by Samuel Kennedy
in Issue 105, October 2020
It’s never easy waiting for a coronation. Especially when it’s your own.
I sigh heavily. My breath and the soft tread of my feet are the only sounds to be heard here. At this depth, I can’t hear the celebrations taking place in the city above me. I am further underground than anyone else in the capitol, save for the royal dead.
Their vaults surround me. My legacy. Five thousand years of Orothkin emperors, all the way back to the great Janus Mountainborn, who raised his armies in Nevarindun and swept across the land, conquering the Orcs, the Kul-Rae, and even the Naga. His successors pushed the boundaries of the Empire even further. Now their great deeds are inscribed on the bronze doors of their crypts.
The scenes pass me by in the flicker of my lantern’s light. On one door, a city is burned to the ground. On another, a great monument is under construction. I turn a corner, passing the final resting place of Renir, who led an army into Varlo and battled the Keprovirs even before he was crowned as ruler of the Empire. That was long ago, almost four thousand years. Today, few even remember his name.
Who will remember mine? And what will I be remembered for?
Great conquests, perhaps. Or great discoveries. New inventions that will improve the lives of my subjects. Will I be like Invarus, a patron of the arts, whose reign saw the Imperial City rebuilt in a splendor none had thought was possible. Overwhelmed by such beauty, it was easy to forget how such wealth had been earned, or that the Emperor’s own son Caprion was disowned for war crimes against the humans along the eastern seacoast.
Caprion should have become the next Emperor, yet his tomb is not to be found here among the others of the Mountainborn Dynasty. His final resting place has been lost to time, though some claim he was buried under the old King’s Mountain in Nevarindun. But no one really remembers him either. Two hundred years after his exile, the Mountainborn Dynasty came to an end, and the Goldsabers had come to the throne.
I am the latest of the new dynasty. I inherit the deeds of both royal lines, for better or worse. My footsteps echo among their tombs, while their march reverberates through my mind. Tomorrow I will sit on their throne, and one day I will sleep among their tombs.
A shiver passes through me. Even at the height of summer, the catacombs remain cool. I can’t help wondering if I even should have come down here. And yet, how could I not?
Night should be falling over the city by now; not that it makes any difference to me down here. My lantern casts its dim glow around me as I pass even more of the engraved bronze doors. I hold the lantern to the side and slightly behind me, avoiding its glare in my eyes as I walk. So many chambers. So many rulers. Five thousand years of Orothkin history. And far above me is the capitol of the Empire, where princes and peasants toast to another five thousand years.
There are other things down here besides the Imperial tombs, though. As my free hand passes over the smooth stone walls, I see little alcoves and shrines set into the rock. The old gods and patron saints of past emperors, before the Iron Father was acknowledged as the one true God of the Orothkin people.
A few of the old gods even warranted their rooms, small temples hundreds of feet beneath the city streets. I pass idols of stone, gold, brass, and even clay. Saints are carved into the walls themselves, painted on murals, or woven into tapestries. I look at them in mild curiosity, my worries for tomorrow temporarily forgotten.
What strange times the old Emperors must have lived in, that so many different gods would be worshipped by them. These temples and shrines, centuries old, are the main reason no one comes down here anymore. Why pray to ancient gods among the dead when the great Temple of the Iron Father raises its marble spires to the open sky far above?
Only servants come down here, once or twice a year at most, to sweep away the dust and polish the bronze doors of the Imperial crypts.
I stop suddenly, remembering the whispered stories I heard as a child. It was all nonsense, everyone insisted. Laughed off and forgotten. And yet, every once in a while, the story would pop up again. Rumors of strange sounds heard down here. Apparitions, voices of the past, cloaked figures passing by in the darkness.
I can hardly blame the servants for such stories, as I draw my cloak closer around me. In the darkness and silence so far removed from the bustling city above, it would be easy to imagine things. Easy to hear voices. Honestly, no one should come down here alone. It’s a good way to go mad.
I square my shoulders and start forward again. It was my own choice to make this pilgrimage; I’ll see it through. Besides, there can’t be much left. I’ve never been down here before, but it only seems proper to acknowledge the emperors who lay here in eternal sleep before I ascend to their throne tomorrow.
