The Tunnels of Woe

Book 1: A Bounty Like No Other

Chapter 3 Part 1: City of Light's Machinations

The night was thick with clouds and fog blocking any sign of the stars which frustrated Uncle Curroz’s attempts to orient their enchanted navigation charts. After that last burn they had only two forced jumps in their fuel reserves. A blind jump would be foolhardy. A move only done by amateurs, fools, and those beset by horrors beyond imagination. Tirro hoped they were only the latter. For a fool could be beset by horrors as much as the wise elder who presumably handled the encounter with more finesse than the other.

So with no choice, but to wait out the heavy blankets of dark misty clouds of overcast skies and rolling fog they passed on into the mist. Soon their skiff was an island surrounded by gray nothingness. The kind of fog which men pondered their existence in, and began to wonder if all they had known was this cloud and thoughts of family, sun, and trees was just a blessed dream in the endless nothing. Or in Tirro’s case tunnels with horrid wills, demons of all varieties, and a unfathomable horror being just nightmare in the fitful world of clouds. Whether by luck or misfortune, reality, no matter how flexible in passages of dark gods, was still reality, and presently a shore appeared in the small lake the wayward travelers found themselves passing over.

Hanging glowing blue trees with pulsing scarlet flowers hung over the muddy banks. Their vine-like branches and the hedges at their trunks were manicured into perfection showing they were on no wilderness lake. Tirro spied his Uncle at the helm, and saw the ever so slight crease of concern on his haggard face. Was mere mortals much compared to the horrors of tunnels?

No. But even a Veni man could be vanquished by savage’s rock if unprepared. A wilderness with little predators would’ve been preferable to trespassing in a garden full of the unknown. They could be in the palace of a warlord or the garden of peaceful monks for all they could glean. The varied possibilities were coursing through Tirro’s mind when the answer to the riddles came out of the clouds like a blacksmith hammer to his crown.

Lights glowing bright shown off the roofs of towers. They were pulsating and bright with brutal metal beams and thousands of black windows. Lights and signs glowing in words and scripts Tirro had never seen stretched into the heavens piercing the mist and clouds. Carriages with no magical device of Tirro’s knowledge or visible beast pulling them soared through the air at unfathomable speeds. The crafts raced along highways marked by floating lights and fuzzing changing images of arrows and more indecipherable words that stretched around the buildings and out of sight.

The contrast between the garden was stark, and spoke of wealth. Wealth which would doubtlessly have house guards of some variety on the premises. A thought that had scarcely managed to take route in the deckhand’s mind when shouts erupted to a chorus of blasts and burning lights off the port side of the skiff.

Tirro braced for the impact of projectiles or magical attacks strange and unencountered, but none came on the vessel. Burning beams of multicolored light cut through the trees in wide arcs. These were aimed low or high, and none seemed to be aimed at their gliding vessel. The explosions and shouts were growing closer which was not comforting. Tirro only had time to lock eyes with his Uncle before out from the treeline blocking their view ran a small crowd of alien looking men.

Metal seemed to be grafted to their snake, other’s arms or legs were metal machine mockeries of their God given flesh. Of these what only could be weapons churned up from unseen gears in their metallic limbs and shoulders. Out from these turrets of strange make blinding lights and blasts of vibrating energy vomited forth scourging the garden wherever the fire struck.

Most ignored Tirro and his Uncle in his skiff, but at least one purple glowing eyed man machine stared after them with confusion on his odd features. They must stand out if all men were machine monsters such as these. Soon it became clear as to why the rest of the automaton men hybrids were so distracted.

They were being chased by others sharply dressed and matching to each other with dark lenses over their eyes and darker long coats. These newcomers used similar weaponry only; they appeared to be small crossbows with no bows not pieces of their bodies. Much like the blunderbusses of those with less discretion, but far these machine men’s weapons were more accurate and powerful.

These strange metal human monsters battled for purposes beyond the pair of Veni men, but unfortunately their carnage carried the struggle over a red arched bridge right as the skiff passed under the structure. A blast from the black clade well dressed aggressors sent the legless torso of a wild disheveled man automaton hybrid onto the deck of their ship. Wonder of wonders the fiend looked with wild eyes laced with machinery, and began pointing a small bowless crossbow blunderbuss at Uncle Curroz heedless of its own pain of predicament.

Strange this apostasy of flesh and metal might be, but he really was far less intimidating than the ghostly demonic denizens of the tunnels. Tirro pounced with his long dagger and took the man’s sparking splattering head while holding the automaton man’s weapon out over the side of the ship. There the fiend’s spasming only managed to send hot vibration into the water churning and shattering odd horse faced fish into bloody pulps.

With the removal of the head completed, a surprised Tirro found that the torso kept flopping and fighting like an undead whose being must be crushed or its curse broken by holy weapons. The head as well leered for far longer than any normal head should sneer with no connection to its brethren. Perhaps these monsters were undead of an automation variety. A strange notion.

Regardless the splurting liquid from its veins was oily like an automaton though there was blood as well. Neither substance would mix, and thus separated on the deck adding more stains as if the eye of puss’ demise had not sullied their vessel enough. This was becoming a task far outside the realm of one deckhand’s ability to cleanse.

Tirro dropped the head over the side of the skiff hearing what sounded like curses in their sing-songy language that sounded harsh on their mechanical tongues. Then quick as a flash he broke the fingers that held the weapon, and with much heaving due to the metallic weight managed to drop the undead man machine into the pond beneath them.

Tirro was surprised to hear laughter, and looked back at Uncle Curroz as he sped their ship from the nameless battle. They could not get far. Tirro had realized this garden was on the crown of one of the massive towers around them. A feat that would be impressive if it didn’t turn this place into a prison.

Picking up the dropped weapon of the metal undead Tirro inspected the device closely before stuffing the contraption in his belt. There was a hole in the rear where you inserted your hand, and a handle farther in with a trigger mechanism and a series of buttons which doubtlessly controlled the device. Its design insured no errant piece of clothing caught on the trigger mechanism.

Convenient for a man who knew nothing about the machination, and desired to not melt his own fingers while handling the beast. The metal was a mix of steel, and processed materials beyond Tirro’s understanding. The front had an open maw with teeth and eyes fashioned into the contraption which formed a look much like an enraged piranha or such equivalent toothy fish. Out from that maw were where the blasts of sound and energy came. Who knew how many bolts or shots it still retained, but the weapon was a pretty prize nonetheless.

“Looting is for the battle’s sunset nephew!” Uncle chided from the helm.

“Not when tis not your battle to win Uncle. Besides he forgot to pay the ferryman so this must suffice over a coin,” Tirro smiled as Uncle Curroz laughed all the more. His merriment would unfortunately be cut short.

The Story Will Continue Every Wednesday.

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