CHAPTER I

TRAPPED IN ODUSAR

MOR TERAL LIT A TORCH and set off down one of the cramped access tunnels that honeycombed the ground beneath Odusar. I was not sure where he was headed and did not pay much attention as I followed him through the dusty passages, too exhausted and too wrapped up in my emotions to care. Fury at Merewether’s betrayal swirled around a white-hot core of rage burning at the anarchists’ theft of Charlotte. That rage pushed me forward and kept me on my feet and moving despite the weariness that dragged at every limb. I felt as though I had been on the run for weeks—could this really be only my sixth night in Odusar?

I counted back, starting with the night we had arrived. The second night was the night of the Martian attack on our camp, and on the third I had made the initial foray into the anarchists’ tower with Mor Teral and Hicks. We had remained hidden in the tunnels the fourth night then rescued the captives on the fifth, so this was indeed only the sixth night. But it felt as though I had been in the city for a thousand years.

In the darkness I missed my footing and stepped in a shallow hole scraped out by some nameless creature in ages past. I stumbled headlong, but caught myself with an outflung arm against the side of the tunnel before I could fall.

Wait, I called out, and slid down the wall to the tunnel floor.

Mor Teral turned and walked back to where I leaned gasping against the smooth, cool tunnel wall. He cocked his head in the direction from which we had come and listened. Satisfied that we were not being pursued, he nodded to himself and squatted down next to me.

Are you all right?

I nodded. Yes. I just need to rest a minute.

Go ahead. Anyone following us will take quite a while to catch up. I do not think they would follow us this far into the tunnels anyway.

His voice held much less conviction that I would have liked to hear. Where are we going?

This way. He waved vaguely at the tunnel stretching into the darkness before us.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. That’s not as informative as I might have hoped.

He smiled wryly and shrugged. I believe we are headed south, or at least such was my intent. These tunnels are not over familiar to me, though, so we will not know for certain until we go up to the surface and take a look.

Why south?

With the remnants of the Martian horde fleeing in that direction my people are unlikely to believe that we would go the same way and risk being captured.

It does seem like a rather foolish thing to do, I agreed. Not that being captured by your people would be any great improvement.

No. No it would not, he said, and regarded me intently. What would you do, Jack Branham? Your people have left you behind, and your enemies have taken your woman. Should you choose to try I will aid you in an attempt to rescue her once more, but I am afraid that we used up our luck the first time. We shall not sneak past their guards so easily again.

You’re right. If we try to get back in there now, they’ll be ready and waiting for us. I am going to get her back, though, Mor Teral. They will not keep her from me. If I have to fight alone against every single one of them and scale the walls of their towers with my bare hands to rescue her, I will.

You will not fight alone, he said, and gripped my shoulder, cementing the friendship that would last out our lives.

It wouldn’t hurt to continue south, since it will likely throw your people off our trail. We can go to the edge of the city and circle up the western side. From there I might find some way to cross the swamps and try to make my way home.

I knew it was a false hope even as I said it. To get home I would have to cross a couple of hundred miles of swamp and dry sea bottom infested with tribes of hostile Martians, then traverse almost another thousand miles of desert and rocky uplands before I reached Cydonia and Stanleyville. The odds of being able to survive that kind of trek on Mars were pretty close to zero, and even if I managed it I should be months making the journey. A sick wave of despair washed through me, but I shrugged it off. I would do it for Charlotte, however hard the journey, however long it took, and I would find her and free her from the anarchists.

Mor Teral had skepticism enough for both of us anyway. I think you passed the swamps in the only way possible—with your flying machines. Trying to get through them on foot? He shook his head. They swallow anyone who enters. There are quicksands and foul gases, Martians and fierce beasts and poisonous insects. And my people say that the ghosts of the souls lost there lure unwary travelers down remote paths then drag them beneath the mire.

Thanks for the wonderful imagery, I grumbled. You don’t have to come along, you know.

The barbarian grinned and his teeth gleamed redly in the torchlight. You are the kind of man who cannot help but fall into adventures, and so I shall follow you to relieve the dreariness of my existence in this city.

Glad I could be of service.

We should move on now. We have many more hours to travel before we can stop. It is far too dangerous to sleep in the tunnels.

Mustering all of my willpower, I forced myself back to my feet and we continued our journey. After about an hour of marching the side tunnel rejoined one of the main tunnels. The air in the larger tunnel was not so close and stale, so we were able to pick up our pace. That was when I noticed that Mor Teral only had one more torch. He shrugged when I asked about it.

We will have to risk going above ground to search for material to make more, he said. Or else we must finish our journey in the open.

Maybe not. I pulled out the Martian light I had found in the old house and displayed it to Mor Teral.

Amazing, he said as he shone it about. There are legends of such things among my people, but any such devices that we had have long been lost or else no longer function.

Keep it, I told him to his delight, knowing that I could rely on my goggles to see in the dark in a pinch.

