SINS OF THE DAUGHTER, SINS OF THE SON
Chapter 4: The Shores of the Styx
By Kurt1K
"That's the Money Pit?"
Batistelli glanced around as Marc Rousseau joined him at the rail, eyes narrowed as he took in the low, rocky shape on the horizon.
"According to Signora Valentine."
The Frenchman frowned. "Doesn't look like much," he murmured, sounding rather disappointed. Batistelli smiled.
"If it did I suppose that it would not have remained secret for so long," he replied. Rousseau shrugged, wincing as he did so.
It was Batistelli's turn to frown. "Your shoulder?"
Rousseau grimaced, rolling the arm experimentally, "Mm. Still a little tender, that's all."
"I should not have agreed to this," the captain muttered, turning his attention to the center of the deck where a half-dozen of his crew were clustered, armed with a variety of clubs and staves. Rousseau followed his gaze, and grinned.
"Don't worry about it, Gianni, it's actually pretty good entertainment – an interesting diversion, anyway. What's a few bruises?"
At the center of the group stood the young German. Batistelli had to admit the youth looked much better than when he had been brought aboard, filthy and unconscious, five days earlier. Now washed and clean-shaven, he was clad in a knee-length mail hauberk and held a five-foot wooden staff with both hands like a sword. As the two men watched one of the sailors lunged at him with a heavy club, only to be sidestepped and knocked to the deck with a quick tap across the shoulders.
Barely was he down when the rest sprang to the attack. Schtauffen took a huge swing with his staff which broke their assault as the sailors hastily ducked back out of range. He followed up on the biggest, Mancuso, with a quick step and a punch with the base of his staff which sent the big man tumbling, and wheeled on Gaiardi. With his staff hanging behind his back in one hand, he beckoned the man with the other. The skinny deckhand backed away hurriedly, piling into Ottaviano in his haste; the two went down in a tangle of limbs. Swinging his staff back into a forward grip the German looked over at the remaining man, Cagni, and raised a questioning eyebrow. The sailor grinned back and dropped his club, raising his hands in surrender.
Batistelli winced as the battered men got to their feet, Schtauffen helping a groaning Mancuso rise. "Not even close this time," he observed, "If I did not know better I would say he is getting stronger every time."
"You would be right," Rousseau said, "He is much better now than he was even this morning. Perhaps he was out of practice, but he is remembering fast."
"Mm." Batistelli nodded, drumming his fingers on the quarterdeck railing. After a moment he looked at the Frenchman. "What do you make of him?"
"Schtauffen?" Rousseau paused thoughtfully. "Seems a decent fellow. Not afraid to work, pulls his weight, gets on all right with the crew…"
"And yet?" Batistelli knew his first mate well enough to know the question was warranted. Rousseau frowned.
"And yet… I do not know, exactly. One has the feeling when speaking with him that his thoughts are far away. It is difficult to describe…"
"You need not describe it," the captain muttered, "I have felt it too, and you are right. There is a shadow on him."
Rousseau wouldn't have phrased it quite that dramatically but he nodded, his eyes on the little group below them. The Scotsman, Mackay, had joined them now, cheerily collecting his winnings. He had taken some losses the day before and even this morning by betting on the German, but he was making good now. After this latest victory, though, Rousseau imagined Mackay would probably have a hard time finding ready takers for his wagers.
"On the other hand," the Frenchman offered, indicating Mackay with a tilt of the head, "he is very easy to read." Batistelli nodded, smiling.
"Yes, young Mackay is not such a puzzle, is he? A strange traveling companion for the other two."
"They are strange travel companions for each other," Rousseau commented, "They could not be more unalike."
Batistelli smiled to himself.
"You think so?"
Rousseau gave his captain a surprised look, but Batistelli did not elaborate. His attention now was on Schtauffen, his expression contemplative.
