The House on Durrow Street

by Galen Beckett

  “No, all the soldiers ran off in the other direction, thanks to your little diversion.”

  Now Coulten grinned, his teeth glowing in the light of the rising moon. “Did you see it? I must say, I thought it went off splendidly. And here Eubrey says I never pay attention at meetings.”

  Rafferdy could only cringe at the mention of Eubrey’s name.

  “Only, I say, Rafferdy, what the devil are you doing here?” His eyes went wide. “Did the magus send you here to help me? But that’s capital—it means you’re to be admitted to the inner circle of the society with me! Well, come on, then. We’d best get through before the soldiers come back. The magus says there is a path through the door.”

  With that, he turned and stepped through the opening in the wall. Not knowing what Coulten intended—or had been ordered—to do, Rafferdy hurried after him. The rough stone passage was dark inside, but it was no more than a dozen feet long, and they quickly reached the end of it. Beyond was a tangle of black branches limned in silver moonlight.

  Before them was the tall tree Eubrey had stuck with his knife, while past it was something Rafferdy had not noticed that lumenal. Perhaps the green shadows of day had made it blend in with the forest floor. Now the stray moonbeams that slipped through the branches gleamed off the red stones upon the ground.

  Rafferdy followed the line of stones with his eyes. While the trees grew right up to the path, none of them grew over it. Instead, it ran straight through the forest, vanishing into the darkness. Given the color of the stones, Rafferdy could only suppose the path had been put here by the same magicians who had made the door in the wall. Yet for what purpose did they need a trail leading into the Evengrove?

  “You’re not intending to follow that path, are you?” Rafferdy said, laying a hand on Coulten’s arm.

  “Of course not, Rafferdy! The magus’s directions were very clear—to open the door and wait for him at the start of the path. But didn’t he tell you the same thing?”

  Rafferdy only shook his head. “We have to go, Coulten. We have to leave and close the door. Now.”

  “What are you talking about?” Coulten said, his frown dimly visible in the gloom. “We can’t leave before the magus gets here. If we fail at the task he gave us, then he won’t admit us to the inner circle of the society and make us sages like Eubrey.”

  Rafferdy clenched his jaw. “Eubrey isn’t a sage, Coulten. And they’re not going to make us into sages either. That was never their intention.”

  Coulten shook off Rafferdy’s hand. “Now you’re making no sense at all, Rafferdy. Of course Eubrey’s a sage! We saw him ourselves at the last meeting of the society.”

  “Did we? We saw a number of men in gold robes and hoods, but did we really see Eubrey that night?”

  “I’m certain one of them was him,” Coulten said, though in fact he sounded less certain now.

  Rafferdy drew in a breath. There was so much he had to tell Coulten. Only how could he begin? He didn’t know, but he had to.

  “Coulten,” he said in a grim voice, “there’s something you have to know. Eubrey is—”

  A rushing sound filled the air, quickly rising to a roar, drowning out Rafferdy’s voice. He looked past Coulten, at the tangled forest, and he was gripped by a sudden dread.

  “By all of Eternum!” Coulten called out. “Not again!”

  Beyond the tunnel, the trees swayed back and forth, their boughs shaking as if from the winds of a storm. Yet crazed beams of moonlight darted between the branches as they danced about; the night sky was cloudless.

  “Come on!” Rafferdy shouted, and he seized Coulten’s arm, pulling him back through the tunnel.

  This time Coulten needed no encouragement. The two men dashed through the tunnel, out the entrance, and stumbled a dozen paces from the wall before turning to look back. Rafferdy lifted his gaze to the crowns of the trees. Just like before, the branches trembled and tossed. Only there was something different about their motions this time. They were not so violent and furious as they had been that day.

  “Is it another Rising?” Coulten said.

  However, at that moment, the agitation of the branches began to slow. The roaring noise dwindled. Then, with one last rustling sigh, several branches bent down and, with what seemed a strangely gentle motion, set something down on the top of the wall. Then a stray moonbeam gleamed off golden hair, and Rafferdy drew in a breath as wonder filled him.