There it is: the end of the corridor. I walk past the remaining tombs, gazing at the bronze doors and the scenes inscribed on them. When I reach the end of the hall I stop and look back the way I came. The lantern light flickers, and I reflect silently on the past. It’s so quiet I can hear my heart beating.
And then I hear a footstep.
I hold in my breath, making no sound, only listening. Surely, I was mistaken. No one else could be down here. Is it possible someone has noticed my absence and come down to find me? But who would guess that this is where I would go? Perhaps I left the door to the catacombs open; or perhaps a guard or servant saw me enter.
Why am I still thinking about it?
I don’t hear the footstep again. I exhale slowly, shaking my head. How silly of me.
I turn my attention back to the tombs, back to the bronze doors and the stories they tell. But as my light swings back toward the end of the corridor, I notice something I hadn’t seen before. The corridor does end here, but in the corner, almost obscured by the darkness, is a staircase leading even further down.
I hesitate there, looking down into the darkness. I’ve never heard of anything other than the crypts down here. Perhaps the stairs lead to a few more tombs. I should visit those as well.
The stairs feel uneven under my feet. Wherever they lead, not as much care has been paid to maintaining them over the centuries. The walls feel closer here as well, and I reach out my hand to steady myself against them as I descend. Fortunately, it’s not a long flight of stairs, and when I reach the bottom, I find myself in a sort of antechamber, with passages leading away from the steps in three different directions.
At this point, I start to wonder if I should go on. Up to this point, the catacombs have been fairly linear, a main passage with short chambers branching off on either side. Perhaps that’s all these passages here are. Or perhaps they lead even further underground, twisting and turning in a maze. I don’t want to get lost. Not down here. Not tonight.
The lantern flickers suddenly. I glance at it, notice the wick is getting low. I’ve been down here longer than I had planned. Its time to go back. But what is down here?
The light seems dimmer, in spite of the walls being closer than before. They should reflect the light better, not worse. My throat feels dry. There’s a cold feeling on the back of my neck, as if all the dead I have passed are watching me, waiting on something. A sense of dread rises in my chest.
And again, I hear a footstep.
Once more, I hold my breath, listening for another sound. I hear nothing. But is that a hint of smoke in the air?
I step forward, into the center passage. There’s nothing but darkness ahead of me, the dark stairs behind me. But this is the Imperial city, seat of the Empire for five thousand years. Of all the places in the wide world, surely this is the safest.
So why does the light tremble in my hand?
I shake my head. Yes, I certainly shouldn’t have come down here alone.
Is that another footstep, or merely an echo of my own?
I stop and listen again. Nothing. I move forward again. A wind brushes my cheek, a chill passing me from behind. Strange that there would be a draft down here.
The walls feel rough under my fingers. Rough-cut stone fitted close together with dust layered over them by time. The dust trickles to the floor as my fingers brush over the stone. There are no fancy bronze doors here, no engravings depicting mighty deeds of ancient days. Just rough stone walls and an uneven floor sloping downward. Then the stone stops abruptly, leaving my hand searching in the emptiness.
My eyes follow my hand, staring in surprise at what I find.
The wall has given way to reveal a small alcove. In that opening, sitting on a low stone bench, is a small creature smoking a pipe. I simply stare, my mind blank as I try to puzzle out who or what this is. The little fellow is certainly no Orothkin. He would barely reach to my knee if he stood up, and his skin is a pale gray. His eyes are dim and colorless, and his pointy ears twitch as he cocks his head toward me.
A puff of smoke rises from his pipe. “Who’s there?” he asks, his dry voice crackling in the stillness.
I lie to him, tell him I’m no one important, just a worker maintaining these old catacombs. Or maybe it’s not completely a lie. I’m not important yet. And, thinking back to the burial chambers I’ve passed, I wonder if I ever will be considered important when the pages of history are brought together.
The little creature nods, seemingly buying my lie. He swings his legs, hopping down off the bench. I was right, the top of his head is just below my knee. He’s stooped over as if by old age, picking up a crooked walking stick from the bench. He pokes my leg with it, then huffs and begins walking away, further along the passage. His little feet pad along the stone floor, the same footsteps I heard before.
In that moment, I realize what he is. The diminutive size, the pointy ears: he’s a goblin. I’ve never seen a goblin before, but I’ve heard of them, stories from the furthest corners of the Empire. Why is one of them here?
