by Ellias Quinn
“Dask,” she said, “look at this one!”
He picked his way over, watched her demonstrate the gears, and then nodded in appreciation.
Khelya was especially taken with the gadgets. She broke from studying a tall frame that held bowls and tubes to say, “This whole place is as good as an apprenticeship! If I had a season to spare…” Looking around the house and again at the bloodstains by the door, her face fell.
Matil shook her head. It wouldn’t do to get distracted and narrow her focus before she could check everything out. Dask had flown up to the ceiling and begun prodding at the wall of stones. She gazed over the living area to see if there was anything else to investigate. The candle branch – that was something.
Each of the ten candles was tinted a different color and carved to depict some alva or creature – a creamy orange candle on the close end had claws and a big belly. Matil stepped beside a purple candle. It was in the shape of a long-snouted animal with thick, curling horns and a man’s body. Was it a Kyndelin? A light green candle seemed to be an Eletsol, by his many-leafed wings and the backward curve of his ears. But another candle, dark gray, had a flat face, holes for ears, and jagged skin. It didn’t look like any alva or animal Matil had seen. She made her way down the row. Sleek antlers spreading around the surface of the far end candle lured her over. It was a black stag with gaping white eyes. Horrible and familiar eyes.
The outer two candles, the black and the orange, were the tallest. Each next candle was shorter, with the inner two, light green and restrained blue, being the shortest.
“What kinda candles’re these?” Khelya said. She put her headband back on and walked over from where she had been staring at numbers painted on the wall. “They remind me of—ohhh, I get it! You know the pictures in bedtale-books?”
Matil shook her head.
“‘Course you wouldn’t, sorry.” She gestured at the candles. “They’re like the pictures that go along with stories about the Elders an’ other heroes.”
Seeing the stag candle again, something clicked into place for Matil. “Are these supposed to be Elders, then? Is- is that one Myrkhar?”
“Yeah, I think so!” Khelya said. “How’d you guess?”
Matil could still taste the dank air from her long-ago dream, of a ritual in a cold chamber and a stag’s head formed from smoke.
Khelya crouched to look at the candle. “It’s pretty obvious he’s a bad guy with those eyes, huh?” Then she went down the line, naming each candle so fast that Matil couldn’t remember most of the names. “Falgar,” she said, pointing out the purple half-man, half-animal. “An’ Calo.” She inclined her head slightly toward the large orange candle on the end.
Calo, leader of the Heilar. Matil stood on her toes to see his face all stylized with triangles and circles. His eyes were closed and a content smile broadened his beastly countenance. Bedtale-books. Stories for children. As far as Matil knew, Calo was just a smiling candle. She glanced around the ransacked house.
Dask slid along the walls, tapped them, and felt floorboards with his fingers. He saw Matil staring at him. “I’m checking for hidden doors and compartments. Anywhere he mighta put his important stuff.”
“Good thinking,” Matil said, trying to conjure some enthusiasm. She noticed the numbers on the wall again. Five – thirty-one – eight. They were painted with little flourishes. Did they mean something? “Khelya, did you find anything near those numbers?”
“Nope, just the numbers,” Khelya said. “It’s funny…I don’t see a Chivishi scroll anywhere, but he must have one.”
“Maybe he’s not interested in reading that particular bedtale-book,” Dask called over.
Khelya snorted. “Ooh, you know how to make me mad. I just think he has one ‘cause he wrote down a line from it.”
“Hm.” Dask stomped on a floor plank. “Where?”
She pointed at the numbers. “He painted the reference numbers instead of the actual line.”
“Well, then,” he said. “I can’t tell if it’s smart or idiotic to disguise a lock combination in plain sight as a Chivishi reference. Least now we know we’re searching for a lock.”
Matil blinked at the numbers. “There’s no Chivishi anywhere for us to see what the line is?”
“Maybe in one of those rooms,” Khelya said, gesturing toward the ramps and platforms. “We don’t need one, though. I know what it says.”
