CHAPTER
FIVE
Marty’s breath hung in the frigid air, visible wisps vanishing into the surrounding cold as his gaze fixed on the colossal ice cliffs ahead. They loomed like ancient sentinels, guarding the mysteries of a long-forgotten Arctic realm. The wind howled—a haunting symphony whispering secrets that he couldn’t discern. As he trudged closer, the ground beneath his feet crunching with each heavy step, his eyes caught a peculiar sight: a tunnel, perfectly arched, piercing through the ice as if carved by the hands of giants.
The tunnel emitted an eerie glow, a light that defied the natural order of the polar night. It wasn’t the luminescent blue typically scattered by glacial ice; this was different—otherworldly, phosphorescent, casting an uncanny radiance that beckoned him closer. Compelled by a mix of dread and wonder, Marty approached, each step drawn by the tunnel’s hypnotic allure.
As he neared the tunnel’s mouth, a sudden movement snagged the corner of his vision. He turned sharply. Penguins—a group of them, huddled together yet curiously undisturbed by his presence. Their black-and-white forms shuffled in the snow, but as he watched, they seemed to be not merely animals. They moved with a purpose; a deliberate intelligence uncharacteristic of the simple creatures he knew.
One of the penguins turned its head, its eyes catching the glow from the tunnel, reflecting it back at Marty as if it were a mirror. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold ran down his spine. Were these guardians of the tunnel? Or were they, too, drawn to the strange light within?
Suddenly, the ground beneath him trembled, a low rumble that escalated into a cacophony of cracking and shifting ice. The cliffs trembled, snow cascading down their ancient faces like the tears of giants. Marty’s heart pounded, the surreal glow from the tunnel intensifying, now pulsing in rhythm with his own quickening heartbeat.
And then, without warning, he woke.
His body jolted upright in a bed made from leather-covered bundles of grass, the remnants of the cold Arctic wind biting at his skin fading as did the vision.
Had it been a dream? It felt too vivid, too real. Marty’s eyes darted around the room, half expecting to see the glow, the penguins, or the ice. But there was only darkness, the silence of night.
“What’s wrong?” Lowanna’s voice reached for him across the darkness.
Marty blinked and was barely able to make out the shadowy silhouette of her form lying about five feet from him.
François’s light snore came from deeper in the darkness and Marty remembered how the team had been accommodated in a guest room of the palace. Queen Halpa had been trying to get Surjan to take the king’s bedroom while François was to take the first watch and Gunther the second. Kareem was also somewhere in the room, but Marty couldn’t sense him or his breathing. Somehow, everything about the teen seemed harder to discern than it had been—as if he was fading, becoming a living shadow.
“Marty, what’s the matter?” Lowanna asked, her silhouette shifting slightly as she faced him, propping herself up on an elbow.
“Nothing,” Marty said. “I had a dream, that’s all.”
“A dream or a vision?”
He sighed. “I’m not sure.” He’d had visions like this before, and the last time it had happened, they’d traveled across a continent to end up nearly getting killed by unimaginable beasts. “I saw a glacier with . . .”
“With what?”
Marty frowned. It all seemed so preposterous, the idea of taking cues from a dream. “Penguins. I saw a tunnel with a glowing light and if you can believe it, penguins.”
“Interesting.” Lowanna spoke in a whisper. “That’s a pretty strong indicator of the Antarctic.”
“You’d know better than I would.” Marty shrugged. “They’re only in the southern hemisphere?”
“Yes.” François’s voice echoed through the darkness as Marty heard him shift position. “Sounds like we need to find our way to the south.”
“I don’t know, François.” Marty shook his head. “You seem to have a lot of ready faith in my dream.”
“It worked last time. Was this a dream, or was it a vision like last time?”
Marty pressed his lips together and shivered as he recalled the feeling of the brisk Antarctic wind blowing through his hair. “The dream felt as real as the vision I experienced when we first arrived in ancient North Africa.”
