Then two things happened at once. The Magrumen moved in perfect unison, extending their hands outwards over the marble floor, and Sylas and Naeo lifted their arms high above their heads.
Simia looked down at the patchwork of marble beneath her feet, wondering what new horror to expect. She caught her breath. The joins between the stone tiles had begun to blur and merge, the white ones starting to seep into the black. They were becoming fluid: melting into one another. The entire floor around them seemed to be in motion, becoming something it should not be – could not be. She felt the grip of panic as her feet became unsteady and she saw white and black ooze over her shoes.
“Sylas! Do something!” she cried.
“They are doing something!” shouted Ash. “Look!”
She looked up to the vaulted ceiling and recoiled.
The entire edifice was alive with fire.
Long, snaking tendrils of flame grew from the oil lamps on both sides of the hall, worming and twisting around one another, forming a breathtaking, living mesh of fire. They looped and spiralled beneath and over each other, forming an impossible knot of golden, flickering flame. This blistering weave of heat and light began falling slowly towards the Magrumen – drifting relentlessly towards the end of the hall. As it passed the oil paintings, fingers of flame reached out and touched the canvases, setting them instantly alight, forming pools of fire that rippled outwards towards the frames, feeding the inferno. The rumble became a roar. One of the Magrumen – the old man – changed his stance and raised his arms towards the approaching hellfire, seeking to fend it off. Instantly Naeo reacted, pointing a finger in his direction and, at the same moment, tendrils of fire wound round each other and launched at him, striking him roundly in the chest.
His face bore a look of surprise and horror. His cloak burst into flames, engulfing him in a searing ball of fire. A chilling scream echoed through the hall and suddenly they saw his burning figure falling through the open doors at the rear.
Scarpia and the other Magruman looked around, surprised, even frightened. They glanced up to the great web of fire now just above their heads, hesitated, then turned to Sylas and Naeo. They seemed unsure where to direct their attentions. They began to back away towards the doors, keeping their hands raised to protect themselves.
Their retreat came too late.
A furious wind rose from behind Sylas and Naeo, howling through the splintered doors, screaming into the void. It blasted along the hall, gathering pace as it went, tearing at the walls, clawing at the ceiling. It lifted the burning paintings and hurled them forward, flipping them end over end towards the Magrumen, spinning like murderous Catherine wheels, spitting a shower of sparks, smoke and flame.
Scarpia’s eyes widened. She raised her arms, but as she did so, the wind breathed into the lattice of fire, giving it new, terrifying energy. It flared as bright as a sun and bellowed a thunderous battle cry, then surged forward with horrifying force, closing in upon its prey. Scarpia’s sleeves burst into flames and with a shriek of pain she gathered her arms to her chest, charging towards the doors that were all too far away. The other Magruman threw herself to the floor, clawing hand over fist to the opening, but before she reached it the fiery web suddenly opened wide like a grasping claw, then collapsed into a fist of fire, engulfing them both. There were desperate screams and a calamitous crash as the burning paintings whipped into the heart of the flames, smashing into the floor and wall beyond.
The blast of heat subsided; the final traces of the lattice thinned and disappeared into smoke. All that remained was a wall of leaping flames and the crackle and roar of the settling fire.
Sylas and Naeo suddenly seemed smaller, almost frail. Children once again.
Their arms wavered in the air and fell slowly to their sides; their feet shifted uncertainly in the ooze and then, as if not knowing what else to do, they turned to each other.
They gazed at one another for a moment and then, silhouetted against the mounting flames, they clasped hands.
41
From the Darkness
“From the darkness the sun will rise,
and lay before it a carpet of light.”
FOR A MOMENT EVERYONE stared at the raging fire, trying to take in what had just happened. Their eyes passed over the splintered remains of bookshelves, the scattered books and pictures, the orange flames licking up the walls and the great plumes of black smoke climbing rapidly towards the vaulted ceiling.
Finally Sylas turned his pale face to his friends. “Are you all right?” he asked in a husky voice.
