“By Grunstaan ... what the bleeding ‘eck was that?” Dialwatcher cried as he looked about at the piles of smoking debris.
“Until just now ... a tree,” Laytner answered, somewhat stunned.
The air cleared slowly, the rain even lightening a little, revealing a smoking stump that was once a mighty tree. “Bugger me!” Dialwatcher gasped, “but that were once a reet big bastard an’ all, prob’ly ‘undreds o’ years old. What a bleeding shame.”
Nephril slid from the wealcan and drew beside him. “So, Master Dialwatcher, thou hast clearly been this way afore?”
Dialwatcher spun round and met Nephril’s narrowed eyes, but he didn’t speak, only turned a furtive glance towards Laytner who kept his own interest firmly on the ground.
“Where be trust these days, eh?” Nephril asked the smoking air. “Or has Leiyatel long removed the need I wonder.” It was hard to tell, but Dialwatcher’s stained face did seem to hold guilt, even his yellow, blue-veined eyes spoke of it.
Nephril placed his hand gently on Dialwatcher’s shoulder and felt the sharpness of the bones, the thinness of his skin. “So, mine chaperone, how far into the land where only one may tread were thee intending to go? Hmm? How far dost thou reckon the remnants of thine once-ring’s protection will hold true here?”
Dialwatcher lifted his hand and peered at its empty finger, brought his other hand up and gently caressed the white band where the ring had once been. If Nephril wasn’t mistaken, a tear was forming at the corner of Dialwatcher’s eye, a quivering, glistening drop that then did just that.
Leaning in close to his ear, Nephril whispered, “I see the source of thy disfigurement, my poor old Nouwhelm guest, see Leiyatel’s stain upon the face of the one she never held. Mark mine words, Master Dialwatcher, thou art of Grunstaan, not of mine own once mistress. Take thee great care of thyself upon this journey. Glean trust of its true worth to thee, a worth other than promises made perhaps, for truly it be a perilous task.”
With that he smiled, squeezed Dialwatcher’s shoulder a few time and let his hand slip free. He stepped away, through the smoke-stemmed yard and up the steps towards the start of that most perilous of journeys. Laytner followed on, close on his heels, carrying an empty metal cask.
27 Nature Takes the High Ground
The entrance building was as Nephril remembered, somehow just as bright despite the day being so unnaturally dark. Where he’d expected to find the pale blue pattern on the floor, though, he found a hole, a newly installed ladder descending to the dark blue depths below.
“The power’s gone,” was Laytner’s only explanation when he saw Nephril’s surprise, as though it should have somehow meant something to him.
The cask Laytner carried was obviously heavy, enough that he lowered it to the floor. Nephril wondered if it would fit down the hole, especially with a ladder in the way.
Dialwatcher stepped onto that ladder and climbed down a few rungs until his waist was level with the floor. Laytner grabbed the cask below its lip and half lifted and half slid it to the edge of the hole, then across into Dialwatcher’s arms. Slowly, carefully, a step at a time, Dialwatcher and the cask squeezed from sight.
Laytner straightened and faced Nephril. “I wish you a safe return. Take good care, Nephril, you’re Dica’s last hope.” He looked embarrassed. “I mean...”
“I know what thou mean, Young Laytner, possibly better than thou do thyself.” Nephril smiled, but with resignation.
Without a further word, he stepped onto the ladder himself, glanced down to see Dialwatcher was clear, and then slowly eased his own way down. It left Laytner and Penolith, she crestfallen at his lack of farewell, both peering in after him.
It immediately felt somehow different to Nephril, not as warm and stifling as he remembered, dimmer and danker. It got worse the further he followed Dialwatcher, to the end of the room and down a spiral staircase to an even darker depth below.
They were both feeling their way in the dark as they came to the bottom, edging out and along the corridor, the one Nephril knew should now be glowing red. “Why so dark? Where be the crimson shine that should lead our way?”
Dialwatcher ignored him, grunted strenuously and swore. The metal cask scraped to the floor, hurriedly lowered by hands that had become too slippery in the heat. “How heavy’s this lump o’ Leiyatel goin’ to be then, eh, Lord Nephril?”
