“And over there.”
Hugh glanced swiftly toward the hole, his hand going to his sword. Haplo shook his head. “No, we can’t fight. There are too many. Besides, they don’t want to harm us. They want to claim us. We’re the prize. There’s no time to explain. It looks as if we’re going to be caught in the middle of a riot. You better go take care of that prince of yours.”
“He’s an investment—” began Hugh.
“The coppers!” Jarre shrieked, catching sight of the high froman. “Quick, grab the gods before they stop us!”
“Then you better go guard your investment,” suggested Haplo.
“What is it, sir?” gasped Alfred, seeing Hugh running toward them, sword in hand.
The two groups of Gegs were yelling and shaking their fists and snatching up makeshift weapons off the Factree floor.
“Trouble. Take the kid and go with …” Hugh began. “No, dammit, don’t faint …”
Alfred’s eyes rolled back in his head. Hugh reached out to shake him or slap him or something, but it was too late. The chamberlain’s limp body slid down and flopped gracelessly across the feet of the Manger’s statue.
The Gegs rushed toward the gods. The high froman, instantly recognizing his danger, ordered the coppers to rush the Gegs. Shouting wildly—some for the WUPPers and some for the froman—the two groups came together. For the first time in the history of Drevlin, blows were struck, blood was shed. Haplo, gathering up his dog in his arms, melted back into the shadows and watched quietly, smiling.
Jarre stood near the hole, helping Gegs climb out, rallying her people to attack. When the last Geg was up out of the tunnels, she looked around and discovered that the battle had surged ahead of her. Worse, she had completely lost sight of Limbeck, Haplo, and the three strange beings. Leaping onto the top of a crate, Jarre peered over the heads of the milling, fighting press of Gegs and saw, to her horror, the high froman and the head clark standing near the statue of the Manger, taking advantage of the confusion to spirit away not only the gods but also the august leader of WUPP!
Furious, Jarre jumped from her crate and ran toward them, but got caught up in the midst of the battle. Pushing and shoving and lashing out with her fists at the Gegs blocking her path, she struggled to get near the statue. She was flushed and panting, her trousers were torn, her hair had fallen down over her face, and one eye was swelling shut when she finally reached her destination.
The gods were gone. Limbeck was gone. The high froman had won.
Her fist doubled, Jarre was prepared to punch the head of the first copper who came near her when she heard a moan and, looking down, saw two large feet sticking up in the air. They weren’t Geg feet. They were god feet!
Hurrying around to the front of the Manger, Jarre was amazed to see the base of the statue standing wide open! One of the froman’s gods—the tall, gawky one—had apparently fallen into this opening and was lying half in and half out of it.
“I’m in luck!” said Jarre. “I’ve got this one, at least!”
She glanced fearfully behind her, expecting to see the froman’s coppers, but in the confusion and turmoil, no one was paying any attention to her. The froman would be intent on getting his gods out of danger and, undoubtedly, no one had missed this one yet.
“But they will. We have to get you away from here,” muttered Jarre. Hurrying over to the god, she saw that he was lying on a staircase that led inside the statue. Descending below the floor level, the stairs provided a quick and easy means of escape.
Jarre hesitated. She was violating the statue—the Gegs’ most Holy of Holies. She had no idea why this opening was here or where it might lead. It didn’t matter. This was only going to be a hiding place. She’d wait inside here until everyone was gone. Jarre bounded over the comatose god and stumbled down the stairs. Turning, she grabbed the god’s shoulders and dragged him, bumping and sliding and groaning, inside the statue.
Jarre had no clear plan in mind. She only hoped that by the time the high froman came looking for this god and discovered the opening in the statue, she would have been able to smuggle him back to WUPP Headquarters. But when Jarre drew the god’s feet over the base, the opening suddenly and silently slid shut. The Geg found herself in darkness.
Jarre held perfectly still and tried to tell herself everything was all right. But panic was swelling up inside her until it seemed she must split apart. Her terror wasn’t caused by fear of the dark. Living nearly all of their lives inside the Kicksey-winsey, the Gegs were used to the darkness. Jarre shook all over. Her hands were sweating, her breath came fast, her heart pounded, and she didn’t know why. And then it came to her.
