“I willnay carry it,” said Eliza. Later, when Jalo was not watching her, a raven appeared at her side. She fed it as much of the potion as it could drink. It faded from sight but she felt it on her shoulder, sharp talons digging into her coat as the myrkestra flew over the witches’ forest and the Sea of Tian Xia.
~~~
After the long journey over the Sea and the fiery volcanic land on the other side of it, Jalo’s lovely, mournful song brought them into the Realm of the Faeries. In spite of the vial she wore, Eliza found herself unable to say quite how it happened – only that the fire and black stone became a general, diffuse darkness and warmth, and when she found herself no longer on the myrkestra but standing in a grove of trees from whose branches white flames danced and flared in place of leaves, it seemed that she had been standing there for some time. The path under her feet glittered with diamonds and at the end of it stood a golden gate. Beyond the gate lay a brightness that made her eyes water.
When she had used Faery Blood to escape Nia’s prison in the Arctic years ago, she had seen the Illusion like a semi-transparent veil over the real world of ice and snow. But the Realm of the Faeries was a land of Illusion. With the enchanted vial of Malferio’s blood around her neck, hidden beneath her clothes, she felt rather than saw how ephemeral the world was, how insubstantial, always shifting slightly beneath her feet. It made her feel a bit seasick and she longed for the stillness and solidity of the world she knew. Shadows flickered here and there, on the path ahead and among the trees. She fixed her eyes on a large shadow just to her left. It became two gorgeously attired Faeries, looking at her in some surprise between the trees, the faint outline of an elegant room around them. She blinked and they were gone. When she looked up, birds span overhead and then vanished. It was dizzying, this sense of a hundred scenes laid over each other, each one haunting the background of every other fleeting reality.
A troupe of the Faery Guard came to greet them. They came and went many times, as Eliza negotiated her visit. The King wanted to see the Gehemmis before he would grant Eliza an audience. Eliza refused. She would show it to him herself, she said. They were unsettled to find that she wore Nia’s vial and demanded she give it to them. She would not and they did not try to take it by force. They wanted her to remove the dragon claw dagger before entering the King’s presence. Again she refused and the Faery Guard eyed Jalo, who was obviously injured. She began to despair of being allowed to see the King, and yet she was not willing to be unarmed and unprotected in this place.
“He has agreed,” said Jalo wearily, at last.
“Good.” She let out a puff of breath.
“I will see to the other matter,” he continued, and she nodded. They had agreed on a meeting place on the western shore, and he was to take Nell and Charlie there.
He left her there, walking away between two trees and becoming shadow. She followed the Faery Guard towards the gate and the bright light beyond it, feeling very much alone among beings who did not value her life in the least. The invisible raven on her shoulder shifted slightly from one foot to the other.
~~~
The Faery Guard led her into and through the light. She felt a shimmer of pain as she stepped through but shook it off. Jewel-encrusted archways stood in rows on a vast stretch of marble, and within each archway was a light as brilliant as the one they had just stepped through. When she looked harder, though, looked at the faint, flickering shadows, she saw the archways were half ruined, ivy twined about them, young saplings bursting up through the rutted, broken stone floor. The Faeries led her quickly through one of the archways, and now she found herself at the bottom of a stairway soaring up into the sky.
“This is the Thousand Steps,” one of the Faeries told her. “If you wish to see the King, you must show your desire by climbing them.”
