Circles of Stone

by Ian Johnstone

  Mr Zhi’s smile faded. “Please forgive Jeremy. He only recently completed training for the Merisi himself and perhaps the pains of that journey are yet to fade. Is that right, Jeremy?”

  “You could say that,” he muttered.

  Mr Zhi’s voice suddenly changed. “And yet the memory is not so strong that you remember your manners!”

  Tasker glanced at Mr Zhi and flushed. “I’m sorry, Mr Zhi,” he said, shrinking a little in his seat.

  “Pride is your weakness, Jeremy!”

  Ash allowed himself a quiet smile at Tasker’s expense.

  “And if you don’t mind me saying, Ash, I sense that it is yours too,” continued Mr Zhi.

  Ash’s face fell and he too shrank a little.

  “But Mr Zhi, can you help?” pressed Naeo. “Paiscion thought you’d know what to do. The truth is, I thought when Sylas and I found each other things would just … happen … get better. But they only seem to have got worse.”

  Mr Zhi sighed deeply. “I know it’s hard to hear, Naeo, but no one has all the answers. We know that you and Sylas are special – we even know what you might one day achieve – but as for how… well, that is more difficult. Some things must come from the doing and not the asking. That was why I couldn’t tell Sylas more before he left me. If I had, he may never have begun at all. Or worse, he could have ended up a patient at Winterfern … like his mother.”

  Naeo stared at Mr Zhi. Was that all he was going to tell them? After everything they’d been through to get here? She looked at Ash and saw that he was thinking the same thing.

  The old man smiled. “But Paiscion was right – we can help a little. The Merisi have many of the answers that you seek and Isia will have others. But there will be plenty of time to talk about those things at Winterfern.”

  Naeo breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said, watching as Mr Zhi rummaged for something in a compartment of the car. She exchanged a glance with Ash, before continuing. “And there was something else. Paiscion thought that you might have something. A Thing. One that might help us to—”

  “It’s strange that you should mention that,” interjected Mr Zhi, turning back to her. He raised two packages above the back of his seat. “Because I brought two Things from my shop. One for each of you, as it happens.”

  “You … you knew?” said Naeo, reaching for the package – yet another oblong, wrapped in brown paper.

  “Young lady, everyone needs one of my Things,” said Mr Zhi, his eyes twinkling. “But these are not just any Things. As I told Sylas when I met him, I consider it my particular talent to know which Things are for which people.”

  Naeo turned the package over in her fingers, feeling a sudden thrill of excitement.

  “Thank you …” she said quietly, without lifting her eyes from her gift.

  The Thing was small and very light and it made no sound when she shook it. She tore the paper away and allowed the rather plain little object to fall into her hand. At first she thought it was just a simple wooden box – a container for something else – but when she turned it over, she saw two plates running down its length, one white and one black, each inscribed with a series of glistening runes, and between the two plates was a delicate needle, made of a bright metal, perhaps gold. While everything else about the box was unremarkable, the needle was exquisitely intricate, ingeniously hinged at one end and rising in metal swirls and hair-thin strands to the tiniest, most precise point, which was held in a minute clasp.

  “That, my dear, is a very special Thing,” said Mr Zhi, marvelling at it over the back of his seat. “It is called a Glimmertrome.”

  Naeo slid her finger along the length of the needle. “What does it do?” she asked, reaching for the clasp.

  “Don’t touch that!” exclaimed Mr Zhi, lurching towards it. “My dear, I’m terribly sorry, I should have explained before you opened it! The Glimmertrome is a rather powerful Thing and mustn’t be used lightly. You see, that needle, when it is released, will rock from side to side, a little like a metronome – do you know what one of those is?”

  Naeo shook her head.

  “It’s of little consequence,” said Mr Zhi, lifting the Glimmertrome and pointing to the white plate. “When the needle is released, it swings very slowly, passing first over one plate and then back across the middle point to the other. Then it will repeat to a precise rhythm.” He rocked his arm back and forth to demonstrate. “But what is remarkable, what is truly magical, is what the bearer experiences as that happens. They will see with their own eyes when the needle rocks to the white, like so –” Mr Zhi tilted his hand to demonstrate – “and when it swings to the black they will see—”

  “What their Glimmer sees …” whispered Naeo, her face filled with wonder.