“You do?” Dask said. “Did you memorize the whole Chivishi?”
She hesitated before nodding. “You make it sound like it’s weird.”
“It is weird. Weird, but impressive.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Thanks.”
“Impressive?” Matil said. “It’s amazing. Can you tell us the line, Khelya?”
Khelya grinned. “Sure can. Five, thirty-one, eight. It goes, ‘The branches of the Sanctum tree were filled with great flowers during the day and flames like lamps during the night, so that all of Eventyr could see the Heart.’ It’s talkin’ about just before the Mekydra Time, back when everyone knew where the Heart Sanctum was. After the Elders drank the Heart’s water, Thosten moved the Sanctum so Myrkhar couldn’t find it an’ drink more.” She tugged on the knot of her headband. “Dunno why Hasyl would paint up that line out of all of ‘em. I guess he thought it was pretty.”
“Flames in a tree?” said Dask. “Flowers bloom the next day? That’s proof the Chivishi’s got nothing to do with reality. Khel?” He paced over to her. “Khel, tell me how you believe that junk.”
“Well,” Khelya said, her face turning red, “if Thosten made trees and fire, I think he can put fire in a tree without burnin’ it up.”
“That’s assuming Thosten exists and made trees and fire.”
‘The branches of the Sanctum tree were filled with great flowers…’
The Heart, the Elders drinking the water…
Matil felt like Hasyl was speaking to them, speaking through a wall, and only muffled syllables were audible. Maybe it meant something and maybe it didn’t. She began walking around the house with Khelya’s words in her mind, up the ramps and through the thrashed rooms. The place was a jumble of ruined parts, fragile bits-and-bobs, and Hasyl’s effects. Matil sped up, her eyes roving every surface and niche. Nothing fit with the Chivishi line. She stopped short at the sight of a small wooden flower carving that sat, untouched, on a shelf, and then she grabbed it. Smooth and simple. It didn’t look like a ‘great flower’. She set it down.
“Delusional?” Khelya said. “So that’s what you really think of me? I should pull off those big ears of yours—”
“You called me a thief first!” Dask said.
“It’s what you used to do, ain’t it?”
Matil went back into the main room. “Please, you two. Let’s keep looking.”
They ignored her as their voices rose.
She stood in the center of the room and looked around with shoulders slumped. There was the candle-holding branch. It was so large that she wondered how Hasyl got it indoors.
The branches of the Sanctum tree…’
Matil’s ears pricked up.
…and flames like lamps.’
She reached toward one of the candles slowly, a dark green candle that showed a snarling Elder with long claws. A fine layer of dust covered it and, underneath smudges of wax, the wick was clean white. Did Hasyl ever burn these candles?
“Khelya,” she said. “Dask.”
“If Thosten’s so good,” Dask said to Khelya, “then why’d he make you so dumb?”
Khelya lunged down at him and took a swipe. He jumped back to avoid her, his wings stretching spastically and sweeping objects from the shelves behind him.
“Stop it!” Matil yelled.
Fist in the air, Khelya jerked to a halt. Dask stepped on a small cylinder, fell over, and landed on his wings.
“Talrach,” he groaned.
Matil hurried over to kneel by him. “Are you okay?”
Dask lifted himself into a sitting position with an agonized expression. “There are less polite words I could use, but sure, let’s go with ‘okay’.”
Khelya clasped her hands. “…Sorry.”
He rubbed his nose and looked down. “Sorry, too.”
Matil exhaled with relief. “Good. Look at those candles.” She stood, holding her hand toward the branch. “If we lit them up, they’d be—”
“Flames like lamps!” Khelya said.
Dask scrutinized the branch. “Flames in a tree?”
“Should we try it?” Matil said. “It’s just one idea.”
