by Sean Russell
“I know it seems very irregular, Marianne, but if you had seen Lady Chilton, you would understand. Her manner was so very odd—like a string puppet. I hesitated, not sure what to do, and quite unsettled by what I had seen. I almost knocked on the front door, but for some reason did not. Concern for Lady Chilton made me a bit reckless, I fear. I realize it is unconscionable, but I slipped around the back and peered in the windows. And there I found the countess, seated, unmoving, before the fire as though she had been shocked into immobility. I knocked on the window and she did not respond—even when I knocked quite loudly, she did not notice. Frightened, I tried the doors, which were bolted, and then in desperation I found the open window and let myself in. I woke the countess here, before the fire, and the rest I’m sure Lady Chilton has told you.”
Marianne began to speak, but the countess interrupted. “Be that as it may, Marianne, the truth seems to be that I was outside the house this evening and completely unaware of it. I believe Mr. Kent is telling the truth there.”
Kent did not much like the implication that he was not telling the truth elsewhere—even though this was the case.
“And you believe this story that it was a mage?” Marianne said, a little incredulous. The countess hesitated. “Marianne, I awoke here, wearing my cloak over my sleeping gown. But that is not the oddest thing. My feet were dirty and stained as though I had walked across wet grass. As Mr. Kent said, he saw me on an expanse of lawn.”
“But you could have just as easily have walked out onto our own lawn.”
“Marianne. What reason would Mr. Kent have for making up such a story?”
“To have you flee with him. With him! To Entonne, and who knows where. Men have been driven to even more foolish stories, and plans. I have been witness to it, and more than once, too.” The novelist scowled at Kent.
“Mr. Kent,” the countess said, a little warmth and vulnerability entering her voice. “Please tell me truthfully. . . . Did you see me taken away in a carriage? Truthfully, now.”
“Lady Chilton, I swear that I did.”
“And were you spying on the countess with your glass, Mr. Kent?” the novelist asked pointedly. “Now answer that truthfully as well.”
Kent hesitated, feeling somehow that if he was not honest he would not be believed at all. “I did not actually spy on the countess with my glass,” Kent said. “But I will tell you honestly, Miss Edden, that I did consider it.”
“Kent!” the countess said, such disappointment in her tone that it made the painter utterly ashamed, “I thought you were my true friend.”
“I am,” he said quickly. “I just . . . I forgot myself. I . . . I have no excuse.” He hung his head, unsure of what to say. An apology seemed terribly inadequate.
“Well, Mr. Kent,” Marianne said. “I think you should leave us for the time being. It has been a disturbing morning, make no mistake, and we need some time to consider what has happened.”
* * *
* * *
Kent went out into the newly risen morning, a bit dazed. He had been caught spying on the Countess of Chilton. He was ruined. There would be no redemption for such an act. But what had he seen! He stood on the street for a moment, unsure how to proceed.
Eldrich. The mage had taken the countess from her home, and she was not aware of it. Kent shook his head. She had not believed him. Or, more correctly, Marianne Edden had undermined her confidence in him. If only he hadn’t left his cursed glass in the garden! What madness had led him to confess?
“What will I do now?” he asked aloud.
Somehow he had to convince the countess that what he said was true. Sir John was his only hope. Kent set off down the street with great urgency. But would the man help him? Kent could hardly remember seeing a man so frightened. But what other hope had he?
He almost ran through the sleepy streets. There was no other way to support his claims, for they did sound like the result of madness—a particular kind of madness that occurred around the countess with disturbing regularity.
“I will be ruined,” Kent whispered, though the world did not seem overly concerned. “Utterly ruined.”
He located Sir John’s residence, and fortunately found the man awake.
“Kent, you look worried out of your mind, man.” Sir John bade him sit, and a cup of coffee was put into his hand.
“I went to see the countess,” Kent blurted out.
Sir John’s eyes widened. “You didn’t mention me, I hope?”
“No. Not a word. But I found her sitting in her parlor, completely dazed. Her eyes were open, but she seemed asleep. Unwilling to raise the entire household, I slipped in the window and roused her. I related what I’d seen, not mentioning you, of course. But then Marianne Edden woke and she didn’t believe my tale. She was certain that I had fabricated the story to convince the countess to run away with me.” Kent shook his head, feeling himself color a little. “You know how men are with the countess. . . . I think she was inclined to believe me until Miss Edden arrived—and then the idea of what I had seen so unsettled her that she preferred to believe only that she had been sleepwalking, out into her garden.” Kent spilled his coffee as he set it down. “I am ruined if I cannot convince them of the truth. Sir John. They thought I had been spying on the countess. Can you imagine? Spying. And then, of course, I slipped into her home unasked. Concocting this fantastic story to frighten her into running off with me. Flames, there will be no place where such infamy will not follow me.” He tried to pick up his coffee, but his hand shook so that he spilled more into the saucer, and he set it back down quickly.
“And now you’ve come to ask me to support your story,” Sir John said.
Kent looked up, his hopes rising.
