by J. A. White
Taff’s right, Kara thought. We have to stay focused on the Vulkera right now. If what Querin said is true, the Khr’nouls won’t come for a year, maybe even more. Plenty of time to figure out a way to stop them.
“The door opened,” Kara said through clenched teeth. “What’s next? Do we just walk through it, or is there something special we have to do?”
Querin’s arrogant smile stoked the flames of Kara’s anger.
“Traveling to the lower half of the tower is far more complicated than just walking through a door,” he said. “There are rules. Leave me so I can get dressed, and I will explain them to you.”
They waited for him in the Slanted Hall, not bothering to wake Grace—Kara was in no mood for her smirks and amused comments. Finally, after far longer than it should have taken, Querin appeared. He was wearing a purple silk shirt and gleaming boots. The tail of his beard had been freshly oiled.
“So,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Just give me a few moments to prepare a hearty breakfast, and—”
“No more delays,” Kara said, shaking her head.
“As you wish,” Querin said. “I can enjoy a quiet breakfast with your strange friend. A charmer, that one.”
He hurried past them, leaving behind a whiff of flowered water, and together they passed through the Lower Door. The room beyond was circular and small. There were no doors or windows, just a hole large enough to fit a man and a thick rope dangling from the ceiling. Looking up, Kara saw that the rope led to a gigantic winch with coils layered fifteen feet deep around its bobbin. There was enough rope there to lead them from the top reaches of the tower to the ground below.
“First rule,” Querin said. “You can’t change anything. You can witness events unfold before you, but you will be like ghosts, unseen by anyone.”
“Fine by me,” Taff said. “We don’t want to be seen anyway.”
“Where are we going?” Kara asked.
“The tower will know where to send you,” Querin said. “As you descend, it will read your needs, so keep them foremost in your minds. You want to know where the grims are hidden? It will send you to the moment in time best suited to give you that information. Just don’t get distracted on your way down! Normally I only permit one traveler at a time, because if you’re thinking different things it confuses the tower.” He held a hand to his heart. “But I’ll make an exception this time, because I’ve always had a soft spot for children.”
Right, Kara thought. That’s why you allowed Taff to trade his life so easily.
“The second rule,” Querin said, “and the most important one, is to never, under any circumstances, let go of the rope.”
He handed it to Kara. It felt strange, and she saw that her hands were instantly coated in a powdery substance like the dust from crushed stones.
“I told you the Khr’nouls don’t like it when people mess around with time, right?” Querin asked. “Well, they have scouts out there, making sure that everyone stays on the proper timeline. I call them cogs. Now this rope keeps you anchored to the tower, and as long as you’re holding it, you’re safe. They can’t see you. But let go of the rope, even for an instant, and the cogs will sense that something is amiss. They might not come right away, but think of a shark in the ocean. You can only kick your feet so many times before it realizes what’s going on and attacks. There’ll be signs first—time will start to do some truly strange things—and after that you’re done for.”
“What sort of strange things?” Taff asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Querin said, “because you’re not going to let go of the rope, are you? Which brings us to the third rule. The tower shows you what the tower shows you. If you run out of rope, there’s a reason. Knowledge is a sacred privilege, children. Don’t be tempted to take more than you’re offered.”
Kara peered through the hole in the wall, which led to a tunnel sloping into the darkness at a steep angle. She handed the rope to Taff.
“Remember,” she said. “Stay focused on why we’re here. The Vulkera. We need to know where it’s hidden. The tower is going to read your mind.” Like the queth’nondra, Kara thought, wondering if she would have to endure a walk through the same disgusting, jellylike substance.
“Got it,” Taff said over one shoulder, already starting down.
Kara climbed into the hole. A not unpleasant smell filled her nostrils, damp air after a summer storm. She yanked on the rope and it glided with ease from the winch.
“Any more rules?” she asked Querin.
“Just one,” he said. “Keep your brother safe. His life belongs to me now.”
He walked away before Kara could respond.
