She set her ink quill down and stood. To her right were several wooden drawers, each labeled on the front. She opened one, and fished out a ring of keys.
“Follow me,” she said, and moved out of the circular desk. We moved past throngs of studying recruits, through a maze of tall bookshelves toward a less used section of the Librarium. There was a small recess in the wall, and an incline toward a locked iron gate.
Moira unlocked the gate, and pulled it open. It led directly into a spiral set of stone stairs. Near the entranceway was a small magistry lantern, which she took and toggled on. It emitted a dim, blue light, just barely enough to see a few feet in front of us. With this lantern in hand, she led me deep into the underground levels. Down where only magisters were normally allowed. The air grew staler the further we went, and the light from the entrance disappeared entirely.
I have to admit I had some anxiety about the whole ordeal. The corridors were so dark and maze-like, that if Moira had left me at any point, getting back would’ve been impossible. I would’ve died of starvation before ever finding my way out on my own.
Every corridor seemed similar: piles and shelves of books, followed by endless doors that branched off into other areas of the underground. Despite this, Moira seemed to know exactly where she was going. The passages were quite old, and made of a rough-cut stone, unlike the building above, which was smooth and gray.
My anxiety spurred me to small talk.
“Rather deserted,” I mused.
“I have a staff of artificers that work down here,” Moira said, not breaking her stride. “They’re quite good, really. They categorize, label, and translate the works as needed. Unfortunately, most of them are off on their trial right now.”
“Trial?” I asked.
“To become magisters,” Moira said, matter-of-factly. “I worry sometimes, as they’re quite dangerous. But it’s a natural part of becoming a magister, and the life they’ve chosen. One part scholar, one part soldier, one part engineer.”
“Are you not a magister?”
Moira shook her head. “Oh, no, I just work here. Books are my passion. History. Art. Classic literature. That sort of thing. Working here in the Librarium gives me a great deal of freedom to pursue what I enjoy.”
I found myself wearing a genuine smile. “I have to admit, I envy you. Though I’m not sure if it would be the best job for me, as I tend to lose track of time when I find a book I fancy.”
We turned a corner, and Moira stopped near a tattered, wooden door. She searched through her keyring and opened it. It led into a room about four arm-lengths wide, with a domed roof, and a dusty tiled floor.
I was surprised to find no books inside. Nor scrolls. Rather, there were seven small notch pedestals in the walls; upon each sat an ancient clay tablet. Some of them were cracked or worn beyond readability.
“Here we are,” Moira said, brushing some dust from one of the tablets. “These are the oldest references I know of to the Corelight, though they’re actually detailed accounts of the fall of Vor’aj and Azror’jir. I don’t know exactly how they came to us. It’s likely they’ve sat down here for centuries.”
“The Magisterium’s shown a lot of interest in the Corelight,” I said. “Nobody’s asked to see these?”
“Magister Ross and Queen Lyra have seen them. But, to be honest, they don’t offer much insight. The story of Vor’aj is well documented in other areas, these just tell the same story, with a bit less flourish. I’ve helped Amelia and Her Majesty with this Corelight project of theirs, but after hundreds of hours of research, we can discern only three things for certain: One, the Corelight exists. Two, it was constructed by the Old Gods. And three, it hosts some sort of primordial magic related to motion.”
I unwrapped the linen cloth covering the palm of my hand. The fragment of the Corelight embedded in my skin glowed, filling the small room with light. Moira was startled, but moved closer to see what was going on.
“By all the gods below,” she said. “What is that?”
“A fragment of the Corelight,” I said, clenching my fist. “Found on an ancient ship that somehow made it into a mountain range, hundreds of miles from the sea.”
“How could—” Moira began.
“Believe me,” I interrupted, “I wish I knew. But surely it has something to do with this fragment?”
“A ship on a mountain…” Moira said quietly. “Do you think… the Corelight somehow… transported it up there?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I said. “But, after reading their captain’s journal, I think they were running from something. Maybe… maybe using the Corelight was a last-ditch effort to escape.”
“I suppose anything’s possible.” Moira shook her head. “But I’m afraid I might have to disappoint you. Like I said, these tablets just tell the story of Vor’aj’s fall.”
I peered down at the tablets. They were written in Old High Deific, fortunately a language I was familiar with. Moira handed me her magistry lantern, and I read what bits were not worn away:
When world was built, and set into motion, the Old Gods bestowed—upon the five lights—. The deep magic that holds the Great Ship together.
The light of life, the Arclight, from which all creation flows.
The light of death, the Netherlight, from which all death goes.
The light of will, the Deeplight, where all men find their purpose.
The light of time, the Overlight, where near the dragons—
Final of all, the light of motion, which burns in the white hot center of The Arkos, driving us toward—. The Corelight, the engine that turns the world—
—the dark mystics of Vor’aj, servants of the Mad God, Nuruthil, believed they could use the Corelight to wage war on their—. Blinded by their hubris, and their lust for power—led to their ruin. They opened a door that could not be closed. The Deathless Ones crept through, ready to consume all the world.
To prevent the corruption, Craetos the All-Seer, King of Dragons, sent the great city to the depths—
Vor’aj sank—
Their people scattered.
