shadowrun 40 The Burning Time (22 page)

"Right," Boom said. "Any idea how long this will take?"

"A while," Talon said.

"That’s helpful," the troll said dryly.

"It’ll take as long as it takes," Talon said. "At least a few hours or maybe as much as all day and all night. I don’t know for sure."

"Well, good luck, chummer."

"Thanks, old friend. I’m gonna need it."

Talon closed the plastic curtains behind him and stood in the center of the circle he’d drawn. He concentrated, and the candles around the outer edge of the circle sprang to life, casting a golden glow over the room. With the windows and door blocked off, they provided the only light.

"Aracos," he sent, and his ally spirit appeared before him in astral form, the silvery-gray wolf seeming to step from the shadows to enter the circle. Talon told his familiar to watch over him while he was traveling on the astral plane and to alert the others if anything went wrong. Then he lay down in the center of the circle, breathing deeply as he let his body relax completely. Soon he was in a deep and comfortable trance. He focused his intention on reaching the metaplanes to discover the truth of his visions. This time, nothing was going to keep him from his goal.

He felt a familiar sense of weightlessness, like he was floating in an endless void of nothingness. Then he saw a pinpoint of light in the distance and moved toward it. The light grew larger and larger, illuminating a dark tunnel down which he traveled, continuing toward the light. As the light grew brighter and closer, Talon could see a figure silhouetted by the brilliant glow, a shadowy shape that blocked the way between him and the light.

The Dweller on the Threshold.

As he approached, the Dweller moved toward him, its features becoming clearer. It appeared as a mirror image of Talon, wearing the same clothes and the same expression on its face.

"Don’t ask the question unless you want the answer," the Dweller said in Talon’s voice, then with a whoosh! the figure was surrounded in flames.

Talon didn’t flinch or fall back this time. He just looked directly at the Dweller’s fiery face.

"I want to know," he said and moved boldly forward. He could feel the heat of the flames, but ignored it. He passed through the burning figure as if it was nothing more than a hologram, an illusion. He could feel the heat, but it did not burn him. He moved toward the light that filled his field of vision, leaving the Dweller behind him. Whiteness was everywhere for a moment, like the blackness when he’d first entered the metaplanes, then the light dimmed.

Talon found himself standing in a corridor of rough-hewn stone. It was about three by three meters and stretched off into the darkness ahead of him. Behind him was a solid stone wall that did not yield to his touch. Flickering torches lined the walls of the corridor at intervals, shedding a faint light and making the shadows on the walls dance and leap.

Talon looked down and saw that he was wearing the same clothes as when he’d begun his journey, including his armored jacket. The front of his shirt was damp and sticky, with a livid red stain across it. He touched it, then brought his fingers to his lips.

It was blood, but not his. He didn’t seem to be injured in any way. He quickly checked for Talonclaw, and reassured himself that it was securely strapped to his hip. His gun, though, was missing from its holster. Talon didn’t miss it much. The mageblade was by far the superior weapon on the astral plane anyway.

He moved down the corridor and came to a T-intersection. The corridor looked the same in both directions, so Talon chose the right. He soon realized that he was inside some kind of maze. The corridors branched off regularly as the path twisted and turned, sometimes doubling back on itself, other times coming to a dead end, forcing him to retrace his steps to the last junction and take another route. The walls all looked the same as he went, and Talon wasn’t certain he could ever find his way back. The maze seemed to go on forever, with no sign of anyone or anything else. He wondered if it was a trap.

Talon had never heard of anyone being able to set up something like this, but who knew what abilities Gallow might possess? The Sixth World held more than its share of mysteries, and that included the limitations of magic and magical beings. These days, with the SURGE producing all kinds of new metagenetic changes because of an apparent spike in the levels of magic, that was truer than ever. He’d never seen a metaplane like this one. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure which metaplane he was on.

How would he ever find his way back without some way of knowing where he’d already been? He remembered the story of Theseus, who marked his path with a thread given to him by Ariadne when he entered the labyrinth to fight the Minotaur. But Talon had no Ariadne and no thread. . .

