Chapter 8 #7
Lugh swung the packs containing the ropes, anchors, and the two lashed-together inflatables over his shoulders, handed the smaller third pack containing water and snacks to Bodhrán, then motioned me to take the lead.
I headed through the gate, my gaze on the ruins that dominated the hilltop.
Like most fortified castles of this era, there really wasn’t all that much left of it—just a few walls and what looked like the remains of a keep in the inner ward, and, in the outer, an almost complete hall sans its roof, lots of mounds, and several more well-constructed stone walls.
In the middle of the stone wall that spanned the ditch surrounding the inner ward was a semicircular sluice gate, though it was missing the actual gate.
The little I’d read about this place said it had been designed to allow defenders to flood the ditch with water, thereby providing the inner ward extra protection.
It wasn’t, however, the gate we were after.
That lay on the far side of the castle. I walked around the end of the hall and past the raised wooden walkway that gave easy entry into the inner ward, then half slid down the well-grassed slope into the ditch’s base.
The other ditch wall was also in good condition, and although the gate remained in place here, it had been grassed over and was not likely useable. A steep embankment rose high behind it.
I scanned the stone wall carefully and, after a couple of moments, spotted the vaguely cross-shaped luminous white stone.
I walked over and gave it a twist. For several heartbeats, nothing happened.
Then, with a ponderous groan, a door-sized section of the stone to the right of the cross dropped away, revealing a narrow tunnel into deeper darkness.
I turned on the headlamp and pointed the beam into the entrance.
It wasn’t doing a whole lot to raise the shadows haunting deeper within, but the little I could see suggested that while it appeared very narrow, the tunnel remained in fairly good condition.
Which, as far as these things went, wasn’t always the case.
Mathi stopped beside me then glanced over at Bodhrán. “You want to check if there’s anything dangerous lurking in the tunnel’s depths?”
Bodhrán immediately moved past us and squatted in front of the newly opened entrance. He placed a hand on the ground, his gaze narrowing in concentration; a second later, the faint wisp of energy spun around me. His magic, reading earth and stone.
After a few minutes, he rose and brushed the grit from his fingers. “The tunnel appears to be stable, but it’s unnaturally steep in places.”
“What about the lake?” I asked. “How far down is it?”
“About a kilometer, though I can’t tell you much more than that. There appears to be an odd deadness in the ground surrounding that entire area.”
“Unfortunately, odd dead areas and godly relics do appear to go together,” Lugh said. “Can you take the lead? Beth will follow you in, and hopefully between the two of you, we’ll catch any earthly or magical traps that might await.”
“How long you going to be in there?” Darby asked. She was studying the tunnel’s opening dubiously, though it was practically pristine compared to some of those we’d entered in the past. “Just so I’ve an idea when to call in the cavalry.”
“An hour each way and maybe an hour at the relic site,” Lugh said. “But allow four, just to be safe.”
“What if some curious kids come by and decide to head in?” she asked. “Or hell, some National Trust bods?”
“If the entrance doesn’t close by itself, I’ll create a temp one,” Bodhrán said.
Darby nodded and rubbed her arms, watching as, one by one, we all went in. Lugh was barely through when the door silently closed.
I tugged the lamp over my head and looked around.
The air was damp and slightly musty, and the walls were a flecked, dark gray granite that had streaks of quartz running through it.
In the bright light of the lamps, they almost looked like rivers of moonlight.
Perhaps the altar I’d seen in the vision was made of quartz, although the fact it had been glowing without the caress of light suggested there might be some sort of godly or magical enhancement present.
“Ready to move out when you are,” Lugh said.
I glanced at him. The tunnel was tall enough that he wasn’t having to hunker down awkwardly, but there was little room either side of his shoulders. If the tunnel got any narrower deeper in, he’d be losing skin.
Bodhrán brushed his fingers lightly against the granite, ‘listening’ for any possible problems that he hadn’t noticed earlier.
We all followed in single file and, slowly but surely, the incline increased and the air grew hotter, staler.
Moisture pricked the walls and gathered in small puddles on the floor, increasing the chances of a misstep, especially as the steepness of the slope increased.
We were probably halfway through the tunnel when Bodhrán stopped so abruptly I almost ran into him.