*****
Siegfried rolled his shoulders, closing his eyes and drinking in the sea air. His entire body ached from the day's exertions and he could feel a few choice bruises in spite of the heavy mail, but it had been a long time since he had felt quite so alive.
His skills were coming back more easily than he had expected; though his arms felt as though they had lead weights bound to them, they remembered the hard lessons he had learned in the fighting school in Magdeburg and on a score of battlefields. It was going to take a while to get used to the weight of armour again, though, and the long mail coat was very different from the Maximilian-style plate he was used to; his shoulders had to carry most of its weight, and they were feeling the strain. Still, he reflected, better a burden on his shoulders than on his soul.
A hand clapped him on the back and he turned to see Mackay grinning at him. The younger man held up his purse, which bulged full.
"Another triumph! I tell ye, Siegfried, it's too bad we din' have time to hang round in Bastia. There's a fighting pit under the Albatross, ye could have made champion no problem-"
Siegfried had to smile at Mackay's enthusiasm. "Didn't you tell me just yesterday that you'd never set foot in that – what was it – 'stinking rat's nest' ever again?"
"Sounds like me," Mackay admitted, and then shrugged, "but that was then. When money calls, things change."
"Obviously." Schtauffen responded dryly, smiling as he said it. "I assume you've come out ahead."
"Ahead doesn't do it justice," Mackay smirked, "I'm up almost a florin, thanks to you. Really is too bad we had to leave so quick, we could have made a killing…"
"So you have already said." Siegfried noted. He started to unfasten the ties on his hauberk as Mackay sat on one of the fresh water barrels nearby.
"It's worth saying twice. When this is over ye might want to consider the fighting pits – ye could do well."
"And you would be there to reap the profits of my efforts, I suppose." Schtauffen's voice was grim now in spite of his efforts to lighten it; Mackay's words had reminded him of something he had forgotten, if only briefly. When this is over…
The young Scot picked up on his tone and immediately backpedaled, "Well - I'm just saying that-"
Siegfried raised a hand, cutting him off. "I know." He sighed, meeting the Scot's wary gaze, "Let us just concentrate on the present, Alastair."
"Aye. Sure. No problem." Mackay agreed hastily. After a moment's silence he smiled suddenly, "Actually that reminds me, I've something for ye."
Schtauffen looked at him enquiringly, but the Scot just grinned. "I'll be right back."
As he moved off Siegfried shrugged the mail coat off and plucked at the heavy, damp quilted undershirt beneath, shaking his head. At his best he could have traveled and fought in heavy plate armour all day and not worked up such a sweat as he had in the past few hours. You still have a long way to go, Schtauffen.
His hand brushed over the cloak-pin now secured by a thin chain about his neck and he plucked it from where it rested on his chest. The Schtauffen heraldry shone in the early afternoon sun, brighter by far than the memories it brought; the pin was the last thing of his family's that he had still owned. Ivy had returned it to him the morning after their rather tense exchange in her cabin, and then had actually warned him before opening the box containing the fragment to test her work – a marvel of tactfulness, at least by her standards. He had been so surprised that he had barely registered the fact that her sorcery had worked; he had felt the blade's presence - a strange sort of singing in his mind – but the beast slumbering in his soul had not awakened.
She had been unable to resist an acid comment on the depth to which he must have sunk to sell family heirlooms for drinking money before departing back to her cabin, but she had not been nearly as harsh on the subject as he had in his own mind. To him it was the mark of the final, crowning failure in a life filled with them; one last, petty betrayal of the father he had loved.
The father he had murdered.
With an effort he shook himself free of that familiar remorse. As he had said to Mackay, it was time to concentrate on the here and now. Atonement for his sins, as Siegfried Schtauffen and as Nightmare, was impossible, but he would do what he could; perhaps the manner of his death might to some small degree make up for that of his life.
He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, grateful for a distraction. It was Mackay, a sheathed sword in his arms and a cheerful grin on his face.