The tunnel seemed to descend forever, a surprisingly uniform spiral with bone-smooth features. Occasionally Kara would hear muffled sounds through the walls. Clash of swords. Pounding rain. Voices raised in anger. It was as though the tunnel were an underground passage that led beneath past events, bringing them further and further back in time.
Kara heard a low grumble. She thought that it might have been the sound of some great beast of lore before realizing that it was just Taff’s stomach.
“Querin was right,” he said. “We should have eaten breakfast first.”
At long last the winding tunnel came to a square of light, and the two Westfalls tumbled out of the darkness and into the blaring sun. They were in the middle of a desert. Behind them stood the Hourglass Tower, but in every other direction dunes of featureless sand stretched as far as the eye could see. Kara kept one hand on the rope as she shaded her eyes, scanning the horizon for a reason why they might have been brought to such a desolate place.
“Querin tricked us!” Kara exclaimed. “There’s nothing here!”
Taff held a finger to his lips.
“Listen,” he said.
The desert was empty, but it wasn’t silent. Behind the tower, Kara could hear sounds that indicated a distinctly human presence. The creak and groan of wagon wheels. Soft conversations. A steady tapping noise, like a pickax against a rock.
“Let’s see what it is!” Taff said, yanking on the rope with excitement. Despite all the turns they had made on their downward journey, the rope slid with surprising ease from the exit and offered little resistance as they tugged it around the stone perimeter of the tower. Since Taff was in the lead, he saw the sight that awaited them on the other side first.
The rope fell from his hands.
“What are you doing?” Kara asked, shoving it back into his grip. “Don’t you remember what Querin said? We can’t let go, no matter—”
Then she saw what Taff was staring at and nearly dropped the rope herself.
Before them stretched a red surface as alien as that of a distant star. It had the smooth, shimmery quality of ice, but beneath it Kara could still see grains of sand, like lacquer that had been brushed over the original ground. In the center of this red shell, which extended many miles like a frozen lake, sat a massive castle that looked as though it had been frozen in the process of collapsing into ruins. Towers leaned over at impossible angles. The roof had fallen inward and then stopped. Above it all hung the tattered remains of what might have been, at one time, a great banner.
“The castle is covered with the same stuff on the ground,” Taff said. “That’s the only thing keeping it together. Like magical paste.”
Kara nodded.
“I think this is Dolrose Castle,” she said. “Princess Evangeline destroyed it with magic, remember?” Despite the heat she suddenly felt cold. “Seeing it in person is a lot different than reading about it in a letter.”
“I feel bad for the people who were inside,” Taff said. “This princess sounds even worse than Grace. Maybe even Rygoth. I’m glad she’s dead.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because death isn’t something to ever be glad about.”
Armored guards had been posted around the perimeter of the red shell. Though Kara and Taff w
ere clearly in their line of vision, they could neither see nor hear the children. The Hourglass Tower was equally invisible.
“This must be what it feels like to be a ghost,” Taff said as they made their way closer to the castle. He waved at the nearest guard. “Hey! Look at me! I’m from the future!”
The man didn’t even blink.
“Taff,” Kara said. “Let’s not . . .”
“. . . play with people from the past who can’t see you.” He sighed and shook his head. “I love you, Kara, but you’ve got rules about everything.”
About a quarter of the way around the red shell they could see a large caravan of wagons sitting in the sun. They made their way toward it, dragging the rope with them. It was slow going, and Kara knew that her hands would be covered with calluses by the end of the day. She wished she had thought of wearing gloves.
Finally, they reached the wagons and found a small group of people that had gathered on the edge of the red shell. They were having an important-looking discussion. Five of them sat on small stools. The final man stood before a table on which five red chests had been arranged in a perfect line. Four chests were the same size, big enough to hold a dozen apples. The last one was considerably smaller. Back on De’Noran it might have been used for a promise ring, given from one beloved to the other.
The standing man turned. Kara recognized him instantly.