  “No,” he murmured, “it’s not a Rising.”

  Coulten had been looking through the tunnel. Only now, following Rafferdy’s gaze, he began to lift his head to look upward. Despite Rafferdy’s shock and confusion, one clear thought occurred to him: Coulten must not see what had alighted atop the wall.

  “Great gods, look there!” Rafferdy exclaimed, turning to point behind them. “Are those soldiers coming?”

  Coulten’s eyes went wide, and he spun around. “Where?” he said, peering away from the wall, toward the darkened fields. “I don’t see any—oh.” His words ended in a soft exhalation as he slumped to the ground.

  Rafferdy gripped his cane, whose ivory handle he had just applied with some force to the back of Coulten’s skull. Then he knelt down to make sure the other young man was yet breathing, and that he had not fallen in an awkward position. These things were readily confirmed. Coulten would be fine—though he was bound to have an awful headache once he woke.

  “Do forgive me, my friend,” he said in a low voice, “but I couldn’t let you see her.”

  Even as he said this, he heard a rustling of leaves behind him. He stood and turned around. The top of the wall was empty now, and the crowns of the trees were motionless. Then a slender figure stepped out of the opening in the wall and into the moonlight.

  “Mr. Rafferdy,” she said with a smile, as if they had just encountered each other by chance while out for a stroll on the Promenade.

  For his part, Rafferdy was beyond astonishment. “Mrs. Quent,” he said, and gave an elegant bow.

  Now she hurried toward him, her smile replaced by an expression of concern. “But what have you done to Lord Coulten?”

  “I didn’t think it prudent that he see you here,” Rafferdy replied.

  She hesitated, then nodded. “I suppose it is for the best that he didn’t. But will he … ?”

  “He will be fine enough when he wakes. Though he will also be very angry with me, I imagine. Only that doesn’t matter right now.” Rafferdy took a step toward her. “What in the world are you doing here, Mrs. Quent? And more important, how are you here?”

  “I can explain everything, Mr. Rafferdy. But you must come with me. We don’t have much time.”

  “Come with you? Where?”

  She held out a small hand toward him. “Into the Evengrove.”

  ONLY SCANT MINUTES had passed since Mrs. Quent had stepped out of the door in the wall, but everything had changed in that brief time. He had listened in both horror and fascination as she described all that had happened to her that evening. Now, despite the balmy night, Rafferdy suffered a terrible chill. Yet if she could be willing to do this, he must do the same. He gathered his courage, such as it was, then followed Mrs. Quent into the stone passage.

  “Should I bind the door shut behind us?” he said, his words echoing off the stone. “I don’t want Coulten following us if he wakes up.”

  “No, don’t close it,” she said, touching his arm. “The man in the mask said it cannot be opened from this side. That’s why Gambrel needed someone here to open it for him.”

  Rafferdy nodded. He knew now that was the real task Eubrey had been sent here to do that day—to make sure an initiate could open the door in the wall. Only, then Eubrey had been used for a different purpose, and so another initiate had been needed to perform the duty.

  “I can make sure Coulten does not follow us,” she said as they stepped from the passage and into the forest. She turned, then laid her hand on the trunk of the large tree that stood before the opening. The tree gav
e a shudder, then all at once its branches bent down, weaving together in an impenetrable curtain, blocking the passage through the wall.

  Rafferdy watched all of this with fascination. “It seems magick is not the only way to bind doors,” he said dryly.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said, giving him a fleeting smile. Then her expression turned grave. “We must hurry, Mr. Rafferdy.”

  “Of course,” he said, and started down the stone path.

  “No, not that way,” she said behind him. “Walking will be too slow. We would never reach the tomb before Gambrel.”

  He turned to regard her. “Then how do you propose we get there?”

  “Just as I got here,” she said, reaching up to entwine her fingers with leaves and twigs. “The trees will know the way.”