"Here y'go, mate," he said as he approached, "A gift from her ladyship."
Raising an eyebrow Siegfried drew the blade a little warily from its ornate scabbard, his caution transforming to admiration as he did. The five foot blade gleamed blue-silver in the sunlight, ornate engraved patterns tracing its slender length; a thing of beauty, to be sure. It was not its beauty that enraptured him, though, but its craftsmanship and quality. Its edge was so keen he could see it, the balance so fine its weight seemed not a burden but a natural part of him. He twirled it through one of his training patterns, marveling at how naturally it came to him; more than the past day and a half's training, the heft and feel of a fine blade brought out his old reflexes. Spinning the sword through another sequence, heedless of the razor-bright blade slashing scant inches clear of his own skin, he laughed at how natural, how familiar, it seemed.
"I take it ye like it," Mackay observed, having edged away to what he considered a safe distance. Schtauffen finished the pattern and swung the sword up to point skywards.
"It's a marvel," he agreed, "as fine a blade as I have ever seen." He examined it as he spoke. The weapon was rather slimmer than he was accustomed to, even before he had taken up Soul Edge's massive form; its blade was a shade less than two inches in width at its base and narrow in profile, but its exquisite balance more than compensated for the difference. "Is this Ivy's work?"
"Ah… yes and no, I suppose," Mackay replied, frowning, "Her ladyship had it custom made by Bartolome de Palencia, in Madrid." Schtauffen nodded slowly; de Palencia was known throughout Europe and probably beyond as a master swordsmith. "She's had it almost a year while I've been lookin' for ye. That's Toledo steel there, best in the world. She has an eye for quality, sure enough."
"Sure enough," Schtauffen repeated thoughtfully. "That doesn't explain why she hired you, though."
Mackay chuckled, "Oh, charming. Well, she can see the qualities below my surface, y'see."
"She must be very perceptive," Siegfried deadpanned.
"Aye, she must," Mackay retorted, "She took you on after all."
"That she did," the swordsman mused, sheathing the sword carefully. For my flaws rather than my qualities, however. Mackay shrugged.
"Aye, well in truth she actually kind of inherited me, if ye must know." At Schtauffen's questioning look he settled on the water barrel before continuing, "I did some work for her father, runnin' errands and such-"
"You knew her father?" Schtauffen wasn't sure if he was more surprised that Mackay had known Ivy's father or at the revelation that she had even had a father; he would as easily have believed that she had in fact formed herself full-grown out of her own arrogance. "You are having me on, no? How old were you?"
"Ten, I guess," Mackay replied defensively, "But ye grew up quick in my part of town. I was cabin boy on the barque Gryphon when I was eight, an' by the time I met His Excellency I'd seen most every port from Scotland to Greece. Been in London maybe six months when I met him, lookin' for some old book down in the docklands. Anyway, I knew the streets well enough by that time, and he was impressed, I suppose. Kept me runnin' around doing jobs all over after that. Had a fine old time, and got paid for it."
"What was he like?" Siegfried asked, curious in spite of himself. Mackay smiled fondly.
"The Count? Real gentleman. Always polite, even to the likes of me – even…" his enthusiasm faded a little, his voice dropping, and he paused a moment. "Anyway, he always treated me well. Real gent."
"Obviously Ivy doesn't take after him," Siegfried observed, smiling. Mackay bolted to his feet, his eyes blazing.
"Ye watch yer tongue, Schtauffen," he snarled, "Her Ladyship is every inch her father's daughter, an' I'll not hear a word against either of 'em!"
Siegfried raised his hands placatingly. "Forgive me, Alastair," he replied, "It was a jest, and poorly considered. You must admit that she can be quite harsh, though, no?"
Mackay glared at him a moment longer before deflating a little. "Aye, well, she doesn't suffer fools gladly, and I can be a fool as often as not. Ye don't understand at all, what happened with the Count-" He stopped abruptly, his face draining of colour and his eyes fixed on something over Schtauffen's shoulder.