So she climbed. For a while she counted, curious to know if there were really a thousand steps, but she gave up after three hundred with the top no closer to being in sight. She focused on her breath, cycling it in and out of her lungs, keeping her eyes fixed only on the steps ahead, clearing her mind so that all her energy might be used for this climb. When at last she came to the top, she looked around in wonder. She was on a broad, open-air platform. White pillars twisted up and then out, forming an intricate lattice across the sky. Rows of black-garbed Faeries stood in formation around the throne at the centre of the space. The throne was carved obsidian, inlaid with gems, and Eliza saw for the first time why Faeries prized their jewels so. They shone with a luster that made their Illusory surroundings seem thin and frail in comparison. The King himself wore a cloak of real feathers and a band of gold around his head. He had a long, haughty face and white-gold hair that fell to his shoulders. The Faery to his right had a sharp, intelligent gaze that he fixed on Eliza. The one on his left wore an expression altogether too cheerful for his august surroundings. Between the pillars she could see the Realm of the Faeries: brilliant rivers weaving between the mountains and sparkling bridges slung between the Castellas perched on every mountaintop. All of it so fragile that Eliza felt she would only have to blow hard to topple the mountains. She stood before the King, at the centre of a phalanx of over-anxious guards.
“The Shang Sorceress,” said King Emyr, looking her over in mild surprise. “I had expected someone more…well…that is to say, you are very young.”
Eliza would have liked to appear wearing something other than her travel-worn Sorma garb, but she squared her shoulders and gave a brief bow.
“I’m here to ask for your help,” she said. “You know that I severed my ties with the Mancers some time ago.”
The King nodded. “We know. But you returned to them recently. Why did you go back? And why did you leave again?”
“The Mancers have threatened someone I love,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “I have stolen their most valuable treasure and I intend to keep it from them. There is nowhere safer from them than here.”
The King gave her a sly look. “Let’s see it, then,” he said.
Eliza removed the Gehemmis from her backpack and stepped forward. Here was the moment, her terrible gamble. Selva had been clear that the Gehemmis were worthless alone; only together did they have power. If she could not get the second Gehemmis from the Faeries, this one was no use to her. One of the Faery Guards took it from her and bore it to the King. He looked at it carefully.
“What is this inscription?” he asked. “They look like runes…or something Mancerish.”
“The symbols predate Mancer writing,” said Eliza. “I dinnay know what it says or even what its use is. Only that it is one of the Four Gifts of the Ancients and that a Sorceress stole it from the Horogarth long ago.”
“I never believed that story,” scoffed the King. “How could a Sorceress take something from the Horogarth?”
“I dinnay know,” said Eliza.
The King looked at her carefully. “And what is it you want exactly? You want us to keep it for you? Does that mean you want it back?”
“I’m nay stupid,” said Eliza. “If you believe me that this is the Gehemmis, I know I willnay get it back. It’s an offering, aye. I want help.”
“Help of what kind?”
“My friends are being pursued by the Thanatosi. I’d like to borrow a couple of Faeries…for a short time…to guard them until I can eliminate the threat.”
“And your friends are where?”
“With the Faithful.”
The King seemed predictably uninterested in this portion of the conversation.
“Well, we will see if this funny trinket is what you say it is. Call the Master of the Vaults!” He clapped his hands.
While they waited, a troupe of very beautiful, brightly dressed Faeries passed through the guards in formation. Five of them stood in a row and began to sing, while the others performed a dance. The King and the Faery on his left watched contentedly, while the Faery to the right, the one with the piercing gaze, kept watching Eliza.
&nbs
p; At last the Master of the Vaults arrived and the performers disappeared. He was smallish for a Faery, with very white skin and wheeling, deep blue eyes. He was dressed in a dark red robe, his fingers heavy with glittering rings.
“What do you make of this?” the King handed him the Gehemmis very casually. “She claims to have stolen it from the Mancers.”
Eliza knew, from the way that he took the Gehemmis in his hands, that the Master of the Vaults, at least, recognized its value.
“Indeed.” The Master of the Vaults looked up at his King. “I should like to examine it. Verify its authenticity.”
“Of course. In the meantime, we will make our guest comfortable. Perhaps we can make our arrangements tomorrow?”
“That’s fine,” said Eliza, her heart sinking slightly. She didn’t know how long the spell of invisibility would last on her raven, but surely not much longer.
“Then I take my leave,” said the Master of the Vaults, bowing. As he returned to his waiting morrapus, the raven took off from Eliza’s shoulder and followed him on silent wings.
