A Gathering of Wings (31 page)

A thin shaft of sunlight beams down on them from above. As her eyes adjust, she can make out her friends in a grayish light, lying in a tangle in a pile of fine white sand.

But there is no Sky! Cupping her hands to her mouth, Malora calls him, her voice echoing strangely.

Relieved, she hears a dull
clip-clop
as Sky trots into view and shakes the sand out of his mane. He’s been exploring. Malora says with a smile, “Show us the way out of here, big fellow.”

The zebra bleats, heaves herself up out of the sand, and goes to Sky. Sky noses the zebra, making sure she is not hurt.

Sky turns tail and starts walking away from them, Baby tripping at his heels. Malora gets up to follow them and nearly slips and falls on her face. Sky turns around, concern in his eyes.

“I’m all right,” she says. “Watch the footing,” she warns the others. She reaches down and touches the floor. Through
the thin film of grit, it feels slick and slippery. “It’s like glass,” she says.

The others get up slowly and dust the sand off, one by one easing themselves off the sand pile. Honus kneels and examines the floor. “It
is
glass.” He looks around. “This entire place seems to be made of glass. And look there! Signs of habitation.”

Honus points to the torches burning brightly in iron brackets, their orange-blue flames reflecting off the glass walls of what appears to be a vast underground cavern. He turns in a slow circle. “My guess is that all of this was once sand. When the meteor crashed, the heat from the impact was so intense that it turned everything that was sand into glass. Minerals in the sand cause the colorful streaking,”

“It’s beautiful!” Orion says. “Like frozen fire!” He reaches out and runs his hand along the glass wall. “Ouch,” he says. Pulling back, he holds up a finger, wet with blood.

“Let me see to that,” Honus says, reaching for his kit in the pouch around his waist.

“It’s just a small cut,” Orion says.

“Nevertheless,” Honus says, taking charge of the wound, “it wouldn’t do to have a cut fester down here. The rest of you, don’t touch the walls. The surface is irregular and has edges that can cut.”

They wait in wary silence while Honus applies salve and a bandage to Orion’s finger.

“I wonder,” Neal says, “who put the torches down here.”

“And who keeps them burning,” Orion adds.

“Who else?” Malora says. “The wild centaurs. Ixion is up there somewhere.”

“Either that,” Honus says, “or the Beast from Below lights his own lair.”

The thought makes them move closer together. Only Sky and Baby seem impatient to move off. They have both begun to paw at the gritty floor.

Malora says, “We need to find a way out of here before …” She stops short of finishing her thought:
 … before the Beast finds us
.

As if Neal were thinking the same thing, he says, “Let’s take stock of our weapons.”

Neal still has the sword. Orion has the blowgun and four darts. Honus has his Bushman’s Friend. Malora has Jayke’s rope and the knife in her boot.

“And let’s not forget,” Orion says, “that we have a winged stallion that is held by the wild centaurs to be a god.”

Malora, who has just stepped in a trail of the god’s turds, mutters, “Wings won’t do us much good under the ground. I’m thinking that Ixion should be somewhere northeast of here.”

“But where is
here
? What’s more, where is
north
?” Orion says.

“And east?” Neal adds.

“I have no idea, but let’s just get moving,” she says.

“The Ironbound Resolution: keep moving no matter what!” Neal says.

The fact is, she feels trapped and just this side of panicking. But the others expect her to continue to lead the trek, so lead she does. They move through a torchlit corridor as wide as the River Neelah. At times, the corridor widens so that the torches on either side wink in the distance. Now and then,
they come upon a pile of bones, sometimes horse, sometimes centaur, along with other animals, large and small, all more or less intact skeletons.

“This is what would have happened to us if we hadn’t landed in such a deep pile of sand,” Malora says.

“Yes, but what ate the flesh off the bones?” Honus asks.

“Maybe there are rats down here,” Malora says, peering into the shadows.

“Maybe it’s the Beast,” Orion says.

“It could be,” Neal says. “But it seems to me that the Beast would have dragged the bones off to his lair.”

“What if this entire place is his lair?” Orion asks.

Refusing to be spooked, Malora says, “I’m still thinking that scavengers had at these bones. Something small.”

