Master must walk alone. We have nothing more than a
reference in your book to tell us what lies beyond the door.
You should both return to the boat, where there is light.”
Carter lifted the lantern and drew his Lightning Sword.
The jagged blade glowed golden. He pulled at the iron ring on
the door, but the stone resisted his strength. The bosun lent a
hand and together the two dragged the door wide, revealing an
ascending brick stair. A puddle lay at its foot, apparently made
from water seeping up through the stones. With a nod to his
companions, Carter began to climb.
The passage was old. Runes lined the walls, suggesting
that whatever lay within had been interred with great
ceremony. The shells of beetles crackled beneath Carter’s
boots. Stories of mummy’s tombs rose to his mind; he felt his
pulse throbbing at his wrists. Though he tried to turn the fancy
aside, he could not help thinking that opening what another
Master had sealed might be a criminal act. But a crime against
whom? The ancient Master? The house itself?
Carter started as a black and gold snake slid down the
steps. It hissed and darted into a crack in the bricks.
He came to an upper chamber, empty save for a stone dais
supporting a large, leather book. Striding to it, he examined its
cover, but it was blank. He touched it and quickly withdrew
his hand; it reeked of Chaos. He opened it to the first page. In
a thin, handwritten script were inscribed the words: The Book
of Lore . He instantly decided to take it with him. Whatever
was within it was powerful, and would surely be safer in the
Inner Chambers than left to lie in a lonely cave.
“Are you certain you want that?” a voice whispered from
the darkness.
Carter shouted in surprise and whirled, his Lightning
Sword at the ready. Raising his lamp, he discovered a side-
alcove previously hidden in the shadows. Within it, an eight-
foot serpent twined around the barren, petrified trunk of a tree
thrusting from a breach in the wall. Its eyes glowed yellow, its
fangs glittered diamond-points. Its body was thick as the neck
of a pony. A pair of large spectacles rested on the bridge of its
snout.
“One shouldn’t take what one doesn’t own,” the serpent
hissed. “Bad luck, bad manners, bad form.”
“Who are you?”
“Just a bit of snake left in the darkness like an old shoe,
waiting through the centuries for someone to appear so I can
question his motives.”
Carter gripped his sword tighter. “Why shouldn’t I take the
book?”
“Because it ought not to get out. Lots of secrets in there.
Things your average, everyday person doesn’t need to know.
Sealing doors, unsealing doors, opening passages into Abysses
and Deep Knowledge. Have you read Temunte’s Eclipse of
Doom ?”
“Yes.”
“Come closer. It’s difficult to hear you.”
Carter drew forward only a step, keeping a careful distance
from the serpent’s maw. “I said Yes .”
“Then you know Temunte believes Evenmere is a
metaphor for the universe. He asks two relevant questions, one
of which is: Why does the house reflect so closely the cultures
of Europe? Do you recall his answer?”
“He had several theories.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that. I’m very old.”
Carter took another step closer and raised his voice.
“Essentially, if Evenmere is a metaphor for Existence, it
should reflect the cultures of that Existence. But he was
mistaken; though the European model occurs nearest the Inner
Chambers, the cultures become more diverse the farther one
goes from the center of the house. What has this to do with the
book?”
“Impatient, aren’t we? I’m getting there. I spend decades
waiting for you and you can’t give an old serpent a paltry half-
hour? No justice in the world. Temunte’s second question was:
If there is life on other planets, as common logic suggests, why
are the people of Evenmere human? Why not another species
altogether, or a blend of species? What was his answer?”
The serpent slithered to the top of the tree where it could
look down on Carter, its eyes made huge by the spectacles.
“That the human race is archetypal for all races
everywhere,” Carter answered. “But even he admitted the
answer did not satisfy.”
“And what do you believe?” The serpent wove its head
back and forth in an almost hypnotic motion. Carter found it
increasingly difficult to look away. With a force of will, he
drew his gaze to the floor and watched the reptile from the
corners of his eyes.
“Since I am speaking to a talking serpent, I assume other
races are represented.”
“SSSSophistry!” the serpent hissed. “Talking or no, I am
an earthly snake, as the Tigers of Naleewuath are merely
tigers.”
“I believe every facet of Existence is expressed in the
house,” Carter said, “but since the peoples of other planets are
separated by a great gulf, so too are those in the High House.
Travel far enough into Evenmere and you may meet more
bizarre forms of life. One day I hope to discover the truth for
myself. But enough of this! I am the Master of Evenmere. If
the book belongs to anyone, it belongs to me. Tell me what it
has to do with Temunte.”