It was quiet.
She couldn’t hear the machine, couldn’t hear the comforting whistles and bangs and hammerings that had lulled her to sleep as a babe. Now there was nothing but awful, terrible silence. Sight is a sense outside and apart from the body, an image on the surface of the eye. But sound enters the ears, the head, it lives inside. In sound’s absence, silence echoes.
Abandoning the god on the staircase, heedless of pain, forgetting her fear of the coppers, Jarre flung herself against the statue. “Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”
Alfred regained consciousness. Sitting up, he accidentally began to slide down the stairs, and only saved himself by reflexively grabbing and hanging on to the steps beneath. Thoroughly confused, surrounded by pitch-black night with a Geg screaming like a steam whistle in his ears, Alfred endeavored to ask several times what was going on. The Geg paid no attention to him. Finally, crawling on hands and knees in the darkness back up the stairs, he reached out a hand in the direction of the nearly hysterical Jarre. “Where are we?”
She pounded and shrieked and ignored him.
“Where are we?” Alfred caught hold of the Geg in his large hands—uncertain, in the darkness, just what part he’d grabbed—and began to shake her. “Stop this! It isn’t helping! Tell me where we are and maybe I can get us out of here!”
Not clearly understanding Alfred’s words, but angered at his rough handling, Jarre came to herself with a gulp and shoved the chamberlain away with a heave of her strong arms. He slid and slithered and nearly tumbled back down the stairs, but managed to stop his fall.
“Now, listen to me!” Alfred said, separating each word and speaking it slowly and distinctly. “Tell me where we are and maybe I can help get us out!”
“I don’t know how!” Breathing hard, shivering, Jarre huddled as far away from Alfred as possible on the opposite side of the staircase. “You’re a stranger here. What could you know?”
“Just tell me!” pleaded Alfred. “I can’t explain. After all, what will it hurt?”
“Well …” Jarre considered. “We’re inside the statue.”
“Ah!” breathed Alfred.
“What does ‘ah’ mean?”
“It means … uh … I thought that might be the case.”
“Can you open it back up?”
No, I can’t. No one can. Not from the inside. But how would I know that if I’ve never been here before? What do I tell her? Alfred was thankful for the darkness. He was a terrible liar and it made it easier that he couldn’t see her face and that she couldn’t see his.
“I’m … not certain, but I doubt it. You see, uh … What is your name?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. We’re here together in the dark and we should know each other’s names. Mine is Alfred. And yours?”
“Jarre. Go on. You opened it once, why can’t you open it again?”
“I … I didn’t open it,” stammered Alfred. “It opened by accident, I guess. You see, I have this terrible habit. Whenever I’m frightened, I faint. It’s something I can’t control. I saw the fighting, you see, and some of your people were rushing toward us, and I … just passed out.” That much was true. What followed wasn’t. “I guess that when I fell I must have tripped something on the statue that caused it to open.”
I re
gained consciousness. I looked up to see the statue, and I felt, for the first time in a long, long while, safe and secure and deeply, fervently at peace. The suspicion that had been awakened in my mind, the responsibility, the decisions I will be forced to make if that suspicion is true, overwhelmed me. I longed to escape, to disappear, and my hand moved of its own volition, without my prompting, and touched the statue’s robe in a certain place, in a certain way.
The base slid open, but then the enormity of my action must have been too much for me. I suppose I fainted again. The Geg came upon me and, seeking a haven from the melee raging outside, dragged me in here. The base closed automatically and it will stay closed. Only those who know the way in know the way out. Anyone stumbling across an entrance by mistake would never return to tell of it. Oh, they wouldn’t die. The magic, the machine, would care for them, and care for them very well. But they would be prisoners for the rest of their lives.
Fortunately, I know the way in, I know the way out. But how can I explain this to the Geg?
