"What is it?"
Forollkin held out his hand to show her a long thin scratch. "I touched something sharp, but there's nothing there." He swept his hand through the air and grunted in surprise and pain as more scratches appeared. "Zeldin's Footsteps, whatever it is, it tears like thorns!"
The breeze ruffled Gwerath's hair and she suddenly began to twist and turn her head. "Something's caught hold of my hair!"
Kerish reached up, his sensitive fingers apparently pressing thin air.
"What's happening?" demanded Gidjabolgo.
"It feels like the branch of a tree . . ."
Kerish closed his eyes and concentrated hard. Leaves brushed his cheek and all the birds of summer were singing nearby. The courtyard was filled by a neglected garden, choked with weeds and thorns.
"Draw your sword, Forollkin; we have to hack our way through a garden."
Kerish untangled Gwerath's hair from the bough of a fruit tree and they moved forward. Forollkin used his sword like a scythe to clear a path through the tangled undergrowth, but their progress was slow and painful. Invisible brambles sprang at the travellers, roots tripped them up and thorns snagged their clothes and skin. Kerish continually described the obstacles ahead of them, from low-hanging branches to piles of rotting fruit, black with insects, but he could not see his companions and the garden at the same time and he often misjudged their position.
Forollkin swore as he drove the edge of his blade into a tree trunk and Kerish opened his eyes.
"I'm sorry, I thought you were a bit further to the left."
Forollkin felt for the invisible tree trunk, thrust a knee against it and pulled out his sword. Kerish closed his eyes again and tried to find a path through a thicket of thorn bushes.
In another ten minutes the travellers had reached the genuine emptiness of the further passage and stood sucking their scratches or pulling burrs and thorns from their clothing. Kerish's eyes were still closed. "It must have been a beautiful garden once . . . "
"If you say so," began Forollkin, "but it didn't feel beautiful. Come on."
He strode off down the passage and the others followed. Round the very next corner they came on a sixth courtyard, far larger than the rest and divided by a wide crack in the crimson floor. Forollkin walked to the edge of the crack and looked down. He could see no bottom to the chasm but he heard a noise like the rushing of water very far below.
"Thank Imarko, there's a bridge," he said.
The bridge was a slender arch of polished stone with no kind of wall or handrail to make it easier to cross.
"I'll go first," ordered Forollkin, "then you, Gwerath, then Kerish and Gidjabolgo last. Don't look down, keep your eyes on the other side and walk slowly."
Forollkin stepped onto the slippery arch and Gwerath followed, her arms spread wide to help her balance. Gidjabolgo hesitated and Kerish felt a sudden reluctance to touch the bridge. He closed his eyes to concentrate on calmness, but what he saw in his mind's eye made him grab Gidjabolgo and shout a warning.
"Forollkin, run!"
The stone bridge was an illusion. The chasm was spanned by a frail arch of black ice and it was already cracking under the double weight.
"Gwerath, jump!"
Obeying the terror in Kerish's voice, Forollkin turned, grabbed Gwerath's wrist and leapt for the far side as the ice splintered beneath their feet. The bridge snapped and chunks of ice fell into the chasm, shattering against its walls. For a long moment Gwerath struggled to regain her balance, one foot on solid stone, the other dangling above the chasm. Then Forollkin dropped to his knees, wrenching Gwerath towards him and they sprawled together on the crimson stone.
Kerish shouted across the courtyard. "Are you both all right?"
Forollkin sat up. "I am, but, Gwerath, I must have hurt your wrist."
"It only hurts a little," whispered Gwerath, but her left wrist was already swelling and when Forollkin gently tried to feel the damage, she gasped with pain. He began to bandage it with his sash as Kerish paced along the edge of the chasm, looking for another way across.
"There was a fork in that last passage," said Gidjabolgo. "If we took it we might find a path to lead us round this courtyard."
Kerish agreed. "We'll have to try it. Forollkin, stay there and shout every so often so that we can judge how close we are. If we haven't reached you within an hour, go on and try to find the centre of the maze."
