"Our prior meetings did not induce me to be forthcoming. I had no reason to see you as anything but Nardath's creature, having only just escaped their sway myself."
"I owe them nothing,” Gorlen said, “except this."
He held up his right hand.
Spar sat for a moment regarding the black digits with something like adoration and pity. He reached out first with the white flesh hand, then drew that back and put out his stony left hand to touch its prodigal partner. Gorlen felt the clink as they touched, and found his eyes following the soft right hand which the gargoyle held crabbed and shamefully near his side, as if wishing to keep it hidden. Gorlen recognized the shame, the habitual pose of the freak hiding his deformity. These traits were his own, although he had been forced to make the best of his hand, learning to strum and pluck his eduldamer and play the odd sliding notes that no other bard to his knowledge had ever hit upon. He'd had no choice. To surrender to futility on that account, to give up use of it completely, would have meant starvation at the worst, crippling despair at the best ... not that he had avoided despair completely. But he had not allowed himself to wallow in it. Ever the thought of catching up with this—this Spar—had goaded him on. And that pursuit had required all his strength, determination, and continued good spirits.
"Well, and so,” said the goyle. “I see you have taken care of my hand. I had feared to find it chipped, perhaps shattered off completely. You'll see I have done my best to keep your property as it came to me, although frankly it was not easy and many times I underestimated its fragility."
"I appreciate that,” said Gorlen.
"It only makes sense, does it not? Surely you have not lost hope that one day we might revert the spell? Might undo the exchange that neither of us wanted?"
"Why do you think I tracked you?"
"Indeed. I thought as much. I only wish the others saw your motivation in coming here as so shallow and naive. They believe you a spy of the flesh, perhaps sent by the so-called sculptors of Dint. They are a paranoid lot, although you'd think them ancient and far enough beyond mortal harm to have learned over the ages to distinguish between imaginary threats and those that truly ought to be feared."
"What do they intend for me?” Gorlen asked.
"I was sent to determine if you were an immediate threat. They do not suspect this bond between us. They are so fixed on their provincial preoccupations that not a one has made the connection between your black hand and my white."
"As to that,” said Gorlen, putting aside the fact that Spar had not answered his question, “why did you not...."
"Follow you?” The goyle clacked his thin black lips. “Difficult to explain, unless you believe what these others are reluctant to credit—that I have received prophetic utterances from vents which give voice to the Slumberer, in whose restless dreams the world's fates is written and foretold."
"I am no authority in these matters,” said Gorlen, “save only that I have never heard such things myself. But most things in this world remain mysterious to me."
The goyle sat back on his haunches, curled his wings around his elbows, and regarded Gorlen pensively. “I confess, you are not as I remembered you."
"Nor you,” said Gorlen.
"You did not track me down, then, to render some crude human justice? As if by shattering my entire form you might reclaim the severed part of you?"
"I am a simple musician,” Gorlen said. “What chance have I against a gargoyle in any form of combat? Were I to hit you over the head with my eduldamer, I'd be left to ply my trade with a mass of tangled strings and splinters."
"It is unfortunate that our final meeting had to be in such circumstances,” Spar said. “My regret is deeper than you can know."
"Final meeting,” Gorlen echoed.
"What you have seen, what you have yet to see, what you cannot unsee ... these things require certain penalties be enacted. When you crossed the dark threshold, when you bore witness to our conference, you set in motion an irreversible procedure. I am afraid I cannot intervene. Our laws are ancient and quite strict in this regard. But I am very glad to have seen my forlorn hand once again. I only regret you had not caught up with me before this day."
With that, Spar straightened, his wings cracking out, rigid.
"Is there no chance I can speak to the others? Speak for myself, I mean?"
"I will not intervene. Here is your chance if you wish it."
Gorlen heard hard and heavy steps coming toward them from beyond the lumen's reach, as the glow kindled and brightened and ran like liquid light across the polished forms of half a dozen goyles.
"It is time, stonesib,” said the nearest, with a slight bow toward Spar.
