Mists of the Miskatonic (Mist of the Miskatonic Book 1) (7 page)

“No,” Lucius said vehemently. “Our brothers could be captured or lost within the ruins. We will descend and bring them back alive.”

              “They are lost and dead!” Hortensius shouted. “We are next!”

              “Calm yourself, Legionnaire,” Augustinus commanded. “We are Roman soldiers.”

              Lucius turned to Hortensius. “Torches and ropes are needed for descent. Find our brothers. We will enter through this passage. Unsling your shields, prepare plumbatae and calm yourself to do as trained. Whatever ambushed our people will now meet our shield wall head on and feel the bite of our blades.”

              “Message received, Lucius,” Hortensius said. He turned reluctantly and headed back up the small steps.

              “Augustinus, your skills are needed elsewhere before we descend into this Hades,” Lucius said emotionlessly. “Someone needs return to Memphis, to get message to Prefect Gaius Cornelius Gallus about what has been encountered here, and to bring reinforcements. You need to go back towards the Nile.”

              “I will not abandon my fellow legionnaires in the face of combat with the unknown,” Augustinus said angrily. “We stand or fall together, as one.”

              “Augustinus,” Lucius said firmly. He placed his hand on his fellow’s shoulder. “Whatever occurs here, one more sword arm will not sway the scales. But other legionnaires who may come here in the future can be warned, be prepared for these events.”

              Augustinus looked into the passageway. “Please Lucius, don’t make me choose…”

              “Brother,” Lucius interrupted. “All was risked at Actium. Do not make our sweat and blood shed for naught. Warn others, and then return marching at the head of a Legion if the Prefect truly wants this place pillaged and ancient riddles deciphered. If all fall, hard-won knowledge will also fall with us. Carry the story to ears willing to listen.”

The Augustinus continued to stare into the darkness. “Message received, old friend. I fear protesting will only prolong this argument, making rescue of our fellows more difficult.” Then the Posterior held out his hand. “May the gods bless the epic task ahead.”

“No more epic than your journey back across the scorching sands alone, but it must be made. Now go, before my mind changes.” Lucius smiled bravely and shook his comrade’s hand, then pulled a ring from his finger. “If you return to Rome, please give this to my mother. Now go.”

Augustinus took the ring then turned and moved back up the strange steps. He lingered on the top of the ruins for a minute as the other soldiers assembled outside of the entrance in the wall. Lucius looked up one more time and nodded to his old friend as the legionnaires fitted themselves for descent into the structure. Augustinus shouted down into the courtyard. “Give it to your mother yourself after we are reunited near the cool waters of the Nile. Farewell, my brothers!”

Lucius looked into the blackness. He thought for a few minutes, and his eyes adjusted to the dark.

“Was the slave, Anok Sabé still alive?” Lucius whispered, then glanced back to the top of the ruin. His heart sank when Augustinus turned away and disappeared from sight down the other side of the smooth stone.

“Nowhere to be found, that one,” Hortensius said. “It is possible death claimed him during the night.”

“Mayhap,” Lucius said quietly.

The soldiers wrapped rope into coils, lit torches, and hefted pilums.

“What plan of attack do you present, Lucius?” a Legionnaire named Laelius Petronius asked.

“Quarters appear tight, so stay together. We will form shield walls to the front and back and present spears. An attacker will have to move close to assault and we will drop pikes and draw blades. Our wall is only as strong as the soldier beside, so stay calm.” Lucius breathed deep. “Primus is counting on our skill, so let us prove our worth. If the entrance is an indication, two abreast is the formation. I will lead.”

Laelius passed lit torches to four of the legionnaires and Lucius moved cautiously into the entrance. The ceiling was low and smooth, so he crouched down behind his scutum and thrust his pilum forward. His galea brushed against the stone above him, so he knelt down on one knee at a time as he moved. Several shuffled steps into the corridor: he saw another body riddled with metal blades. Titius Junius lay in a pool of blood. A dank breeze carried the smell of death from somewhere below. The eight passed the corpse. The dead man’s eyes were open and stared at the ceiling. His face was contorted and smeared with blood that had run from his mouth and nose.