“Excellent credentials. But to make myself clear, I must
tell you a tale from before the making of the book, a story
from long ago, in the time when Tharmaldrun was king—”
“I will hear no tales.” He loathed being alone with this
creature, who was surely some type of guardian.
“It will only take a moment. It was in a day long ago.
There was drought upon the land and—”
Carter heard the faintest noise behind him. He whirled as a
second serpent struck. Reacting instinctively, he brought his
Lightning Sword in a downward arc to block the blow.
Something hit him hard in the chest. Without stopping to see
what it was, he turned back to the first snake, which extended
itself from the branch, striking downward. The Word of Power
that Carter had prepared from the moment he met the viper
sprang to his lips.
Falan ! The Word Which Manifests. A golden wave of
force hurled the reptile against the wall.
In one continuous motion, Carter whirled back to the
second assailant. The serpent’s severed head lay at his feet. It
was that which had struck him. He glanced at his chest to
ensure the fangs had not penetrated his coat, then returned to
the first snake, who lay writhing, glasses broken, eyes
blinking, half-blind.
“Now you will answer,” Carter said. “Who are you? Who
set you here to protect the book?”
But the serpent glared and said, “Ashes, ashes, all fall
down.” Flames abruptly licked it, consuming it instantly,
leaving only a
pile of ash.
Hands trembling in the aftermath of the battle, Carter
glanced around the chamber for further danger. The room was
empty. He turned back to the book.
“You really should leave it alone.”
Carter dropped to his knees and pivoted, bringing his
sword above his head in anticipation of another assault. The
serpent, or one identical down to the spectacles, had returned
to its treetop perch. Wrapped among the branches, it stared at
the Master.
“What are you?” Carter demanded.
“I could ask you the same thing. Don’t you think
‘Guardian of the Universe’ a presumptuous title? Suggests a
touch of delusion. Maybe you’re simply a madman in an
oversized house.”
The serpent slithered from the tree, and as it did it grew,
nearly doubling in size by the time it reached the floor. It said
no more, but advanced with marvelous speed, tongue forking,
fangs gleaming. With one hand occupied with his sword,
Carter was forced to drop his lantern in order to seize the
voluminous book. Tucking it under his arm, he retreated
toward the top of the stair. The monster continued to grow
until it filled half the room. Its bulk sent the discarded lantern
rolling across the floor, where it struck a wall and went out,
leaving only the faint glow of the Lightning Sword for
illumination.
As the viper coiled to strike, Carter reached the stairwell.
He leapt down it, coat flapping behind him, and landed several
steps below. Lurching from side to side, overbalanced by the
heavy volume, he stumbled, missed a step, caught himself
against one wall and continued running. Behind him, he heard
the noise of the serpent’s massive head colliding with the sides
of the doorway.
With the hissing of the reptile at his back, Carter took the
steps two at a time. Reaching the room below, he found
L’Marius awaiting him in the dark.
“The door!” Carter cried, dropping the book to thrust
against it. “Help me, man!”
Aided by the dim glow of the Lightning Sword, the bosun
rushed to Carter’s side, where the two hurriedly pushed the
door shut. The Master rapidly raised the Word Which Seals
into his mind, even as the body of the serpent slammed against
the door, sending painful shudders through the men’s arms and
shoulders.
“Stand back!” Carter ordered.
Lord Anderson now had to use the Word Which Seals on
an object he was physically touching. He had never tried it
before and could not predict the result, but there was no time
for hesitation. No sooner had the bosun withdrew than Carter
spoke the Word.
Nargoth !
The rising power seemed to emanate from his face. When
it struck the door, he gasped in pain as a force like twin
hammers struck the backs of his hands. He fell to his knees,
momentarily blinded by the agony.
As the blackness cleared, he dared to look, expecting to
find smashed pulps at the ends of his wrists. He gasped again,
this time in gratitude. His hands were whole, though stiff and
tingling with pain. With some effort he used them to retrieve
his Lightning Sword from where he had dropped it.
A silence filled the room. No sound came from behind the
door. Carter turned to find L’Marius crouched on the floor, his
hands clasped to his ears.
“Sorry,” Lord Anderson panted. “There was no time to get
you out.”
“I’m all right,” the bosun said. “You?”
“Better than expected.”
The two men got to their feet. Bending down, L’Marius
picked up the heavy leather volume. “You found the book.”
“Yes. Where is Mr. Hope?”
“Waiting outside.”
“Probably hurrying to see what caused the noise. I’d better
reassure him.”
Carter squeezed through the crack in the outer doorway.
“Will? Where are you? I’m fine, no harm done.” Carter
hoped he was right; his hands, numb from the blow, were stiff,
almost useless. He sheathed his sword, which he could
scarcely grasp.