His hand went to the front of his shirt. He touched the blood-soaked cloth and wiped his fingers against the wall, leaving a livid smear of blood, bright red against the dark stone. He grimaced and continued on, leaving a blood mark every few meters along the way. It helped him get a better feel for where he’d been, and he realized that he’d retraced his steps more than once. That allowed him to choose different paths with at least some clue about finding his way. The blood soaking the front of his shift never seemed to run dry, although Talon felt like he’d been walking for hours.

Finally, he came to a room, the first he’d seen since entering the maze. It was square, roughly ten meters across, with three other doors leading out of it. Was this the center of the maze, or just a part of it? Gods, did this thing go on forever?

He despaired of ever finding what he was seeking, but quickly pushed away the thought that he might never get out of here. More than a few magicians had gotten lost in the metaplanes, their spirits trapped and their bodies withering away without food and water. Some were kept on life support for years, complete vegetables. Had some of them stumbled into a place like this? Was it possible that there were places on the metaplanes from which there was no return?

I can’t just keep wandering forever, Talon thought, but that gave him an idea. He drew a small circle in blood on the stone floor. Stepping into the center, he raised his arms and began to intone in a strong voice, his words echoing strangely through the maze of corridors.

"I seek a guide to help bring me through this maze of confusion," he said. "Hear me, spirits of this place. Send me a guide to show me the way!"

Talon stood silently, straining to hear a reply as his words echoed—"way, way, way, way, way—and slowly died away. The echoes blended into the sound of footsteps coming ever closer, and a figure stepped through one of the doorways. She was human, hardly more than a girl, and dressed like a street kid. Her short hair was a vivid, almost neon purple. She wore a close-fitting Concrete Dreams T-shirt under a short synthdenim jacket, black shorts over torn fishnets, and black combat boots. Metal gleamed from the piercings through her ears, nose, and eyebrows. She looked strangely familiar, though Talon couldn’t quite place where he’d seen her before.

"Hello, Talon," she said. "You look kind of lost."

"I am," he admitted. "I could use a guide."

"That’s what I’m here for," she replied. "We owe you one."

"What do I call you?" Talon asked, politely refraining from asking the girl her name. "And who’s we?"

"You can call me Vi," she said, gesturing for Talon to approach. He took a few steps forward, and she turned toward the same doorway by which she’d entered. Talon caught his breath when he saw the logo emblazoned on the back of her jacket. She turned to look at him over her shoulder.

"You’re. . ." was all he could say.

The patch on the back of Vi’s jacket showed an evil-looking rat wearing a helmet and goggles and riding a motorcycle. It was the insignia of the Asphalt Rats gang.

"Yeah," she said. "One of the ones you killed. You don’t have to ask forgiveness. You already did that. You asked us back in the alley, and we gave it. We don’t hold a grudge. Being here changes the way you look at things. Like I said, we owe you one."

"I. . .thank you," Talon finished lamely, not knowing what else to say.

"Null sheen," Vi said. "You may not thank me when this is all over."

Then she continued down the tunnel, and Talon picked up his pace to keep from losing her. Although she was shorter than Talon by at least a head, Vi moved rapidly. But then she could probably move as fast as she wanted to, Talon thought. The denizens of this place were not limited by the laws of the physical world.

He wondered briefly if he should continue to mark his path, just in case Vi wasn’t what she seemed. When he touched the front of his shirt, the blood was starting to dry. He almost said something to Vi, then changed his mind.

Vi led him through a maze of passages, so many that Talon was certain he’d be hopelessly lost if he tried to get back on his own. The light became dimmer as they went, the shadows heavier. In fact, the shadows were possessed of movement that had no relation to the light, as if they were alive. Then he saw another faint light ahead.

Vi slowed her pace and help up a hand for him to stop. "Here we are," she whispered.

"Where’s here?" Talon asked, and Vi pointed toward the end of the tunnel.

It opened out onto a sheer drop that plunged down as far as the eye could see, though a dull red glow came from somewhere below. It was a giant shaft cut from solid rock, at least thirty or forty meters wide, by Talon’s guess. Other tunnels led into it, some of them spouting a dirty-colored liquid, which fell away into the mist below. Hanging in the shaft were dozens of small metal cages, each suspended by a heavy chain that stretched upward into darkness, each at a slightly different level than the others and containing a huddled figure. Around the cages flew creatures resembling gargoyles, demonic figures carved from the same stone as the walls, with curling horns, batlike wings, and hands and feet tipped with sharp claws. Some alighted on the tops of the cages or clung to the chains, while others lofted about, completely silent except for the beating of their wings against the hot, misty air.