Forollkin nodded uneasily and watched Kerish and Gidjabolgo disappear back down the passage. He strained to follow the sound of their footsteps but the rustles and whispers that filled the maze were growing louder. He had the uncomfortable feeling that if he listened hard enough he would begin to understand what the whisperers were saying. Determined not to try, he turned back to Gwerath.
*****
The left fork in the passage brought Kerish and Gidjabolgo to another courtyard, fractured by the same broad chasm. This time, instead of a bridge, the chasm was spanned by a convoluted stair of crimson stone that soared up to a great height before spiralling down again. Kerish stared at it warily.
"I see an empty staircase. No-one seems to be on it but . . . " said Gidjabolgo.
Kerish finished the sentence for him. "...but you can hear them."
Forollkin called out from somewhere close but he was barely audible above the perpetual whispering and the sound of heavy footsteps. Kerish folded his hands over the Jewel of Zeldin and closed his eyes.
Two tall figures holding axes marched up the blood-red steps; a man with four arms crept downwards weeping; a naked child fled from a serpent and a one-legged bird hopped from step to step, pecking at its own breast. Kerish opened his eyes again but, to his horror, he could still see the creatures of the stair.
"Gidjabolgo, do you really see nothing on the stairs?"
"Nothing," repeated the Forgite.
"Then . . . I must guide you because the stairs are not empty. Take my arm and tread exactly where I tell you."
A figure slid towards them, carrying a bunch of purple flowers with snakes for stems. It was a dazzle of jewels and silks held together by white sticks that parodied human bones. Kerish looked away from its face.
"Gidjabolgo, we may not . . . listen, if I've treated you unkindly in the past, I'm sorry. I . . . "
"I tried to kill you once," snapped the Forgite, “so save your sorrow for yourself.”
He gripped the Prince's arm. Holding the Jewel of Zeldin to his heart, Kerish set foot on the lowest step of the crimson stair.
*****
Gwerath sat cradling her aching wrist while Forollkin walked up and down the edge of the chasm. After a few minutes she said in a low voice, "I know you're still angry with me for following you into the Red Waste, but . . . "
"I'm not angry with you." Forollkin swung back towards her. "I'm angry with myself."
"Yourself! But why?"
Forollkin sat down beside her.
"I shouldn't have spoken to Kerish the way I did, but I couldn't bear to be challenged by him just when I knew that I wasn't leading you well enough, because of my fear of Saroc and his sorcery."
"You are not afraid," protested Gwerath, "you are never afraid."
"You don't know me, little cousin." Forollkin smiled wryly. "I am afraid of what I do not understand . I thought I'd changed, but not enough for this. I don't mind the odds against me being high, but I do mind not knowing what they are. I wish to Zeldin that we hadn't dragged you into this danger too. "
"I wanted to come." Gwerath plucked at the sash around her wrist. "It was my choice."
"Yes, but to leave your family, your home . . . "
"I was sorry to leave Eamey," murmured Gwerath, looking down at her lap. "I am sorry that the goddess has left me but I will never be sorry that I came away with you."
"But you don't always seem happy with us." Forollkin wished he could see her expression. "Gwerath, I've sometimes thought . . . "
He broke off as the rushing noise in the depths of the chas
m grew suddenly louder.
"Oh, be careful . . . "
Ignoring Gwerath's warning, Forollkin lay flat on the crimson stone, gripped the edge of the chasm and looked down.
"There's something bright down there; bright and huge and it's coming up!" Forollkin rolled away from the edge and stood up."We'd better take the passage and . . . "
He stopped as he saw what Gwerath was already staring at. Filling the passage was the cloud, a billowing mass of white, speckled with gold. Forollkin pulled Gwerath to her feet, drew his sword and spun round to face the chasm. From out of the blackness rose a second cloud of dazzling, shifting colours. After a few moments, he realized that this cloud was made up of hundreds of tiny gem-like birds, furiously beating their wings. He ducked as scores of them flew over their heads and towards the passage.