Malora strikes out again, picking up the pace. The air is stale and makes her feel light-headed. What if they wander down here until they starve? Time, when there is no real light to measure, stretches interminably. When the footing isn’t sandy, her impala-skin boots get reasonably good purchase on the glass floors. Every so often, someone tells her to slow down.

“If one of us slips and breaks something, it will bad,” Neal says.

Malora slows down, but eventually she always speeds up again. She wants to see the sun or, if it’s night now, the stars and the moon. She wants to feel the fresh sea air on her face. Behind her, the hooves of her companions move as soundlessly as her own feet, except for when they hit a patch of sand, and then they make a gritty, grating sound that plays on her nerves. Everyone wants to save the water in the two flasks.
Who knows how long they will be trapped? The cavern widens and brightens.

“Interesting!” Honus says.

They have come to a place where torches burn atop tall pillars set in a wide circle. In the center of the circle is a marble plinth with a large statue resting on top of it. The statue is of a giant lion sitting on its haunches. The lion has wings and the head of a woman, painted gold. The eyes are widely spaced and tightly shut, boldly lined with kohl, with the eyelids painted the bright blue of lapis lazuli. She wears a golden headdress studded with gems. Strewn at the foot of the boulder are all manner of bones and skulls.

Malora wants nothing to do with it, but Honus leads them closer. “It appears to be some sort of a sacrificial altar.”

“Whoever made it, it’s exquisitely wrought!” Orion exclaims, staring up at the statue.

“Eerily lifelike,” Neal says without enthusiasm. “Let’s move on.”

“I’m with Neal,” Malora says.

Lingering, Orion says, “Body of a lion, wings of an eagle, face of a human woman,” he goes on thoughtfully, coming around to the front of the statue. He laughs uneasily. “Now
that’s
a hibe you’ll never see wandering the streets of Kahiro.”

“No, you won’t,” says Honus. “But you’ll hear tell of it. I believe this is the Sphinx. The legendary ancient Sphinx of Kahiro. If it is, it is certainly well preserved. And I had thought it was much larger than this, but legends tend to exaggerate.”

Sky snorts in distaste and paws the floor. Malora is just about to reassure Sky that they are as good as gone from this
scene, when she sees the statue’s right eye twitch. “It just moved!” she whispers, her heart slamming against her ribs.

They all pull closer to Sky, who has pinned his ears and flared his nostrils. Baby scrambles to huddle beneath Sky’s belly. They watch the creature on the pedestal shake itself from head to tail, as if casting off raindrops. The voluptuous lips, painted a deep crimson, part, revealing teeth sharpened to fine points. The painted eyes blink slowly and then open wide, swiveling in their sockets until they fix themselves on the visitors.

“You! Travelers!” the creature calls down to them in a hissing growl of a voice. “Remain where you stand!”

Malora reaches a hand into Sky’s mane and takes a firm hold. If he runs, he is taking her with him. Honus’s arm latches onto Malora. Orion and Neal edge closer to Honus. They stand in a small transfixed cluster before the creature hunkered down on the stone slab. She rises up on all fours, her long, tufted lion’s tail switching, her body more than twice as large as any lion Malora has ever encountered in the bush, her wings as vast as Lume’s and pale blue. A single sweep of her paw could easily separate Malora’s head from her shoulders. Our weapons are useless, she thinks.

Malora hears herself speaking in a bold voice that betrays none of her terror: “You’re the Beast from Below, aren’t you?”

“You will call me Abu al Hul, the Terrifying One! And all who pass this way must answer any question I ask,” she bellows.

“Is this a joke?” Neal mutters.

“If it is, it is of cosmic proportions,” Honus mutters back.

“Honus, isn’t she one of them?” Malora whispers. “You
know, one of the monsters you spoke about that results from the hibes inbreeding. Maybe this one survived infancy.”

“An interesting theory, my dear,” Honus says softly. “But I doubt it. The scale is too large. Besides, too much art and imagination went into the making of this creature. Far from being an accident, this creature here is what you might call a masterpiece.”

“A masterpiece of
what
?” Neal asks, skepticism and disgust mingling in his voice.

“Of myth. Of imagination. Of whimsy. Of science. She is a masterpiece of the Scienticians. That would be my best guess,” Honus says.

“I am waiting,” the creature calls out, “for someone to volunteer to answer my question!”

“I’ll try,” Orion says, his hand shooting up.

