by Ashley Capes
A bright light appeared from the black. It resolved into the shape of a woman. She wore loose yellow robes that left her arms bare but the head of a fish rested on her neck. Bubbles escaped her mouth when she reached out and took his hand. Her grip was firm and it infused him with a power that freed his lungs from the mounting pressure and cleared his vision.
Cold vanished and his heart eased its frantic beating.
She tugged on his arm then paused to look at him, before shooting off into the dark, dragging him along. Never kicked but it didn’t seem to help, as if he were being pulled along in an incredibly fast carriage. Streaks of light passed; the only hint at their speed. He no longer worried about the giant fish – and who was to say this new creature wasn’t the fish?
There was no true sense of direction to the travelling, whether deeper, forward or closer to shore, he had no idea.
We travel to the Preparation Chamber, Master. The voice spoke in his mind.
While it appeared female, it seemed flat... the lack of emotion was complete, as if only a dry echo remained of the old words, long since lost to time.
And yet, had she truly called him ‘master’?
Of course, you are Master.
Never shivered. The lights changed, darkening to purple. Were they close to the so-called Preparation Chamber?
Yes. We have left the Birthing Pool.
How far is the Chamber? Will my air last?
As long as I will it, Master. Maintain your hold and you will remain safe, we are quite near.
Never gripped her hand as they sped on. The lights were changing again, purple warming to orange. Against the black, the stripes were near-dazzling.
What is the Preparation Chamber?
It is the endpoint of the Causeway. You have travelled it many times.
Truly?
Of course. Be ready for landfall. The Vestibule will be attended.
The darkness snapped to light and he found himself in a wide chamber lined with a confusing array of red and white tiles, set in dozens of unfamiliar patterns. While the white tiles were luminous there was not enough light to read by.
Behind him, steps led down into black water that filled a small cave but there was no sign of his guide, nothing beyond the suggestion of yellow fading away. The fish-woman was gone; he’d have no more answers. He took a step into the room and his boots didn’t squelch.
He patted his clothing. “Dry.” His voice echoed. He strode forward. What strange magic had he been pulled into now? The chamber was not empty, but aside from its walls and floors, there was only a thin podium that blended with the wall, decorated as it was in the same pattern. For the promised Attendant? There was nothing on the stand and pushing and pressing on it had no effect.
No menace lurked within the place, instead, a sense of peace settled over him. More, peace and the notion that time slumbered.
Never ran a hand along the tiles near the podium, pausing at a slight depression. He prodded the tile and a click followed. A door slid open, revealing a stair – which was, unsurprisingly, one of red and white tiles.
It stretched up for an unfathomable distance; patterns making it impossible to judge. Surely it was a hopeful sign that it led up? He had to be beneath the river somehow. Or the earth even. And what of Luis and Elina? Were they safe? Did Guardians find them? Were they even now ascending their own stairs elsewhere?
There was a simple way to find out.
Never climbed.
Muscles in his legs soon began to burn; too long in the boat. When he stumbled onto a landing it was with a sigh. Not large but home to another empty podium. And little different from the first. He moved on. Never passed two more podiums on landings before he arrived at a fifth, empty like all the rest, and slumped against a wall. He grunted. Garish, the whole damn place. He closed his eyes. He’d lost count of steps long ago; the flights were easier to keep track of, and for some of the way, he’d focused on a pattern of red tiles that looked to be forming images of hands; clasped, pointing, set in fists, opening, fully opened, gripping a variety of objects, making shapes with thumbs and other fingers; in all manner of poses, but they disappeared into the roof and ran back down the opposite wall by the third landing.
It is time for the Offering, Master.
“Offering?” Never rose.
A glowing man of red stood beside the podium. Similar to the yellow guide from before, long robes left his arms bare, but his head was not a fish. Instead, a bird of prey regarded him with sharp eyes, its smooth beak still.
“What do you need?”
The customary Offering is required. The man-thing’s voice was as empty as the woman’s beneath the river. The man raised a hand, palm out.
Not unlike the Amouni mural from the Amber Isle.
Never drew his blade and pierced the skin of his finger, then let a drop fall to the guide’s hand.
Blood glowed then faded into the skin.
The Offering is acceptable.
The bird-man stepped aside and a line of bright silver appeared, as if slicing through the wall. When it opened, bright light stood in its place.
“What lies beyond?”
The Preparation Chamber, of course.
“Of course,” he said, struggling to keep a certain amount of sarcasm from his voice.
The Attendant began to fade, as if the tiles were drawing him into their mysterious shapes, leaving Never alone with the bright silver light.
Beyond could lie anything – but if the Amouni created it, surely there would be no danger to one of their own.
But a question remained – preparation for what exactly?
Never stepped into the light.
Chapter 10.
Silver light faded.
In its place appeared a circular, tiled chamber lined with steel tables, narrow as cots. Each sloped toward the centre of the room. The tables curved in at the top, a thin strip extending up to become a circle for a head to rest upon.