I call out after him, asking him where he is going. He shrugs, muttering something I can’t hear. As I hesitate, he moves outside the circle of lantern-light, his form beginning to fade into the darkness. But before I lose sight of him, he raises the hand that holds the pipe, gesturing for me to follow him.
And I do.
The passage twists and turns here, more like a natural cavern than the structured catacombs. The goblin’s walking stick taps along the floor as he feels his way forward. His pointy ears twitch this way and that, as if he’s listening for something.
And suddenly I hear it too. Faintly, far in the distance. A hushed roar, not like an animal, but more like water cascading over a precipice and rushing onward. An underground river perhaps?
The passage seems just a little bit brighter now, and it begins to widen out. The claustrophobic walls move further away even as the ceiling begins to rise up. The floor continues slanting downward, but at a more gradual incline. The sound of rushing water is much louder now.
I stop short, my jaw dropping as I see… it. It’s impossible. Have I gone completely mad?
A spring bubbles from the floor at the far side of the chamber. And the waterfall… the waterfall flows upward toward the ceiling. My eyes follow the water up. Above my head is a large pool that completely covers the ceiling of the chamber. Dozens of tiny shellfish cling to the ceiling, giving off a strange glow that lights up the cavern.
The tapping of the goblin’s cane on the rocks pulls my attention away from the impossible marvel on the ceiling. He stops a few steps from the spring and turns to face me. The lights flickering beneath – or rather, above – the moving surface of the pool reflect in the goblin’s empty eyes. I realize that he is waiting for something.
I step forward toward him, moving slowly, still in awe of the pool flowing above my head. I try to form my thoughts into coherent speech, asking him where the two of us are.
He shakes his head and begins speaking rapidly. I stare at him, not understanding a word. What language is that? I’ve spent years of my schooling learning all the major tongues of the Empire, but I have never heard anyone speak like this goblin.
He raps his walking stick on the ground impatiently and switches to Orothkin. “Under. Beneath.” He gestures up at the pool. “Not long left.”
Not long? Not long until what? I suddenly realize that even though his face is toward me, he is listening for something, something above me. I look up at the pool in the ceiling.
A crackling sound fills the air, as if something is being rent apart. I spot a flicker of movement in the pool. The goblin never moves, merely listening. The glow of the shellfish seems to dim just a little. A shadow moves through the water, slowly taking shape. Finally, a hand breaks the surface of the water; massive, bestial, clawed.
My eyes go wide. My feet feel rooted to the ground. A form follows the hand from the water.
A massive figure drops to the floor, landing on its feet between me and the goblin. Still the goblin doesn’t move, even as the beast takes a step toward me. I stare up at the beast, my eyes drawn to the long, curved talons and the thick muscles rippling under the scaly hide. It looks down at me with piercing dark eyes that are somehow oddly familiar.
I look past the beast to the goblin, asking him what is going on. He doesn’t answer, instead sitting down on a rock, his empty eyes staring past me.
The beast tilts his head back and roars. Before I can even blink, his massive claws rip through the air. I duck with only a moment to spare, feeling the breeze as his claws pass above me. I roll away from his charge, my martial training forgotten in a panic as I slip and slide on the wet stone floor. I come to a stop flat on my back not far from the goblin.
He looks down at me, saying something in his strange tongue. He makes a face as if searching for the right word to translate. “Egg,” he declares finally. “Egg of Kings.”
And he points up, toward the pool. I remember the crackling sound I heard just before the beast appeared. Is it possible this massive reptile hatched from some sort of egg? Why? What was its purpose? What is happening here?
The goblin jabs at the air with his walking stick, and that’s when I spot it: the small, smooth shape nestled amongst the glowing shellfish. It could be a rock, but somehow, I know it isn’t.
A moment later, I feel rough fingers close around my throat. I’m weightless for a brief moment as the beast swings me through the air and then throws me across the room. Then I feel my body stop and I crash downward into the stone floor. A painful reminder that despite the strange waterfall, gravity is still in effect.
The impact has knocked the air from my lungs, and I struggle to collect myself off the ground. The egg sparkles above me like a jewel just out of my reach. A sky-blue orb nestled amongst the coral. And I feel the beast’s heavy feet shake the ground beneath me.