Siegfried knew what – who – must have triggered that reaction even before the Scot started stuttering.
"M'lady… I – we were – just-"
"I am well aware of what you were doing, Mr. Mackay," Ivy grated from behind him, "and I assure you that if you thought me harsh before now you really have no idea just what that word can mean. Speak another word on this subject and I promise you will find out."
"It's not his fault," Siegfried objected, turning to her, "I was curious and-"
"Do not think I am unaware of that, Schtauffen." She cut him off brusquely. "I will thank you to curb your curiosity in the future." Her gaze brushed coolly across him. "Are you ready?"
"Ready?" Schtauffen repeated questioningly. A moment later he blinked. "You mean, ready to go? There?" he pointed at the barren islet to the east, wondering why he almost always managed to sound like a barnyard idiot when speaking to her.
Judging by her expression Ivy was wondering the same thing. "Yes, there, Schtauffen, where the devil did you think I meant?"
"I –" Oh, forget it. "Never mind." Sighing, he scooped up the hauberk from where it had fallen, "I'll be ready in a minute."
As he fastened the ties Ivy dismissed Mackay with a curt toss of her head. The Scotsman didn't need to be told twice, scurrying away as quickly as he could without actually breaking into a run. A part of Schtauffen envied him, as the rest of his mind concentrated on his task.
Ivy watched him as he went through the motions, tapping one boot on the deck impatiently. "I assume you can function in that," she said after a few moments. Siegfried glanced at her, tugging the last of the ties fast and swinging his arms experimentally to test the weight.
"It's not what I'm used to," he said mildly, "but yes, I can function." He picked up the sword, slinging it over his back and cinching its strap. "I thank you for this," he continued, tapping the hilt, "it's a beautiful blade, a work of art."
"At the moment I have rather more faith in the blade than its wielder," Ivy replied acidly, but this time Siegfried resisted the urge to snap at the bait. Shifting the sheathed blade slightly for comfort he slowly turned to her.
"Perhaps I shall surprise you."
She met his eyes, her expression unreadable.
"Perhaps."
Her gaze swung away to where a half-dozen sailors were readying the schooner's longboat. "Let us go. I would prefer to be back before nightfall."
"Afraid of the dark?" The retort came out before he could stop it. She did not turn as she replied, "It is always night in the Pit, Herr Schtauffen, and the Guardian is a creature of the darkness. One could do far worse than to fear him."
"The Guardian?" Siegfried asked, watching the boat as it was lowered. "Some kind of beast?"
"A man. From the little information my agents have uncovered, his name is Voldo – or was; I do not know if he goes by that name, or any name, now. For more than a decade he has been the guardian of the Money Pit. He was a loyal servant to Paolo Vercci, who had the Pit constructed-"
"I have heard of Vercci, certainly," Siegfried mused aloud. "The Merchant of Death."
"So he styled himself." Ivy agreed, her lips curling into a sneer, "Vercci was a loathsome creature who dealt in human life and suffering. He had his hand in every slave ring and fighting pit in the Mediterranean, and that was only the more respectable part of his empire. His real specialty was in catering to the worst desires of the wealthy, fulfilling the most twisted wishes for enormous fees. Some of those dealings would turn your stomach."
Schtauffen had heard rumours – everyone had – and he did not doubt what she said. "And this Voldo was one of his servants?"
"His most trusted and favoured, though Vercci's favour was not of the kind most would wish to receive. He was Vercci's bodyguard, emissary and champion."
A stray recollection clicked in to place and Schtauffen snapped his fingers. "He is a tall man, yes? With bindings about his face?"
"So your paths have crossed." Ivy did not sound surprised, "I thought they might have. Yes, that is he."
"It was in Italy – Venice, I think. He didn't seem that formidable," he said, "A strange fighting style, I grant you, but nothing I couldn't handle - and that was even before… well, you know," he finished weakly. Ivy frowned.