  “Precisely!” cried Mr Zhi.

  Ash’s eyes grew wide. “Do you know what this means?”

  “I can be with Sylas while we’re apart!” exclaimed Naeo. “Just like Paiscion said!”

  Mr Zhi laughed and clapped with delight. “So it is what you needed?”

  “It’s exactly what I needed!” said Naeo. “But why do I have to be so careful with it? Can’t I just see what Sylas is doing right now?”

  Mr Zhi opened his palms. “No, because the Glimmertrome works both ways,” he explained. “When the needle swings back, Sylas will see what you see.”

  Naeo furrowed her brow. “No matter what he’s doing?”

  “Precisely. You can imagine how dangerous that can be.”

  Naeo nodded slowly. “So I should only use it when I really have to?”

  “Only when you have no other choice,” said Mr Zhi.

  For a moment he watched Naeo, seeming to enjoy her wonderment. Then he turned his attention to Ash.

  “Ash, you haven’t opened your Thing.”

  Ash pulled his eyes away from the Glimmertrome and grinned excitedly at Mr Zhi, like a child with a new toy. He turned the package over between his fingers, then he shook it next to his ear. It made a barely audible gloop. He tore the paper away and his eyes widened when he saw the gleam and shimmer of the brightest gold. The Thing fell heavily into the palm of his hand. It was not a ball, but a large egg, made entirely of a polished metal that seemed a little like gold, yet was more luminous and reflective. Ash stared at his distorted reflection in its surface, turning it carefully between his fingers.

  “Thank you, it’s … shiny,” he said. “What is it?”

  Mr Zhi laughed. “As I have been saying, that is for you to discover. All I will tell you is that this is a Thing for a true master of magic: someone like yourself. Someone for whom Essenfayle is simply not enough.”

  Ash beamed, delighted by the sound of Mr Zhi’s gift. He shook it again. “Sounds like there’s something inside.”

  “Ah, well, that is where the true gold lies!” said Mr Zhi, patting Ash on the knee. “You’ll see!”

  For some time Naeo and Ash sat quietly looking at their gifts – first their own and then each other’s – wondering at their craftsmanship, trying to think how and when they might be used. Meanwhile Mr Zhi turned to the road ahead and started a quiet conversation with Tasker. Outside, the terrain had changed. The open plains had given way to gentle hills, which in turn had surrendered to deep ravines and high, forested hilltops. The road was no longer a great sweep of rock disappearing to a point in the distance, but instead it rolled through endless loops and turns, winding along hillsides, twisting along valley floors, climbing through high passes. And as the landscape changed, day gave way to night. The last pinks and ambers died from the horizon and the deep blue of the cavernous sky dissolved into a star-filled black.

  Soon the sway and drone of the car and the comfort of its seats had lulled Naeo and Ash into a doze, and from a doze into a deep, exhausted slumber. The precious Things slipped from their fingers, only to be caught up by Mr Zhi and wrapped carefully in their brown paper for safekeeping. Before he turned away, he allowed his gaze to rest for a moment on Naeo’s sleep
ing face, on her narrow features and long eyelashes, her slight care-worn frown that was too old for her age.

  “Remarkable,” he said to himself, with a shake of the head.

  Tasker seemed unaware of this. “They’re frantic back at Stonehenge, you know,” he said, biting his lip. “It’s everything we feared – worse than we feared.”

  Mr Zhi nodded. “I know,” he said.

  “So shouldn’t we be—”

  “No. In the dark we must look for the light.”

  Tasker glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Jeremy, you must learn to see what is under your nose,” said the old man, with strained patience. “Tell me, why do you call Naeo ‘Princess’?”

  Tasker looked sheepish. “I don’t mean anything by—”

  “Tell me anyway,” demanded Mr Zhi.