If that was indeed the purpose.
A wide dais waited in the centre of the room – its base lined with white tiles, each with a single rune in the centre. Some had that familiar tug at his awareness, as if he knew the language, yet no meaning followed.
He climbed onto the dais and craned his neck. Above, a cylindrical shaft of black extended into the ceiling. It seemed to match the proportions of the dais, but beyond that, he found no clues to either’s use.
The tables were a similar mystery. Unused for decades... longer? A thick layer of dust covered their surface, each cloaked in time’s debris – all save one. Beneath the dust was a dark stain; it lined the edges at a point where a man’s shoulders would have lain.
Blood? Rust? Blood was more likely – typical of Amouni transfers, certainly according to the murals and his own experience. Did that then mean the Preparation Chamber was for transfer of knowledge? To ready themselves for what? He bent by a loose tile where it rested beneath the table. A grate lay beneath, half-covered by the loose tile.
Only a hand’s width, it was fixed to the floor, and coated with more dark stains and dust.
Just how much excess blood was involved in a transfer?
Never exhaled as he rose and followed the wall, pausing at a deep alcove. Within lay a door but its silver handle would not turn. He pricked his forefinger again and it opened at his bloody touch. Inside, another tiled room. This contained stools made of steel set at tables with shelves – each empty save for an array of knives. Many appeared ceremonial, with ornate carvings along the blade or hilt – one familiar rune from Snow’s die, the thumb and forefingers spread, but others were longer, more complex.
One item, which he first mistook for a knife, did not have a ceremonial appearance. A blunted hook rested on the end of a tool perhaps the length of his forearm.
“And what in the name of the Gods
are you for?” he asked one before returning it to the shelf.
Another alcove led to a passage of dark stone, a small square of light waiting at its end. He lengthened his stride. Was there a way out of the place? Perhaps there’d be another guide waiting for him. One could hope.
Instead, a walkway with a rail circled a huge, domed chamber of blazing light – it speared down from the roof in a criss-cross of beams. He shielded his eyes. The dome was made of three pieces: dark stone, white tile and clear quartz; through which the sunlight burst.
Like the Amber Isle.
Across the way stood more railings but no doorways he could discern.
But below, far below, stood a huge black... something. It appeared to be buried beneath an enormous array of sheets, cloths and canvas, even tied down with iron pegs. Despite all the light focused upon it, the shadows remained deep, hints of the thing’s shape indistinct. Did its edges waver in the light? He had to look away.
It was vast, that much seemed clear.
From beneath the coverings exuded a sense of... a sense that answers lay beneath. Answers beyond those offered by the Isle; perhaps beyond any Snow could hold, beyond even Mother had she survived, such answers seemed to lie just out of sight.
And yet he could not bear to look directly at it for long.
Never broke into a jog. He circled the room, one hand on the guide rail, the other checking the wall for doorways, for stairwells, anything, but he found nothing.
All answers, all promise, lay beyond his reach.
There was no way down – he could not climb for there was no ladder, no stair, and he could not leap such a distance without killing himself.
“What manner of cruelty is this?” He spun, casting his words up to the roof. “Guide? Where are you?”
Master.
A guide appeared before him; this man – or creature – dressed in white robes, muscled arms bare. An owl’s large yellow eyes regarded him unblinkingly.
“Is there a way for me to reach the floor here?”
Beyond your own means?
Never frowned – what did the fool mean? “Yes. A stair or ladder?”
The Stair? Of course, this way.
He followed the guide back around the room to a halfway point, where the creature held a hand before a section of wall that appeared no different to any other. A silver glow spanned from wall to hand and a section slid open, revealing another stair.
It climbed up in plain white, with a silver stripe in the centre of each step.
“And this leads down to the centre of the dome?”
This is the Stair.
“I mean there.” He pointed. “To whatever is below the coverings.”
The Stair will take you outside. Shall I seal it once you leave?
Never opened his mouth to try and explain again but stopped. Maybe it was better the secret was buried for now. After all, he would soon know precisely where on the Rinsa River the underground Amouni rooms lay. Hopefully not too far beyond the Pool of Leaves. He could return with tools and rope, with supplies, and knowledge attained from the library.
Besides which, it was time to find Luis and Elina.
But to seal it?
It might keep someone like Cog from entering, or anyone else for that matter. Never hesitated. Was he making a mistake? He had to find Luis and Elina but there was much he could learn here, if only he pushed. Some knowledge lay buried here, a link to his past, a new clue.
But what if Luis and Elina were in even more danger? He had to find out. Damn his luck. “Can I return?” Never asked.
Of course, Master.
Never nodded. “Please seal the way when I am gone.”
The Owl-head answered with its own nod.
He stepped onto the first stair then glanced over his shoulder. “Why do you all call me ‘Master’? Is it due my blood?”
We have always called you Master.