"Do not underestimate him, Herr Schtauffen. You may have had the best of him in your first encounter but this is quite different. That," she nodded towards the island, "is his territory. I have done battle with him there once before; I barely escaped with my life. I can assure you he will use his familiarity with the caverns to his advantage - we will need to watch our backs."
Siegfried didn't answer, merely nodding thoughtfully.
"Madame?" Rousseau bowed diffidently as he spoke, "The boat is ready to depart." Ivy nodded acknowledgement and with a sweep of her arm slipped her cloak from her shoulders and tossed it to the first mate.
Siegfried felt his jaw drop - just a fraction, for which he was grateful. The cut of her garb showcased her figure dramatically, the deep purple leather in striking contrast to the flawless alabaster of her skin. I have so many memories of being Nightmare, he thought, so how did I ever forget that outfit? On reflection he supposed he hadn't exactly forgotten it; it just hadn't had the same… impact on his former self.
For just a moment he felt an odd kind of pity for Nightmare.
Perhaps the strangest thing of all was that she seemed entirely unselfconscious. Paying him no heed she swung gracefully over the railing and onto the rope ladder to descend to the boat, bobbing in the water below.
He remained still a moment longer, blinking in the sunlight, before shaking off his shock and glancing around a little sheepishly. He caught Rousseau, wide-eyed, doing the same and they shared a look that really needed no words before Schtauffen followed her over the side.
She had taken position in the prow of the longboat, half-turned to look out at their destination, as he joined her. He settled on the next bench with his back to her, facing Gaiardi at the tiller over the backs of the six oarsmen. To his credit Gaiardi was managing not to stare, instead focusing on his duty as the longboat drew away from the Bravura.
"We shall need to progress with caution." Ivy said behind him, "The Guardian is only one of the menaces within; the Pit is laced with all manner of traps."
"Traps?" Siegfried repeated dubiously. A Guardian was one thing; battle was something he was familiar with, something he understood, its dangers a part of his life. The thought of dying in the machinations of some kind of trap was something else entirely. "Lovely."
"They are a hindrance more than a danger," she replied coolly, "Clever devices to be sure, but with observation, time and patience they can be overcome. Although," she paused, "time is a bit of a problem."
Siegfried shifted on his seat to look at her; she was still looking across at the island, her expression pensive. "And why is that?"
She glanced sideways at him. "There was an accident several years ago. One of the traps – the most impressive, architecturally – was called Poseidon's Gate. As its name suggests it was intended to flood the entire complex, drowning the triggering intruder before resetting and draining."
"That's actually true?" Schtauffen asked, wondering, "I heard once that Vercci drowned the architects and builders with such a trap when the Money Pit was completed – got them all together for a celebration and pulled the plug. I thought it was just a myth."
"It is a rather… melodramatic tale, is it not?" Ivy smiled crookedly, "Though it may well be true; nothing I have learned about Paolo Vercci suggests that such an act would be in the least out of character. One way or another, it is certain that all those who partook in the Pit's construction are now dead.
"In any case, Vercci's misdeeds eventually came home to roost. In some ways the Money Pit is a single incredibly intricate mechanism; with its designers and creators dead it was inevitable that it would eventually start to break down and unfortunately for us one of the first parts to fail was Poseidon's Gate. It has not failed completely, but the lower levels now flood at high tide."
"And high tide…"
"Is due tonight. In four hours the complex will begin to flood."
"Of course it will," Schtauffen muttered, shaking his head, "Nothing is ever easy." He frowned, "I don't suppose there's any chance that what we're looking for is on the upper levels?"
"Not much chance," she replied, "The greatest treasures were reportedly kept in a vault at the very bottom of the pit, two hundred yards underground. Given Vercci's obsession with the Soul Edge, that is where I imagine we will find the shards."
