by Michael
Tesh shook his head.
“Doesn’t matter.” Andvari noticed the bottom of his beard was starting to unravel and worked at rebraiding it.
“So, what is it that you know that’s so important?” Tesh asked.
“Nothing world shattering. In a way, that’s the worst part. Maybe if I knew something tremendous, something that could upend the order of things—but I don’t.”
“What is it then?”
“Have you heard of the Golrok?”
“Nope, sounds like a Grenmorian.”
Andvari shook his head. “It’s not a who. It’s a what. Mideon’s daughter has the gift of future sight and told everyone about it before she learned there be some things best kept to ’erself. The story goes that one day the door to Alysin will open, and everyone will march out of Nifrel for one great final battle that will determine the fate of the world. The queen thought she would tilt the scales in ’er favor by destroying the bridge after she and ’er forces leave, but before anyone else could, giving ’er a head start. So she built ’er fortress as close to the bridge as she could. Then she made preparations to destroy it.”
“Arranged? Can’t she just make it go away? Isn’t all of this her creation? A reflection of her will and all that?”
“Most of what we see, sure, but it’s like carpet and drapes. Phyre is a real place, carved out of the center of Elan, out of the bedrock of the old lady. It’s a container, you see. Everything else in ’ere is sand in a sandbox, filled with expressions of ourselves—eshim, we call it. The ground, the trees, the buildings are all inventions. But the bedrock—that’s real. It can’t be altered by force of will. The genuine stone, the rock that is Elan, is what keeps all of us ’ere. We can’t affect it, not with spirit hands. The bridge to the Alysin Door is an actual bridge, made from the bedrock of Elan. For all ’er strength, the queen is powerless to change it any more than she can affect the door itself. We are all just spirits ’ere, shades bouncing around in the stone prison of Elan’s womb.”
“So, how did she do it? How did she arrange to destroy the bridge?”
“She didn’t. I did.” Andvari looked sick as he said it. “Didn’t want to, but you must know how she is. There’s no defying ’er, not when she’s got that light on ya, and it bears down hard. All of the five are incredibly powerful, but she’s the worst. Ferrol is an example of what hate can do to a person. She was beautiful once, inside and out, but hatred ruined ’er. Revenge is all that’s left. All she exists for. Such a thing consumes a spirit, makes it into something bottomless, like the Abyss, I suppose.”
“How did you do it? You’re a shade, too, right?”
“Aye, yer right.” Andvari smiled, a glint of pride in his eyes. “What you don’t know about me is that I know a little something about stones and minerals, metals, and crystals. I can build things.”
“Can you build a ladder?”
“I could, but wouldn’t do ya no good. As I said, that lid above our heads is real stone, razor-thin flecks of mica that in life weigh no more than wet oak leaves. But as shades, we can’t touch them and can’t pass through.”
“Someone moved them.”
“Aye, two people if ya gonna be precise. If ya join wills, ya can join power.”
“There are two of us now. So, couldn’t we—”
“Nope, because there are two rocks, one atop the other. If you’re up there, you can move them one at a time. Down ’ere, we’d have to move two at once, and that’s if we could do it at all. Hard to move stone without hands.” Andvari reached up and clapped the wall. “This ’ere is real. This muck we’re standing in is, too, but it is possible with great effort to affect things in minor ways.” He put his hand into the pool and swirled it around. Nothing happened. Then he took a deep breath and, biting his lip, cupped a hand and lowered it into the oily liquid. Lifting it, Tesh saw that a tiny bit was carried up before slipping through his fingers. Afterward, the dwarf slung his shoulders as if exhausted. “It’s not easy, but it can be done. That’s how they slid those rocks over us.”
“How’d you do that?”
“Willpower and a lot of concentration. Ever heard anyone say they achieved something through willing it to be so? Well, there’s a lot more to that than just a saying. The Fhrey have wizards who can tap into the power of Elan and make things happen, but spirits can do it, too. Most of us are weak little flickering flames when compared with the power of the whole living world, but our spirits are of Eton, and there’s no one who can say Eton is weak. So up there, two or three can work together to slide those rocks, or maybe it’s just the queen ’erself that does it.”
