John Carter by Stuart Moore

the river: a massive, sandblasted structure that dwarfed everything around it, like a madman’s vision of an earthly water dam.
    Sola whispered a chant and began making signs in the air with all four of her arms.
    Dejah shook her head, eyes wide. “Impossible,” she said.
    Carter peered closer. Every inch of the Gates’ surface was covered with the strange lattice of lines he’d seen in the Arizona cave and again in the Thark temple. But those etchings, he now realized, had been crude carvings, primitive imitations. This was the real thing, a pulsing web of living machinery built for some powerful, specific purpose.
    The current guided them straight to the narrow foot of the Gates. They struck it with a slight bump, coming to a stop as the river flowed around the structure on both sides.
    Dejah reached out a hand, touching the intricate line work. “I’ve never seen this material before…”
    â€œI want to get a better look.” Carter scooped up Dejah in his arms and leaped. She cried out, burying her head in his chest.
    They soared up a hundred feet, clearing the top of the Gates, then came to a landing on its flat, wide roof. Below, in the canoe, Sola continued to chant.
    Dejah was staring at him. He set her down.
    â€œCarter,” she said. “Your feet.”
    He glanced down. A blue aura spread out from him, forming a glowing pattern against the latticework on the roof of the Gates. Tentatively, he took a step. When his foot touched down again, a flare of blue energy rose up.
    Carter raised the medallion in surprise. It too glowed blue, its forked lines seeming to come alive in the Gates’ presence.
    Then the surface of the Gates seemed to open up in front of them, stone falling away like sand rushing down an hourglass. A stairway wove itself into being, leading down into the heart of the structure.
    Together they began their descent. The walls of the Gates surrounded them, the staircase constantly forming new steps just ahead of their feet. Carter couldn’t tell how far down they walked—at least to the level of the river’s surface, probably deeper.
    When they reached the bottom, the medallion flared bright.
    Ahead, a portal opened in the blue stone. A corridor knitted itself into existence just as the stairway had done before. Carter peered ahead but the passageway was dim, lit only by the blue glow of the medallion.
    He glanced over at Dejah, and she returned his gaze. Once again he felt that bond between them, the sense that he was born to meet this woman. This strange, willful, infuriating, unspeakably beautiful princess of Mars.
    They drew their swords as one, in a single fluid motion. And stepped forward into the dark.

C ARTER AND D EJAH had only taken a few steps when the corridor sparked to life. An eerie, diffuse light filled the air, seeming to follow them as they walked. At its edges up ahead they could still see the corridor weaving itself into existence, forming new stone and mortar work before their eyes.
    Dejah Thoris shook her head in disbelief. “This is not the work of gods. These are machines .”
    Abruptly the corridor stopped. Carter stepped forward toward the wall—and again his foot began to glow. An intricate lattice of energy rose up into the air, glowing and twisting all around them. The walls began to melt away, shaping and swirling, expanding outward to form a new, much larger chamber.
    When the energy faded, Dejah and Carter found themselves standing in a cylindrical, high-ceilinged room. Faint lights danced along the rock walls, glowing in the now-familiar lattice pattern.
    Almost in a trance, Dejah ran her fingers along the blue-lit wall. She glanced at the floor, then held out her hand to Carter.
    â€œYour medallion.”
    He passed it to her. She knelt and placed it atop a softly glowing mark on the floor. The medallion flared again, seething briefly with light. Dejah snatched her hand away—and the