Siegfried nodded resignedly. "You're the expert." A moment later he continued, "How do you know all of this? If the architects are dead…"
"Not all of them were so naïve as to believe that they would survive the experience without taking precautions. Several attempted to guarantee their survival by concealing copies of their designs, presumably threatening that the copies would be revealed should they themselves come to harm. Obviously their bluffs failed but some of their work remained to be found, though it took considerable effort."
As Ivy concluded she turned her attention past Siegfried to address Gaiardi. "Bring us ashore there." Raising her gauntleted left hand she indicated a narrow strip of sand, starkly white against the dark rocks.
Siegfried took the moment to take a closer look at their destination. The island was unprepossessing, a low hump perhaps four miles long with a jagged, rocky coastline and a sparsely forested interior. It had an unkempt kind of beauty but there was nothing especially inviting about it, nor anything to distinguish it from a hundred such islets scattered the length of the Mediterranean. Which he supposed was the point.
The scrape of sand under the hull snapped him out of his contemplation. Ivy gave him a backhanded rap on the shoulder: "Bring that." She pointed to a leather bag at his feet, gathering a similar one herself before swinging over the side and into the ankle-deep water. He was a few feet behind her as she strode onto the beach, turning back to address the crew. "Return to the ship. Your captain knows to keep a watch for our signal."
As the crew went about their task Siegfried headed up the narrow beach. The rocky walls rose above his head, though they looked climbable enough. He eyed them appraisingly and turned to Ivy, who was rifling through her bag on one knee.
"What's in these?" he asked, patting the bag he had slung over his shoulder.
Ivy didn't look up as she replied, "Lanterns. Tools. Rope." Tying her bag shut she slung it and straightened, flicking her hair absently with one hand. "We will need them all." Brushing herself off she surveyed the wall.
"Beat you to the top," Schtauffen offered, smiling. He felt as though he was buzzing with nervous energy, the prospect of action and purpose so very near. Ivy gave him an exasperated glare.
"Don't be an idiot." she muttered scornfully. He shrugged and started climbing.
"Have it your way. I'll still be the one waiting at the top."
A minute later he hauled himself to his feet atop the rise and turned to watch her progress. She ascended with agility and assuredness, but slowly enough to make it clear she had no intention of competing with him. He could only smile wryly as he knelt and offered her a hand up which she did not accept.
"Happy?" she asked sourly. Siegfried shrugged.
"It would have been better if you had really tried."
"I am delighted to disappoint you, Schtauffen." she snapped, "If you are finished playing games we have business to attend to." Without waiting for a response she stalked past him, ascending the shallow rise towards the island's centre. Siegfried shook his head as he followed.
"I am aware of our business."
Ivy replied harshly. "Are you? Playing games and making jests? Need I remind you that-"
He cut her off. "You do not need to remind me. Our task has my entire attention, I promise you." He smiled sadly, though she could not see his face. "In the meantime you will have to learn to accept that I do not approach life in quite the same fashion that you do."
Ivy made no response to that, and Siegfried chose not to pursue it further. The rest of the ascent was made in pointed silence, accompanied only by the whisper of the breeze through the trees and the faint cries of gulls overhead.
After a half-hour Siegfried noticed the hard-edged silhouette of a building through the trees ahead and a minute later they emerged into a grassy clearing. In its centre stood a small colonnaded building, white marble bright in the sunlight. Ivy halted at the clearing's edge and Schtauffen drew alongside her, taking in the scene.
"The Shrine of Charon." Ivy's voice startled him, so accustomed had he grown to the silence. He glanced at her profile and then back at the ruins as she continued, "Charon was the ferryman of the underworld in the Greek pantheon, bringing the souls of the dead-"
"I know who he was." Siegfried muttered, annoyed that she still felt the need to lecture him. He felt rather than saw Ivy's eyebrows raise, her lips curling into a sly smile.