“What?” I immediately said. The knives weren’t reacting in any way, so whatever he’d seen or sensed wasn’t magic based.
“There are ghosts ahead.”
“Ghosts?” I cocked my head and listened intently. After a moment, I caught it—a low-range hum of sorrow and anger.
“Could they be related to the castle?” Mathi asked. “Prisoners who died, perhaps?”
“I don’t think it ever had dungeons,” Lugh said, “although I believe it was used in the eighteenth or nineteenth century as a prison.”
“If the song of these ghosts is anything to go by,” Bodhrán said, “they were sacrifices to the gods and thrown into a crevice.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve come across either in a relic hunt,” Lugh said. “Can you tell how wide the crevice is?”
Bodhrán flattened his hand against the stone. “Ten feet. There appears to be a bridge over it though.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t be trusting that,” Mathi said. “Especially given the journey down this tunnel has been entirely too easy so far.”
I scowled at him. “And you should know better than to put a comment like that out in the ether.”
Amusement lurked around his lips, but he didn’t otherwise reply.
“The bridge is solid as far as I can ascertain,” Bodhrán said. “The problem will be the slope—it becomes close to vertical about twenty feet this side of the crevice and, with the increasing flow of water at our feet, it will be treacherous.”
“Which is why we have the climbing gear,” Lugh said. “Stop again just before that incline, and you can hammer in an anchor so we can abseil down.”
“Will do,” Bodhrán said.
We continued on, though our pace was by necessity slower now, thanks to the narrow but constant flow of water down the center of the tunnel’s floor and the green slime that lined it on either side. I had good grippy boots on, but even so, kept my gaze down and watched where I was placing my feet.
Five minutes later, we stopped again. Lugh swung off his pack, retrieved an anchoring pin, and handed it to Bodhrán.
Once he’d wrapped stone around it, Lugh tied a rope onto the loop at the end, tested the connection by throwing his weight back against it, then tossed the end to Bodhrán.
The dark elf tied himself on, then turned and disappeared over the edge.
It really was steep.
“Okay,” he said, a few seconds later. “I’m on the other side of the crevice and the bridge is safe.”
“What of the ghosts?” I asked.
“Tried to grab me with filmy hands, but they have no power to pull you over the edge. You’ll be fine.”
I knew I’d be fine. It was more the thought of them touching me, sharing their misery and anger in that brief moment of connection, that I didn’t want.
But it wasn’t like I had a choice, given that, no matter what else happened either in the tunnel or the cavern, I was the only one who could actually retrieve the harp.
I tied myself onto the rope and repeated Bodhrán’s movements, turning around and slowly lowering myself over the edge.
The tunnel’s floor wasn’t vertical, but it was close enough to it.
I rappelled down without problem, then crept along the crevice’s narrow edge to the bridge—which was little more than a stone slab three feet wide—and hurried across, keeping my gaze on Bodhrán rather than what lay below.
Ghostly fingers nevertheless rose, grabbing at my feet and calves.
But it wasn’t their sorrow that washed through me; it was their dread.
They weren’t trying to pull us into the crevice; they were trying to warn us.
I reached the other side and sucked in a deeper breath. “The ghosts don’t want us going any further.”
“No, they do not.” His reply was grim. “But go on we will, won’t we?”
“We’ve no choice.”
“According to Cynwrig, it wouldn’t matter if you did.”
I half smiled. “I am not as reckless as he makes out.”
“Reckless is not a word he has used to describe you.”
He helped me undo the rope, and then called out to Mathi to come down. I raised my eyebrows. “And what words has he used?”
Amusement tugged at his features. “When a friend tells you something in confidence, you do not betray it.”
“Well, that’s just annoying.”
“Now that is a word he has used.”
I laughed, a sound that echoed sharply around us. In the distance, something stirred. Something that felt dark and dangerous. I shivered and crossed my arms, watching as Mathi, and then Lugh, came down the rope and ran the gauntlet of those ghostly fingers.
“The slope shallows out from here,” Bodhrán said. “The cavern containing the lake lies about two hundred and fifty meters further on.”
“There’s no more problems?” I asked
“The earth from here to there is solid, but, as I said, I cannot vouch for what awaits once we enter.”
“Given it’s likely that what awaits in the cavern isn’t likely to be friendly, I’d better take the lead from here.”