"He is no threat to you or to any of us,” Spar said. “I have determined him to be unarmed with hammer or chisel. Also, he carries a mere string instrument, which indicates him to be a musical sort. Such creatures are rarely the tools of larger human purpose. I believe idle curiosity drove him here, and no grand design to unfurl our plans."
"That is reassuring, if true. Still, we must be vigilant. The Soft Ones may be slippery. We will trust him to your particular care."
"My care?” said Spar, taken aback. “But I am called to the Descent."
"As are we. It has been decreed that he shall accompany us. We shall ask the Deep One's will in this matter. Perhaps it will accept the Fleshy One as a sacrifice. We would like to join you, Spar, in your colloquy."
Spar silently bowed his head, acceding to their wishes.
"Excuse me,” Gorlen said.
They turned to regard him. “What is this?"
"If I might humbly address your worthinesses ... to say a few words on my own behalf?"
"He chatters,” said one, a squat and diminutive goyle like a pillar that had been stomped down to a third its original size.
"I am told they do that out of terror,” said another.
"Do they not understand me?” Gorlen asked Spar, fighting increasing desperation.
"It would appear he is attempting to communicate with us,” Spar said, ignoring him.
"Does he think we can understand his speech?"
"So it would appear."
"Mad creature! Soft-headed!"
Their odd chattering laughter was like a rockslide of sharp volcanic shards.
"But surely this makes him even more harmless,” Spar said smoothly. “Whatever he overheard in the convocatium, it would have been incoherent to him."
"Ah ... but that is not the issue. He bore witness—"
"To what?"
"Are you arguing his defense, stone of my stone?"
"Arguing only reason."
"The only reason we need is that given up to us from below. And by that law, we must now bring him with us."
Spar fell silent, and Gorlen, seeing the futility of his case, did likewise.
"Can we make him understand that he is to walk?"
"The creature seems comparatively intelligent,” Spar said at last. And with a grand flourish, he bowed and indicated the way that Gorlen was meant to walk, into the dark.
Gorlen rose slowly, but the pain of his first step was crippling. He let out a groan and would have fallen but that Spar was suddenly beside him.
"Lean into me,” the goyle said in a voice almost inaudible.
"What troubles the creature?"
"I believe he suffered injury. But if it is my task to see him down, then I will support him. Do not trouble yourself, brothers, with our progress. Proceed at your own pace, confident that although we follow slowly, we will eventually all arrive at the same edge."
"Nonsense! We travel together."
But apparently the words of gargoyles were not completely unlike those of humans, and bore the same relation to deed, being forgotten soon after they were spoken. Before long, the others began to betray impatience and little by little pulled ahead, leaving Gorlen hobbling along with Spar beside him like an animated crutch.
"Fortunately,” said Spar
quietly, “I have long been known to babble to myself, and it will not seem strange to them to hear me speak to one who cannot possibly understand me. The dark byways are long, and I confess I enjoy the company. My travels have been lonely ones for the most part. Lonelier than yours, I think, since you at least traveled among others of your kind."
"Mine have been lonely enough,” said Gorlen, “but it's true that in most places, a half decent bard is welcomed and the center of much warmth and attention."
"I seem to recall it was ever thus with you. But where is the girl, then? I recall a girl."
"Plenth,” Gorlen muttered.
"Was that it? The one whose deflowerment precipitated this entire affair by bringing down the wrath of Nardath's priests?"
"Plenth."
"You blamed her, as I recall."
"I was foolish and selfish. And terrified."
"And much younger."
"Didn't I say as much?"
"Yet by that act, which bound us to each other, you saved her life by making her useless to the priests for sacrificial purposes. Surely there is merit in that."
"I suppose so. At any rate, I have not seen her since—well, since I last saw you."
"Then we have both been lonely, for I thought you felt something for her."
"I suppose I did, although I was too...."
"Young? But that is not always an excuse, for I am far older than you, but even I have a tale of foolish love. No time to tell it, though."