“It’s the only idea.” Dask crossed his arms. “To be honest, I don’t think we should stay here much longer. The moment they took Hasyl away, it became a waste of our time. We need to hurry up, try the candles, and move on if they don’t work.”
“All right,” Matil said without looking at him.
Flapping his wings, he hopped over the candle-studded branch to the fireplace and then picked up a chunk of flint and a steel striker. After a moment’s work, he started a small flame on one of the twigs from the fireplace. Khelya met him halfway across the room. She took the burning twig from him, carried it to the branch with a protective hand up – Matil winced to see the torch lick so close to Khelya’s skin – and raised the flame to the first candle. It caught fire with a sound like a butterfly’s wingbeat.
Khelya went down the row of candles, lighting them quickly and then blowing out the torch.
The three alva waited. The candles burned.
That Chivishi reference may not have been a secret code. The idea appeared sillier the longer Matil dwelt on it. Hasyl was a very important, very old man. For him to give the secret of the Elders to a few untested nobodies? There had to be someone else to succeed where Matil, Khelya, and Dask had failed. Otherwise, it was…Matil couldn’t say silly anymore. It was scary. If they were all that was left…
They’d spent so much time, only to need another way. She looked down in disappointment.
Clink-clink.
Matil raised her head.
Clink.
The middle two candles had gone out. There was a chorus of clinks as the next two flames sputtered out as well. The next four died in the same fashion, and then…the Calo candle went out.
Ca-clink.
With a creak, a thin seam opened lengthwise in the branch beneath the Calo candle, revealing itself to be a secret panel. Myrkhar’s candle, the final flame, wavered and spat its last breath.
Clink-clink.
The other end of the panel came loose, and the whole bottom quarter of the branch dropped outward on a hinge like a drawbridge. Ten short chains were attached along the top of the panel. Inside the branch, it was hollow, empty down its length except for a folded piece of parchment laid over a leather-bound book.
Chapter 16
Stories and Sorcery
Matil’s breath caught in her throat. She got to her knees and carefully slid the book out with the parchment on top. Khelya and Dask crouched around her as she unfolded the parchment. Hasyl had written a list in wide, loose handwriting.
‘-Challenge the sorcerer near Lazmyr. He holds Jalt’s glass hammer.
-Stal’s fanged bow lies in the tomb of King Gedna.
-Locate a white mole in mid-Obrigi. Follow it to its den, where Shora’s chalice is kept.
-Find the frog pendant in Icto Lan. Or toad, can’t remember which. The Eletsol want it.
-One of General Suncloak’s descendants is in possession of the Worthy Spear of Falgar.
-Look for the green stone at the…’
There were four more lines of instructions. Matil recognized a few of the names that Hasyl mentioned, but most of it read like gibberish to her.
“The Worthy Spear?” Khelya said wonderingly. “Shora’s chalice? Those’re…legends. Magic items from the old days.”
Dask snapped his fingers. “I get it! See how these artifacts are connected to Elders? This is the secret Mr. Korsen was talking about. Hasyl knows their locations and that’s why Nychta captured him. First, she stole the Book of Myrkhar. Now she wants the others, to collect up power.”
Dask’s theory fit Nychta perfectly. Maybe the secret wasn’t really about…waking the Elders. Matil had let herself get excited for nothing.
“The pattern’s off,” Khelya said.
“Pattern?” Matil squinted down at the parchment.
“Mm-hm. All the lines mention an Elder’s name. ‘Cept this one.” She pointed with her transparent little finger. “‘Find the frog pendant in Icto Lan.’ Or, uh, toad.”
Dask scratched his chin. “‘The Eletsol want it.’”
Matil ran her eyes over the list one more time. “Khelya, hold this.” She handed the parchment to Khelya and then put a hand on the book’s plain leather cover. It was large, almost the size of her torso. “There might be more information in here.” She opened the book in her lap.
On the first page, the writer introduced the book – ‘Being a record from the hand of Hasyl Koda,’ – noting that he would write only when something important happened. ‘I am no scribbler of script,’ declared the faded ink. The next page held the journal’s first entry.