A terrible thought occurred to Alfred. By law, he should leave her here. It was her own fault, after all. She shouldn’t have entered the sacred statue. But then Alfred considered, with a pang of conscience, that perhaps she had endangered herself for him—trying to save his life. He couldn’t just abandon her. He knew he couldn’t, no matter what the law said. But right now it was all so confusing. If only he hadn’t given way to his weakness!
“Don’t stop!” Jarre clutched at him.
“Stop what?”
“Talking! It’s the quiet! I can’t stand listening to it! Why can’t we hear anything in here?”
“It was made that way purposely,” said Alfred with a sigh. “Designed to offer rest and sanctuary.” He had reached a decision. It probably wasn’t the right one, but then, he’d made few right decisions in his lifetime. “I am going to lead us out of here, Jarre.”
“You know the way?”
“Yes.”
“How?” She was deeply suspicious.
“I can’t explain it. In fact, you will see many things that you won’t understand and that I can’t explain. I can’t even ask you to trust me, because, of course, you don’t, and I can’t expect you to.” Pausing, Alfred considered his next words. “Let’s look at it like this: you can’t get out this way. You’ve tried. You can either stay here or you can come with me and I’ll show you the way out.”
Alfred heard the Geg draw breath to speak, but he forestalled her.
“There’s one more thing you should consider. I want to return to my people just as desperately as you want to go back to yours. The child you saw is in my care. And the dark man with him needs me, although he doesn’t know it.” Alfred was silent a moment, thinking of the other man, the one who called himself Haplo, and it occurred to him that the silence was loud in here, louder than he’d remembered.
“I’ll go with you,” said Jarre. “What you say makes sense.”
“Thank you,” answered Alfred gravely. “Now, hold still one moment. This stairway is steep and dangerous without light.”
Alfred reached out his hand and felt the wall behind him. It was made of stone, like the tunnels, and was smooth and even. Running his hand along the surface, he had nearly reached the juncture where the wall met the stairs when his fingers brushed over lines and whorls and notches carved in the stone. They formed a distinct pattern, one that he knew. Tracing his finger over the rough edges of the carving, following the lines of the pattern he could see clearly in his mind, he spoke the rune.
The sigil beneath his fingers began to glow with a soft, radiant blue light. Jarre, seeing it, caught her breath and sank backward, pressing herself against the wall. Alfred gave her a soothing, reassuring pat on the arm and repeated the rune. A sigil carved beside and touching the first caught the magical fire and began to glow. Soon, one after the other, a line of runes appeared out of the darkness, running the length of the steep staircase. At the bottom, they curved around a corner leading to the right.
“Now it’s safe for us to go down,” said Alfred, rising and brushing the dust of ages from his clothes. Keeping his words and actions purposefully brisk, his tone matter-of-fact, he held out his hand to Jarre. “If I might be of assistance?”
Jarre hesitated, gulped, and hugged her shawl closely around her. Then, pressing her lips together, her face grim, she rested her small work-worn hand in Alfred’s. The blue-glowing runes glittered brightly in her fearful eyes.
They descended the stairs swiftly, the runes making it easy to see the way. Hugh would not have recognized the bumbling, stumble-footed chamberlain. Alfred’s movements were surefooted, his stance erect. He hurried ahead with an anticipation that was eager, yet wistful and tinged with melancholy.
Reaching the bottom of the steep staircase, they found that it opened into a small narrow corridor; a veritable honeycomb of doorways and tunnels branched off it in countless directions. The blue runes led them out of the corridor and into a tunnel—third from their right. Alfred followed the sigla unhesitatingly, bringing with him a wide-eyed and awestruck Jarre.
At first the Geg had doubted the man’s words. She had lived among the delvings and burrowings of the Kicksey-winsey all her life. Gegs have a keen eye for minute detail and excellent memories. What looks to be a blank wall to a human or an elf holds a myriad of individual characteristics—cracks, crevices, chipped paint—for a Geg, and once seen, is not soon forgotten. Consequently, Gegs do not easily lose themselves, either above ground or below. But Jarre was almost instantly lost in these tunnels. The walls were flawless, perfect and completely devoid of the life that a Geg can find, even in stone. And though the tunnels branched out in all directions, they did not turn and twist or ramble. There was no indication anywhere that a tunnel had been built just for the hell of it, out of a sense of adventure. The corridors ran straight and smooth and gave the impression that wherever you were going, they’d get you there the quickest route possible, and no nonsense. Jarre recognized in the design a sense of strong purpose, a calculated intent that frightened her by its sterility. Yet her strange companion seemed to find it comforting, and his confidence eased her fear.