  And before he could ask her what she meant, a number of branches reached down and plucked Rafferdy up off the ground.

  He let out a cry of alarm and struggled to free himself, only it was no use. Strong green tendrils coiled around his limbs, and in a moment he was borne thirty feet off the ground, up to the very tops of the trees. The stars and moon glittered overhead.

  “Don’t be afraid, Mr. Rafferdy!” a voice called out.

  He looked around wildly, then saw her only a short distance away. She seemed to float on the very tops of the trees, held aloft by the swaying motions of the branches.

  Her statement was obviously absurd. How could he not be afraid when he was being torn limb from limb by trees that could move of their own will? Only, he realized then, the branches weren’t pulling him into pieces. Rather, he was being held up in the most careful manner. Indeed, the less he struggled, the more gentle the motions became.

  Now his fear was replaced by amazement. “Are you doing this?” he called out to her.

  She smiled at him. “Brace yourself, Mr. Rafferdy.”

  And all at once they were moving as they were passed from branch to branch and carried along the treetops.

  Rafferdy cried out again, only this time it was not due to fear but rather exhilaration. The night air rushed past them, and he and Mrs. Quent sped across the tops of the trees like flotsam blown upon an emerald sea. He did not fight against the motions of the branches, but rather moved with them, shifting his weight from one to the next as they carried him along. That they were moving far faster than a horse could run, he was certain.

  Soon he became aware that he was grinning like a mad fool, only he could not help himself. As strange as this was, for some reason he could not name, it felt peculiarly natural as well. It seemed to him that there was a kind of rightness to the notion of a witch helping to bring a magician to a place deep in the Wyrdwood.

  Suddenly a glint of blue caught Rafferdy’s eye, and he looked at his hand. The gem in his magician’s ring was glittering with an interior light. Before he could wonder why, he felt himself being carried downward. The stars vanished as branches closed around him. Then, a moment later, he felt a hard surface beneath his boots as he was deposited upon the ground.

  The branches raised themselves up to reveal Mrs. Quent standing beside him. Even in the gloom he could see that her gown was askew and her hair was a gold tangle.

  “Are we there?” he said.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. The trees … they were reluctant to take us any farther.”

  As she said this, he saw the line of red stones upon the ground, leading forward. “This way,” he said.

  This time it was he who went first as they walked down the stone path. After no more than a dozen paces the trees gave way to either side, and they found themselves on the edge of a vast clearing in the forest. The clearing was at least a furlong across, unnaturally circular in shape, and entirely devoid of trees. The ground within the circle was black and barren, and the trees along its edge all leaned away from it, as if unwilling or unable to grow another inch nearer. Rafferdy was loath to enter the clearing himself. His ring continued to throw off blue sparks, and the air was thick and foul with, it seemed to him, a terrible power or presence.

  Just then the moon sailed higher in the sky, edging over the crowns of the trees. By the pale flood of its light they could see that the clearing was not empty. Rather, a massive structure hulked in the very center of the circle. It was a sort of pyramid shape, like something that might be illustrated in a book concerning the ruins in the deserts of the Murgh Empire. However, its sides were tilted at such a bizarre angle that the structure was discomforting, almost painful, to gaze upon. It was fashioned of stone that, even in the moonlight, was the color of dried blood.

  “That has to be the tomb you spoke of,” he said, only he winced as his words died upon the preternaturally still air.

  Next to him, Mrs. Quent only nodded, as if she was loath to break the awful silence.

  Rafferdy took another step along the path. How long had this pyramid stood here, concealed in the center of the ancient grove of trees? Many eons, he supposed. Yet here it was, no more than twenty miles from the greatest city in Altania, and no one had ever known about it.

  Except that was not true. There were some who had in fact known about it—the magicians who built this path, and who put the door in the wall. And perhaps the emperor who built the wall in the first place. He took another step along the path, moving farther into the clearing. As he did, he realized that Mrs. Quent was still behind him. He glanced back. Her face was wan and tight in the moonlight.