Espen raised his bloodied face and answered with a broad smile. Simia and Ash looked at Sylas with a mixture of wonder and fear.
“We’re... fine,” said Simia hesitantly. “You?”
“Yes, I think I’m OK,” he said, surprised. The trace of a smile creased his lips. “Did you finish? Before they took you?”
“Just about,” she said.
She shifted her gaze to take a proper look at Naeo. It was bewildering: the face she knew so well, Sylas’s face, yet changed, different, somehow more feminine and delicate, her expressions quicker and sharper. Naeo met her eyes for a moment and then, looking unsure of herself, she glanced away, moving a little closer to Sylas. The two of them stood easily together, shoulder to shoulder, relaxed with each other. Neither looked at nor spoke to the other, but somehow they responded, seeming to know one another’s mind.
“We need to get to the Apex Chamber,” said Simia. “To the opening on the south side.”
“Well... I hope you have a plan,” panted Espen doubtfully. “There’s no way down from—”
“We do,” she interjected, rather more harshly than she intended.
Espen raised an eyebrow and thought for a moment. “I know how to reach it. This is the Medial Chamber – it leads to all parts of the Dirgheon. There are staircases behind the shelves – one of them should take us there, though I’m not sure which...”
“Scarpia took me that way once.”
It was Naeo’s voice. She spoke more softly than Sylas and she had a different accent, but her voice was uncannily similar: the tone, the cadence, the way she formed the words – all were the same.
“You’ve been there?” asked Simia.
“I’ve just come from there,” said Naeo. She glanced at Sylas. “I left my father—”
“Bowe?” exclaimed Ash, feeling a surge of renewed hope for their friend.
Naeo nodded. “He was...” Her voice faltered. “He was barely alive.”
“Then show us the way,” said Ash with new urgency.
She pointed to the large bookcases now bearing just a meagre scattering of books. They made their way across the hall through the strange black and white ooze, shaking and stamping the peculiar liquid stone from their shoes. When they reached the bookshelves, Espen and Naeo moved along them, investigating each one, searching for the one that formed a concealed entrance. But, despite pulling and heaving and shifting books, the shelves seemed to hold firm. They looked at each other anxiously and walked back to the end of the hall, trying each in turn.
Sylas tried some as well, but had no more luck. He began pulling out some of the books, wondering if they concealed a secret latch or lever of some kind. None seemed to hide anything, but soon he became distracted by the volumes themselves, which looked very different from the leather-bound books he had seen in the Den of Scribes or on the Windrush. The covers were shiny and colourful and the text seemed neat and regular: printed rather than written. He tilted his head and looked at some of the titles: The Age of Industry read one; Man and Machine read another. He felt the hairs begin to rise on his neck.
These were books of his own world.
His eyes came to rest on a small group of books that still lay undisturbed on the shelf. He read the titles under his breath:
“The Encyclopaedia of Weaponry… Technology of Warfare… Science and Supremacy…”
He gathered one of them off the shelf and looked thr
ough it, turning to page after page of photographs and diagrams depicting engines, factories, cars, guns, planes, missiles... He raised his eyes and looked about him... to the other shelves. He saw legions of books about technology, industry, weapons and war. This was not a hall, but a library – a collection of knowledge taken from his own world. The wrong kind of knowledge.
“They’re all about science and war…” he murmured. “They’re learning from us…”
He felt a new dread. He knew instinctively that these books had no place here; that however they had been brought here, whatever their purpose, they were not to be used for good. Gathering his strength, he did something he would never have dreamt of doing before – he hurled the pile of books into the fire.
Behind him Naeo pushed against one of the bookshelves. There was a loud click. Instantly it sprang back and swung open, a rush of cool air entering the hall. They all gathered around to peer into the dark passageway beyond.
Espen leaned cautiously into the blackness. “This is it,” he said. “Let’s go.”
