Age of War

Chapter 14

There were worse things in the world than being assigned onerous and inappropriately junior duties, Jonis was horrified to discover. There were real punishments for disobedient Cyclops Keepers, even if it was a long time since they’d been meted out. Other new discoveries included this place: the deepest levels of the complex, the very foundations of Atlas. Here it was warm and moist and dark. Very, very dark. This was the great pit into which the filth of centuries sluiced and in these ancient tunnels and wells was volatile and reeking effluence: gasses that built up in the air, choked her lungs and could potentially explode if they made contact with an open flame. That was her first lesson upon arrival here. So she made her way through the darkness with a covered metal lantern, much battered and corroded, in which a stub of candle flickered uncertainly behind grubby glass. She could see only a few feet around herself at any time and all else was yawning black. She could tell, in a way she couldn’t really explain, when she entered one of the larger chambers. They were like vast halls below the ground, hollowed out through some unimaginable effort long, long ago. She had discovered, by careful circuits of some of them during her first days here (though days was a relative term…) that there were enormous pillars stretching from floor to ceiling, carved rather than natural, but with the details worn down to faded impressions on the surfaces. How could the city not be aware that this was beneath their feet? These pillars held aloft the homes and businesses of a million people. But then, they didn’t know much about the Cyclops stables either, and she hadn’t known about this. She reflected, for the thousandth time, on her newfound understanding of how little she could be certain of about her home and its history. That was what had landed her here, after all. But when was this built? It seemed older than a thousand years, certainly, so at least that meant that Atlantian history wasn’t a complete lie. And yet how much could she trust even the evidence of her senses now? She’d been told only a version of the truth all her life.

There was a great deal of time for Jonis to contemplate things now. Her duties were not burdensome. Here, at the bottom of the world, she had to ensure that the network of chambers, tunnels and pits continued to do their job. Somewhere, all the effluence of the stables filtered out into the sea, or perhaps was channelled even further below the earth, but in either case the workings must be maintained. There were blockages and even cave-ins, but they were rare. Her task was to walk a long route through the ancient excavations, looking for problems – walls that may need shoring up, rubble to be cleared, places when the dung and filth was starting to accumulate in some hollow or other. It was unpleasant, but it was also boring, and the darkness was incredibly oppressive. She was used to being underground, but this was different. Here, all was silent save for the sound of dripping water somewhere distant and she was becoming used to her world being only a stride or so of guttering candlelight. That scared her. She didn’t want to get used to this. She didn’t want to be here forever.

She was not alone. There was another Keeper, a very old man whom she’d never seen before. He was bent with age, and his skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Was that because of his advanced years or because he’d been trapped here in the dark for so long? His name was Malick, or so she thought. He was hard to understand through his toothless gums and he tended to ramble incoherently. How long had he been down here, alone? It was clear he was insane. He was almost as heavily tattooed as the Matriarch – what had he done to be sent down here? She tried to ask him, but only got gibberish in reply. Malick wandered through the tunnels with his own torch muttering to himself, never deviating from a set path, which was worn smooth on the floor. It made no difference to his routine when she arrived, and so she took a different route and every now and then they’d cross paths. She was used to the sight of his bobbing lamp somewhere across a great chamber, and had even begun to feel relief when it came into view. Another disturbing development, but at least Malick’s dubious company was better than none at all. He moved so slowly though – how could he possibly have patrolled these black passages without her? She suspected that no one had checked on him for many years, and was shying away from the knowledge that he was surely reaching the end of his life, and then who else but her would replace him?