—lands turned to ash.
But the darkness did not leave, it only hid.
I lowered the magistry lantern, and thought for a moment. “You’re sure this is the oldest account you have for the Corelight?”
“Most certainly,” Moira said with unwavering confidence.
“I’ve never heard the story of Craetos sinking Vor’aj. I’ve always heard that the Vor’aji did it to themselves. And what does ‘the light of motion’ mean, exactly?”
Moira shrugged. “Queen Lyra believes it to be a metaphor.”
I shook my head. “The word used for motion is ‘vereonen.’ A Deific word that’s only used when specifying—”
“I speak Deific, thank you,” Moira said.
“Then you know that it can only be taken literally,” I countered.
“Maybe… maybe there are subtleties to the language that we’re not privy to. Who can say?”
“That’s less than helpful,” I said.
Moira looked slightly offended by this. “Well, I’m sorry I can’t be of more assistance, Professor. Perhaps you should—”
I waved my hand in negation. “I’m so sorry. That was rude of me. I just… I feel like there’s something I’m missing here. I have so many pieces to this puzzle, but the final picture isn’t quite clear.”
To her credit, Moira waited patiently as I examined the tablets in excruciating detail. Unfortunately, they didn’t yield any further information, and what little I learned didn’t seem very helpful at the time.
Little did I know, whoever wrote the tablet all those centuries ago had spelled things out quite succinctly.
I just wasn’t paying enough attention.
Chapter Nineteen
The Expedition Begins
I spent three weeks (twenty-four days, in fact) as an honored guest in Endra Edûn. Apparently, the Concordance was not quite as finished as
it had first seemed. While supplies were ferried to it from the capital, a full team of magisters, led by Amelia Ross, were working day and night to be prepared for our eventual departure.
The day of our expedition coincided with the end of the yearly term at the Magisterium, wherein many of the artificers would return home for the season.
Our final crew compliment stood thus:
Four civilians: myself, Tiffin, Decan, and the galley cook, Winstom, a gangly, thin-armed man with only three fingers on his left hand.
Six magisters: Amelia Ross, Annora Wilhelm, Lias Gereon, Auden Veldheim, and two others.
Twelve artificers, each at the top of their classes, all training to be magisters. Apparently, despite their young ages, their titles carried with them an officer-level military rank.
And fifty-eight assorted warders and sailors, including Commander Talthis. This also encompassed a great many specialists and engineers, navigators and cartographers, marine experts and linguists.
The holds were filled with everything we could potentially need for a long expedition. Surplus fuel cells, diving suits, explosives (should we need to clear obstructions), and, of course, a tremendous amount of food rations. Some fresh food was taken, but this was mostly a luxury that would only last the first several days of the journey. After that, there were stores of long-lasting food such as dried fruits, canned meats, nuts, etc.
Should those stores run out, there were also several hundred ration packets. These were simple meals contained within a lacquered envelope. One need only add water, and place the packet directly into a fire or other source of heat.
And, of course, people brought their own personal effects. Men brought framed pictures of their families, chess and hilto boards, and musical instruments for entertainment on the long voyage. One warder was even caught attempting to smuggle his cat aboard. Being deathly allergic, I’m glad the menace was uncovered before it could wreak havoc on my sinuses.
In the end, the Concordance felt more like a small city than it did a ship. It bustled with life and movement.
Tiffin and Decan were sporting a healthy tan from all our sightseeing in Endra Edûn. It was no secret that they’d taken a liking to one another, and I suspected that even when they weren’t touring the capital with me, they were doing so with each other.
Tiffin seemed ready to burst with excitement as we came aboard the Concordance. She looked like a wide-eyed child, her pixie-like face wearing a bright, full smile. Decan had insisted on carrying her things, and consequently had both arms full of bags, not to mention one flung over his back. He must’ve been horrifically uncomfortable, but didn’t complain one bit.
Magister Ross was in the docking bay, speaking with one of her men. When she saw me nearing, she motioned for my attention. “Professor Rycroft, you’re right on time.”
Her tone was friendly enough, but she seemed like she’d been working very long hours. She was normally immaculately clean, well-kempt, and straight-backed. At that moment, however, she looked practically weary. I suspected that this was due to several long work nights of her readying the ship.
“Do you have more equipment coming?” she asked, looking at two bags I had flung over my shoulder.
I shook my head. “No, I believe I should be more than fine. Most of the Shao Zhu artifacts are already aboard.”
“And I have all the reference material we’ll need,” Tiffin added.
“I do have a few Librarium texts with me,” I said.
“More reference material?” Ross asked.
I smiled weakly. “Actually, some fiction. It’s going to be a long trip, and I’ll go barking mad if I don’t have something to read.”
Ross nodded. “A man after my own heart,” she said. “There’s a small library on Deck C that I frequent. It’s not much, but it’s got a few classics. The Last Voyage of Hidreaon, The Quest of Quintillus Atticus, and The Witch of the Well, if you fancy a bit of horror. Not an original, of course, but a fair duplicate.”
“I’ll have to take a look,” I said.
Ross checked her pocket watch. “Feel free to leave your luggage where it is. The warders will see it to your quarters.”