“Shut up, Silvermane!” Neal snaps, slapping his hand down. “Can’t you tell it’s a trick? We’re not answering any of your questions!” Neal calls up to the creature.

“Oh, you will!” the monster says silkily. “Or at least you will attempt to. The pretty little centaur stallion has volunteered to answer, so let us begin.”

“No!” Honus speaks up. “Let
me
answer the question instead.”

“Too late, goat-boy!” says the Sphinx. Turning to Orion, the creature says, “These are the rules, my delectable centaurean morsel: if you answer my question correctly, you may pass and continue on your journey. But if you answer it incorrectly, and you will, I get to eat you—one by one. I will start with the horse and work my way down, in order of descending size, picking my teeth with the bones of the little striped
one. But first I will play with you. I do love to play with my food. I get so very bored down here, and food must serve as both entertainment and sustenance,” she says, her mouth opening in a wide yawn, then closing with a snap.

Sky spooks and slews to the side, pulling the rest of them along with him.

“Judging from that pile of bones,” Neal whispers to the rest of them, “it looks as if she’s been very sufficiently entertained.”

“Think very carefully before you open your mouth to answer the question,” Honus cautions Orion.

“There may not be much meat on his bones but the little goat-man has a good head on his shoulders,” says Abu al Hul.

“Thank you,” Honus says.

“I shall look forward to picking your brain from the pan of your skull.”

Honus pales as the creature sinks back onto her haunches. Then she folds her tail, crosses her paws, settles her shoulders, and stretches her neck. She clears her throat and stares at Orion: “Ready?”

Orion nods gravely. His eyes are wide. There are beads of sweat on his forehead and the dark stubble of his upper lip.

“Here is your question, then: what creature has the legs of a horse and the wings of a bird?”

Orion shakes his head, his face flooded with relief as he looks around at the others. “But this is too easy. The answer is simple: the horse standing here with us.”

“That is
not
the correct answer!” the Sphinx says, her face flooding with greedy delight.

“Oh, but it is,” Neal says. “Show the Sphinx your wings, Sky.”

Sky dips his head mulishly.

“This horse has no wings,” the Sphinx says with contempt.

Malora stares at Sky in dismay. Never has her horse looked more earthbound. “Please, Sky. Please show the nice lady your wings.”

They all watch Sky, who stretches his hind legs and sends a small waterfall of urine splashing to the floor.

Malora shakes her head. “It’s not a trick he can perform on command.”

“No worries,” Honus says. “I suspect the Sphinx has another, more classical, answer in mind. And it’s an answer that you can supply, Orion.”

“I can?” he asks, wide-eyed.

“Think,” says Honus.

Orion turns away, covering his face with his hands.

“Don’t worry, Silvermane,” Neal tells him. “Do the best you can. If you get it wrong, I’ll just go up there and lop off her head.”

“I’ll help,” Malora says. She doesn’t know about Neal, but for her it is all bravado. It is all she has.

The creature, overhearing Malora, laughs. “I look forward to seeing you try.”

“And she looks forward to it as much as I do,” Neal says.

“BE QUIET!” Honus says, in a much louder and more nettled tone than Malora has ever heard him use. “Let the lad
think
. Our lives depend upon this. You know this, Orrie.”

Almost comically, considering the circumstances, Orion peers out at Honus from between his fingers. “I do?”

“Yes,” says Honus. To the Sphinx, he says, “Am I permitted to offer him a small hint? The first letter, perhaps?”

“Do and I’ll rip your head off and bowl the others over with it like pins,” the Sphinx says with a lick of her crimson lips.

Honus flinches. “I am very sorry to say for all our sakes that you’re on your own, my boy,” he says miserably.

Orion has squeezed his eyes shut now in concentration. The sweat dribbles down the sides of his face and his flanks. “I know this!” he says. “I know this!”

“Of course you do. Remember? You read it in a book,” Honus says to Orion. Then, quickly to the Sphinx: “That was not a hint. That is a fact.”

The creature’s long red forked tongue darts out and she spits. “Oh, a book! What is a book?” she says with a sneer. “Can you eat a book? Can you crush its bones beneath your teeth and grind it to powder? Can you lick its juices from your lips after you have finished devouring it? Your time is nearly up, little centaur. I can practically taste the fresh red horse meat now. I will start with the tenderloin, tearing it away from his spine while his heart is still beating.”