The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag (25 page)

Scar searched the statue visually. He finally found a slight protrusion that could be an activator. Steeling himself, he used a coin from his coin pouch to press the protrusion. Pressing hard, he felt it give and slide in.

The wall slid open.

Warm steam flowed into the room, filling it. Beyond the secret door a flight of steps descended into darkness.

“Shall we?” Scar asked.

“I don’t know,” Potbelly replied. “It doesn’t feel right to go down there.”

“Would you rather go back outside?”

He listened for sounds of the snow beasts but heard nothing. “I think they might be gone.” He turned back to Scar. “Better them than what lies down there.”

Scar gestured to the door. “Open it. If they are gone, we’ll leave. But if they aren’t, we might die.”

Fear of what lay down the steps outweighed the fear of the snow beasts. He crossed to the door.

Scar came with him and drew his swords. “Just in case,” he said.

Potbelly nodded. Slowly and quietly, he pulled the bar back. Then he took hold of the door. “Ready?”

“Anytime.” As Potbelly was about to push the door open, Scar said, “I hope you’re right.”

“Me too.” Then ever so slowly, he pushed the door open a couple inches then stopped. When nothing happened, he opened it further.

Claws appeared as they gripped the edge of the door. It was ripped open and a massive snow beast stood framed in the doorway. Behind it milled several more.

“Close it!” Scar yelled as he darted forward, swords in motion.

Thrusting one toward the beast’s midsection, he scored a deep wound causing it to arch its head back and roar. He followed up with a slice across its middle.

The creature let go the door and Potbelly pulled it inward. Scar darted backward out of the way. The door slammed closed and Potbelly threw the bar.

“Not that way,” Scar said.

Potbelly nodded, then glanced nervously at the opened secret door.
What evils lay down there? What terrors were they about to brave?
Swallowing hard, he followed Scar to the steps and descended into the dark depths.

It was a study in willpower to make it down those steps. Dread ate at their courage and fear sapped their willingness to continue. Yet, they continued on.

The air wafting up from below was warm and humid with a faint sulfurous stench that set their teeth on edge. Twenty-one steps led to a rough-hewn passageway extending farther into the darkness. Potbelly took the lead though he wished to be anywhere else.

“Bad things happened down here,” he said in a hushed whisper.

“Yeah,” replied Scar. “I get that feeling too.”

The passageway didn’t extend more than a hundred feet until ending at a metal door. Warm steam, the source of the damp heat and sulfurous odor, seeped from the crack across the top. Nightmarish depictions of horrific acts of cruelty decorated the door. A handle crafted from a ring of obsidian surrounding the facial part of a human skull hung from the center.

Potbelly paused before touching that thing; he turned back to Scar.

“We don’t even know if there is another way out down here.”

Scar wasn’t thrilled about continuing either. “If we had another way out, I’d say let’s turn about now. But with those beasts out there, our only hope of escape may be beyond that door.”

Or our damnation
, Potbelly silently added.

He eyed the steam and wondered just what horror from the netherworld waited on the other side. Swallowing, he reached for the handle. His sense of dread increased. A calming breath, then two and then he gripped the handle. It was very warm. Pulling, the door wouldn’t budge.

“Try turning it,” Scar suggested.

Turning the handle clockwise, he felt a click and the door popped open half an inch.

“Go on,” Scar urged when Potbelly failed to immediately pull it open.

“I am,” he said, gathering his courage.

In order to pull open the door, the nature of the handle forced him to insert fingers in the face’s eye sockets; doing so made his skin crawl. Then slowly, he pulled the door open.

A burst of warm steam tinged by a red glow belched outward, enveloping them. They darted back; Scar drew a sword. The steam dissipated after a moment but the red glow remained. It came from the room beyond the door.

Potbelly eyed the sword; Scar chuckled and shrugged before slipping it back in its scabbard.

A large pool of steaming water took up most of the floor. A stone walkway encircled it and to the left of the doorway, four steps led into the pool. The water was the color of blood and from deep within its depths, a diffused light shone forth.

Two passages branched off; one to their right, the other to their left. Both were the same rough-hewed texture as the outer one.

Stepping into the room, they made sure to keep close to the wall as the thought of coming into contact with the water made their skin crawl.

“What do you suppose that is?” Potbelly asked.

Scar took a cautious step closer and peered into the depths. Two feet below the surface, in a ring completely encircling the interior of the pool, ran a shelf extending a foot and a half from the edge.

“It looks like…a bathing pool.” He indicated the shelf. “People could sit on that.”

Revulsion hit Potbelly at the mere thought of submerging in that water. “What do you think it would do to you?”

Scar shrugged and shook his head. “I can’t even imagine.” He then turned his attention to the two passageways. “We should check those out.”

“Man, I don’t know,” Potbelly said. “We
should
leave this place.”

“And go where? Out the front door into the gentle embraces of those creatures? Even at our best we could never hope to overcome so many.”

“Might be gone by now.”

Scar shook his head. “We tried that. Now, let’s find our way out of here.” He gestured to the two passages. “Which way?”

“You choose.”

“Very well.”

Moving around the pool, Scar inspected both passageways. He borrowed Potbelly’s torch and held it within each hoping to determine which way to go. The floor of the one on the right was worn greater than the one on the left.

“More traffic through here,” he said. “We should try this way first.”

“Fine, take the lead.”