“Well, there you go.” Lowanna spoke with a confident tone. “This was a premonition of something to come.”
“I wish I could feel as confident as you guys seem to be. Penguins and glaciers are a strange destination. I’m full of misgivings over a lot of this,” Marty confessed.
“You saw that iceberg careen off the coast; it makes some level of sense,” François said, his voice tinged with wonder. “And given what we know about our location, I’d wager the only reason there’d be ice this far south is because we’re in the deep past. Sometime during the last ice age would be my guess.”
“We will see penguins?” Kareem’s sleepy voice broadcast from the far corner of the dark room. “I never thought I’d see a penguin.”
“Aye, boy.” François shifted in the darkness.
The room brightened slightly as Gunther opened the hide-covered door and peered in the room. “Why are you guys awake? It’s still three hours until dawn.”
Marty suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him and let out a yawn. “We can talk more in the morning. Let’s get some shut-eye.”
He closed his eyes and rested his head on his outstretched arm. It took almost no time for sleep to claim him.
With Queen Halpa leading, Surjan cautiously entered a lavish chamber. The walls were adorned with woven tapestries that told tales of ancient battles and strange creatures. The air was heavy with the scent of exotic spices coming up from a pile of glowing embers at the center of the chamber; the dim lighting cast seductive shadows across the room. Halpa herself was a vision, draped in a flowing gown that highlighted her graceful contours. Her eyes, dark and inviting, fixed on Surjan as she approached him with a slow, deliberate pace.
“Surjan,” she purred, her voice a melodic whisper that seemed to pull at his very soul, “you look weary. Let me ease your burdens.” She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against his chest.
With his heart racing, Surjan felt a strong urge to run, as if facing an insurmountable opponent. Everything seemed to slow down as the woman smiled up at him, a knowing look that said much and left his senses reeling. Was there something in the smoke that was affecting him?
As she drew closer, Halpa’s hands slipped the straps of her gown off her shoulders, letting the fabric fall, exposing her smooth, bare skin. “Your hands look strong, can you help me relax?” she suggested, turning her back to him. Her long hair cascaded down her back, and she swept it aside, revealing the nape of her neck. There, to Surjan’s astonishment, was a small, dark mark that looked eerily like a spider.
Surjan’s heart skipped a beat. The dying words of the previous king echoed in his mind: “Beware the spider’s bite.” His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the mark. Was it a birthmark, or a tattoo? A sign, perhaps, of danger much closer than he had anticipated?
Snapping back to the present, Surjan cleared his throat and stepped away, his mind racing.
“Halpa,” he started, trying to keep his voice steady. “The Well of the Beast—can you tell me more about it?”
Halpa’s smile didn’t waver as she turned to face him, but her eyes gleamed with a sharper light. “Curious about our history and legends, are you?” She moved closer, her hands finding their way to his shoulders. “The well is old, older than any living memory. It is said to be a gateway.”
Surjan sensed her trying to lead him deeper into the room. The smoke permeated the chamber and it was hard for him to think. “A gateway to what?” he asked, trying to steer her toward the room’s entrance rather than the bed that loomed ominous and inviting in the corner of the room.
“The tunnels, Surjan,” Halpa whispered as she leaned in, her lips nearly touching his ear. “They stretch far and wide beneath our lands, from one sacred well to another, like the one in the Sacred Grove.”
Surjan’s mind raced. “And the creatures that dwell within these tunnels . . . ?”
Halpa stepped back, her hands slowly untying the sash around her waist. “Ah, the monsters. You will see them soon enough.” Her tone was both tantalizing and terrifying. “But tonight, why don’t we—”
Surjan interjected, gripping her hands gently. “Why would you build a structure over one of these wells? Do such beasts travel through these wells? What do they seek?”
For a moment, Halpa’s façade faltered, her gaze turning distant, as if she peered into memories best forgotten. “Power, Surjan. They hunger for what lies above, what thrives under the sun. Our ancestors built this palace over the well to guard it, to keep the darkness contained. We are to guard against them ever coming into the light again.”