I’m the heir of five thousand years, rightful ruler of the world. Am I really going to die here in this cave?
I stagger to my feet and meet the monster’s charge head-on. The two of us grapple, battling for dominance, my feet slipping and sliding back and forth on the wet stone floor. Strange. I thought he was head and shoulders taller than me before, but now I’m looking the monster dead in the eye. And again, those eyes seem strangely familiar.
He finally throws me back, ending the stalemate. I crash through the air and into the ground, rolling over. I feel the splash of the water just before I tumble into the spring.
It sweeps me away in an instant, but I’m not falling. Instead the waterfall hurls me upward, toward the ceiling. I flip end over end, the water dashing me back and forth as I plummet toward the ceiling. In another moment, the air is dashed from my lungs as I plunge into the pool.
I clamp my mouth shut, trying to keep the water out. As my vision returns, I notice bubbles floating up, or rather down, to the surface of the water. I spin over and push off with my legs, swimming toward the surface. As my head breaks the surface of the water, I realize I am upside down.
The goblin sits below me, seemingly unperturbed by the strange events, while the monster glares up at me with rage burning in those familiar eyes. He crouches, then leaps toward me.
I turn and flail desperately, swimming away from where he will strike the water. I’m a relatively skilled swimmer, but I barely manage to get clear before I feel the impact as he crashes into the water.
The wave throws me across the pool. I gasp for air as the cold water washes into my mouth and nose. I feel his hand crash into my side, driving me into the water. The air is again expelled from my lungs.
Through the haze of the moving water, I suddenly spot the egg once more. It doesn’t seem important now. I’m fighting for my life against a ferocious beast I know nothing about; what is a strange blue egg worth?
Yet I can’t take my eyes off it, even as I know the monster must be right behind me. It seems to beckon to me somehow.
I kick out with my legs, reaching out toward the strange egg. I can see it better now; its larger than I thought, about as big as my fist. My hand opens, my fingers just inches from the egg. I can’t seem to think of anything else.
The monster’s hand closes around my ankle, stopping me short of the egg and dragging my thoughts back to the battle. Claws bite into my skin. I spin around, my body thrashing in the water. The monster is stronger than I am. I need a weapon. I need to even the odds.
Something sparkles in the water, catching my eye.
A long piece of crystal stabbing out from between the coral and the shellfish. I kick at the monster with my free leg, trying to break his hold on the other. I hear him bellow menacingly. I gasp for air as my head plunges underwater again. I dart forward as I suddenly slip free of his grip.
My fingers close around the crystal. With a little effort it breaks free and I turn to face the monster again. I come to my feet, standing on the ceiling in the shallower end of the pool with the makeshift weapon in my hand. The creature glares back at me, and I finally recognize those eyes.
My own.
In spite of the horrific form, I am looking into a mirror.
On the floor below me, the goblin stands up, finally tilting his head back to face me. I keep my eyes on the monster, the shard of crystal clenched in my fist.
“Egg of Kings,” he croaks. “Take the egg.”
The monster charges, throwing water in all directions as his powerful legs plow across the pool. His claws reach toward me.
I leap toward him, disregarding the goblin’s direction in the heat of the moment. I’ve trained with a sword, and this crystal isn’t all that different. I thrust, aiming for the monster’s heart.
He roars as the crystal stabs through his body. But there is no blood.
Instead, I see smoke rise from the wound, or shadow perhaps. And then I realize that his claws have cut deep into my chest. My knees suddenly feel weak, my vision blurry. The goblin bows his head, looking down at his walking stick. I fall backward slowly, the room spinning past me in a trance as I collapse into the pool. The water rises around me as I slowly sink to the bottom of the pool. The shellfish flicker around me, growing dimmer. I feel the coral scrape against my back. My head tilts to the side, the last of the air escaping my lungs.
And I see the egg. The Egg of Kings. The reason, apparently, that the goblin brought me here. Now it is only inches from my face, but I lack the strength to reach out and take it. I close my eyes.
There’s a splash in the water.
A small, bony hand seizes me by the shirt and pulls me from the water. I gasp in a mouthful of air that stings my throat.