He led the way into the shadows, taking just a few paces before beginning to climb a steep, spiralling stone staircase. Simia and Ash set out after him, followed by Sylas and Naeo, who kept an eye out behind.
The cool of the stone stairwell was pleasant after the hall’s searing heat, but once they had left the doorway behind, the darkness was almost absolute. They found themselves searching the shadows for signs of movement, their eyes lingering on every dark shape, every misshapen step and uneven wall. Several times Sylas and Naeo thought they heard footsteps below them and they both stopped, holding their breath, straining to listen. Each time they paused for a few seconds until they were sure that it was nothing and then, without saying anything to the other, continued the climb. Sylas had the strange sense that Naeo was thinking the same thing at the same instant, that as he resolved to continue, she would be at his side. It was peculiar, but at the same time comforting.
The staircase was behaving like a giant chimney, drawing smoke from the inferno below up into the cooler air above. It was thick and acrid and it quickly started to sting their eyes and fill their lungs, making them cough and splutter. Espen continued to lead, climbing with remarkable speed, but his breathing was heavy and laboured and Simia saw him wince a number of times, as if racked with pain.
A dim glow appeared above them and moments later they saw the top step. A large dark hallway extended beyond, flanked by two faceless statues, their arms clasped to their chests. They stepped into the open space and saw the source of the light: a long, vertical crack at the far end of the hallway – a gap between two doors.
They all paused for a moment, bending low to take in gasps of clean air, and then Espen walked up to the doors. Crouching low, he pressed his hands to the wood, listening for a moment before putting his eye to the light.
The others stayed at the top of the steps, trying not to cough, getting their breath back.
For some moments the Magruman peered silently into the room beyond. Finally he rose to his full height and glanced over his shoulder.
“We seem to be in luck,” he whispered. “There’s no one here.”
Naeo stepped forward. “No one?”
“I don’t think so.” He drew a wheezing breath and pushed on the doors.
They squinted into the light. As their eyes became accustomed, they saw a vast square chamber – several times larger than the hall. It was lit by huge flickering flames that rose from four giant urns of oil, one in each corner. There was an opening in the centre of each wall, which provided enticing views of the night sky beyond – a promise of escape. But their eyes were drawn to the strange splendour of the room: floors decked with red carpets and animal skins, strewn with seats and pillows of glittering gold fabric; in the centre a broad circular pool of still black fluid, accessed by white marble steps; walls covered with tapestries depicting scenes of magic and battle.
The towering ceiling was painted with a host of murals, each telling its own story: peoples trekking across deserts and mountains; feasts and banquets attended by strange, unnatural beasts; priests chanting incantations in a magic circle; maps of castles and great cities; yet more battles; yet more magic.
But one of these pictures, the one in the very centre of the ceiling, dominated all others. A vast, empty, skeletal face depicted in bland silvers and greys. The terrifying visage of Thoth glowered down at the entire chamber, giving the fugitives the sense that he was watching them even as they hesitated in the threshold, mocking their futile attempt at escape, daring them to pass.
“Follow me,” said Espen firmly.
He led them over the soft carpets and skins. They glanced in all directions, checking every opening, every corner, every hanging. All was eerily still except for thin, delicate drapes gathered at the sides of the openings, flowing and fluttering on a gentle breeze. They felt fresh, clean air blowing across the room, offering a tantalising taste of the open night beyond.
Yet escape still seemed far away, for between them and the world outside lay the trappings of luxury, privilege and power: thick incense on the air; couches of velvet and gold; pitchers and goblets studded with jewels; silver-clad volumes stacked neatly on shelves; ancient maps laid open on tables of polished wood; a beautiful, ornate cello laid on a golden stand... a stone table, decorated with intricate red engravings, golden chains and manacles...
“That’s where my father was!” hissed Naeo, instinctively moving towards it.
Espen took hold of her shoulders. “It could be a trap!”
“But I have to find him!” protested Naeo. “We can’t leave without him!”
“You must leave without him. We don’t know where he is, and soon this place will be swarming with guards.”