  Tasker scratched his chin. “She’s just a bit difficult – you know, sure of herself … for someone her age.”

  Mr Zhi sighed and shook his head. “Well, if you could get past your pride and stop worrying about how you expect to be spoken to, you would see that she has every reason to be that way.”

  “Because of what she’s been through?”

  “Because in a very real way, she is a princess. She and Sylas can do anything they choose. They are the miracle we’ve been waiting for.”

  Tasker’s eyes travelled to the rear-view mirror: to Naeo’s slender face glowing by the light of a full moon. His eyes lingered for a while before returning to the road.

  Naeo heard none of this; her dreams were as deep and vivid as ever. She dreamed of her father’s face as she had last seen it, streaked with blood and tears; of the misty lake in the Valley of Outs and the broad expanse of the Barrens; of Scarpia, bounding across a green plain, followed by machines that buzzed in the air; and then again of her father, gazing up at her on the day of the Reckoning in pride and wonder as she turned mighty waves against the Priest of Souls.

  Her mind reached ahead, to the Winterfern hospital, to a woman with a face she knew but did not know. For a moment this image, this unknown face ebbed and flowed, merging with the face she knew so well. With the face of her father.

  Then both faded to nothing.

  In their place came the darkness: waves of it, thick and deep. And as she was touched by it, she felt the Black ripple beneath her skin. It sent out spears of pain that scoured her back and made her scream a silent scream. And then it pulled her down.

  Down and down into the dark.

  “If it is true that all things have their equal answer – their opposing form – then that of knowledge and light must surely be this evil and confounding slick of Black.”

  SYLAS STARED INTO THE darkness. The opening was no higher than his waist, fringed with yellowing vegetation and a foamy scum, and from it crept a brownish sludge streaked with black. It brought with it a stench so foul that it made him gag. He took Simia’s lead and covered his nose with his sleeve.

  “Really though, Simsi?” he said.

  She shrugged. “It’s not far – we just need to get past the checkpoints – a street or two – then we can come up.”

  His eyes travelled back to the tunnel. It was a disgusting, foul little sewer, but he was a little surprised at just how much it made his skin crawl and his throat tighten. It was not so much the stench – though that was bad enough – it was something about the inky blackness that set him on edge.

  “What … what about if we just made a run for it? We could duck past those Tythish things and … lose ourselves in the slums. You know the slums so well we could—”

  “You’re kidding, right?” said Simia, incredulously. “I know the slums and I know the Tythish! They don’t miss a thing – not ever. And don’t let their size fool you, they’re as quick as lightning – with those arms and legs they can crawl straight over the slums like spiders if they want to.” She shuddered. “We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Sylas was still eyeing the opening. “Maybe I could use Essenfayle to get us through,” he murmured.

  “How? Break the earth in two like you did on the Barrens? Between those buildings and streets? With all those people around?”

  Sylas glanced over. “All right … I see your point.”

  “Anyway, we’re trying to get in quietly, aren’t we?”

  He sighed and nodded.

  “It’ll be fine,” she said. “I used the sewers loads when I was living in the slums.”

  “You did?”

  “Well, three or four times.”

  “In my world, that’s not loads.”

  “Well, it’s loads here,” muttered Simia. “Come on, we can’t waste any more time.”

  Sylas sighed. “OK, I’m right behind you.”

  They both glanced up at the sky as though wishing it a fond farewell, took a deep breath and ducked inside the opening.

  The world was suddenly cool and black. He found to his relief that the ceiling was a little higher inside so he was not quite bent double, and there was a brick ledge to one side of the stream of sewage that they could use as a path. However both ceiling and ledge were coated in a noxious slime that squelched underfoot and dripped on their heads and shoulders. The stench was abominable – so bad that he could taste it on his tongue – and it clung to the back of his throat. But still it was the darkness that unnerved him, which was strange – the dark had never bothered him much before.

  “So apart from the god awful smell,” he whispered, his voice echoing from the walls, “is there anything … else down here?”