“I honestly do not know, Master Dialwatcher. Her remains are as unknown to me as they are to thee. I do know, however, that our descent be nearby, where the new carriage should be.”
A few yards away they could just make out the edge of something large, something filling the corridor’s end. A faint red glow picked it out; a curve here, a straight line there. They were just beginning to grope towards it, Dialwatcher again carrying the cask, when a bright red glow flooded past them and filled the corridor.
In the sudden glare, Nephril saw the carriage in all its complex form. Although fleeting - for the red glow was already diminishing - he recognised the pair of axles that held the handrail wheels, their treads deeply grooved.
Yet another axle stuck up, a fifth wheel pressed against the corridor’s roof. The whole thing was tilted forward, away from them, poised for the almost sheer start to the descent beneath the crater.
Dialwatcher was ahead by now, despite staggering under the weight of the cask, stumbling forward towards the carriage. It left Nephril gingerly feeling his way in the returned blackness, wondering how he was going to manage the cask himself, when he heard the very thing clatter into place on the carriage. He then felt a wave of warm air claw at his throat.
Presently, Nephril’s eyes began to sting enough that he had to close them, little loss in the dark, but when the stench of sulphur struck he was caught without breath. He heard Dialwatcher groan, more in disgust than distress, then the sound of spitting.
When Nephril was finally forced to draw breath, he found the air had cleared, the faint taste of sulphur now overlaid with a fusty smell of settling decay. It brought an involuntary lump to his throat, a sudden deep sadness. After all the thousands of years she’d reigned supreme, Leiyatel had now been brought to this!
Had he not been so old himself he would have cried, would have lamented her passing full well; the loss of a lover, a lifelong companion. As it was, he felt only calm, an easing of the pain in his arm, a long yearned for serenity he never believed he’d know.
“Are you ready to climb aboard, Lord Nephril?” Dialwatcher’s voice was surprisingly level.
“Hmm?”
“Are you ready for me to strap you in, me Lord?”
“Err, I suppose so ... yes.”
“Let me help you up then. Here ... place your foot on this ledge and hold up there, with your left hand.”
Nephril could just make out Dialwatchers own, pointing, and was already lifting his foot when the corridor once again began to glow red. As before, they were flooded with a tumult of crimson hues, a flicker and flash of yellow carried upon their backs, all presaging the dragon’s breath coming back to steal the air.
This time they had warning, this time they breathed their fill and closed their eyes. When it passed they were no worse for wear, soon busy once more about their tasks.
Nephril clambered aboard, helped by Dialwatcher who then strapped him in. “Just in case owt goes wrong, like,” he assured. “Ain’t likely but tha’s never knows. Better safe than sorry, eh?” Nephril nodded, lamely.
“Can thee remember which levers to pull, and when?”
“Err, I believe so, although it all seems so different now we art here.” The returned darkness hid Nephril’s real fear, a fear born of fingers and thumbs.
Dialwatcher began explaining, reminding Nephril of what to expect and how to respond, but suspected the ancient Keeper hardly heard. “I’ll lower thee down slow like, using t’brake here on this pulley.” He tapped the very same with his knuckles. “Then thee push yon lever when thee get to t’bottom.” This time he poin
ted, pointlessly as it turned out, the dark having returned.
Nephril felt for the lever, his hand shaking when he eventually found it, too nervous to speak.
“T’walkway’s on a slope inwards to the column, so all thee’s need do is let her roll, does tha see?”
Nephril nodded, realised the futility and so grunted, “Yes.”
He remembered being told it would take this new carriage a while to cross the span, drawing the weight of the rope behind it, but that it would eventually reach the door to the honeycombed rise. Dialwatcher’s task was to draw it back, replete with Nephril and Leiyatel’s remains - safe in the cask - before bringing them all up to the surface. He was then to help Nephril get the cask loaded onto the wealcan and on to Leigarre Perfinn.