"Welcome to hell," said Vi.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Talon looked out onto the strange vista to which Vi had led him.

"That’s what you came for," she said, pointing to one of the cages near the middle of the shaft, about five or six meters above them.

Talon looked up at it.

"My gods, Jase!" he whispered. He turned to Vi. "How. . .?"

"You’re asking me? You’re the mage. You came to find him, and there he is. Now all you have to do is get to him. Wish I could help, but there’s nothing more I can do."

"You’ve done more than enough," Talon said. "It’s up to me from here." Too bad I can’t fly, he thought, looking down into the pit. He even tried putting all his will into getting himself aloft. Nothing happened. He tried a levitation spell, but that too failed. It looked like he was going to have to do this the hard way.

He drew Talonclaw and held the blade in his teeth. Then he touched the crystal claw pendant around his neck, whispering a silent prayer to whatever gods there were as he leapt out into space. He grabbed the chain of the closest hanging cage and started to climb up, which immediately drew the attention of the gargoyles circling overhead. One of them banked toward Talon as he climbed onto the top of the next-nearest cage. Some of the occupants of the cages cried out and rushed to the bars when they saw him, while others paid no heed, remaining huddled on the floor or against the bars.

As the gargoyle came shrieking in, Talon leapt for the flat top of another cage, landing with a thud and grabbing at the chain so he wouldn’t roll off. The thwarted gargoyle shrieked in anger and banked around for another pass as Talon started climbing, hand over hand, up the chain. As the creature swooped in, Talon extended one hand and focused on a manabolt spell, but once more, nothing happened. Damn! His magical abilities were obviously limited on this particular metaplane.

The gargoyle slashed at Talon as it flew past, leaving three lines of blood along his arm and shoulder. Hanging on to the chain with one hand, Talon grabbed his dagger with the other, waiting as the gargoyle swooped in again. He glanced toward the other gargoyles circling above and below him. Why weren’t they attacking, too? Then the creature swooped at him with a shriek. At the last moment, Talon thrust upward, his mageblade sinking deep into the stony flesh. When he pulled the blade out with a jerk, the gargoyle spun out of control and plunged into the pit below. With a grimace, Talon put the blade between his teeth again and resumed climbing.

When he was high enough, he jumped to the next cage. He grabbed at the chain, but missed, losing his balance and tumbling over the edge. He scrambled to grab the upper part of the cage, then held on for dear life as the pit yawned below him. The motion set the cage to swaying slightly as Talon struggled to climb back up.

Suddenly, he felt hands reaching for him from one side of the cage. He looked up and saw a withered old visage with filthy white hair, but it was impossible to make out whether the figure was male or female. It wore rags and reached for Talon with long, bony fingers.

"Please," it croaked, "help me!"

Fighting down a wave of revulsion, Talon kicked away from the cage and pulled himself up onto the top of it, ignoring the cries and pleas for help. He dropped flat as another gargoyle swooped in, missing him by mere centimeters. Taking hold of the chain with one hand, he pulled himself to standing. He held Talonclaw in his other hand, waiting for the gargoyle to move in again. When it did, he ducked down and slashed up, slicing into its leathery wing. It spiraled out of control and plunged into the pit. Talon again began climbing up the chain.

Jase’s cage was the next one over. Talon could see him slumped inside. Jase didn’t seem aware of Talon or anything else going on around him. When Talon had climbed high enough, he began to swing the chain, building up enough momentum to carry him the remaining distance. Then he leapt out into the air.

Something slammed into him forcefully in mid-leap. One of the other gargoyles, observing the fate of its fellows, had bided its time, waiting to strike when Talon was the most vulnerable. Spinning out of control, Talon threw one arm around the neck of the gargoyle and held on with all his strength. The creature tried to shake him off, but Talon’s weight was unbalancing it.