~~~
Eliza was taken by morrapus to a shady pavilion on an island not twenty feet around. Whichever way she looked, she met an endless stretch of silver water. This seemed a bit silly to her, since they knew she was wearing Nia’s vial and could walk across the water if she wanted to. The air and the water flickered with shadows; guards no doubt, but she didn’t bother to try to make them out clearly.
There was a long divan in the pavilion. She lay herself down there, closed her eyes, steadied her breathing. She concentrated on her raven.
~~~
The Master of the Vaults was walking through deep underground passageways. A large gemstone at his chest lit the way. At various points along the tubular corridors that branched first this way, then that, the Master of the Vaults would pause and turn a ring on his finger a number of times before continuing. The raven followed closely. At first Eliza tried to keep track of the twists and turns of the passageway and the turning of the rings, but eventually she had to give up. This was too elaborate a route to find her way through alone. Eliza could feel the forces that gave way with each twist of the ring and then closed up behind him again. These were not barriers but something else, some Magic she did not know. Selva had been right that the Master of the Vaults himself was the only way in or out. Eliza’s grandmother had not made it far into the Treasure Vaults, but she knew there was some great enchantment, something beyond the Magic of Faeries, deep inside.
Eliza’s raven was entirely lost in the maze when at last they reached the end of it. The corridor opened up into a spherical room. A long, slender box of Faery Gold, inlaid with diamonds, hung in the air at the center of the room. A woman huddled on the floor, clutching her ragged knees to her chest. She rocked back and forth, muttering. Flaxen hair hung limp around a pale, drawn moon face. Eliza had never been particularly good at sensing power, either in objects or in other beings, but she could feel enough to know this being was a witch.
The witch looked up slowly, first at the Master of the Vaults and then at the raven. Eliza’s heart gave a sickening jolt. But no, the raven was still invisible. Yet the witch looked right at it. The corner of her mouth gave a single twitch but her dead eyes gave away nothing. She turned her gaze back to the Master of the Vaults. He was twisting rings furiously now, barely looking at the witch. Then he sighed, as if he were quite worn out, and took the Gehemmis from his crimson robes. The witch locked her eyes on it, still expressionless. The Master of the Vaults spoke a brusque command. She flinched as if in pain. She raised her chin and began a lengthy incantation in a high, quavering wail. Sweat poured from her brow and her claw-like fingers trembled. The golden box descended and opened. The Master of the Vaults placed the Gehemmis in the box. He waited as the witch continued to wail and keen and the box returned to its mid-air position, firmly closed. He gave the witch a curt nod and she fell silent, looking at him with bleak hatred. Then he turned away, plunging them in darkness, the gem at his chest lighting the corridor back. He twisted his rings as he went, disappearing around the first turn.
Eliza breathed deeply and then entered the witch’s mind. It was not only easy – it was nearly impossible not to. The witch drew her in with a terrifying, sucking hunger. Her mind was a cavern of flickering flame, strange fanged creatures, a clamour of angry voices. Lights flashed and heavy wings pounded the airless space, every thought steeped in poison.
How often does he come? Eliza asked the witch.
How do I know? What does time mean? He comes often, often, often, perhaps every day, perhaps more than once a day.
Do you know how to work the rings?
A great shrieking and sobbing rose up in the cavern of the witch’s mind. It was such a terrible sound that instinctively Eliza tried to pull herself out and found the witch was holding her fast inside. Her heart clenched with fear.
No no no, you won’t go running off now, pretty, no no no.
I can’t help you unless you let me go.
Eliza felt herself spat out suddenly and opened her eyes. The shadowy forms around the pavilion were flickering nearer. Had she cried out and drawn attention to herself? She rolled over on her side, her heart hammering in her chest. If they suspected her of working Magic, everything would become a great deal more difficult. She shut her eyes again, seeing through the raven in the vaults. She did not want to enter the witch’s mind again. She tried to speak through the raven and found to her relief that her own voice emerged from the invisible bird.