That thought returned Nephril’s voice. “Perhaps thou shouldst hath gone no further afore, Master Dialwatcher, eh, for I think thine once ring’s surety did serve thee poorly?” It was too dark to see Dialwatcher’s regret, to see his yellowed features sink as fear rose in his face.
A quiet grunt was all the answer Nephril got before Dialwatcher asked, “Tha’s ready to be lowered then, Lord Nephril?”
“Best get it over with I suppose.”
A creak and a squeak signalled movement - a waddle of the carriage - the rope behind Nephril now groaning at the weight, the winch tightening to its task. The wheels soon began to rumble lightly, leaving behind the whine of the retarding brake whilst Nephril’s stomach steadily lightened as he fell.
He knew the seat in which he sat pivoted - to keep him upright as the carriage slowly levelled beneath the crater - so wasn’t surprised when the next red glow revealed the ceiling passing quickly before his eyes.
The dragon’s fetid breath again breathed past, Nephril’s own held fast as he closed his eyes. The wheels rumbled the more against the handrails as they bore the greater weight of their levelling, their treads squeaking and squealing and squirming.
‘How many centuries? Nephril wondered. How many millennia mayhap since last I trod here? Mine poor old memory dost hath its work cut out to draw familiarity, so alien doth it all now seem.’
This time, when the crimson glow flooded past, he faced towards it, the passageway’s end clearly drawing near. By the time he reached it, though, the light had once again departed, sucked back to the dragon’s breast.
Nephril remembered to push the lever, signalling Dialwatcher to bring the carriage to a halt. The subsequent jar, though, brought the strap’s deep digging pain to his frail old chest, winding him. Nephril clutched at his ribs as he stared into the utter blackness, its vast space more felt than seen. Words now tumbled unbidden into his mind, telling words with ancient roots, but with a meaning yet to come.
Where be the rippling swell of Crimson Lake above,
The tow, the rip, red glowing bright,
The flickering sparkle of diamond light?
Drawn be the beam of sun and face in conjoined love.
Where be the swollen rosy swell of lips below,
The grip, the slide, red running heat,
The coming urge of earth’s deep fiery seat?
Birthed out and thrust against a rival Nature’s blow.
Time once more seemed as alien as the void before him, almost tangible in its recoil, as though Nature’s hand had snatched it back. Had Dialwatcher by now grown old in his patience for Nephril’s signal? Had he turned to dust, become mere snuff for the dragon’s fiery breath?
Lord Nephril - Master of Ceremonies to the many Kings of Dica, long custodian to a chameleon power, a duped and disillusioned immortal - felt the lever in his hand. He felt the pressure grow against Nature’s withheld time, and so began to push them forward - both lever and the time it held.
Light dimly grew from far below, a deep russet glow. It traced its fingers along cracks and chasms, around beam and spar and strut - ever creeping upwards. It seeped and oozed from the dragon’s deeply dwelling chest. It growled into the void, pushing harder, rising faster, filling the space before his startled eyes with its screaming, roaring, billowing gasp of fire.
Before engulfing all within its rising furnace, Nephril caught sight of the walkway - its span streaking out like filigree across the vaulted space. He caught sight only, for the dragon’s melting breath soon breathed about it.
Nephril would have screamed in despair had the crimson cloud of roiling air not fast billowed his way, had it not as quickly and completely engulfed his own final witness stand.
28 Fingers and Thumbs
In all the centuries of his long life, Nephril had consistently been all fingers and thumbs. Generally speaking it hadn’t been a problem, few important things in his life ever needing him to be at all good with his hands.
He was also right-handed, and strongly so. His left was of little real use but for scratching itches, patting dogs or holding down paper whilst the other wrote. The disparity was if anything only heightened under pressure.
Instead of his left hand therefore drawing the lever back - signalling Dialwatcher to release the brake and allow the carriage to roll on - he had in fact pushed it forward. A fortuitous error as it turned out.
He’d not trundled out into the imminently fire-filled void but had found himself being drawn rapidly back into the passageway, the chasing heat only managing to singe what little brows age had left him.
“What ‘appened?” Dialwatcher quite naturally asked when Nephril arrived back. “Why the about turn?”