“But has it worked?” Surjan pressed, noting the slight tremor in her voice.
Halpa released her grip, moving toward the bed. “Sometimes the darkness finds a way,” she said, her back to him now. “Sometimes it seeps through.”
Surjan watched her, a plan forming in his mind. He needed to see this well, understand its secrets. Halpa might be trying to seduce him, but within her seduction lay clues, a way to unravel the truth about the darkness lurking beneath.
“Show me the well,” Surjan said firmly.
Halpa turned, her expression one of surprise and then, slowly, intrigue. “Very well, Surjan. Come, see the depths of our past. But beware, for some truths are as seductive and dangerous as the night itself.”
As they left the chamber, Surjan couldn’t shake the feeling that he was stepping into something that was far more complex and sinister than they’d anticipated. Tonight, he would confront the ancient darkness of the Well of the Beast, and whatever truths it held, he was determined to face them head-on.
Marty joined the others at breakfast in a long hall.
François grabbed one of the star apples from a large basket of fruit and offered it to him. “Get some carbs into you. I suspect today will be full of unforeseen events.”
Gunther handed him a wooden bowl of something steaming as Marty sat cross-legged in the semicircle that the team had formed. “The wild rice is actually quite good. I think they’ve mixed in some sort of soured wine and honey in it, because it has a strong sweet-and-sour tang to it that reminds me of sauerbraten.”
Using two of his fingers like a scoop, Marty shoveled the rice in his mouth and began chewing as he panned his gaze across the gathering. “Where are Surjan and Lowanna?” he asked with his mouth half full of tangy wild grains.
“Our taciturn member of security has his hands full with that queen of his.” François chuckled. “She’s dragged Surjan somewhere to help him understand what being king would entail. As to Lowanna, she just grabbed a piece of fruit and left, not looking like she was particularly interested in conversation.”
Marty frowned. “I needed to talk to her about something.” He began wolfing down the bowl of grains and, just as he was about done, he said, “I’ll go get her and see if I can track down Surjan. We need to have a team meeting.”
Marty hopped up onto his feet and suddenly regretted eating so quickly as he felt the weight and heat of partially chewed grains inside him. “Hang out here for a bit, I’ll be back with Lowanna.”
A breathy, almost ghostlike noise somewhere nearby caught Marty’s attention.
“Did you hear that?” he asked the others.
“Hear what?” François asked as Kareem and Gunther shook their heads.
Marty paused, straining to hear the noise again and then shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll be right back.”
He stepped outside the building, the rising sun casting long shadows across the hillside. Marty breathed in the crisp sea air.
It felt cool, much cooler than he’d have imagined of any location along the Caribbean. François might be right about when they were. If it was around the time of the last ice age, the waters off the coast would probably be cooler than in modern times.
He panned his gaze across the horizon until he spotted the silhouette of a lone figure standing near the stone docks.
His steps quickened as he walked down the hill, toward the docks.
Lowanna’s gaze was fixed on the distant horizon where the sea met the sky in a haze of orange and purple. As Marty approached, he noticed her posture, tense and withdrawn, an unusual sight compared to her typically confident demeanor.
“Lowanna, are you okay?” Marty asked as he came to stand beside her.
She didn’t turn to look at him, her eyes remaining fixed on the darkening waters. “I’m fine. Just needed some air and wanted to clear my head.”
But Marty wasn’t convinced. “You don’t seem fine. You’ve been not fine since we arrived in this new place,” he pressed, his worry morphing slowly into frustration. “What’s going on? You know you can talk to me.”
Lowanna sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly, yet she remained silent.
Marty’s annoyance flared. “You need to learn how to open up to people. I mean, there’s something obviously upsetting you, and that worries me. Is there something I did, or someone else on the team? Unspoken expectations end up being premeditated resentments, and that’s something we can’t afford.”