“But don’t you see, Kent, the countess is an object of interest to Eldrich? Think what that means. The mage might very quickly discover your interference. He must speak with the countess, after all. As noble as it was to try to warn her, it was more foolish, still. Eldrich will not tolerate interference in his affairs.” Sir John let out a long breath. “I will tell you, Kent, you have greater things to worry about than your reputation.”
“But what of the countess?” Kent said, realizing that he was pleading. “Who knows what Eldrich . . . intends with her? She has no knowledge of their meetings.”
Sir John leaned forward in his chair. “Kent, listen to me. I realize you have feelings for the countess, and no doubt this situation she is in seems monstrous, but there is absolutely nothing you can do but draw the rage of Eldrich, and I will not have that fate visited upon me.”
“You will not help me . . .” Kent said in disbelief.
Sir John drew himself up, his look defensive. “I will not. And I beg you to think what you do. You might as well dive into an ocean storm as try to stop Eldrich. Come to your senses, man. A mage is a force of nature.”
Thirty-Six
Hayes and Kehler scrambled up quickly as the light faded to a pale glow. It was not lamplight, but a cool white light, like the pure light of stars, that emanated from beyond the opening.
Kehler stood before Hayes, partially blocking his view. Neither of them moved for a moment, and then Hayes stepped up so he could see past his friend. A long corridor, perhaps a dozen feet in width, extended before them. Feeling no ill effects, Hayes pressed his friend forward, and they stepped through the door into the hall.
It seemed not to be a cave at all, but the entranceway to a great palace. The walls were straight and plumb, decorated with intricate carvings. Ten feet above the floor, a border carved like a twisting vine ran the length of the hall, and into this blossoms and unfamiliar characters had been worked.
The light emanated from above, and when Hayes looked up, he thought that he looked into a star-filled sky. A sky of infinite depth.
Kehler followed his gaze up and stood transfixed for a long moment.
“How many men living in this day can say they have witnessed the arts of the mages?” Kehler asked.
“But were they mages?” Hayes said.
They walked slowly down the wide hall, the sound of running water clear now. To either side, sections of the wall were covered in text of the same unfamiliar characters found in the border.
The hallway was long, a hundred feet or more to an arch at the far end. Hayes’ initial impression of stepping into a palace, he realized now, was wrong. This felt like a temple, though none that he was familiar with; still, there was no doubt in his mind that this was a place of worship.
“Who built it?” Hayes asked.
“I don’t know,” his companion said, shaking his head.
“But you think it was Teller?”
“Perhaps. I can’t say. In my reading I have come to the conclusion that there was a division in opinion among the mages—a period of internal strife. Not that they were ever particularly united except in their war against the church. But this schism was something greater than their normal individualism. Perhaps this chamber had significance to one of these groups, or perhaps it was a chamber known to all the mages.”
To their right a tall doorway opened onto a stair. Hayes leaned in and found the stairway curved up and to the right in a long arc.
He leaned back and looked down the passage toward the end. “Up or on?” he asked.
“Let’s explore as we go,” Kehler said, and started up the stair.
Once on the stair they returned to the poor light of the lantern. As in the hallway below, the walls were decorated here and there with text and floral designs. Twice they stopped to rest. The stair was so long and they were utterly fatigued. Even the excitement of their discovery could not overcome that altogether. They were considering giving up this climb when they came abruptly to the stair’s end. A large character of the type they had seen carved on the walls was the single decoration on the blank surface that ended the stairs.
“What does this mean?” Hayes asked.
“It means that however this chamber was built, the people who used it, or intended to use it, did not enter it as we did.”
“You think this is a door?”
“Perhaps not a door, but an entrance all the same. Or perhaps it was merely meant to be an entrance one day. I would guess that the surface of the world lies not far beyond this wall.”
Hayes stepped forward, pressing his hands against the stone, moving them across it as though its secret would be revealed to him by such an inspection.
“Remarkable. What does this character mean, I wonder?”
Kehler shook his head. “I don’t know. . . .”
Hayes looked at him sharply. So why had they risked their lives to find this chamber? “Does anyone?”
“Eldrich, almost certainly. Perhaps Erasmus Flattery. Maybe Deacon Rose and a few others within the church.”
“But what good will it do us?”
“Us? We have little to do with this matter, Hayes. It is about the hoarding of knowledge—worse by far than the hoarding of riches. Reformers talk incessantly about leveling society, doing away with the advantages of the wealthy and the aristocrats. But there is no leveler like knowledge. Who knows what is concealed here? It could be the great discovery of our age. For centuries the arts were in the hands of a select few—but what if that could be changed? What if you could suddenly heal the sick, as no physician ever can? Imagine what that would mean.”
“But how do we know there is any such knowledge recorded here? Knowledge that can be used.”
Kehler shook his head. “All we know is that Baumgere was willing to sacrifice a great deal to find this chamber, and that the church did everything in their power to hide it. The Farrellites have long been the greatest hoarders of knowledge. They would keep the population in utter ignorance if they could. Better if men could not even read. Whatever is hidden here has long been suspected by the church—suspected and kept secret. That is enough for me. It must be brought out. Out into the light.”
They turned and descended the stair, the sound of water growing as they went—a sound that had not been heard by men in this place for many years.