  “Come along,” he said. “Gambrel can’t have come through yet, or there would be an awful commotion here. He must still be on Tyberion, looking for the right door. Which means we still have time.”

  Mrs. Quent started to take a hesitant step, then stopped and shook her head. “I don’t think I can, Mr. Rafferdy.” Her words were faint and breathless. “There is something here that … I cannot say what it is. But I do not think it will allow me to enter the circle.”

  Rafferdy stared at her. Yet, after a moment, he thought that perhaps he should not be so astonished. After all, some dreadful magick prevented the Wyrdwood from encroaching upon the circle, just as the Old Trees disallowed it from escaping. Her natural abilities could only be at odds with the arcane energies that permeated this place.

  “Go on,” she said, her voice strained. “You have to shut the door before Gambrel can come through it.”

  Now his shock was renewed. The idea of entering the clearing and approaching the tomb by himself was one that caused him to shudder. He wanted only to dash along the path through the forest, to find his way back to the door in Madiger’s Wall.

  “Please, Mr. Rafferdy,” she said, meeting his gaze with her own. “I know it is within your power. Only you can do it.”

  Despite the chill dread that pooled within him, he felt a sudden spark of warmth in his chest. He squared his shoulders and gave a crisp bow. “As you wish, my lady,” he said.

  Then, gripping his cane, he turned and made his way along the path, deeper into the clearing. At once his confidence wavered, and the warm spark in his chest was snuffed out. The air grew thicker and more oppressive with every step he took, and colder as well. He began to feel a queer tickling in his chest, a sensation that crawled up into his throat, until he was forced to clench his jaw to resist the compulsion to scream.

  The moon rose higher still, and by its light he saw it standing there in the shadow of the pyramid: a stone archway, perhaps ten feet in height. The path led directly toward it, and as Rafferdy took several more reluctant steps along it, he could see that the stones of the arch were carved with runes.

  That it was the door, he had no doubt.

  Pushing his cane against the ground with every step, Rafferdy slowly approached the arch. The pyramid loomed above him, and an awful presence emanated from the structure—an energy that spoke with such force and malice that it had become a kind of constant shrieking in Rafferdy’s brain. On his right hand, his ring flickered with azure fire.

  At last, with one final push of his cane, he rea
ched the arch. Now a new dread came over him—a fear that at any moment the door might sparkle with arcane power and Gambrel would step through it. However, all Rafferdy could see through the stone arch was blackness. The door had not opened. And he would make certain it never did.

  The runes carved on the stones were dark and sharp in the moonlight. He circled around the arch and saw there were runes on the other side as well. As quickly as he could, he made an examination of the ancient writing, and gradually he began to understand the function of the arch.

  A spell of opening was inscribed upon each side of the door. If entered from one direction, he surmised, the door could be used to travel to the way station on Tyberion, while passing through the other way would take one into the pyramid itself. But for the door leading into the tomb to function, it appeared that the door on Tyberion would have to be activated as well. Which meant one could only get to the tomb by coming from the way station on Tyberion. No doubt the magicians who had built the pyramid had put these precautions in place to make the pyramid difficult to open. Even if an enemy gained control of this door, it would still not be enough to open the tomb.

  Yet difficult was not impossible, and according to Mrs. Quent, Gambrel had already reached Tyberion.

  Hurrying now, Rafferdy returned to the front of the arch, again reading the runes there. As he had learned from Mr. Bennick, a spell of opening could also be used as a spell of closing and binding. Only what was the proper order to speak the runes in? If he spoke them incorrectly, he could fail to bind the door shut. Even worse, if Gambrel had already activated the door on Tyberion, Rafferdy might inadvertently open the way into the pyramid and set the Broken God free, just as Gambrel intended to do. For a moment a panic seized Rafferdy. He could not move.

  Only then he thought of the way Mrs. Quent had regarded him at the edge of the clearing, and the confidence in her expression. If she believed it was within his power, then it had to be so. After all, she was the sensible one, not he.