Two more hours passed and Mor Teral stopped where a ladder dropped through a narrow hole down to a lower level. The main passage bears too much to the west, he said. I did not ask him how he knew; he possessed an uncanny sense of direction. If we follow it I think it will lead to the river, and all of the tunnels that pass under the river were blocked off in ancient times to prevent raiding parties from using them. There may be a side passage that splits off to the south before then. If not, we would have to retrace our steps and possibly add hours to our journey.

I stared dubiously at the hole. Have you used the lower levels before?

Yes.

With a sigh I gestured towards the ladder. Then we’ll do it your way.

The lower tunnel was cooler, but the air was stale and had an unpleasant tang that irritated the nose. Each step we took dislodged a light fall of dust from the tunnel roof, which made breathing even more difficult and did nothing for my peace of mind about travelling this route. Worse, I noticed that the tunnel did not run quite level, but was slowly going deeper beneath the city. Unpleasant things live in the dark places beneath Martian cities, and the deeper you go the worse they tend to get.

We had gone perhaps two hundred yards up the tunnel when the last torch burned out and Mor Teral switched on the Martian light. Its steady beam drilled through the darkness before us, casting long, dancing shadows against the tunnel walls that made it difficult to see too far ahead. As we descended the temperature dropped, and I could feel a hint of moisture in the air, just enough to add an unpleasant clamminess that had me pulling my greatcoat more closely around me. It was exactly the kind of place my Martian guides had always warned me to stay out of at all costs.

We slogged along, one foot in front of the other, without speaking for an hour, needing all of our breath to push on in the bad air. At last I saw something glittering faintly in the light ahead.

Mor Teral, I whispered, and pointed at the reflections when he stopped.

I do not know.

Could it be condensation on the tunnel walls?

He ran his fingers along the wall beside us. Possibly, although it seems to me that the air is still too dry.

Turn off the light and let me look.

I slipped the goggles up over my eyes and pushed the button that allowed me to see in the dark. About thirty yards ahead a number of faintly glowing blobs spattered the tunnel walls and floor, but it was impossible to make out any details, even when I dialed up the magnification. I turned to the tunnel behind us to check whether the blobs were just a problem with the goggles, and it was so dark I could barely see the outlines of the tunnel. I almost preferred that the goggles had been broken.

You can turn the light back on.

What is it?

"Sleerels."

These amorphous, amoeba-like creatures are ambush hunters who infest the cool, moist recesses of the dark, underground labyrinths below the Martian cities. Their slimy membranes secrete a fast-acting, paralyzing toxin, which they use to subdue anything that passes within reach. Once they have immobilized their prey, the sleerels absorb it within their bodies and slowly digest it alive.

Mor Teral let his breath out in a long hiss. This is beyond me, Jack. How do we get past them?

I was told to use torches. Apparently they don’t like fire. Even that isn’t a sure thing if they are too hungry, though. They’ll let parts of themselves burn to trap a victim.

We do not have any more torches, and it would take hours to go back to the last exit to the surface.

Then we’ll just have to do it the hard way. Wrap your clothes tightly around you; you want as little exposed skin as possible. They only need one or two good strikes to bring down a man. Guns and bows are useless against them, but swords can deflect their attacks and do a bit of damage.

We moved forward cautiously, with me in front to break trail and Mor Teral following a few steps behind with the Martian light in one hand and his great curved blade in the other. Before long we could see them clearly, shapeless blobs of grey and sickly green colored slime that pulsated slightly to some weird internal rhythm. They were disgusting to look at, and a smell like old death rose from them and sent waves of nausea coursing through me.

Go through quickly. They strike at movement and heat within a couple of feet, but they are too slow to pursue us once we’re past. If we can break through this group, we’ll be all right.

Mor Teral nodded and I darted forward. There was just enough space between the sleerels to run and dodge if you were careful. A slender, translucent grey protuberance that looked rather like a snail’s eyestalk snapped out and whipped against the sleeve of my greatcoat. I flicked my saber to the right to catch another before it could brush my hand and sliced clean through it, sending it writhing into the darkness to one side. The sleerels flung more and more of these wriggling appendages towards us until it seemed as though we stood amidst a field of horrid, giant sea urchins. Our swords never stopped swinging, scything through the sleerels’ feelers until the clear ichor which the creatures used for blood spattered and dripped down the blades. Tiny droplets landed on my sword hand and a cold, tingling numbness crept into my fingers.

I heard a grunt behind me and looked back. Mor Teral had slipped and fallen to one knee, caught off-balance by multiple strikes while ducking to avoid a stalk lashing out at his face. Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed his hand and pulled him back to his feet. As he lurched forward, a line of icy fire burned itself into my hand. My saber sheared through the appendage, leaving a six-inch tendril clinging to the top of my hand that I had to scrape off with my sword blade. Excruciating pain shot up my arm, throbbing in time to my pulse. I lashed out blindly with my sword, kicking and shoving through until I was finally free of the brutes. Mor Teral staggered out of the writhing forest a second later.