“That’s Minoth Dravania!” she told Taff, gripping his arm. The headmaster of Sablethorn did not look much different than when Kara had met him in the Well of Witches: bald head, dark birthmark across his face, kind eyes. Only his clothes had changed. Instead of green robes he wore a formal-looking white cloak embroidered with silver runes.
That’s why the tower brought us here, Kara thought, running toward the headmaster as fast as the rope would allow. A powerful wexari like Minoth will be able to see me for sure! He can answer all the questions I have, all the ones that I didn’t have time to ask in the Well.
But even when she stood before him the wexari paid her no heed. Apparently not even Minoth Dravania could see through the mists of time.
The tower brought us here for a reason, Kara thought, biting back her disappointment. Even though I can’t talk to Minoth directly, I’m sure there’s much to learn by simply listening.
The initial conversation, however, was surprisingly dull. It was clear that the five men and one woman had not seen one another in many years, and etiquette demanded that they spend time catching up before jumping into the matter at hand. The only benefit to this talk of weather and family was that it gave Kara a chance to learn the identity of all the participants, so that by the time they finally got down to the true purpose of their meeting she knew who was who.
“Enough,” King Penta said, puffing on a pipe. He looked young for a king, no older than forty, and the iron crown on his head was simple and bereft of gems. “I have nothing but affection for the lot of you, but I’m a busy man and I’ve traveled a long way. Now tell me, Minoth, why have you called us all to this ghastly place?”
“My question exactly,” said the only woman, Kenetta, who had a habit of echoing the king’s sentiments. She wore a glass cloak that shimmered in the sun. “We could be at my palace in Lux right now, sharing a bottle of the finest wine in Sentium.”
The man to her left, Landris Ilma, grumbled something in disagreement, and Kenetta rolled her eyes. “You can’t possibly think that swill you call wine in Ilma is superior to a Luxian vintage,” she said. Kara had already grown used to these little squabbles. With the exception of Minoth and the king, each of the participants represented a different region of Sentium: Ilma, Kutt, Auren, and Lux. They were quick to bicker about the most insignificant matters.
“I am sorry for the inconvenience, revered guests,” Minoth said. He spoke softly, yet Landris and Kenetta instantly stopped their childish debate and gave him their full attention. “But Dolrose Castle seemed a fitting place to tell you this news. As you know, we’ve been studying the Vulkera at Sablethorn for many years now, and while our attempts to destroy it have been unsuccessful, we have at last managed to divide it into four sections.” He turned to King Penta. “Your Highness, I know how concerned you are about the princess’s grimoire falling into the wrong hands. I suggest that we send these grims, as I call them, as far from one another as possible, so they may never be rejoined.”
King Penta chewed on the stem of his pipe.
“You have a plan for this, I assume.”
“You know me well,” Minoth said, smiling. He lifted one of the larger chests off the table and handed it to Kenetta. “The first grim, the cover of the Vulkera, should go to Lux. The last time we met you spoke of a stronghold that your people had recently built using the most modern of your crafts.”
“Ta’men Keep,” Kenetta said with obvious pride. “No place safer in all of Sentium.” She turned the chest in her hands. “How do you open this thing?”
“You don’t,” said Minoth.
He handed the second chest to an unsmiling old man wearing an iron visor that covered his eyes. His name was Mazkus, and he had spent the entire conversation with his head bowed, listening carefully.
“The back cover of the Vulkera I place in the hands of our neighbors to the east, the great region of Auren, where I am sure they will guard it with all the austerity that—”
“Keep the cursed thing,” Mazkus grumbled. “I don’t want such evil within our borders. Give it to Ilma.”
Landris bristled.
“Why should we take it? Ilma is far too important to Sentium. We create new sources of power. All you Aurians do is hide behind your mountains and—”
“The grimoire is harmless as long as it’s kept asunder,” Minoth interjected patiently. “And Ilma is too close to Lux. The idea is to keep the grims as spread out as possible.”