“The look of terror is molded upon his features,” Hortensius said. “A death mask of fear.”

“It is doubtful that, no matter how well prepared, not many will eagerly embrace their end of days,” Lucius whispered. “Move forward.”

The eight shuffled down the low corridor. The torches flickered and cast uneven light and shadows. The shaft turned sharply left and the group entered the tight quarters. In the glimmer of the flames, dark, coagulated splatters were revealed hidden in shadows. They vanished into the blackness when glints of fire could no longer reveal signs of death.

Lucius and Laelius were in the front rank, pilums raised. They peered over their scutums into the smooth tunnel where only blood was visible on the stone. “This construction appears to be Egyptian, but their picture-writing is not visible. It is not like them not to cover a stone wall with their symbols and paintings,” Hortensius said.

“This may be some precursor to the Egyptians: or some lost tribe remembered only by Minerva,” Lucius said. “Now, still your tongues so we can hear in case our fellows are somewhere below and call out.”

The eight moved forward to a large, square egress in the stone. Lucius peered over the edge, and the torches revealed a steep stairwell of tiny steps that descended. He pulled a plumbatae from the back of his scutum and dropped the dart down the shaft. The eight listened and waited for the metal missile to hit stone. It took several seconds for a loud clatter to indicate the contact of bronze against stone so far below. “Only one way to travel and I will lead,” Lucius whispered. Single file, the eight legionnaires began to descend cautiously. As they moved, the smooth wall was dotted with small groups of tiny stones, arranged low in small groups and patterns.

“Writing,” Laelius whispered. “These stones are some type of writing, beyond my comprehension. Some message inscribed onto these walls.”

“No doubt something I have never encountered,” Lucius whispered as he descended the stairs slowly. “What kind of man would creep on bended knee through these tunnels?”

“Not a man,” Hortensius said. “Some
thing
lurks in these tombs. I can feel it in my very bones.”

Somewhere below, the far distant sound of wind echoed unnaturally in the confined tunnel and up the stairwell. “Whatever we find, it will be below. Let us descend and put blade to the throat of anything that lurks in these catacombs,” Lucius said.

The eight continued to descend the misshaped stairs into the bowels of the earth. Several of the soldiers slipped and stumbled on the smooth stone. They leaned on their comrades who were packed into the shaft.

Silence was impossible in the cramped well. The shafts of the pilums clanged against walls. When soldiers tried to avoid the walls, they bumped into each other. Lucius stopped, then turned in the tight quarters to the other Romans. “Mayhap we could attempt to quiet our approach. The banging of swords and spears will most likely alert whatever roams these depths to our assault.”

“Movement on these child-stairs is nary impossible,” Hortensius whispered. His voice was barely audible over the echoes of the winds. “It is hard to find footing in the lingering darkness.”

“Steps will not go on forever,” Lucius responded.

“Unless they lead to hell!” Laelius exclaimed.

Lucius ignored his comrade and continued down the stairs. The air was stale, an oddly metallic scent that left a strange taste in his mouth. As the eight moved deeper, occasional stains of fresh blood were apparent on the sandstone. Suddenly, the stairs ended against a smooth wall. Several bloody handprints were pressed against the stone: further evidence that legionnaires had travelled down the flight after the conflict above. As Lucius leaned against the wall with his ear against the rock, he could hear the thrums of the wind behind.

“This is some type of door: in place to confound egress. Find a lever, or rope that will unlock said barrier,” Lucius ordered. The legionnaires pushed against the stairs and walls to discover the mechanism that opened the stone. It took several minutes in the confined well for one of the soldiers’ fingers to find one of the tiny stones protuberances that moved. The rock resisted, but then clicked. The sandstone wall slowly lowered itself to reveal a hallway. The eight listened as stone ground against stone. Hidden machinery moved the slab into the floor to provide entrance to the hallway. The torches could not deliver enough light to penetrate the length of the corridor.