"A girl? You?"
"Not as you understand—"
A cry from ahead cut them off. They saw the others had paused, waiting for them to draw near. When they were in reach, one snatched away the lumen Gorlen carried; and, as if it were a candle to be snuffed, crushed it to dust.
"What was that for?” Gorlen cried. “He could have merely twisted it and...."
"Good thinking,” Spar said brightly to the other, stifling Gorlen's protests. “Although it hardly seems to please the pulpy one."
"He cannot know what lies ahead, that may never be witnessed by eyes of flesh.” The goyle's voice was now nothing more than a cold clatter in the dark. And as darknesses went, this surpassed Gorlen's previous experience and even beggared his imagining—being the utter dark of deep earth, the dark of the underways. Gorlen began, quite unwillingly, to contemplate what he knew by rumor of the haunts of goyles—thinking of their cities riddling the Earth like the hives of burrowing insects, as if the entire sphere were full of holes and rot, worm-eaten, infested with the clinking species whose representatives even now strode off ahead of him through the dark with swift and steady step.
"You will have to rely on me for all things now,” whispered Spar. “For we are drawn near to one of our ancestral cities. Here we dwelt in vast numbers, completely unaware of flesh until the day they first breached one of our highest passages. Our numbers have fallen off greatly since that day. So many of us are spread out across the surface when we ought to be laboring within. Down here you will witness only ragged remnants of our greatness, a continuing reminder of how shallow we've become. I believe this to be one reason for the bitter small-mindedness you have no doubt detected among my brethren."
"I hadn't noticed,” Gorlen said.
"Allow me to be your travel guide,” Spar said. “I will narrate those sights you cannot see. If it's any consolation, your lumen would hardly have given you any sense of the vastness of the hollowed spaces ... how beautifully and intricately carved they are, to such great extents not even a small sun could hope to illumine."
Anything to distract from the agony in his foot, Gorlen thought, and said, “I would be most grateful. Word pictures are preferable to total blindness."
In this manner, for a limited time, the journey passed almost pleasantly. Spar provided a thoughtful and eloquent travelogue that might as well have been a fable, considering Gorlen had no hope of confirming with his eyes a single thing the goyle described.
"We pass now through the great halls of the nursery, where unfinished citizenry awaited the attention of skilled Revealers. Some sleep here still, I see. I only pray they do not notice us, for such long slumber tends to inspire endless and monotonous recounting of dreams upon waking."
And later: “Above us, now, how I wish you could appreciate it, the Lamps of Qaalsedin. Imagine a beaded curtain, with each bead and every thread carved individually from rock, and spread like a tapestry against the ceiling. Now picture layer upon layer of such curtains, so that the ceiling itself is only a rumor. If there were any breath of air here, you would hear them chime and chatter, as once they did when travel and traffic were heavy on this boulevard."
To Gorlen, none of this was apparent, and the Lamps of Qaalsedin were equal in grandeur to the Warrens of Chy'yse, once supposedly a glorious colony of artisans, now an echoing tenement where he thought he heard something scuttling.
"Some still persist in living down here,” Spar explained. “Unchecked, our solitary nature can drive us to such haunts. I am not immune to the attraction of utter desolation myself. But although you may not think it, such an existence is not without its dangers. Predators roam these places now."
"What possible predator can pose a threat to gargoyles?” Gorlen asked. “Short of an angry stonemason with chisel and mallet...."
"To name only one, the bellyless rapt, which possesses no belly but an interminable gut, and no teeth but a spatulate beak with which to scrape organic excrudescences from the fissures where it slithers."
"And this thing eats your kin?"
"Not eats, merely swallows, to use as a grinding stone deep in its gizzard—there to aid in digestion of tough fungi. A hellish existence, according to those who have been regurgitated or eventually survived a harrowing journey through the cloacal egress. Miles long, they are, and they have consumed vast numbers of us over the ages. Their favorite feast is an entire family, which jostle together in the crop and efficiently reduce the leathery sheets to digestible atoms. At least this creature, unlike several others, is not deliberately malicious."