When they came to the foot of the stairs and into the cool light, Kehler blew out the flame in their lantern and set it aside.
They continued down the long hallway, and found small niches on either side into which faces were carved in high relief. Both men and women were represented here. Around each niche, text in the same script was arranged. They stopped and looked carefully at each face, as though they might find there someone they knew. The faces were sensitively rendered, Hayes thought—noble and sad. More than one wore a circlet around its brow, often surmounted by a brilliant stone set into the sculpture. And then he realized that each face bore a stone. One in a woman’s ear lobe. Another on a pendant around a man’s neck. All different colors and brilliance, some so unusual that Hayes could not even guess what they were.
“Who are they, I wonder?” Kehler said softly.
Hayes stared at one face, unable to tear his gaze away. “See how sad they look. What could have made them so?”
Kehler shook his head, though he looked almost as troubled as the faces he contemplated.
They carried on past the sorrowful faces, most of them older, it seemed, but one or two quite young—the age of Kehler and Hayes.
“Either the artist who sculpted here was a genius,” Kehler said quietly, “or these faces are touched with the mages’ art, for I feel I almost know their stories. Do you feel it? The faces are so evocative. I look at them, and some knowledge seems to be just at the edge of my consciousness.” He stopped before one—the long face of a man in his middle years. “Look at this one . . . noble and tragic. See how his brow is almost knit, as though he wrestles with a terrible burden. He is a man who has been much disappointed, and remained alone throughout his life—no wife or children, clearly. He dedicated himself to some cause, and paid a terrible price. Look at the depth of his thought. Those brooding eyes. Here is a tragic hero if ever there was one. A man who made choices that cost him dearly—yet he could make no others.
“And do you see this woman? How old is she? Thirty-five, do you think? What is that look? Is it pride? Not quite. Pride is too close to vanity. But even so, she has struggled against some terrible fate, and not surrendered. I cannot say that she triumphed, but she did not surrender.” Kehler looked at his companion. “Do I sound like I’m raving?”
“Raving? No, I feel the same thing. These faces are touched by a great art, though I don’t think it is an art of the mages, but merely the result of genius and inspiration.” Hayes reached out tentatively and touched the face of the woman, brushing his fingers over her cheek—almost a gesture of affection. Lonely, was what Hayes thought when he looked at her. Hidden down here for how long? Centuries? Lost to the world—to all mankind. A portrait of loneliness.
They walked on, every few strides passing two more faces, none joyous, none even content.
And then a great hall opened before them. They stood in the archway and stared into the chamber—as long as the hallway they had just walked, but five times the width. Hayes didn’t know where to look first. The ancient white walls were covered in neat, linear rows of script, the characters as high as his hand was long—thousands of them, for the walls were tall, thirty or forty feet, Hayes was certain.
Gingerly they stepped into the room, as though they were trespassers in fear of being caught, or in fear of spells left for intruders, but even the mysterious light did not alter.
In the center of the room, against one wall, stood a raised terrace of smooth stone, and it was from this that the sound of running water emanated, as it likely had for uncounted years.
Ten paces into the room they turned in a complete circle, overwhelmed by the wonder of their discovery.
“I feel like I am
suddenly surrounded by mystery,” Hayes said.
“You have always been surrounded by mystery,” Kehler said, a hint of a smile appearing. “But perhaps we have reached to the heart of this one.”
Hayes went to one wall and ran his hands over the letters, which were raised in relief, not inscribed. The script he thought exceedingly fair and yet curious, for it didn’t seem to resemble the common or even the ancient scripts used around the Entide Sea. But it was almost definitely the same script that Kehler had included in his letter.
Hayes realized that he felt a little disoriented, finding himself in this vast chamber of light after the dark little tunnels he had navigated.
They crossed the room and mounted three steps to the raised terrace. Here the water flowed from the mouth of a wolf head set upon the shoulders of a man. A stream of water fell into a small font, and then apparently ran under the platform to appear again at its base, finally flowing in a narrow channel to the far side of the chamber where it disappeared into the floor.
Above the font, life-sized torsos of a man and woman grew out of the rock, the man wearing the mask of a fantastic crested bird, the woman a mask of a hawk or falcon, Hayes was not sure which. To either side of the figures text was inscribed inside a floral border.
“Look,” Kehler said, staring down at the floor. “These lines lead to seven points, and at each point a circle is scribed and a different colored stone laid into the floor.” He stood by one of these stones. “This one seems to have stars cut into it, though if these are constellations, they are unfamiliar to me. And that one has more written characters. This central stone has no markings at all.”
The last was black and glistened.
“What material is that?” Hayes asked.
“It appears to be glass,” Kehler said, bending down and touching it. He stood up, looking around. “Does this not feel like an altar to you? The center of the temple?”
Hayes nodded, though he could not begin to guess at the purpose of such an altar. His eye kept being drawn back to the man and woman above the font, their faces hidden by masks. When he had first looked, he thought they held hands, but now he realized their wrists joined into one and ended in the claw of a bird. Both their free hands were slightly extended as though in supplication, but the woman held a long-stemmed blossom in her hand.