Most of the birds rose up towards the red sky, but a few flew blindly into the path of the cloud. As they entered the swirling whiteness, golden particles rushed towards them. For a moment they still flapped their wings, struggling to fly upwards; then each hung motionless, stiff with gold. Forollkin and Gwerath backed towards the edge of the chasm as the cloud spread out until it filled the whole courtyard and began to roll towards them. Forollkin called out once, but only the whisperers answered him.
*****
Kerish stood at the apex of the stair. Without Gidjabolgo's support he would have fallen.The Forgite heard the heavy footsteps and a faint rasping, but Kerish could see what made the sounds and desperately wished that he couldn't. From one direction came the axe-bearers. From the other, a man without hands or feet heaved himself painfully from step to step. So far the travellers had avoided touching any of the creatures but here the stairs were dangerously narrow.
"Down," ordered Kerish.
The echoing tread of the axe-bearers followed them down, as Kerish picked his way carefully, holding up his cloak. There were pools of blood and scattered shards of bone on every third step. Gidjabolgo copied the Prince's movements and obeyed at once when ordered to stand still.
"It's nearly on us now!"
The Forgite could hear the panic that Kerish was barely suppressing.
"Back, back!" He pulled Gidjabolgo to the edge of the stair and the brink of the chasm as something moaned softly just a few inches away from them. Then Kerish was running down the stair again, dragging Gidjabolgo after him.
"Jump over the next two steps!" shouted Kerish.
Gidjabolgo didn't ask him why, he could hear an ominous hissing. The stair twisted into a spiral, which was far worse because Kerish could only guess at what might be round the next curve but he hurried on, because the axe-bearers were still close behind and he knew now what was in the sacks they carried.
Gidjabolgo gasped for breath, trying to keep up with the Prince, but suddenly Kerish stopped and clung to the stair pillar, his eyes dilated with horror. As he came level with Kerish, Gidjabolgo flinched from a fierce heat and the stench of burning flesh.
"It's alive!" Kerish was whispering, "It's still alive!"
Gidjabolgo shook him by the shoulders. "Go on, we're nearly across."
Kerish forced himself to let go of the pillar and edged down the stair. He stepped over the body of a woman, whose long white hair flowed across the crimson stone and down into the chasm, and then glanced back. The axe-bearers were closer than ever and one of them was taking off his mask. Kerish ran, ducking as the one-legged bird took off with a shriek of mocking laughter. Almost at once he stopped again and Gidjabolgo crashed into him.
"What is it?"
"The serpent," said Kerish.
It was coiled across three steps, in the act of devouring a struggling child. The serpent swallowed its prey and swayed to and fro, its long tongue flickering. Kerish stood petrified by its cruel gaze, then he heard a peal of laughter. A few steps above them stood another naked child, golden haired and beautiful like the first. The serpent hissed; the child ran. The hideous bulk began to uncoil as the serpent slithered upwards.
"Jump, Gidjabolgo!" called Kerish, as he leapt to the safety of the courtyard. Less agile than the Prince, Gidjabolgo felt the serpent brush against his cloak as he made his clumsy jump. The cloth turned green and began to rot away. He stared at it for a moment but then the Prince grabbed his hand and they ran for the passage.
When they were a long way from the stair, Kerish leaned against a cool crimson wall, his whole body trembling. "Zeldin spare me from such sights and Imarko take them from my memory!"
"Would you have her take away a part of yourself?" asked the Forgite softly.
Kerish turned to face him."I couldn't have crossed that stair without you."
"We'd better take the right fork here," answered Gidjabolgo, "if we're to find our lost chicks."
Kerish nodded and they walked on. Every few minutes, the Prince called out his brother's name but there was never any answer. They finally found their way back to the courtyard of the broken bridge, but except for a few bright feathers and a scattering of golden dust, it was quite empty.
"Zeldin knows how long we were on that stair." Kerish glanced up at the red sun. By his reckoning it should have set long ago but it still hung banefully in the cloudless sky. "They must have gone on."
Gidjabolgo looked unconvinced but said nothing.