I set my bags down, as did Decan, with a look of profound relief.
Ross motioned for us to follow. “If you’d be so kind as to join me on the bridge. We’ll plot our route, and get the officers up to speed.”
We followed Magister Ross through the cramped, darkened corridors of the ship. It wouldn’t have been a terribly long walk, were it not for no less than a dozen men stopping her to ask a question, or give her an update on some innocuous part of the ship. Questions and comments along the line of:
“The ventral rudder is still off alignment by half a degree, we’re repositioning it now.”
“We had to take reactor four offline again, there’s a small hair-sized fracture on the boiler plate. It shouldn’t delay our departure, we can launch with only three reactors, no problem.”
“Magister Veldheim insists you told him it was okay to bring several live animals aboard?”
And so on. None of the comments seemed to particularly surprise Ross. The woman knew her ship inside and out.
“Captain on the bridge!” one of the crewmen announced as the four of us entered. Several crewmen stood to attention, until Ross ushered them to sit.
Tiffin, Decan and I stood off to the side while Ross toured around the bridge, asking a few questions on the status of the Concordance, and checking several valves and console readings.
When she seemed satisfied, she made the call to dive, “Prepare to dive. Systems check, sound off.”
In sequence, each of the bridge officers sounded off:
“Navigation, ready.”
“Helm, ready.”
“Logistics, ready.”
“Engine room, ready.”
The final officer, a beefy magister at the center console, turned a rotating circular handle. When he did this, there was a great hiss of steam, as if some enormous nearby tank had been opened. “Hatches locked. Steam vents are opened. Dive, dive, dive.”
And dive we did. I moved closer to the thick glass that separated the bridge from the open air and water. As I’ve said, the bridge was actually several levels high, and near the glass there was a drop-off where I could see the glass on the lower levels. As the ship descended, the water line shot up until it rose up over my head.
Everything immediately went two shades darker, and the low, rumbling sound of the engines became more pronounced now that we were completely submerged.
Ross nodded appreciatively, a subtle bit of relief in her expression that the dive went smoothly. “Set a course for Cthos. Heading north, four ninety-seven by three twenty-four. Ahead full, thirty knots.”
“Aye, Captain.”
My attention was piqued by our destination, and not in a positive way. Not really thinking, I tapped Magister Ross on her shoulder, and she peered back at me with a glare that could’ve melted steel.
“I’m rather busy at the moment, Professor.”
“Yes,” I said apologetically, “I’m terribly sorry. I just couldn’t help but hear our destination. We can’t possibly be going to Cthos.”
Ross tilted her glasses down, and seemed to be examining my reaction in detail. “I didn’t misspeak. There are precious few ways for a ship like this to get into Lake Yseraj. Passing through Cthos is our best option.”
“But… but that will take us dangerously close to the Temple of Nuruthil, don’t you think?” I said. “If we took the western river, through Yrezj Zis, we could—”
Ross held up one hand, silencing me. “I’m sorry, Professor. You’re a skilled archeologist, I’m sure, but when it comes to navigation, you’re showing your ignorance.”
I was taken aback by her directness. She must’ve noticed this, because she immediately softened her tone.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean it that way. Simply put, the rivers running up to Yrezj Zis, and through the north pass in
Caelis Enor, are much too shallow for this ship—we would risk running aground. What’s more, our scouts in the past have reported hostile forces in that area. Cultists, we believe.”
“I see,” I said, looking down. “Well, perhaps we could—”
“I assure you that I’ve gone over this with my men a dozen times. I understand the risks, as should we all. Your concerns about passing the Azror’jir are valid, though, and rest assured, we’ll remain submerged the entire time. But we must press on. Cthos is our destination.”
To be perfectly honest, our passage to Cthos shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise to me. Magister Ross was right, of course, a ship the size of the Concordance couldn’t possibly make it up the western river without serious difficulties. And if we were run aground, we would be in real trouble.
I have no doubt that you know of the Temple of Nuruthil. Its proper name is Azror’jir, and remains to this day one of the most dangerous places on Arkos. There were once thousands of temples and shrines to the Mad God, Nuruthil, but after his war to eradicate humanity, most all of them were burned to the ground. What few insane followers remained were said to have barricaded themselves within Azror’jir, and protected it with profane magistry.
How much of that was fact and how much was fiction? I couldn’t say. But I’d heard terrifying stories of Azror’jir since I was just a child, and if even one tenth of the stories were true, I knew it was a place to avoid. More than that, even as a working adult I’d often find references to Azror’jir amongst the ruins of past civilizations. All of them agreed that it was a place of great evil.
According to legend, the broods of the Dragonkin Empire had once laid siege to it for six years. Even they couldn’t break its defenses. And after a thousand-plus years of isolation, there was no telling what madness festered in the minds of those that still dwelled there.
Chapter Twenty
Tales of the Mad God
Even at maximum speed, it would take the Concordance over a week to make it to the mouth of the river. As Decan and I shared a room, I continued his studies in earnest, and he began to show real improvement. Despite being illiterate for all of his young life, he wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination—he just hadn’t been given the opportunity to expand his mind.
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