“Give it to Kutt, then,” said Mazkus.
“Yes!” exclaimed the final man, rocking back and forth on his stool. A shock of mauve hair sprouted from the top of his head, and his clothes were stained and torn. Kara had seen him, on numerous occasions, reach down to take an interesting-looking pebble or piece of debris and slip it into his bag. “Give it to me!” he exclaimed. “Kutt has nothing like a grim. It would be an honor to add it to our museum!”
He stretched his hands out eagerly and Kenetta recoiled in disgust; the man’s fingertips were peeling, his skin stained by some sort of blue chemical.
“I had already planned to give you one,” said Minoth, handing the man, whose name was Delvin, the third chest. “The spine of the Vulkera. I thought that fitting, given your people’s interest in the workings of the human body.”
“The spine!” exclaimed Delvin. “I get it!” He laughed fiendishly.
“That one’s mad,” Taff whispered—though there was, of course, no need to lower his voice at all.
“What about Timoth Clen?” asked Mazkus. “A fine warrior, that one. I think he’d covet the opportunity to guard such an evil artifact.”
Minoth’s face darkened with rare anger.
“Timoth Clen is a zealot and a murderer.”
“It’s true,” added Ilma. “His methods have grown increasingly erratic of late. And his followers have begun to treat him like some sort of god. The Children of the Fold, they call themselves. Worrisome, don’t you think?”
“I am well aware of the situation,” King Penta said. “We are grateful for Timoth Clen’s services against the witches, but his time has passed. Measures will be taken.”
The council nodded with approval.
“Now if you truly do not want the grim in Auren,” Minoth said, “I suppose I can bring it back to Sablethorn for further study—”
“No,” said King Penta. “Sablethorn has already been involved enough in this matter. The grim goes to Auren, as planned.”
Mazkus bowed and took the chest. Minoth looked displeased at this, though he quickly hid his consternation from the king. Kara thought she understood: Minoth needed
to offer the grim to Auren, for form’s sake, but he wanted to take it back to Sablethorn. Penta stopped that from happening. Why?
“And the fourth grim?” Kenetta asked.
“That will remain here, in Dolrose Castle,” Minoth said.
This was met by a storm of disapproval (except from Delvin, who had found some interesting-looking weeds growing from an outcropping of rocks and was pinching them into glass vials). Eventually Mazkus’s voice, as gruff as winter wind, rose over the others.
“I cannot speak for my honorable peers,” said Mazkus, “but in Auren the grim shall be placed in the Silent Vault and guarded by Sentium’s finest warriors, day in and day out. Who will perform such a duty in this desolate place?”
“And it’s the actual pages in that chest, isn’t it?” asked Kenetta. “I’m no expert in these matters, but I’m pretty sure that’s the most important part. Couldn’t a witch just get by with those alone?”
“No,” said Minoth. “All four sections of the grimoire need to be joined together in order for it to regain its power. And as for your other concern, the nearest village is six days by horseback. Do you know what they call these ruins? Heathen’s Valley. No one will come here. Fear and superstition will guard the grim even better than Aurian swords.”
Ilma cleared his throat. “I appreciate the sentiment, Minoth, but a witch capable of using the grimoire is not going to be dissuaded so easily.”
“That’s if they discover the grim is hidden here,” Minoth said. He reached for the final, and smallest, chest. “And on the off chance that someone discovers the truth, I assure you that the final grim will be well guarded indeed.”
Unlike the other chests, this one had a latch. Minoth opened it now, revealing a tiny black egg freckled with red.
“What’s that?” King Penta asked.
“Horror,” Minoth said, snapping the lid shut. It was the first time that Kara had seen fear in his eyes. “Damnation. Ruin. Otherwise known as a faenix.”
“Is it a guardian?” Penta asked suspiciously. “Or a monster?”
“Both.”
“Monsters don’t live forever,” Ilma said, shifting uneasily on his stool. “What happens when this creature of yours dies?”