"Gargoyles have families?"
"They are elected positions, but yes. With whom did you think we were traveling?"
"I had—I didn't—that is...."
"I must say, your curiosity is refreshing. I had not realized that flesh had any interest whatsoever in the doings of stone."
"You forget,” Gorlen said. “I am part goyle myself."
At first he did not recognize the ghastly crumbling sound that came from Spar. It took him some time to realize the goyle must be laughing. Gorlen permitted himself a brief chuckle, then fell silent, aware that something like an echo had been set off by Spar's vocalizations.
Another noise out of nowhere, as of piled cairns upset, upset him.
"Are you sure these are merely gargoyle hermits, ancient tenants?” Gorlen asked.
"It is true,” Spar admitted, “they are keeping to themselves more than expected, and I have not actually sighted a one. I would have thought them more forthcoming. Hold a moment. My kin have been here more recently—I will inquire whether the district seems unusually quiet."
Here, Spar let out a cry that set Gorlen's teeth on edge, calling out to his companions—his family—who had again pulled far ahead. They slowed their pace, judging from the onset of silence, and waited till Gorlen and Spar drew near. There followed a brief conversation that sounded like a small rockslide stirring up an avalanche. Was it anger? Some form of excitement gripped them. Gorlen wondered if there was any sense in trying to slip away, but the darkness had reduced him to an almost infantile state of clinging to his guardian. On his own, he might be able to work his way continually upward against the stone slope, and thereby with great fortune return to the upper world. But he doubted he could endure five minutes alone in the lightless gulf. He kept putting his hands on Spar for reassurance. Flesh or stone, both his hands took comfort from knowing he was with a creature who felt at home here.
"Well,” Spar said to him after things had died d
own again, “now they think me mad. From spending too much time among the flesh. Your affliction of anxiety has proved contagious."
"My affliction? I said nothing but that I heard sounds out in the dark. You are better equipped than I to judge their nature."
"No matter,” said Spar curtly, and Gorlen sensed there would be no more chatty travelogue. “We must get on. I will have plenty to do in order to convey the God's words when they are so inclined to doubt me."
"Perhaps it's their doubt in the matter which makes them question you now,” Gorlen said, “and not the reliability of my ears."
"That's enough!” Spar said, and Gorlen fell mute, promising himself he would not speak again unless Spar addressed him first.
Now the journey took on a decidedly nervous and halting quality, relieved once by a cold illumination as they passed through acres of parkland, a georetum, planted with symmetrical rows of crystalline flowers, some sort of kin to the lumenstone. The gardens showed signs of disuse, for there were scattered glowing shards everywhere, crystalline bits that had chipped and fallen to the ground and which ought to have been swept away. But the place lacked custodians, and although quite pretty, it again filled him with a sense of desolation. Beyond, barely sketched by the dim luminance of the gardens, he saw rising domes of black stone, and a mere suggestion of windowed towers beyond those. For the first time he had a sense of the greatness of the place. His eyes were convinced in a way his mind had not been by Spar's descriptions. He tried to imagine how these paths had appeared when gargoyles had strolled leisurely among them. How had a race capable of such vast civic projects fallen so far? Why had they forsaken the deep realms that engendered them?
He would have asked Spar, but he held fast to his resolution not to speak.
Also here, Gorlen heard the splashing of pools, and the air grew damp and warm—had in fact been growing ever warmer as they descended. He had always thought, from his small experience of caves, that the depths of the Earth would be clammy and cold; but it was proving to be quite different as they went deeper. The planted paths fell behind them, and Gorlen began to gasp a bit. He carried a flask in his pack, and Spar said nothing when he rummaged about and unstoppered it. He ate a few bites of dried meat and some withered gaventrines as well, figuring that any request for nourishment would probably be met by blank gargoyle stares, or by a detour to catch whatever blind white rubbery creatures dwelt among the scalding pools.
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