As my eyes open, the goblin leaps from me to the monster, striking at it with his cane. He succeeds in driving the monster back, but somehow I know he can’t defeat it. Or he could, but if he did, then all this would be for nothing. I have to get up.
But first I look down at the sky-blue egg at the bottom of the pool.
I draw in another breath of air and dive into the water. The pool somehow seems deeper than before, and the water is more turbulent. I can barely move against the current, but I fling my full strength into each stroke. My shoulders ache as I claw for the bottom of the pool, my lungs burn as I slowly run out of air. My vision begins to blur yet again.
But my fingers close around the smooth blue shell.
I thrash wildly to the surface, clutching the egg in my hand. I come to my feet next to the goblin, face to face with the monster.
He glares at me, his eyes narrowing as he sees the sky-blue egg. Black shadow still drifts from the wound in his chest.
The egg begins glowing, suddenly warm in my hand, and quickly growing hotter. Almost too hot to hold.
The goblin grunts at me. The monster clenches his fist. And I charge.
Straight forward, toward the monster. I’m weak from blood loss and exertion, but I grip the egg with everything I have as I splash forward through the shallows.
The monster shrinks back from me, stumbling out of the pool and practically slithering down the wall. There is fear in his eyes, those mirrors of my own.
I follow him, stumbling, losing my footing as I feel gravity start to shift at the edge of the pool. The sound of the waterfall rushes past my ear. Just before I tip over, I throw the egg. It arcs through the air, stopping and changing direction as it passes the edge of the pool.
Then it strikes the monster squarely in the forehead.
He roars an inhuman howl of pain and rage, a bright light erupting from his forehead. His roar fades to a shriek as a shudder runs through his form. His shape dissipates, flickering, changing, and finally fading away into the shadows of the cavern.
The goblin nods with a soft grunt. Whether he is pleased or not I can’t say, and before I can ask, the water suddenly pulls me under.
I feel myself tossed back and forth by the current. The cavern is suddenly dark, and I lose all sense of direction, or even up and down as the water drags me further and further.
I wince in pain as I suddenly hit against a hard surface. The water is gone; I feel only cold stone under my fingers as I struggle to my hands and knees. It’s still dark, and I have no idea where I am.
Then a hand touches me on the shoulder, and I hear a concerned voice next to me.
“Are you alright, your highness?”
It’s Ericus, my seneschal. Not the goblin. Where is the goblin?
I see a light, my lantern sitting on the floor just beyond my hand. I’m back in the catacombs once more. The goblin is gone, as is the waterfall, the pool, and the monster.
“Your highness?”
Ericus helps me to my feet. I can’t find the words to answer him, so instead I push past toward the end of the corridor. The staircase is there, leading down and branching off into three tunnels.
The seneschal shakes his head. “Best not to go down there, your highness. That section was never finished. There are strange vapors down there. You can’t smell them, but the workers experienced horrible hallucinations. A few even died from them when it was being dug.”
Hallucinations?
I look down at my chest. There is no wound, no sign that I fought any beast. Nor are my clothes wet, save for a bit of sweat on my shirt. I shake my head, struggling to process what I experienced.
The seneschal places a hand on my shoulder. “Come, your highness. It is almost morning; you must get ready for the coronation.”
I nod, following him toward the entrance of the catacombs. He’s right: I can’t keep my people waiting. I put the strange events of the night behind me. After all, it was nothing more than strange subterranean vapors and my own stress. I smile, regaining my composure as I walk past the bronze doors. There’s a big day ahead of me. When it is over, I will be the Emperor of the Orothkin Empire, ruler of the known world.
The light beckons me from above as I climb the steps toward the surface. I reach up, brushing my fingers over the pendant hanging around my neck. I look down at it, trying to remember where I got it and when. It’s beautiful, I know that much, and slightly warm to the touch.
An oblong stone, sky-blue and smooth as a bird’s egg.
©October 2020 Samuel Kennedy
Samuel Kennedy is an author and blogger who has been telling stories since even before he learned to write. He’s written stories in just about every genre, with an emphasis on adventure and personal struggles. He loves creating flawed heroes, likeable villains, and conflicts that make us question our own assumptions about the world and fiction. Samuel Kennedy can be found online at https://samuelkennedywritesstuff.home.blog/. His work has appeared previously in Swords & Sorcery.