“Look…” Khelya said. “Look at the date.”
‘42 Vana, Day 30 of the Time of Loss,’ it read. ‘That is what the priests named our despair.’
Dask waved his hand. “It’s gotta be fake. A thousand years old? Not a chance.”
“A thousand years old?” Matil pricked up her ears. “What do you mean?”
“In my school,” Khelya said, “they told us the Time of Loss was known nowadays as the Post-Imperial Span. But most folks still call it the Early Hibernation Age, ‘cause it was the time directly after the Elders disappeared. So this date, day thirty, means that the hermit wrote it down just thirty days…after the Hibernation started.”
“Then the Elders have really been asleep for a thousand years?” Matil said.
“From what I’ve heard,” Dask said, “alva counted up from the time that big Obrigi kingdom fell, and it’s been a thousand years, give or take. Time of Loss and Post-Imperial Span? Those names have to do with the craziness going on when everyone tried to fill the hole the Obrigi left behind. Doesn’t make sense to say ‘Early Hibernation Age’ when the Hibernation’s just a myth.”
Khelya jabbed the page. “What about Hasyl? The fact that he’s a thousand years old—”
“Fact? Don’t believe everything you read, Khel. All I see is a loo-loo inventor who knows where to find treasure. I mean, it’s awful that we couldn’t save him. I…” Dask sat on the floor. “I wish we’d made it, but that doesn’t mean I trust this guy. Keep reading.”
Khelya gave an offended huff and sat down as well.
The thick book’s pages were packed with words and sketches. Skimming through, the three of them couldn’t find anything related to their quest or the list of artifacts. Dask eventually lifted his head, prompting Matil to look for what had caught his attention. The light coming from the roof had started to wane.
“Let’s get out of here before Crell sends more bugs,” said Dask. “We can look at the journal later.” He stood up. “I saw some things we should take with us.”
“Isn’t that stealing?” Matil said.
“I can’t believe you’re worried about stealing right now.”
“Well,” Khelya said, “what if he comes back?”
Dask pointed at the bloodstains on the floor and gave Matil and Khelya a meaningful look. “We’re taking the journal and the list, anyway.”
Matil frowned down at the journal.
Dask gave an exasperated sigh and hefted the journal out of her lap. “Besides this, we�
�ll only take things that go bad. Things that can’t be used later. How’s that sound?”
Matil nodded uneasily.
“All right,” Khelya said.
“We wanna be quick, then, so help me out. Khel? There’s a nice slab of raw meat in one of the storerooms.” He saw her holding the parchment. “You’ll need two hands.”
Khelya gave the parchment back to Matil and followed him to the front door.
“Matil,” Dask said before he went through. “You got the other storerooms?”
“Yep,” she said, walking toward the door after them. She stopped upon seeing the numbers on the wall again, the Chivishi reference numbers pointing the way to hidden information. It struck her that Hasyl had created the hiding place. Would he need such a clue to remind himself where it was? Or had he planned for someone else to find it?
Matil read the parchment list one more time. Pattern. Elders. How many artifacts listed? Ten. Elders, ten, Elders…ten Elders.
In a flash, she was pacing beside the candle branch, matching the ten candles to Elders on the list as best as she could remember from Khelya’s explanation earlier. She couldn’t place a couple of them, so she looked closely at the line on the list that broke the pattern by not naming an Elder. It said that the Eletsol wanted…
The light green candle resembled an Eletsol. Ansi’s words poured back into Matil’s mind. The Eletsol were guarding the Elder Dyndal’s body, and they wanted to find his sign. They wanted the pendant. Khelya had said that this candle represented Dyndal, hadn’t she?
A familiar restlessness itched at Matil’s fingertips. She ran through the tunnel, out to where Dask was telling Khelya how to set the leaf-wrapped meat on Olnar.