The runes led them in a gentle curve that kept taking them to their right. Jarre had no idea how far they traveled, for there was no feeling of time down here. The blue sigla ran on before them, lighting their path, each flaming to life out of the darkness as they neared it. Jarre became mesmerized by them; it seemed as if she walked in a dream and might have kept walking forever as long as the runes led the way. The man’s voice added to this eerie impression, for—as she had asked—he talked the entire time.
Then, suddenly, they rounded a corner and Jarre saw the sigla climb into the air, form a glowing archway that burned and glistened in the darkness, inviting them to enter. Alfred paused.
“What is it?” Jarre asked, starting out of her trance, blinking, and tightening her grip on Alfred’s hand. “I don’t want to go in there!”
“We have no choice. It’s all right,” said Alfred, and there was that note of wistful melancholy in his voice. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I’m not stopping because I’m afraid. I know what’s in there, you see, and … and it only makes me sad, that’s all.”
“We’ll go back,” said Jarre suddenly, fiercely. She turned and took a step, but almost immediately the runes that had showed the way behind them flared a bright blue, then slowly began to fade. Soon the two were surrounded by darkness, the only light coming from flickering blue sigla outlining the archway.
“We can go in now,” said Alfred, drawing a deep breath. “I’m ready. Don’t be frightened, Jarre,” he added, patting her hand. “Don’t be frightened by anything you see. Nothing can harm you.”
But Jarre was frightened, though she couldn’t say of what. Whatever lay beyond was hidden in darkness, yet what frightened her wasn’t a fear of bodily harm or the terror of the unknown. It was the sadness, as Alfred had said. Perhaps it had come from the words he�
��d been speaking during their long walk, although she was so disoriented and confused that she could recall nothing of what he’d said. But she experienced a feeling of despair, of overwhelming regret, of something lost and never found, never even sought. The sorrow made her ache with loneliness, as if everything and everyone she had ever known was suddenly gone. Tears came to her eyes, and she wept, and she had no idea for whom she was crying.
“It’s all right,” repeated Alfred. “It’s all right. Shall we go in now? Do you feel up to it?”
Jarre couldn’t answer, couldn’t stop crying. But she nodded, and, weeping, clinging closely to Alfred, walked with him through the archway. And then Jarre understood, in part, the reason for her fear and her sadness.
She stood in a mausoleum.
CHAPTER 36
WOMBE, DREVLIN,
LOW REALM
“THIS IS DREADFUL! SIMPLY DREADFUL! UNHEARD-OF! WHAT ARE YOU going to do? What are you going to do?”
The head clark was clearly becoming hysterical. Darral Longshoreman felt a tingling in his hands and was hard pressed to resist the temptation to administer a right to the jaw.
“There’s been enough bloodshed already,” he muttered, grasping hold of his hands firmly behind his back in case they took it upon themselves to act on their own. And he managed to ignore the voice that whispered, “A little more blood wouldn’t hurt, then, would it?”
Decking his brother-in-law, though undoubtedly very satisfying, wasn’t going to solve his problems.
“Get hold of yourself!” Darral snapped. “Haven’t I got trouble enough?”
“Never has blood been spilled in Drevlin!” cried the head clark in an awful tone. “It’s all the fault of this evil genius Limbeck! He must be cast forth! Made to walk the Steps of Terrel Fen. The Mangers must judge him—”
“Oh, shut up! That’s what brought on all this trouble in the first place! We gave him to the Mangers, and what did they do? Gave him right back to us! And threw in a god! Sure, we’ll send Limbeck down the Steps!” Darral waved his arms wildly. “Maybe this time he’ll come up with a whole army of gods and destroy us all!”
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