"Beauty and a classical education all in one package, you do impress me. What other surprises do you-"
"Oh, shut up." he grunted irritably, stomping toward the shrine. She said no more, but he could feel her smirking at his back as he passed under the gate.
The interior of the shrine was cool and dark; the windowless walls and roof were surprisingly intact, and little light was admitted through the arched doorway. Siegfried halted just inside the threshold, allowing his eyes to acclimatise to the darkness. A large statue dominated the room, overlooking an empty chamber with both floor and ceiling decorated with elaborate circular mosaics.
"It's in very good condition," he mused aloud. He had seen many remnants of ancient civilisations in his travels, but few so intact. Indeed, he thought, it is almost too well-preserved.
"That is because it is a fake," Ivy answered, confirming the suspicion forming in his mind. "Among his other flaws Vercci had an impressive capacity for pretension. He no doubt thought it very clever to mark the entry to the Pit as a passage to the underworld."
As she spoke she opened her bag and withdrew a shuttered lantern, carefully filling and lighting it. Amber light cast the tall statue into sharp relief as she crossed the room towards it, pausing before it.
"Behold the face of Charon, known also as Paolo Vercci," she said mockingly as Schtauffen joined her. From under the statue's cowl a gaunt visage stared blindly across the room. The sculptor had worked wonders, capturing vitality and malevolence in every line of the aged face. No doubt, Schtauffen thought, the unknown craftsman's reward had been that commodity with which Vercci had made his name synonymous.
"It is one of only two representations of his appearance I have come across," Ivy was saying. "As I said, he had an impressive capacity for pretension."
"Where was the other?"
"In the Pit, below us. You will not be able to miss it, I promise you; it is even more self-aggrandizing than this is."
Schtauffen looked around. "I can't wait," he murmured, "So how do we gain entry?"
In response she turned back to the mosaic which adorned the floor, crossing to the side nearest the archway. Dropping to one knee she placed the lantern on the floor beside her and skimmed gloved fingers across the colourful tiles, her eyes narrowed in concentration. After a minute her hand came to rest on one stone, no different from the others to Siegfried's eye, and pressed. The stone sank a half-inch into its setting and immediately she pressed another half a foot to its left, and then another three inches up – seven stones in all. As the last sank into place the whole shrine seemed to tremble, a deep bass rumbling running through Siegfried's whole body as the mosaic began to sink into the ground.
As it lowered it seemed to divide into segments, the segments forming a spiralling stairway descending into darkness. After almost a minute the rumbling ceased and a deathly stillness fell over the shrine.
Ivy took up the lantern and rose slowly to her feet. At her side Schtauffen stared into the darkness. The silence grew long.
"Do you sense the shard?" Ivy asked eventually. Siegfried shook his head and she frowned. "Perhaps… no matter. Perhaps as we descend…" she paused, gazing downwards. "Light your lantern, Herr Schtauffen. We will want all the light we can bring."
Siegfried nodded soundlessly, his hands moving as though of their own accord to comply. The lantern's warm glow was more comforting than he had expected, but the shadows seemed all the darker beyond the reach of its light.
And so it is time. Schtauffen took a deep breath and started forward, but Ivy stopped him with a hand on his chest.
"I must go first," she said, raising her voice over his protest, "The traps, remember?"
He fell silent and stepped back as she started down the steps, casting a last glance at the sunlit doorway before descending in her wake. The light of their lanterns faded from view.
Darkness returned to the Shrine.
******************
Author's Notes: The original synopsis for this chapter was 'They go to the Money Pit.' Writing is a crazy pastime. At least the way I do it…
I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter (or half-chapter, really, according to the original plan), but Soul Calibur II finally arrived and has been chewing up my time. I'm trying to balance it a bit now.
Many thanks again to those who have reviewed – You Are Legends. I really appreciate you taking the time.
Fairly confident the next part is about a week away – though I've said that before…
In the meantime, be happy! And drive carefully.