The Cathedral of Known Things

by Edward Cox

  Namji shrugged as she waved away the attentions of the stall’s vendor – an Aelfirian boy younger than her – and ran her hand through a display of silk headscarves hanging from the stall’s awning. ‘Being part of such a … political family, I’m well used to coming second place to duty.’

  ‘But you must be keen to see your mother, your siblings?’

  ‘I’m an only child, Van Bam. I am especially keen to see my mother again, as I’m sure she is to see me.’ Her tone was affectionate. ‘I have truly missed her. However, as my … father’s wife, my mother is highly involved with affairs of state.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Van Bam. ‘Then your parents are currently meeting with High Governor Obanai? Your father is being debriefed, as it were?’

  Namji gave a coy little look from beneath the hood, and said, ‘Yes … as it were,’ before returning her attention to the scarves.

  Van Bam recognised the provocation in Namji’s manner. Those odd pauses in her speech, those fleeting moments of almost amused silence followed by carefully selected words – they were designed to entice Van Bam. She was trying to lead him into asking questions that she could answer with more flirting and evasion. Namji was playing some game, angling for his attention, and it was beginning to irritate the illusionist. He decided to challenge her playful provocation with a touch of discord.

  ‘I am surprised that no one seems interested in your testament, Namji. Is it because of your age, do you think?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You spent as much time exiled to the Labyrinth as your father. I am wondering why your account of that time is not considered important.’

  Namji stiffened, not from offence but with consideration. ‘I’m sure I will be heard in time,’ she replied, seeming a little more uncertain than before.

  ‘Yes, perhaps you are right,’ Van Bam said consolingly. ‘It would seem only prudent to question every member of your father’s entourage. After all, this is a terribly worrying time for you and your family. Embarrassing, one might add.’

  Namji turned from the scarves with a frown. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Ursa,’ Van Bam said, studying her face. ‘He was part of Mirage’s official delegation, your father’s trusted records keeper, or so I understand.’ He dropped his voice to a whisper only Namji could hear. ‘That he harboured loyalties to Spiral and the Genii raises certain … suspicions.’

  A little of Namji’s charm drained away. The light and easy expression on her face became tinged with worry. The change only lasted a second, but long enough for the illusionist to detect.

  ‘Van Bam,’ she said, her voice carrying a tone of wisdom that belied her youth. ‘Ursa’s actions may raise the direst of suspicions, but, as your Resident has already told you, he did not speak for the rest of us trapped in the Labyrinth with him. And, let me assure you, he did not arrange a Genii’s passage into Labrys Town on behalf of House Mirage.’

  Her body language, her tone of voice, the micro-expressions on her face, they carried absolute sincerity. Yet there was something this girl was hiding.

  Namji smiled effortlessly. ‘I think you’ll find the High Governor as keen to clear his House’s name as much as …’

  She broke off as something caught her eye. ‘Master Buyaal!’ she called excitedly.

  Namji grabbed Van Bam’s hand and dragged him across the street to a stall that bore the strangest of wares.

  Three large and bulbous glass tanks were lined up on the stall, each one half filled with copper-coloured sand. Standing behind the tanks was the vendor, an Aelf around the same age as Van Bam. His head was shaved, his triangular face tattooed with black swirls and symbols; his skin was weathered and his smile easy. His brown eyes narrowed as Namji came before him excitedly.

  ‘Forgive me, young madam,’ he said, in an educated voice. ‘You seem to know me, but …’ He peered closer at the face in the hood. ‘Have we met?’

  ‘No, but I remember you very well,’ Namji said with a grin. ‘Van Bam, let me introduce Buyaal, Master of the Desert. His Spectacular became quite famous in Mirage shortly before I left for the Labyrinth.’

  ‘Ah, a good reputation is everything in my game,’ Buyaal said with a bow. His gaze switched to Van Bam, and without hesitation he added, ‘It has been a long time since I last laid eyes on a human. Please, allow me to welcome you to Mirage.’

  ‘The pleasure is mine,’ Van Bam said, considering it strange that Buyaal had apparently no interest in finding out why a human was visiting his House at this time.

