Staked (The Iron Druid Chronicles, #8)(50)
“How thoughtful of Weles.”
<Fun fact: Snakes are not very tasty,> Orlaith observes. <Probably because they eat rats.>
When did you eat a snake?
<Oberon and I found one in Colorado and tried it. We thought it was icky.>
We pad down the corridor toward the sounds of hissing, which is not typically a good survival strategy. After a short distance the corridor ends abruptly at a wide pit about thirty feet square and perhaps twenty feet deep. The bottom of the pit has helpfully been illuminated so we can see that the floor is completely covered in writhing snakes. It’s much too broad to jump. There appears to be an extendable bridge mechanism on the far side, and on our side is a helpful length of chain dangling from the wall with an illustration beneath it showing a bridge over the pit.
Perun is about to pull on the chain when I stop him. “Whoa, wait. Why would Weles put a pit here and then help us to cross it?”
Perun drops his hand. “You are right. He would not do this. Is trap. We pull chain, we go into pit with many snake.”
“Exactly. And I bet it’s a mechanical trapdoor too. It won’t require magic to work.”
Perun considers the space, looks at Orlaith, then says, “Maybe I make wind and we fly across?” Orlaith is of course the trouble; Perun and I could shape-shift to winged forms and fly across with ease.
“I have a better idea,” I tell him. “Let’s make a real bridge we can depend on.” I contact Mecklenburg again and ask him to span the pit for us with an earthen bridge three feet wide. After a brief wait, it begins to form on either side of the pit, until it meets in the middle. Elementals are awesome.
Snake pit successfully navigated. Another corridor waits on the other side, bends a bit, and the throbbing of generators becomes much louder. When we reach the end of the corridor there’s a floor-to-ceiling iron gate, easily managed and unlocked, and the reason for the generators becomes obvious: We are at the edge of a large cavern and there are a ridiculous number of UV lights mounted on the ceiling, shining down on a broad pasture of lush turf. It’s the finest underground grazing land I’ve ever seen—also the only underground grazing land I’ve ever seen. All of it built to house and hide the warhorse of ?wi?towit, a beautiful white stallion who has spotted us and is prancing around on the far side, shaking his head in agitation and snorting.
“Wow,” I breathe. “You don’t see something like this every day.” It’s a lot of trouble for a single horse. But that wouldn’t matter to Loki: Knowing the best day to start Ragnarok would be priceless information to him. I wonder if he asks the question daily, weekly, or if he only asks when he thinks something has changed in his favor. Even if he doesn’t appear daily, those generators have to be switched out, the snakes have to be fed, and the stone stable over to one side has to be mucked out every so often. We shouldn’t linger here. Somebody has to be visiting this place regularly, and I begin thinking defensively in case they visit soon. “Perun, let’s get over there to the stable,” I say. “That horse looks pretty upset, and we need it to calm down if we’re going to get it out of here.”
“How will stables help?”
“I don’t want to set up our operation here, where someone can come in behind us.”
“What operations?”
“A quick one. You’ll see.” We jog over to the stable, the warhorse watching us from the far side of the pasture, and I ask Orlaith to hide inside the stable.
<Why hide?>
If someone comes in to mess with us, you will be our surprise counterattack, I say, though I truly just want her to be safe. And I need you to guard my clothes and my staff, pretty please.
She agrees and I begin to disrobe. Perun politely turns his back and says, “I think I understand operations now. You will be speaking horse to horse.”
“You got it on the first guess. Wait here, please.” He nods and I shape-shift to a chestnut mare, which I must confess is my favorite animal form. Running is so effortless, and I love the feeling of my mane and tail whipping in the wind—not that there is any wind in this cavern. Just a nervous, twitchy stallion. I figure if I approach him as a horse, he won’t feel immediately threatened and will let me get close enough to make contact and soothe him before he charges at me.
He keeps bucking as I grow closer, however. The sudden appearance of another horse is not as calming as I had hoped. He is a smart horse who knows how to count, and there had not been two horses in this cavern until this very moment. He knows something odd is going on.
Gods below, he’s magnificent. Milk-white hide and a coal-black mane. I switch my vision to the magical spectrum, examine his turbulent aura, and find the threads of his consciousness. I reach out with my own, bind them together, and send him feelings of peace and harmony and my unabashed admiration for him. He rears back at first, pawing at the air with his hooves, but when he returns all four legs to the earth, he snorts once and grows still, open to hearing—or feeling, or seeing—more. I send him visions of the sky above Rügen and an invitation to go there with me. He nods his head, and I also feel his great desire to go. He hates it down here. No sky. No other horses. He has been so very lonely. I respond with happiness at his decision to accompany me and am about to tell him to follow, when movement tears my attention away from him.
Someone is coming through the gate that leads to our exit. He is like a stick of charcoal, dressed all in black and topped with a drape of black hair. Only his forehead, cheeks, and nose are pale; all else is darkness. He glances at me and the horse of ?wi?towit, dismisses us, and then he spies Perun by the stable. His hands curl into fists, his jaw juts forward, and his teeth are bared in a snarl; Perun does the same when he sees the man in black, who I suppose must be Weles. It’s glaringly obvious that they hate each other.