The first thing Julien notices on the other side is the soft light. A close second is a slight increase in temperature. They are in a small alcove. It’s still not much, Julien thinks as he follows the salamanders that exit it through an opening, much like those of the tunnels they traversed earlier.
“Wait, Fool-Warrior!”
Julien halts and turns.
Rhaqasha and her two companions stand next to the rounded wall. With one claw, they reach inside different recesses that Julien had not noticed in passing. Their claws emerge again filled with a strange, colorful paste. Mostly deep blue and a little silver for Rhaqasha; mostly deep red and a little blue for the others.
They dip their nails inside and start tracing lines over their bodies in practiced movements. The identical pattern emerging on their sides is a mixture of wavy lines ending in swirls in the prominent color. Sharp, two-lined V-shapes in the secondary color are interspersed.
It is mainly on their face where Julien can see an obvious difference in the pattern. There is a base, sure. But around the eyes especially, and on the brow, different figures are painted, forming intricate, individual masks.
Once they are done, Rhaqasha snarls at one of her companions, who flicks her tail as she dips her claw into a different recess.
“Approach, Fool-warrior. Sorqa will give you marks. Take care not to remove them. Unmarked, you will not survive long in the Mother’s domain.”
Julien stands frozen as Sorqa directs her nails over the exposed parts of his arms, legs, and face. The sensation is odd, scraping and slightly scratching, inducing goosebumps and involuntary shivers. But Sorqa’s movements are efficient and confident. She hardly breaks the skin once, and Julien finds himself oddly grateful.
Rhaqasha inspects the result and nods in approval. “Now you go.”
Feeling somewhat silly with his ash-grey tribal paint, Julien steps out of the alcove and stops, stunned.
The huge cavern in front of him harbors a small city built from rough rocks. The settlement faces a vast lake with borders that remain beyond sight. At the centre of the rocky settlement, a large pyramid towers over all the other buildings. Puzzled about the lack of darkness, Julien looks up and discovers that a mossy growth covering the ceiling emits a soft light in a lime-coloured hue.
“You can’t be serious!” the Fool exclaims.
Silently, Julien agrees.
The city almost seems to exert a magnetic pull, one that draws everything in and allows no escape.
But what can he do? Hands tied behind his back, monstrous salamanders who would turn his limbs into minced meat at the slightest sign of rebellion corral him. Not to mention the armed reptilian warriors that follow.
He will simply have to bide his time and wait for an opportune moment.
The path they follow leads downward into a settlement stretched out over a basin. Stepping through the equivalents of streets, Julien observes the odd shapes of the houses. Domelike. Like igloos made of boulders, held together by mortar.
Julien and the Fool pass several large salamanders that growl and flick their long tongues at them. But after only a few passes of their long, pink appendages, they dismiss them and go on about their business, whatever that might be.
As they skirt the edge of the town, Julien sees the first lizards other than his captors. They wear different paint patterns on their hides in shades of green. The principal lines are basic and blocky, and the smaller embellishments are simple polygons. They give the briefest of stares before disappearing after a few raspy trills from Rhaqasha.
The company halts in front of a larger dome not far from the outskirts. Outside, several lizard warriors perform combat drills with spears and glaives. They do not pause to stare. Every movement speaks of discipline.
Rhaqasha rasps to her companions before addressing Julien and the Fool. “I leave you here, Fool-warrior. I go to First Son. You follow later. Sorqa leads now.” With a pert nod, she turns and marches off, glaive in hand and Julien’s sheathed sword dangling from its belt at her side.
Sorqa nods at the entrance to the dome and trills, “Inside go.”
Julien’s eyes take a few moments to adjust to the Fool’s presence as the main source of light again. Sorqa leads him past several holes in the ground. Julien takes note of the armed lizards standing guard.
Sorqa halts rather abruptly next to one of the holes. “Stand still,” she rasps.
A moment later, Julien feels two dextrous claws taking apart the knots that hold his bonds together. He turns to Sorqa, a question on his lips.
Before he can utter it, Sorqa gestures down. Following the direction of the motion, Julien notices two vertical poles indicating a ladder leading into the pit. Julien looks at it, then at Sorqa and back to the darkness.
“Wonderful,” the Fool mutters.
Julien hardly hears him. If he complies, will he emerge? But again, what choice does he have? Dragging his feet, he steps forward, turns around, and kneels. Moving backwards on hands and knees, he feels for the first rung of the ladder. A foot connects. Chest and throat tight, he starts climbing down.
The darkness is heavy all around him. It weighs down on him. Making him feel small. Rhaqasha did say he would follow her. Right? Julien stops for a moment. Tell me I’m not about to become a meal! He suppresses a shiver, slides a foot off a rung, and reaches for the next.
Upon reaching the floor, the ladder is whisked away immediately.
“Well done, Julien. Great job surviving.”
Julien ignores the Fool. He looks up at the dim light above him and sighs. “Time to make plans, I guess.”
An audible gasp makes Julien whirl around. His hand flies to his waist only for his fingers to close around air. Right. No sword. From the darkness comes a voice. “I can’t believe it. It really is true. A Fool-blessed.”
Fool-blessed? Julien thinks as he peers into the darkness. “Who’s there?”
A pale, brown-haired woman dressed in plain, brown hide slowly enters the illuminated area surrounding the Fool. Her face and arms are covered in the same ash-grey tribal paints that grace his own. She squints. “I’m Lirza. I never thought I would see another human again, let alone the savior of Tarotia.”
Julien stares at the woman for a few seconds – the second Tarotian human he’s encountered so far – before the words register. A grimace, more than a smile, makes one corner of his lips curl upwards. “Yep. That’s me. The great savior.”
The Fool coughs. “Could have fooled me.”
Her brown eyes shine as she beams a smile at Julien and the Fool in turn. “So, what’s the plan? Cut the head from this lizard infestation and make a triumphant return to the surface? Or are your sworn comrades hot on your heels to eradicate each and every last one of these pests? Will you call them to you now?”
Julien is speechless. Calling comrades to him? He glances at the Fool, who suddenly looks busy studying the walls and ceiling of their confinement.
“What Kingdoms have you allied yourself with?” the woman continues, waves of enthusiasm rolling off of her. “Pentacles? Wands? Blades? I bet it is Blades!”
“Yes, Julien, what Kingdom did you ally with?” the Fool sneers.
“All right! I get it! I should have picked Blades! Just…let it go already,” Julien trails off.
He picks a wall with a gentle concave curve, sits down, and leans back. The wall is smooth. Forget climbing then. Not that they would get past the lizard army outside the dome. How can I possibly get out of this? I see no option but to wait. Sorqa will pick me up again. To bring me somewhere. I just need to be prepared for the most opportune moment. But without a weapon…
“I don’t understand,” Lirza says haltingly. Her voice drifts toward him. Her energy seems to slowly fizzle as she looks at the Fool and Julien in turn, confusion written on her face. “Are you allied to a different kingdom, then?”
Julien stays quiet. But the Fool speaks for him.
“He’s not allied to any kingdom.”