The lantern glowed beside the boat. Carter walked to the
edge of the pier, but saw no sign of his friend.
“Where is he?” Carter asked, as the bosun pushed through
the doorway.
“He was here a few moments ago.”
Puzzled, Lord Anderson turned a slow circle. There was
little to conceal a man, though it was impossible to see beyond
the lantern light.
He turned back toward the bosun. L’Marius held a gun
aimed directly at Carter’s heart.
In the split-second that the weapon erupted, Lord
Anderson dodged to the right. Searing pain jolted his side. His
knees gave way, sending him tumbling off the pier into the
marsh. The water was black and ice-cold. He swallowed a
mouthful and came coughing to the surface.
Scarcely had he cleared his lungs than the bosun appeared
on the dock above him, preparing to fire again. The Master
dove. Bullets sped like arrows past his head. He plunged deep
into the murky depths, floundering along the edge of the pier,
trying to distance himself from his assailant. At last, when he
thought his lungs must burst, he rose.
He had passed thirty yards or more along the pier. The
bosun, now in the boat, was holding the lantern high,
searching for him. This continued for several moments, while
Carter clutched the dock with his benumbed hands, keeping to
its shadows. He was weakening; he must be losing blood. He
wondered how long he could remain conscious. He tried to
summon a Word of Power, but was unable to focus.
At last, after what seemed an agony of waiting, the bosun
turned from his search and paddled away, leaving Carter in
complete darkness.
He tried to pull himself onto the pier, but his vitality was
gone. He sought to summon the Word Which Gives Strength,
but his concentration failed. He seemed to be watching himself
from a distance, as if it were someone else. The waders
L’Marius had given him had filled with water, dragging him
down. His fingers lost their grip. He slipped below the surface.
He knew he was dying, but could do nothing about it. Sarah ,
he thought. Jason .
At the last second, before darkness took him, he thought he
saw a golden glow like a star in the water above him, and a
man rowing a boat.
Now I am dead , he thought. And the ferryman comes to
take me home .
Assault
Carter awoke to find himself lying beneath warm sheets, in
an oak-paneled room with a tall bookshelf built into one wall.
Beside him sat an old man with a Roman nose, a strong jaw,
and a lithe body belying his age. He wore a green uniform
with gold buttons and braids, and the sunlight passing through
the lace curtains of the single, octagonal window made his
gold-green eyes almost luminous. A locket in the shape of a
scar
ab beetle hung from a chain around his neck; a green
admiral’s hat sat by the foot of the bed.
“Do you know where y’are?” the man asked, in a
Westwing accent.
Carter cleared his throat with difficulty. “Pilot Abershaw.
Did you find Mr. Hope? Is he alive?”
The gentleman smiled. “Safe and sound. Your assailant
beaned ’im with an oar, bound ’im, and hid ’im in the shadows
beyond the pier. No permanent damage.”
“Thank God! I was certain he was dead. Of course, I
thought I was, too. Before everything went black I remember
seeing a light from a raft.”
“That was the lantern from m’ship.”
“How did you ever find me?”
“I was looking for you. Few things occur within the Mere
without m’knowing. I sensed something amiss even before
you arrived. I knew enemies had infiltrated; I knew when you
entered the portals. But I was far downstream, lured away
from the Cozy Rooms by other business. It took several days
to get back. The man, L’Marius, who claimed to be my bosun,
was an imposter.” The pilot’s voice grew low. “The bosun
himself is dead.”
“I’m sorry. If L’Marius spoke the truth, your bosun had
been with you many years.”
“Since he was a boy.” The old man’s eyes grew bleak. “I
should’ve gotten here sooner.”
Though Carter had spent little time with Raven Abershaw,
he held the man in high esteem. The Pilot of the Mere of
Books could sense the currents within the Mere, the passing of
the waters, the dancing of its shadows. He knew the locations
of its secret passages and possessed unexpected knowledge as
well, such as the names of the Seven Words of Power.
“The false bosun was doubtless an anarchist,” the pilot
said. “The deception was well managed. The office within the
secret corridor where you were taken is never used, and the
connecting corridor allowed him to lead you to the boats
without encountering m’people.”
“That explains why the bosun avoided the Book Dryers.
What of the boy, Nuth, and his companion—I have forgotten
his name—they said they were dusters.”
“There ain’t any Nuth working in the Mere. He and his
accomplice were part of the deception. From what I’ve been
able to piece together, so was the history they fed you about
the book you found, The Book of Lore . Mr. Hope and I spent
much of yesterday and today searching for references to it. I
Evenmere (The Evenmere Chronicles Book 3) Page 6