Scar nodded and stepped into the passage. It continued for thirty feet or so before opening onto a room twenty feet square. Even before they reached it, the feeling of evil increased. It inundated them until they felt unclean and covered in filth.

An alter sat in the center of the room, behind it loomed a statue of T’Lea. Both were stained with the blood of countless victims. It was from those that the evil emanated.

“Dead end,” said Potbelly.

“Yeah,” agreed scar. “We should check the other passage.”

They scurried from there and away from the evil. Back at the pool, they entered the passageway on the left.

This one had doors lining it beginning ten feet from where it began. They were simple wooden doors, unadorned, unlocked and opened with a gentle push. Inside they found the priest’s living quarters.

Each room was barely ten feet by five with a narrow bed frame, a small stool and a very narrow chest at the foot of each bed. There were no mattresses and the chests were empty.

Ten small rooms bordered the passageway until it came to an end at a more elegantly carved door. The carvings depicted acts of cruelty but did not radiate the wickedness that the outer one had. Unlike the other doors along this passageway, this one was locked. A keyhole shaped as a visage frozen in terror seemed to beckon them to try and open it.

“I would guess that this is the high priest’s room?”

Potbelly nodded. “Seems plausible.”

“And if there is another way out,” Scar said, “It most likely lies through there.”

“For a quick escape?”

Scar nodded. “Exactly. When you’re in the business of pain and suffering, it would be advisable to plan for those seeking retribution for your misdeeds. A secondary way out could prove the difference between life and death.”

He shrugged off his pack and set it on the floor. From a pocket within, Scar withdrew two small picks retrieved from a thief who had tried to steal from them some time ago. Unfortunately for the thief, Scar slept very lightly.

Inserting the picks, he worked the interior of the lock, feeling for the tumbler which when disengaged, would allow the door to open. Seconds ticked by…

“You’re never going to get the hang of those picks,” Potbelly said.

“Quiet,” Scar replied. “I’m concentrating.”

Potbelly rolled his eyes.

Over a year now, ever since acquiring the picks, Scar has had the idea that he was some master thief whenever faced with a locked door. Nine times out of ten, the workings of the lock eluded him. The rest of the time, he just got lucky.

Luck must have favored him this time for a click broke the silence. Scar exclaimed, “Aha! Got it.” Giving Potbelly an
I-told-you-so
look, he pulled the door open.

The room beyond was four times the size of those back along the passageway. To the right was a bed large enough for two. A table with two chairs sat to the left and two chests rested at the foot of the bed. Directly across from the doorway, stood another door; it sat skewed, the upper hinge had broken and the top of the door sagged a little into the room.

A cursory inspection of the bed area and the chests failed to reveal anything of value, nor did it produce the elusive way out they hoped would be there.

Scar crossed to the other door, the one that sat askew. Unlike the rest of the place, moving closer to the door felt good, felt right. The evil was not nearly so pervasive in this area. Feeling more confident than he had since entering the chapel, Scar carefully swung the broken door aside. Beyond lay a short hallway, little more than a long closet.

Four shelves lined the far wall. Upon each sat six, silver-laced, obsidian bottles stoppered with a mixture of wax, bone chips and a leathery substance looking very much like skin…
human
skin.

“Those have to be worth something,” Scar said. Stepping forward, Potbelly stopped him.

“We are not taking anything from this place,” he warned.

“But…” Scar began, but then knew his friend was correct. Items in a place such as this often carry more with them than value.

Yet still, there was something about those vials that called to them; a yearning, an indescribable need. Scar stepped closer.

“Be careful,” Potbelly advised. “Don’t want to pick up a curse or something.”

Scar nodded. “I will.”

Moving closer still, it felt as if the bottles called to him. He reached out a hand for the nearest.

“I wouldn’t.”

He paused and glanced back to Potbelly. “It will be okay.”

Potbelly shook his head.

Scar removed the bottle from the shelf. It felt warm to the touch; it felt good to hold it. His hand went to the stopper.

Potbelly came to him and said, “Don’t open it…” but then when he laid his hand on Scar’s arm to stop him, felt the feelings of goodness that Scar had picked up on.

“I have to,” Scar said. Something called to him, compelled him to open it.

Breaking the seal atop the stopper, he pulled it out.

A white mist wafted upward from the bottle. It passed through Scar and in that moment, a lifetime of memories coursed through his mind.

…a young girl at play with her brothers…

…sunshine on the water and the young girl diving in…

…her first kiss…

…birth of a son…

…husband holding two children…

And they went on and on.

Scar felt completely at peace. Though it felt like hours, the visions had lasted seconds. A sense of gratitude that could never be fully expressed filled him, then it was gone. He turned to Potbelly. “I think we just released a captured soul.”

“Yeah,” Potbelly said in a whisper. He reached for another of the bottles, broke the seal, and removed the stopper.

Again the white mist emerged and visions coursed through his mind. This time it was a man, a good man loved by many. As with the first one, the end came with a feeling of gratitude.

One by one they freed the souls of good and loving people. Trapped by the priests of T’Lea for some unknown dark purpose, they had spent decades within those bottles after having been pulled from their bodies. For what purpose the souls had been contained wasn’t known, Scar and Potbelly were just glad to have been able to send them on their way to be with their loved ones that had already gone on to the great unknown.

Once all the bottles had been opened, the feelings of peace and love diminished until only the pain and hopelessness of the temple remained. Scar set the last bottle back on the shelf. As he did, he noticed that one of the stones behind the shelves was a slightly different color than its neighbors.