“Okay, sure.” Tesh looked down at the muck, remembering the tiny drop of liquid. “But there’s no way you could destroy a bridge of solid stone that way.”
“O’ course not.” The dwarf shook his head. “But as I just told ya, I know rocks and minerals. Some of those when struck can make a spark.”
“I’ve seen that before,” Tesh said.
“Right.” The dwarf raised a finger and pointed at him. “And others will actually burn, and when they do, they give off a gas. If trapped inside stone, that gas can become strong enough to blow rock apart.” Andvari frowned and sat back down, pulling his knees up once more and hugging them. “Took a very long time, but I scraped up the materials I needed and poured them into cracks in the bridge. There’s a pin of metal mounted on a plate of flint at the center. Hitting it with enough single-minded determination will cause a spark that will destroy that bloody bridge. The queen is well equipped to manage that.”
“So, she dropped you in here so no one else will ever know about her plan.”
“Aye, agin yer right. This pit is me grave, where I will dwell for eternity because she must win ’er fight. She must have ’er revenge.”
“Revenge is a powerful motivator,” Tesh agreed.
Andvari nodded. “Makes otherwise sensible people do foolish things.”
The sliding of stone overhead made both of them look up. The rocks were cleared away, and Sebek’s face peered over the edge, plastered with a sinister grin.
Brin still had the piece of leather strap in her hand. She’d used it three times so far and wondered if there would be a fourth. The ends were damp as if from sweat, which was impossible. She couldn’t be sweating. She didn’t have hands. As she thought about it, she realized she probably didn’t have a piece of leather, either. She was holding the idea of a strap of hide.
I’m so glad I didn’t think of that before.
The thought of jumping out over that gorge suspended only by a thin idea might have been too much of a leap. She turned the leather over in her fingers. It was all so real. Her hands, her fingers, the strap—smooth on one side, rough on the other. Her mind was making it all up, drawing from lost memories to build this new world. Like a potluck dinner, everyone brought a dish, and together they created a banquet for the senses.
“Don’t need that anymore,” Beatrice said pointing at the strap. “We’re here.”
The column of warriors had entered a large cavern. Orders were barked, and everyone appeared to know right where to go. All except the six, who stood like abandoned sheep.
The king and Fenelyus approached. “This won’t be easy.” Mideon said this more to his daughter than to them. “Ferrol’s forces didn’t even throw rocks at the jumps.”
“I know,” Beatrice replied.
“They know we’re coming, took the easy route of just waiting for us at the bridge. They’ll be dug in with everything and then some.”
“Yes,” Beatrice said. “Even more than that.”
King Mideon frowned at his daughter, and Brin didn’t know how Beatrice could take such a look. The king was like a thunderhead or a raging sea.
How was it that Moya was able to stand up to him?
“This is no joke, child. We’ll be fighting on the edge up there. People are lost this way—lost forever. You go over that edge, and the Typhons will have ya. Are ya certai
n this is worth it?”
Beatrice looked past her father and beyond the horde of assembling soldiers, who adjusted armor and shields. She stared at the darkness of the cavern wall. Her eyes shifted as if seeing something none of them could. Then she nodded. “This will be the second most important thing any of us will ever do.”
“Second?”
“Consider it a dress rehearsal for the Golrok.”
The king set his fists on his hips, that frown of disappointment hovering over all of them. “You’re not filling me with a lot of hope here, child.”
“All we need to do is see them safely to the bridge.”
“That will be difficult enough.”
“What do we do?” Moya asked.
The king stretched out a hand and gestured all the way around. “Everyone here, you see them? All these people—each one is a hero, a champion, a legend—their whole purpose is to surround and protect the six of you. Look! Look over there!” He pointed to the man they had seen in the throne room. “That there is Atella the Great—unmatched in battle. He will guard our left flank. Havar, who stormed the walls of Erebus and nearly tore them down, will guard our right. Gath of Odeon, Bran of Pines, and Melen the Hammer will be your personal protectors. Fane Fenelyus, first wielder of the Art, will provide extra support when we need it. And I, as always, will lead the charge. The rest of them”—he nodded slightly as he surveyed the chamber—“will fight and once again die.”