“Who are you?” she asked.
The witch made a raw, choking sound that might have been a laugh and said, “Ho! A voice now! The ghost-bird speaks like a girl! You come here and yet you do not know me? Who are you, I might ask?”
“My name is Eliza,” she said. It might not be wise to tell the truth, but she decided to chance it in the hopes of earning the witch’s trust. “I’m the Shang Sorceress.”
“Oh yes,” said the witch. “There is a Sorceress in Di Shang. I remember.”
“How did you come to be here?” asked Eliza.
The witch writhed, tangling her sharp fingers in her hair. “He binds me fast, he does. How I would blast him, wither him, if I could! But I can only obey. Eternity is brutal, Sorceress-bird. I think that you are young, but I will tell you, forever is too long to suffer.”
“You’re under a Curse,” said Eliza, understanding now. “They use your Magic to keep the Gehemmis safe.”
“Ho!” cried the witch again. “A clever Sorceress-bird, you are, to find your way here and to know so much! And yet you do not know who I am.”
“Who are you?”
The witch fairly cackled, and then began to cough. When she could speak again, her voice was a painful rasp. “My name was Amarantha, once. Help me, Sorceress-bird, and I will forever be indebted to you. Help me to be Amarantha again! Then I will blast and wither him, then I will teach him what forever means.” Her voice rose to a scream at the end.
“Shh,” hissed Eliza. The name Amarantha was familiar, but she could not remember where she had heard it before.
“Nobody can hear me,” said the witch, and laughter looped from her, mad and high-pitched. “Sometimes I scream for hours and nobody hears, nobody hears, and it echoes through the vaults, and I talk and nobody hears, nobody hears.”
“Lah, fine, but be quiet now. I need quiet. Can you work any Magic to help me?”
“None, none! Would I be here if I could work any Magic but that which I am commanded to work? Obedience is my Curse. Forever forever forever!”
“All right. Just…stay still and stay quiet. I’ll do my best.”
Eliza wished that Foss were here to help her. Amarantha had worked the enchantment keeping the Gehemmis here and so the Curse on Amarantha had to be broken. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to work this kind of Magic alone.
The raven stepped onto the witch’s shoulder and Eliza began a spell of Deep Seeing. She felt herself pour
ed like a liquid into the body of the witch. Then it was a matter of choosing the right time. How many years back? She tried to hold the years steady as she flashed back through the centuries in the vault. She realized slowly as century after century flew by her that this witch must be Immortal, for no witch could live this long. The Faeries had Cursed her to serve them and then given her Immortality, to keep her here always. Eliza’s hold on the spell grew weaker as the years slid by and she began to be afraid she would get lost in the witch’s past, never find her way back out. She leaped through time, clinging to the spell, which seemed eager to shake her off. Then she came to the moment she was seeking, and she forced the wheeling Magic to a halt.
The young witch was in an Illusory wood. She wore hide trousers and jacket, but her feet were bare. Flaxen braids hung down her back. Her breath came swift and frightened, her fingers twitched as she whispered spells to protect herself.
The Master of the Vaults appeared suddenly, as if out of nowhere, and uttered a single phrase.
The Curse fell on her like a stone. The forest disappeared. Eliza was impressed by the power and simplicity of the Curse. It was a deep Curse, but it was old too, and the witch had been straining against it a long time.
She tumbled out of the spell, a little sick with the effort of it. When she could speak again, the raven said: “It willnay be easy but I might be able to break it. We need to be ready for him when he comes back.”
Amarantha let out a long slow hiss of breath.
“Relax now, and try not to fight me,” said the raven. “This may hurt.”
Amarantha laughed. “Pain doesn’t frighten me.”
“Good.”
The room filled with ravens.
Chapter
~15~
Bone, Fog, Ash & Star Page 17