“The wind is louder now, from down this passage,” Laelius said. The corridor was low and the eight continued to shuffle slowly forward. They kneeled, shields presented forward with pilums extended. Several steps off of the stairwell they moved down the hall. The stone was smooth except for strange lines and those groups of tiny stones. Smears of blood indicated something had been drug across the stone floor.

“We are deep below the desert now, maybe moving north,” Lucius said, barely heard over the distant winds. “Odd that the sound of yonder tempest is so powerful, yet barely stirs the air in this tunnel.”

Behind the group, something grated: the sound of stone against metal. The eight stopped, and a hole appeared in the floor. The soldier beside Lucius stumbled as he fell into the pit. Behind him, another Roman grabbed him, but the weight pulled them both down. The two screamed as they fell, the light from the torch of one of the two carried illuminated their fall.

Lucius watched as the light flickered then waned and extinguished as the bodies hit a distant floor. “Damn this labyrinth,” he said grimly, then turned to face the long hall. “At least they met their end quickly.”

The six now forged ahead down the long corridor. “Lucius,” Hortensius whispered. “Just beyond our torches’ light. Something moves.”

Lucius peered into the darkness. “Nothing stirs that I can detect.” Something whistled: a keen cut through the roar of the wind. The glint of metal caught his eye. He flinched and pushed his scutum up quickly. Something clanged against his shield. The legionnaire behind him staggered and he turned to see one of those shanks impaled in his comrade’s eye socket. For a few seconds he stood, good eye transfixed on the distant dark before he fell to the stone.

The Roman twitched in his death throes. Blood pooled below his head as he squirmed. Lucius grabbed the torch the dead man had dropped and stayed concealed behind his scutum. Several more blades clattered against his shield and tumbled onto the stone floor. Several of the legionnaires blindly hurled plumbatae into the darkness. “We must withdraw from this tomb. Three dead already with no victory in sight,” Laelius said.

Lucius continued to peer over the edge of his shield. “We will do no such thing.” He advanced and the others took several quick steps to catch up to him as he moved. Down the confined hall they advanced, the darts that had been hurled scattered across the stone. One of the other soldiers picked one up and held it close to the torch.

“It is dry,” Lucius said as he inspected the weapon. “No blood shed. Whatever attacked is a wily foe.”

The five continued to move cautiously until the light revealed massive stone columns that bordered a door fixed with a bronze ring. The blood smears went underneath the door. One of the soldiers reached out with shaky hand and pulled on the loop. The thick door swung towards the Romans, perfectly balanced on hidden hinges. In front of them, a massive chamber became apparent: the roof far out of reach of torchlight. The sound of the distant wind now seethed louder. Angrier. Like the very maelstrom was responding to the legionnaire’s intrusion into the catacombs.

They moved together with their shields up. Lucius felt relieved as he stood upright, his knees tight from the crawl through the tiny corridors and stairs. What they saw before the darkness swallowed the light was two rows of thick, carved columns that vanished upwards into the black. The smears of blood on the floor spread out like spider webs. The crimson trails led to where their comrades had disappeared. The walls were decorated with frescoes, brightly colored like the work of the Egyptians on their temples.

Lucius focused ahead again and began to advance. Several steps into the chamber, his relief became horror at the sight before him. A squat stone slab, a low altar with the mutilated body of one of his countrymen between two of sandstone pillars. Gold chains held the corpse in place, the restraints anchored to large metal loops in the slab. Blood was splattered around the stone: the dead legionnaire had struggled while he died. Two of the soldiers gasped. Several cursed.

Lucius advanced with his pilum raised, and stood over the dead man. Long, thin rods of silver metal had pierced the corpse’s chest and neck. He noticed that blood had run into two small grooves carved on either side of the slab, then spilled down and disappeared into a tiny hole in the floor. “What in Jupiter’s name?” he said angrily.

One of the other soldiers pointed past the bloody slab. A row of blocks, identical in size and shape, splattered in crimson. Each held a legionnaire who was impaled with those long pins.