“But what about us?” Gifford asked. “What should we do?”
“Stay in the middle, stick close to Gath, Melen, and Bran,” the king said.
“And when you get close to the bridge and see that the way is clear,” Beatrice said, “run for it. Race across the span. Sprint for the door on the far side.”
“Still don’t know what good it will do,” Mideon said.
“Just have to—”
“Trust you?” the king bellowed. Even in that place, smothered beneath the din of a thousand boisterous heroes prepping for battle, his voice boomed loud enough to draw looks. “I don’t do that well. It’s not my talent.” Mideon turned around, and his voice grew in volume. “Form up! Caldern, see if you can hold that front corner a little better this time. Engels, remember you can duck.”
This brought a roar of laughter and shouts of excitement.
Mideon headed off, and the whole room was alive with movement.
“We’re going to be okay, right?” Moya asked Beatrice.
The princess hesitated.
Moya stared at her. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“Look . . . ah . . .” Beatrice sighed.
“What do you mean, look? You can see the future. You know what’s going to happen. Or was that all a lie?” Moya glared at the white-haired dwarf, who, at that moment, appeared more like a guilty child.
“I told you the truth—just not all of it. Listen, I can guarantee that Rain will survive, and he’ll go on to be great, but this isn’t going to be easy for any of you.”
The Belgriclungreian seer’s eyes dimmed just then. Her mouth turned down and tears gathered and glistened. She refused to look back at any of them. Instead, she looked at her own feet and bit her lower lip as if in pain.
“Sure hasn’t been a skip through a field of flowers so far,” Tressa said. Her voice was strained and tired.
Beatrice raised her head. She wiped her eyes and sniffled. “In a moment, once we go up those steps and return to the valley floor, things are going to become . . . bad . . . very bad. Then . . . they’ll get worse, and finally . . . well . . .” She let out a little laugh that sounded a bit insane. “You’ll find out.”
“Yes, please don’t spoil it, whatever you do.” Tressa scoffed.
“The point is,” Beatrice said, “there will come a time when you’ll believe that everything I told you was wrong. That I’m insane. When that happens, just remember this: It’s not important to have faith in me, because I have faith in you.”
Beatrice gave Rain a hug, which he suffered awkwardly, but the princess didn’t seem to mind. “The Great Rain,” she said with an amazed shake of her head. “I’ve finally been able to meet you.”
“Come on, Great,” Moya said, “the king is calling us.”
They followed the rush of men who flowed like a river up a set of stairs that took many branches and spilled out onto the flinty plain through numerous holes at once. Coming up, Brin saw the sky had turned red, and all around them was a forest of spears.
“We have unfinished business, you and I,” Sebek told Tesh. His face was only an outline against the light from above, but his voice was unmistakable.
A moment later, a rope snaked down, dangling the length of the hole and coiling around three times at the bottom. Tesh thought Sebek might climb down, but the onetime Galantian’s face disappeared from the edge. The rope remained.
Tesh looked at Andvari, who looked back, surprised.
“Turning out to be an exciting day for me,” the dwarf said.
“Me, too.” Tesh looked at the dangling rope, then shouted up, “Why should I bother to give you the satisfaction?”
“Beat me, and you can escape,” Sebek replied from somewhere beyond the lip.
Tesh coughed out a bitter laugh. “From Ferrol’s castle? You really give me no credit at all, do you?”
“Almost everyone has gone to the battle at the bridge. Place is nearly empty. Even if it weren’t, if you can best me, you can best anyone.”