  He saw Simia’s shadow pause up ahead. “The Slithen sometimes.”

  “The Slithen? You didn’t tell me there were—”

  “Relax! They don’t bother patrolling this far out – the sewers are a labyrinth. All false tunnels and pitfalls – they don’t think anyone knows a way through.”

  “But … you do?”

  “Yeah,” said Simia, walking away. “Pretty sure I do.”

  Sylas shook his head. “Great,” he murmured.

  They clambered on, quickly leaving the dim grey light far behind. Now the real challenge of walking in the dark and staying out of the sewage began. At first Sylas tried to use his elbow to guide himself along the wall, keen to avoid touching the slimy bricks, but after a couple of slips he let his fingers trail over the wet, slippery surface and chose not to think too much about it. A little further on his hand passed over a cool, dark opening, but he heard Simia pushing on ahead so he carried on too, wincing as he stepped across the junction, half expecting to plunge deep into the mire. After that came another junction, and another, and soon enough he developed a feel for it, becoming more confident of the surface underfoot and the distances across the passageways. He picked up his pace, trying to keep up with Simia, who was scurrying like a sewer rat, turning left and right and left again, bounding over junctions, hurrying along narrower and narrower tunnels.

  And then she stopped.

  Sylas drew up behind her, almost slipping into the channel of sewage.

  “What’s up?” he whispered.

  “It’s … a dead end.”

  “It’s a what?”

  “A dead end,” said Simia, her voice wavering a little. “But I don’t understand … I was sure that this was the way!”

  They both turned and peered back the way they had come.

  “Simsi, tell me you know your way back …”

  Silence.

  “Simsi!” he hissed.

  “What do you want from me?” she replied. “Yes, I think I do, but then I thought I—” She stopped. “Did you hear that?” she muttered.

  “What?”

  Suddenly Sylas felt her hand on his arm. She was gripping it tighter and tighter until it hurt.

  “That…” she whispered.

  He strained his ears. For a moment all he heard was Simia’s ‘that’ echoing down the tunnel. But then he heard it.

  A squelch, then a drip, then a ripple.

  It was far away
– back in the adjoining tunnel – but it seemed to be getting closer.

  “What do you think it is?” he breathed, as quietly as he could.

  “I don’t know,” whispered Simia.

  For a moment they were frozen, listening to the sounds getting ever closer.

  “Well, we can’t stay here,” murmured Sylas. “Let’s go.”

  “Towards it?”

  “What choice do we have? We’re cornered if we stay here!”

  Simia hesitated. “OK.”

  They started creeping back up the passageway, hardly daring to breathe. Sylas’s mind was racing: would Essenfayle work down here? Surely not. What would he use? The walls and ceiling were brick and what else was there? It seemed madness to be heading towards the sound, but surely it would be worse to be caught in a dead end?

  They moved ever more slowly, listening to the sounds just ahead, somewhere beyond the blanket of darkness.

  And then the sounds fell silent.

  Sylas froze. He felt Simia’s hand around his arm again, holding him back.

  Then there was another sound. Not like before but a hiss, followed by another.

  Simia’s hand relaxed a little.

  Another hiss.

  Suddenly and to Sylas’s astonishment, Simia squeezed past him.

  She paused for a moment, then in a husky voice she called out.

  “Suhl!”

  Her voice rang down the tunnel. After the quiet of the past minutes it seemed far, far too loud. Recklessly, stupidly loud.

  For what seemed an age they listened to it disappear into the labyrinth.

  And then it came back.

  “Suhl!”

  They both started. It was not Simia’s voice but a male one, deep and strong.

  Simia edged forward and Sylas followed, a step or two behind.

  They were there now, at the junction with the other tunnel. Sylas could feel the change in the squalid, heavy air – in the way the sound of their footsteps echoed off the walls.

  Simia put a hand on Sylas’s chest, then she turned back towards the unknown voice.

  “Who knows the way to the light?” she asked.

  Sylas was still wondering what this meant when the answer came.