She turned to face him then, her eyes meeting his in a long, searching look. For a moment, it seemed she would confide in him, her lips parting as if to speak. But instead, she sighed, and almost looked like she was about to cry.
Marty’s impatience flared and he blurted out, “I need to talk to you about the vision I had . . .”
The words hung in the air, and Marty immediately regretted the interruption. Lowanna’s expression chilled, as if whatever emotional turmoil she’d been dealing with suddenly was turned off. Her gaze turned cold and the brief window into her thoughts slammed shut.
She shook her head, a mixture of disappointment and frustration crossing her features. “Not now, Marty. I can’t do this right now.”
With that, she turned away from him and began trudging up the hill toward the palace.
Marty stood there, the chill of the morning soaking into him, realizing his impatience might have cost him an opportunity to really understand what was troubling Lowanna. He watched her, feeling a mixture of helplessness and regret, knowing he had missed a crucial moment to connect, caught up in his own needs and worries.
Surjan moved through the bustling city square. He carried a sense of nausea at the thought that all the preparations were for his wedding reception. Garlands of vibrant flowers were strung from post to post, and the air was filled with the scents of roasting meat. Despite the celebratory atmosphere, a palpable tension lingered just beneath the surface—the villagers’ smiles were a bit too strained, their laughter a touch too forced.
He felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders as the Neshili looked to him as some kind of savior. This wasn’t something he’d signed up for.
As he navigated through the crowd, Surjan spotted Marty, standing alone, observing the festivities with a keen eye. He approached him, their conversation a stark contrast to the jovial scene around them.
“Marty,” Surjan began, lowering his voice so only the man beside him could hear, “we need to talk about the Well of the Beast. There’s something down there . . . something that the people are deeply afraid of.”
Marty turned, eyebrows raised. “What did you find out?”
Surjan glanced around to ensure no prying ears were nearby before continuing. “Halpa told me the well in the palace is ancient, and to be honest, I looked at it and it looks like an exact copy of the well I saw at the Sacred Grove. She told me that the legends say it once served as a portal to another place, but now . . . it’s a lair for monsters.”
Marty’s brow furrowed in concern. “Monsters? What kind of monsters?”
“That’s just it—I’m not entirely sure what we’re dealing with,” Surjan admitted, frustration coloring his tone. “Children have gone missing, believed to be taken by whatever resides in these wells. The people think that the monsters awoke because the old king’s powers had faded.”
Marty rubbed his eyes. “Hmm. Children could easily go missing for other reasons—wild animals, or swept away by the ocean currents.”
“The whole village expects me to do something about it,” Surjan added, scanning the faces in the crowd. “They’re scared, Marty. Whatever’s down there, it’s bad.”
Marty rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, what’s actually down there?” he asked, looking Surjan directly in the eyes.
Surjan shrugged, the weight of uncertainty heavy on his shoulders. “Halpa wasn’t much help on the specifics. She hinted at old tales—something about ancestors leaving the islands because of these creatures. But she wasn’t clear on details.”
Marty nodded slowly, his mind racing with the implications. “So, we’re dealing with an unknown threat, rooted in legend, with no clear understanding of what they are or how to deal with them.”
“Exactly,” Surjan confirmed.
Marty scanned the crowd, his eyes finally landing on Ammun, who was dressed in a vibrant array of colors. With a quick gesture, he beckoned him over. Ammun approached, his expression open and curious.
“Yes?” Ammun adjusted the bright yellow sash around his waist.
“Surjan and I were talking about the well, the monsters, and the legends surrounding them,” Marty began. “Surjan mentioned ancestors leaving the islands. What can you tell us about that?”
Ammun nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting over the celebrating villagers before returning to Marty. “Ah, yes, the people of old. In my grandfather’s grandfather’s time, the weather shifted dramatically. It was said that our time here was coming to an end. Many of the Neshili and old ones left. That is the other half of the fleet. Those you see here today are the ones who remained.”
“Who are the old ones?” Marty pressed, intrigued.