I fell to my knees in the dust and buried my hand as best I could, using the fine, dry powder to scour away the sticky slime from my skin. When it was finally gone, I dragged myself to my feet using my sword as a cane. Mor Teral stood watching the sleerels, which were slowly creeping up the tunnel towards us.

Are you all right? he asked, his voice tight with concern. We can rest here for a while if you must. Unless we fall asleep we are in no further danger from these things.

Let’s keep moving. I got enough slime on me that the arm will go numb, and resting isn’t going to help with that. The poison will take some hours to wear off, but walking may speed up the process.

We continued down the tunnel and I was immensely relieved when it began to rise towards the surface again a few hours later. Mor Teral noticed it, too, and at the next ladder we climbed up to the higher levels again. It was awkward with only one hand, but I managed it without too much trouble. From there we soon entered a very large tunnel that had apparently been one of the main north–south passages before the city fell into ruin, and followed that for several hours longer until I began to regain some sensation in my fingertips. At last Mor Teral stopped at another ladder piercing the gloom overhead.

I think this is it. You go first so I can catch you if you slip.

Once Mor Teral came up with his light we forced open the door and found ourselves blinking in bright sunlight. Enormous buildings three and four stories high that I guessed must be warehouses stretched out as far as I could see to either side of us, while before us a broad avenue sloped down to the old docks which stretched their skeletal fingers out into the riotous morass of the great swamps which had once been part of the Elysium Sea.

Without a word we set off down the road towards the docks. We needed to replenish our water supplies and the nearest place to do that was the swamp. With luck we might find food there as well.

The huge slabs of white marble that formed the docks were mostly intact, though worn down by aeons of weather, and here and there great fissures had opened up between the blocks. We walked all the way to the end of the first pier we came to and sat at the end with our legs dangling over the edge, happy to soak up some sun and fresh air after our long sojourn below ground.

An endless sea of purplish-green stalks taller than a man stretched out before us, sprinkled with sprawling groves of slender trees rising far above the swamp grasses. The tall grasses had a topknot of broad green leaves that provided a dense canopy which an army could have marched beneath while remaining completely invisible to any watchers above. Flocks of the four-winged birds of Mars floated through the clear skies, hovering and dropping en masse to rest on the open water like low-lying clouds. Their distant, plaintive calls were haunting in that desolation. I leaned my head back and let the sounds and the clear, sharp air wash away some of the accumulated fatigue and stress.

Jack.

I slowly cranked my eyes open. Mor Teral was peering into the distance in the west, far out into the air above swamps. I squinted until I saw what he was looking at, and scrambled to pull up my goggles and focus in on the remote speck above the trees.

"It’s Joanna, I told him, and she’s coming this way."

CHAPTER II

THE DEATH OF KENT

WITHIN AN HOUR MOR TERAL AND I STOOD reunited with Hicks, Kirkpatrick, and Prince Alexander John in the control room of Joanna’s gondola. I quickly recounted our battle with the anarchists and Merewether’s betrayal. Hicks and Kirkpatrick traded knowing glances while the prince loosed a stream of invective against Kent’s captain.

Mrs. Wylie hinted that we should keep a close eye on Commander Merewether, Kirkpatrick said. "He used to work for the Syrtis Company, and he advanced far more rapidly in the Cydonia Company than he should have, unless someone high up in the company was pulling strings for him. He and Kent were all that was available to escort Joanna, though, so we were stuck with him."

What made you come back? I asked. You should have been most of the way to Stanleyville with His Highness by now. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.

Kirkpatrick nodded at Hicks. "The young lieutenant here was suspicious of Merewether’s story of your deaths, and had his soldiers ‘borrow’ a couple of ratings from Kent’s crew who he thought might be induced to tell the truth. Sure enough, after a few minutes alone with Hick’s Maatgons those men were quite eager to spill their guts. Hicks demanded that we return to find you, and the prince backed him up. Well, I could argue with the lieutenant, but not so much with His Royal Highness. So we primed the two crewmen from Kent with a story that since you were out of the picture I wanted to grab full credit for the rescue of the survivors of the first expedition and would try to get to Stanleyville ahead of Merewether. Then we dropped them off and snuck out in the middle of the night.

We ran full speed, day and night, hoping to get back here and pick you up before Merewether figured out what we were really up to.

So far we’ve been lucky, Hicks added, but Merewether is no fool. He must be on his way after us by now.

You’re right about that, Lieutenant Hicks, Joanna’s navigator said as he peered through the large binocular range-finding glasses mounted on the deck. Our luck just ran out. He pointed to the northwest. "Kent is there, about twenty miles out."

Kirkpatrick pushed him aside and swept the horizon with the glasses. When