The door slid shut and Never sighed. So much for answers. The moment he sorted out things in the city – with a short stop in the royal Hanik library of course – it was back to this place.
Chapter 11.
The top of the stair sent him through a final door – this one too, sliding open at his touch – yet not soundlessly. A scraping followed and dirt trickled inside, light blazing after.
He squinted as he exited, finding himself on a wind-swept clearing of stone, ringed by a low wall of boulders. Behind him, a section of the wall slid shut again, seamless stone against the wall of the peak. Blue sky and soft white clouds spread above and when he walked to the wall, River Rinsa stretched beneath him, a dark stripe far below.
No sign of any boat, nor movement on the banks, which now, had fallen away to allow the sporadic growth of elms, their leaves bright green. How far back was the Pool of Leaves? Even from the peak, he saw little. Never leant forward with a groan, resting against the rock. He’d have to walk all the way down the mountain now.
Something hard pressed into his chest.
The marble sphere. Never leant back and retrieved it. The tiny figure reclined within, hands behind its head.
“So I carry you and do all the work myself?”
The figure crossed its legs at the ankle. Never raised an eyebrow. Could it hear him? He tried again. “I’ve decided I’ll simply roll you down the path.”
Nothing.
The figure remained motionless – as if at ease.
Never replaced the marble with a snort and started the climb down.
Dusk was settling across the river by the time he reached the banks, his feet sore and old sweat itching his neck and back. He bent by the water’s edge and dunked his head. Cool water eased the irritation on his skin. “Better,” he breathed. Cupping his hands, he drank, spitting out pieces of leaves and grit before standing.
A winding trail dotted with weeds slipped into a line of elms by the river. He followed the path until it merged with a better-travelled road, this one with hints of stonework at the edges.
How to locate Luis and Elina? He assumed they’d carried on after not being able to find him. Yet what if they searched still, somewhere upstream? Or worse, had not survived? He didn’t believe the guide would have hurt them – for surely she was the fish? It was him she sought. At least, the two were connected. Turning back would mean bypassing the peak or swimming. In the first event, he might miss them altogether. And he wasn’t keen on swimming half the distance of the Rinsa.
He ground his teeth as he walked. The best course of action was to push on for City-Sedrin. Elina was rushing to get there; Luis would have helped her eventually. That was where they would be. They had to be.
Head for the city.
Never walked on. Before the light died, he foraged for food, eating a handful of pale red berries – palof. Bitter but safe. When the dark feeding through the treetops grew too heavy, he sought shelter in a small depression set off the road, wrapping himself in his cloak. He growled at the pile of leaves he’d gathered for his head when a bug tickled his neck. Sleep, that’s what he needed now.
*
When dawn crept through the branches he returned to the river, kicking out kinks in his legs, then sated his thirst. It did little to ease the giant hole of emptiness eating its way through his stomach, but it was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. Many times. Eating lean was just part of the romance the came from wandering on a decades-long search for the truth.
By mid-morning hoof-beats echoed up from behind. He stepped back.
A rider slowed his mount, a steaming black mare who stamped a forefoot when the traveller came to a halt. A fair-haired Hanik with a trimmed beard, he nonetheless bore a worn-look, from cloak to glove to eye, though the man’s blade seemed of fine quality.
“Well-met, stranger. Tell me, if you’ve come that way, what news from the city?” His Marlosi was impeccab
le.
“I travel as you, sadly, and can offer no news.”
“A shame.” He paused. “Would you walk with me a moment nonetheless? I find myself weary of my own company.”
Never chuckled. “I find myself feeling the same.”
“Then let me water my girl and we’ll continue on.” The man led his mount to the banks and let her drink. As he swung down, his cloak opened to reveal a dagger whose hilt bore the silver of Hanik nobility – worked as a claw from a bird of prey. Not the royal crest of the Silver Tree, but he was obviously connected to the royal family.
“You seem to be on a matter of some urgency,” Never observed when the man returned and set out again, now leading his mount.
“Indeed.” He did not elaborate, offering only a smile. “And you are far from home it seems?”
“Yes. I travel to the city to meet old friends,” Never replied.
“A shame to hear about your Empress,” the rider said.
“A shame?”
“Rumours say she is pinned down in the Monasema Mountains, her forces broken.”
Never frowned. It was more than a shame. Empress Crisina was a bright, kind girl. She certainly deserved better... but there was nothing he could do. Not from Hanik and not as one man, Amouni or not. “The Vadiya must have a significant part of the Empire under their control then?”
“Our reports suggest so. Only Trieta and a few minor holdings appear to stand unconquered but Vadiya bring more and more troops in each day.”
Trieta – the northern city dispersed much of the nation’s grain, perhaps no surprise it still held out, garrisoned as it was. “Do they trouble you here in the south?”
The man shook his head. “We watch them.”
“I hope so. I think we all know how hungry the Vadiya have become.”
“Truly.” The man patted his horse’s neck. “Forgive my curiosity, friend, but I would ask one more question.”