The look on Dialwatcher’s face reminded Nephril of an earlier thought. “So, Master Dialwatcher? At thy last visit, were there no rising flames to engulf thee then?”
It was only a short pause but a noticeable one. “Weren’t no mention o’ flames, your Lordship, not that anyone told me of.”
“Then they are new?”
“Must be. They certainly weren’t in t’plan.”
“Dialwatcher? Thou do realise that the walkway has now been consumed, engulfed in flame?” Nephril was surprised when Dialwatcher looked unconcerned.
“Won’t do it no harm,” and he smiled, then explained how the walkway was immutable, made of some ancient porcelain mix that couldn’t burn.
“It will still be there?” Nephril marvelled.
“Oh aye. It’s made o’ t’same stuff as down below, where t’heat’s far more vigorous.”
It stood to reason, the ancient engers were bound to have known their craft. Nephril felt easier.
When the passageway again started to glow, this time he quietly watched the floor whilst feeling behind his jaw with a fingertip, his lips silently moving as he counted. He looked up for a moment when the sulphurous smell wafted past, but otherwise remained stock-still. Only when it again went dark did he move, and only then to turn and follow the light’s slow departure.
Dialwatcher was about to speak but Nephril grabbed him by the arm to silence him. In the ensuing darkness he felt the utter stillness of the place all the more, felt unease at the absence of the old hum. He waited, though, waited for the crimson glow to return and again counted his pulse, counted as the glow retreated and once more left darkness behind.
Upon the eventual return of the red glow he whirled on Dialwatcher. “Burning for forty but doused for almost a hundred and ten!”
“Lord Nephril?”
“’Tis most regular, Dialwatcher, well enough for good use.” In the returned light his eyes fair glinted like rubies, his face jubilant.
In short shrift, Nephril fired a barrage of questions at Dialwatcher, many he couldn’t even begin to answer. The biggest sticking point was the length of the walkway’s span. Neither knew exactly but they did eventually come to an agreement of sorts.
Two remaining imponderables were the ultimate speed of the carriage and the smoothness of the handrails, neither of which they could agree on. It was all finally decided when Nephril pointed out that their predicament was only likely to get worse, that time was most certainly against them.
“But the brake’s either
on or off, Lord Nephril. There’s no way I can feather it or curb its bite. When thee gives t’signal, it’ll be a sharp wrench. Are thee sure thee wants to do it this way?” The only answer Nephril gave was to climb aboard the carriage, Dialwatcher again helping him up.
This time he strapped Nephril in even more tightly, taking greater care positioning the straps. “Well, that’s best I can do,” Dialwatcher announced then gingerly stepped clear of the carriage. “Just say when thee’s ready.”
Diffuse red light again crept up the passageway, progressively picking out the deep risers of the staircase below and the glossy handrails dimly chasing the ceiling’s vanishing curve. It didn’t take the light long to pour about them, to reveal the madcap descent ahead of Nephril.
“NOW!” He called, Dialwatcher then releasing the lever and so granting the rope its freedom.
The carriage dropped like a stone, plummeting silently for the first few yards into the bright crimson depths. Behind Nephril, the winch began screaming as it let loose the quickening rope, soon displaced by the hue and cry of tortured bearings, the wheels biting into the handrails and squealing against the ceiling.
So narrow was the passageway, and so fast their fall, that Nephril froze. Never in his very long life had he ever experienced anything like this. Every fibre screamed in terror but his throat stayed numb, his eyes rigid, his mind strangely stilled.
His own increasing weight nudged at his thoughts, kicked them to a stumbling gait, then a rapid series of knocks beneath the carriage finally pushed them to a leap and a run. The carriage was catching on the edges of the steps, the levelling passageway making it sink far too low until the drop became shallower and the steps petered out.
By now Nephril swept along on the carriage at breakneck speed towards the rapidly darkening void. It was only when the deranged cries of the wheels lost their closeness that he knew they’d finally shot out of the passage and onto the walkway’s span.
Last True World (Dica Series Book 3) Page 11