Tesh continued to look at the rope, unconvinced. Even if Sebek was telling the truth, Tesh couldn’t beat him. After years in the Harwood, even if he were fresh, even if they were in Elan, Tesh didn’t have the skill to take Sebek. He never had. And in Nifrel, Tesh wasn’t confident he could beat Tressa in an arm-wrestling match. Tesh wasn’t at all certain he could summon the strength to climb the rope. His arms were deadweights. His legs dragged. And he was tired, so very tired. If he were breathing, he’d say the air was bad, because he felt sick.
“You just going to sit down there?” Sebek called out, his tone rich with that same jeering scorn Tesh remembered hating from his youth. “Even if I’m lying, there’s still a chance you could get away. Slim, but possible. You really want to stay down there forever?”
“What would you do?” Tesh asked Andvari.
The dwarf looked down at himself. “I’ve been here so long that I don’t think I can remember how to walk. But if someone lowered a rope for me, I wouldn’t be asking anyone for advice.”
Tesh took hold of the line, then looked back. “If I beat him, I’ll throw the rope back for you.”
Andvari’s face brightened. “Can you beat him?”
“No.”
The light in the dwarf’s face faded. “Way to get an old Belgriclungreian’s hopes up. What did you do in life? Pull the wings off flies?”
“No, I was a warrior. I killed the guy that’s waiting up there for me. He was my teacher, and I only managed to best him because he was wounded and helpless.”
“So. What yer saying is, I shouldn’t expect to see a rope anytime soon.”
“Not really.”
Concern about being able to climb was removed when Sebek pulled him up. Tesh expected that Sebek would be right at the top, ready to cut his head off, but he wasn’t. The Fhrey was at the far end of the chamber, limbering up, stretching nonexistent muscles.
This was the first time Tesh had the chance to take in his surroundings: large round room, white bone floor with a fancy floral design, circular colonnade, and a ring of fluted pillars. Everything was made of bone. In some places, it was polished so smooth and perfect, it could have been pools of cream. No torches or lanterns lent their glow; the light came from the bone itself. It, too, was white, with the indifferent luster you’d expect to leak from cold stone.
Sebek wasn’t alone. He couldn’t be, according to Andvari, as it would have taken at least two people to move the twin sheets of mica. Tekchin stood beside Sebek, holding Tesh’s swords. He looked the sam
e as the last time they’d met, and for an instant, Tesh let himself hope.
“Here!” Tekchin shouted and tossed his swords. The pair of Roan-made steel blades clattered on the polished bone. When they hit, the noise was hollow.
“Couldn’t get Eres or Vorath to come?” Sebek asked Tekchin.
“All of them went with the queen. They’d rather fight than watch, I guess.”
Sebek nodded. “The old lady is planning a grand party. Hate to miss it myself.”
“Do you really think this will take that long?” Tekchin asked. He looked across the open floor at Tesh. On his face was a smirk of contempt.
In that look, Tesh understood that Tekchin knew the truth.
Of course he does. They’re all here. The Galantians—his best friends—have told him everything—told him how they died. How I killed them.
“Better not. Need to get done before the queen bitch returns. I don’t envy your girlfriend, boy,” Sebek shouted at Tesh. “The queen aims to bring the hammer down hard.”
Sebek drew Lightning and Thunder. “Remember these? Go on, boy. Pick up your toys. It’s time we settled this debate.”
“What debate?” Tesh asked, stepping forward. He knew he was about to endure an incredible beating. He refused to even glance toward Tekchin. The swords he picked up were, indeed, his, or at least his memory of them. The real things were at the bottom of some miserable muddy pond along with his hands.
Funny. I’ll spend eternity with Andvari in that disgusting hole, but if given the choice of drowning in that puddle again . . . I wouldn’t change a thing. I should remember that. I might not think so in a century or two.
Tesh picked up the blades. He couldn’t help feeling better the moment he held them. Looking across at Sebek, everything seemed so familiar. Still, his arms felt heavy.
Didn’t I do this already?
“Can’t expect enemies to be courteous and only attack when you’re prepared,” Sebek said, stepping forward with a great smile on his face. “Sometimes they catch you off guard in awkward places where you can’t retreat.”