She struggled against him.
“Naeo! His only hope is that you escape! Think! He wouldn’t want you to be captured again. You can’t risk that! Not now that you’ve finally found Sylas!”
She hesitated, tears welling in her eyes. The Magruman drew her away as gently as he could, pulling her close, tenderly, caringly. His manner revealed a deep affection.
He began leading her across the chamber. The others followed, looking with horror at the place of Bowe’s torture, noticing traces of blood and signs of a long struggle.
They moved quickly, without pausing, trying to keep their eyes to the shadows and openings. As they skirted the pool, Sylas chanced a look down. The haunting face of Thoth glared up at him, mirrored on the smooth, glassy surface. He knew it was only the image on the ceiling, but he found it hard to look away. The large hollow eyes seemed darker and emptier than ever before and yet, at the same time, he felt that they were seeing into him, gathering his thoughts, mocking him. To his surprise, the primal face showed not an absence of humanity, but an abundance of it: an endless transition between amusement, anger, despair, hatred and malice.
He shuddered and turned his eyes away.
Where was Thoth? Surely he was somewhere nearby?
Onwards they rushed, half walking and half running, the dark window rising in front of them, the air becoming crisp and cool.
Naeo moved onward in a daze, trying not to think of her poor father, sobs rising in her chest. At last they were at the drapes, feeling the first traces of hope, lifting their heads, gathering pace. The carpets gave way to stone and suddenly they were taking the last ten paces… five… then out on to the threshold, into the open air, jumping down on to the first of the huge stone steps.
They gulped deep draughts of the chill night air.
Below them the city looked almost beautiful. It was a broad shimmering carpet of pinprick lights, its tangled, twisting streets occasionally picked out by the last flickers of lightning. There was no sign of Paiscion’s storm. The clouds had risen to expose broad horizons: the greyish shimmer of the winding river and the open sea; the endless blackness of the Barrens.
Suddenly a ghastly, appalling sound rose from the base of the Dirgheon.
> A howl pierced the night and hung in the air. Far below them the base of the pyramid seemed to be moving, shifting, rippling in the dim moonlight. It was as though it was being consumed by some thick bubbling blackness, some foul surging growth rising up the sloping wall, moving ever more quickly towards them. And, as they watched, its smooth darkness began to gain shape and form. It took the appearance of a great swarm of dark bodies: an army of leaping, thrashing beasts.
“Ghorhund!” cried Ash.
Naeo put her hand to her mouth. “There are thousands…” she murmured, watching with horror as beasts crawled over beasts, hurling each other down the steep sides of the pyramid in the blind fury of their charge.
She turned to Espen. “What do we do?”
He too was peering down the side of the vast Dirgheon, shaking his head. But then something caught his eye. He looked past her and out across the side of the pyramid.
The trace of a smile formed on his lips. “It seems our friends are one step ahead.”
She followed his gaze and saw Sylas, Simia and Ash running along the terrace, then leaping down to the next and the next. She looked ahead of them and gasped. There, lying across the stone terraces, were two gigantic structures of wood and canvas.
Their beautiful, broad wings caught the moonlight.
She stepped towards them, her mouth falling open. “Birds…” she said.
“Not birds,” said the Magruman, with a fascinated smile. “They are something from the Other.”
Espen turned, lowered his broad face to hers and smiled warmly. “You have much to learn from Sylas,” he said, brushing the hair from her face, “and he from you.”
Naeo turned away and her eyes found Sylas. He was beckoning them frantically, calling for them to follow. She watched him for a moment. She felt a strange kind of completeness, a peculiar certainty that her future lay with him.
“I know,” she said.
Espen and Naeo ran out along the terrace and began leaping down to where Sylas, Simia and Ash were hoisting the first of the two great birds off the stones. Sylas was explaining how each of the parts worked, pointing beneath to a single horizontal bar for steering and a broad sling of canvas.
The Bell Between Worlds Page 43