Ammun shrugged slightly. “I cannot say for certain, because they are from tales handed down from our ancestors. They are not of the Neshili but are rumored to have built the world underneath.”
“Underneath?” Marty repeated, glancing at Surjan. “You mean where the well is?”
“I wouldn’t know precisely,” Ammun admitted, “but the tales tell of an entire city under the ground where the old ones lived. A vast network of chambers and tunnels, long forgotten by most who walk above.”
“So, who are these monsters in the well?” Marty asked, his voice low. “Are they maybe left over from the old ones? Are they people or actual creatures?”
Ammun shook his head, his expression somber. “Who’s to say? I’ve never seen one myself. I just know the tales, and more recently, know of their handiwork . . . the kidnappings. Both of children and of missing livestock.”
Marty and Surjan exchanged a look. The mystery deepened with each shared word, painting a picture of a history intertwined with myths and dark realities.
“We need to investigate this,” Surjan said firmly. “Whatever these creatures are, understanding their origin might help us figure out how to deal with them.”
“We have faith in your abilities, King Surjan.” Ammun nodded, his eyes reflecting the flickering lights of the celebration. “However, I must warn you both. The old tales are not just stories; sometimes, they are warnings. What lies beneath may have been left there for a reason.”
With that sobering thought, Marty thanked Ammun and turned back to Surjan. “Tomorrow, we go down into the well as a team. We need answers, and it seems the only way is to confront whatever waits in the darkness.”
Marty watched as Ammun took his place at the head of the gathering. The sun was going down over the land, and fires had been lit in the city’s largest square.
The crowd quieted, their attention turning toward the corpulent elder as he began his speech. “Today, we celebrate not only the union of two souls but also the courage and magic that our new king has brought to our people,” Ammun proclaimed, his voice carrying across the assembled villagers. “It is his bravery and use of magic that will shield us from the darkness lurking beneath.”
He turned to face Surjan and Halpa, who stood side by side.
Marty knew Surjan was not happy with the entire concept of him getting married, even if the wedding was largely symbolic. But he had ultimately chosen the wedding over waiting in the Sacred Grove for unseen attackers to make attempts on his life, or the party going to war against the Neshili. He had insisted to the group that he had no sexual interest in the woman, bellowing over François’s argument that the Guru Granth Sahib’s teaching that he must conquer lust didn’t apply to a woman he was married to. Now his face bore an iron-jawed, neutral look.
Halpa’s expression was a stark contrast to his. She looked excited, barely containing the smile that Marty had seen several times that evening.
With a ceremonial flourish, Ammun took a rope laced with white flowers and looped it symbolically over the couple’s outstretched arms, binding them together. “In the presence of the spirits of our ancestors and the watchful eyes of the Neshili, I bind you Surjan to Halpa, and Halpa to Surjan as a mated pair. May you watch over each other as you watch over the people you are now charged with protecting. I declare you Queen Halpa and King Surjan—the Lion King!” he announced.
Surjan winced at the title. Marty grinned.
The air was thick with a mixture of jubilation and the unspoken fears of the villagers. “Let us rejoice in their union and trust in their leadership to guide us through the shadowy time ahead,” Ammun finished, his voice ringing with a hopeful note.
The crowd erupted in cheers, but a single voice cut through the celebration, its tone urgent and laden with fear. “Save us from the monsters in the wells!” the voice yelled, turning all heads. The momentary joy faltered, reminding everyone of the imminent threat lurking beneath their feet.
Marty noticed Surjan stiffen upon hearing the voice. He could only imagine the weight of responsibility Surjan was feeling.
As Halpa pulled at Surjan’s arm to join in the festivities, he locked eyes with Marty.
Surjan’s expression was grim.
Marty lifted a mug of vinegarlike wine and saluted Surjan. They both knew what needed to happen.
Surjan would go through whatever social niceties he needed to after the ceremony and the team would meet up afterward.
They needed to figure out what was in that well, and tonight was the night.