her, ready to grab her if she should start to topple into the ring. At the same time he wondered why he even cared. His life would be easier if he simply gave her a shove.
“You have something of the witch’s?”
Draigh handed him a lock of ebony hair. Ardith frowned and it made him smile. She hadn’t seen him gather it. Hadn’t had the foresight herself.
Who was the intelligent one now?
The Watcher climbed a small platform at the side of the ring and stepped onto the wall, his large flat feet clinging to the bricks as he walked. He moved confidently, circling the ring as if it wasn’t only six-inches wide and perched over a quarter-mile fall into a raging pit of melted rock.
He extended his spidery fingers toward the opening. Far below them, the fiery, boiling mass mounded and bubbled, lifting toward the top of the volcano as his fingers danced on the air. The Watcher walked around the edge as he scried, his small black eyes focused intently on his work.
The lava reached the top of the mountain and began to spill down its sides. The Watcher flung his hands into the air and the molten rock rose into the sky, bounded by what she’d thought was just a column of smoke. She now realized it was a containing web of some kind.
The Watcher grunted, his rosy face shiny with sweat, as he lifted the fiery mixture toward them. Ardith sucked in a breath as the lava continued to rise, until she realized it was coming all the way up, to fill the ring of stone within the room.
She glanced at Draigh, whispering, “He does know what he’s doing right?”
Draigh snorted, pretending to be bored. The truth was, he’d only seen the ancient gnome scry with lava one other time, and it had scared the crap out of him then too.
Heat billowed upward, shoved into the sky from the terrifying rise of boiling rock. Smoke filled the room but, amazingly, as the lava settled into the ring of rock, the smoke disappeared with a soft spitting sound.
The Watcher’s hands moved at an almost impossible speed, his long fingers twisting and spinning in airborne shapes that transcribed themselves to the boiling lava in the ring. As the shapes formed in the glossy surface of the scrying ring, flames rose from the scrolls and swirls. Slowly the swirls moved and reordered until they spelled a name.
Edwige.
The Watcher flung the strand of the witch’s hair into the pool and it exploded on the surface, sending lava into the air above the pool. The lava spun and spit, slowly taking shape, until Edwige’s round, pretty face looked out at them from the center of the roiling pit of lava.
Ardith grinned. “Icy!”
The Watcher turned to her and frowned. “Definitely not icy, witch.”
Ardith’s grin didn’t waver.
The gnome studied her for a moment, apparently trying to figure out if she mocked him, and then turned back to the glossy, fire-colored form hovering over the pit. “What is your current location, Edwige witch?”
The figure wavered, softened and then sharpened again. The face twitched and it took Ardith a beat to realize its lips were moving. “I am in La Cité des Muertas.”
Ardith groaned.
Draigh grinned. “Well, witch, it looks like we’re going to the City of Death.”
“Well, just shit.”
~ A M ~
Ardith tucked her filthy shirt into her pants and covered it with the leather jacket. Draigh had refused to let her go back by her place and change again. She felt grimy and her clothes stank. The only thing that made her feel any better at all was the reality that, given their current location, there was a really good chance she was going to get splattered with blood and gore any minute anyway.
Named by a Spanish diplomat in the days after the first nuclear strike, La Cité des Muertas used to be a large city on the West coast of the land mass called the United States of America. It was ground zero for the nuclear war that had razed the entire country.
Though most of the radiation had dispersed over time, nothing even
“You have something of the witch’s?”
Draigh handed him a lock of ebony hair. Ardith frowned and it made him smile. She hadn’t seen him gather it. Hadn’t had the foresight herself.
Who was the intelligent one now?
The Watcher climbed a small platform at the side of the ring and stepped onto the wall, his large flat feet clinging to the bricks as he walked. He moved confidently, circling the ring as if it wasn’t only six-inches wide and perched over a quarter-mile fall into a raging pit of melted rock.
He extended his spidery fingers toward the opening. Far below them, the fiery, boiling mass mounded and bubbled, lifting toward the top of the volcano as his fingers danced on the air. The Watcher walked around the edge as he scried, his small black eyes focused intently on his work.
The lava reached the top of the mountain and began to spill down its sides. The Watcher flung his hands into the air and the molten rock rose into the sky, bounded by what she’d thought was just a column of smoke. She now realized it was a containing web of some kind.
The Watcher grunted, his rosy face shiny with sweat, as he lifted the fiery mixture toward them. Ardith sucked in a breath as the lava continued to rise, until she realized it was coming all the way up, to fill the ring of stone within the room.
She glanced at Draigh, whispering, “He does know what he’s doing right?”
Draigh snorted, pretending to be bored. The truth was, he’d only seen the ancient gnome scry with lava one other time, and it had scared the crap out of him then too.
Heat billowed upward, shoved into the sky from the terrifying rise of boiling rock. Smoke filled the room but, amazingly, as the lava settled into the ring of rock, the smoke disappeared with a soft spitting sound.
The Watcher’s hands moved at an almost impossible speed, his long fingers twisting and spinning in airborne shapes that transcribed themselves to the boiling lava in the ring. As the shapes formed in the glossy surface of the scrying ring, flames rose from the scrolls and swirls. Slowly the swirls moved and reordered until they spelled a name.
Edwige.
The Watcher flung the strand of the witch’s hair into the pool and it exploded on the surface, sending lava into the air above the pool. The lava spun and spit, slowly taking shape, until Edwige’s round, pretty face looked out at them from the center of the roiling pit of lava.
Ardith grinned. “Icy!”
The Watcher turned to her and frowned. “Definitely not icy, witch.”
Ardith’s grin didn’t waver.
The gnome studied her for a moment, apparently trying to figure out if she mocked him, and then turned back to the glossy, fire-colored form hovering over the pit. “What is your current location, Edwige witch?”
The figure wavered, softened and then sharpened again. The face twitched and it took Ardith a beat to realize its lips were moving. “I am in La Cité des Muertas.”
Ardith groaned.
Draigh grinned. “Well, witch, it looks like we’re going to the City of Death.”
“Well, just shit.”
~ A M ~
Ardith tucked her filthy shirt into her pants and covered it with the leather jacket. Draigh had refused to let her go back by her place and change again. She felt grimy and her clothes stank. The only thing that made her feel any better at all was the reality that, given their current location, there was a really good chance she was going to get splattered with blood and gore any minute anyway.
Named by a Spanish diplomat in the days after the first nuclear strike, La Cité des Muertas used to be a large city on the West coast of the land mass called the United States of America. It was ground zero for the nuclear war that had razed the entire country.
Though most of the radiation had dispersed over time, nothing even
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