They headed back towards the heart of the maze. Kerish called to Forollkin again and again but his voice vanished into an eerie silence. The whispers were dying down and he almost missed them. Kerish let Gidjabolgo go ahead of him and choose right or left turns at random, but there seemed to be no more courtyards to cross. As they rounded a corner darkness fell, sudden and complete. Kerish stretched out his hands and found Gidjabolgo standing close to him.
"Now what do we . . . " began the Forgite, when the darkness lifted as suddenly as it had fallen. The red sun was replaced by a leaden moon and a wave of pallid light broke across the maze. Peering ahead, Kerish saw that the passage seemed to be blocked by some kind of silvery foliage.
At the cost of a few more scratches, they squeezed through into a second garden. Against alabaster walls and between slabs of creamy marble grew pale-leafed, white-flowered shrubs and trees. Thorn bushes were patches of darkness and weeds sprang up through cracks in the paving, but the garden was still beautiful. Kerish walked towards a weeping tree heavy with scented blossom and trod on something sharp. He stooped to pick it up and saw that he was holding a silver butterfly with brightly enamelled wings. He guessed that it must once have flown but the mechanism was broken and there were cracks in the crimson enamel. Gidjabolgo had wandered ahead and Kerish hurried to catch him up.
They came together to the heart of the garden; a shallow pool beneath a dead tree. The pool was choked with weeds but one patch of clear water reflected the melancholy face of Saroc.
Chapter 3
The Book of the Emperors: Sorrows
But he said to the mourners, "They that feed upon their grief grow bloated with sorrow and cease to care if the world suffers with them. Remember always that it is the duty of mankind to be joyful and that it is a wise man who knows whether he weeps for another or for himself "
Kerish and Gidjabolgo came slowly forward but Saroc did not look up until their reflections took shape beside his in the stagnant pool. They could see that he had once been strikingly handsome but now his appearance was as neglected as his garden.
"My lord," began Kerish, but the sorcerer interrupted him.
"What are you holding in your hand?"
Startled, Kerish held out the broken butterfly. "A child's toy, I think."
Saroc took it from the Prince.
"I gave it to her here, on that last evening, because she had grown tired of this white and silver garden and longed for colour. I had made two gardens for my daughter, one for night and one for day. Pergon of Lamoth found her in the Day Garden so I vowed that no-one should see it again. Yet your eyes saw the garden You are the first to ever reach the heart of my maze. Even Pergon did not cross the Red Stair
."
"Your citadel is well guarded," said Kerish, "and your maze is filled with horrors."
"Horrors? Are there no dark places in your mind, Prince of the Godborn? Am I to blame if fools dash out their lives against my walls? May I not defend my solitude?" asked Saroc. "What have you come to take from me? I have no second daughter. "
"I think you know which treasure I have come for," said Kerish.
"I have no treasures any more," replied Saroc, "but you deserve some reward for your courage. I will grant each one of you one wish."
Kerish bowed.
"Thank you, Lord Saroc. Will you also answer one question."
"Your companions are caught in my gold cloud," said Saroc, as if the question had already been asked. "They will glitter there until the Great Ocean sweeps over Seld, unless you spend your wish on freeing them. Ah, I see this treasure means much to you. Are your companions' lives worth less? And you, Forgite, can I guess your desire too?" Saroc turned his green gaze on Gidjabolgo and a twisted smile made his face look even sadder. "A tawdry wish. I see that men have not grown wiser since I withdrew from the world. Their dreams are still narrow. I will grant your wish, on one condition."
"What condition?" asked Gidjabolgo warily.
"Come closer and I will whisper it to you."
Gidjabolgo knelt beside the sorcerer, his face almost touching Saroc's red hair. Kerish could not hear what was said, but he saw the Forgite's shallow eyes flood with revulsion.
"No!"
"No? But why not? What is he to you?" From the sleeve of his robe Saroc drew out a crystal rod streaked with crimson. "I will make it easy for you. There is no risk."
Gidjabolgo stood up. "Name some other condition."
Saroc leaned back against the dead tree. "Then name some other wish."
Kerish willed the Forgite to ask for the release of Forollkin and Gwerath, but after a moment's thought, Gidjabolgo stooped to whisper something.
The Dead Kingdom (Seven Citadels) Page 3