  Now here was a man with secrets.

  ‘I can tell you are confused by the wares on my stall,’ Buyaal continued, motioning to his tanks.

  Van Bam smiled. ‘I must confess I am curious as to what you are actually selling.’

  With a flourish of his hand and a charming wink that made Namji giggle, Buyaal said, ‘What you see before you are the performers in Master Buyaal’s Desert Spectacular!’

  Van Bam pulled a dubious face. Small air holes had been cut around the top of the glass tanks, but he could see nothing inside which might need to breathe. ‘Your performers appear to be absent.’

  ‘Allow me to demonstrate, my friend.’

  Dipping out of sight for a moment, Buyaal produced a leather sack from under the stall. He thrust his hand inside and pulled out a grey-skinned lizard around the size of his thumb with a jagged black line running down its back. It wriggled as Buyaal held it by the tail and dropped it into the centre tank through an air hole.

  To Van Bam’s surprise, the lizard stopped falling halfway down to the sand, gently bobbing as if on thin air. He peered closer to the glass, and only then did he see the intricate lines of web filling the tank, thin as hair, clear as glass but obviously strong.

  He jerked back as a puff of sand erupted and a creature jumped up onto the intricate web. A strange merging of scorpion and spider, the creature was bigger than Van Bam’s hand. With a pale, sun-bleached body, eight thick and armoured legs, the thing stared at the struggling lizard with the black beads of its many eyes. A long tail arched back over its body, clear venom dripping from the sting at its tip.

  Namji gave a little squeal as the creature darted across the web, quick as lightning, and pounced on its prey. The lizard didn’t stand a chance. The scorpion-spider stabbed its body with the sting, and all struggle ceased. Without hesitation, the scorpion-spider climbed down to the sand with the lizard impaled upon the sting like a trophy held high for all to see, then descended into whatever feeding nest it had made for itself.

  Namji shivered. ‘It’s called a coppion,’ she explained. ‘They are found in the desert of Mirage. One sting can be fatal.’ She shivered again.

  ‘And it takes nerves of steel to train them as I do,’ Buyaal added boastfully.

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Van Bam. ‘But what is it you have trained these coppions to do, Master Buyaal?’

  ‘Tricks and wonders your eyes will not believe!’ was the exuberant proclamation.

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘Ah, I see you are having trouble trusting Buyaal’s word.’ He grinned at Namji. ‘Perhaps your friend needs to see my Spectacular for himself?’

  ‘Oh yes, that would be wonderful,’ Namji said, and she clapped her hands. ‘You still give performances?’

  ‘Well,’ Buyaal leant across his stall in a conspiratorial manner, ‘the war has been hard on my business, but the desert wind tells me there will be a new performance very soon.’ He winked for Namji, and then smiled for Van Bam, motioning once more to the bulbous tanks where his deadly troupe hid. ‘As for now, these fine fellows have unfortunately reached retirement age. They are tame and make loyal pets, my friend. It grieves me to part with them, but needs must and they are for sale. Can I interest you in a purchase?’

  Van Bam chuckled. ‘Another time, perhaps.’

  ‘You are sure? I can remove the sti
ngs and poison glands if you wish—’

  Buyaal froze as he spotted soldiers pushing through the crowd in the street towards his stall. In front was the captain of the guard who had earlier led Van Bam and Angel into the citadel. His face was flustered, his expression intolerant. Behind him, a group of six armed guards drew to a halt. Buyaal bowed his head and stepped back from his stall as the captain approached.

  ‘Mistress Namji,’ the captain said. ‘Your father has asked me to remind you that you were told to remain in your chambers.’ Although his large eyes stayed on Namji, his voice was directed at Van Bam too. ‘You are not supposed to be walking around the city at this time.’

  Van Bam turned his frown to the young Aelf.

  ‘I understand, Captain,’ Namji said primly. ‘Please tell my father that I shall return with our guest shortly.’

  Despite the fact that he had just participated unwillingly in a minor affront to the Ambassador of an Aelfirian House, Van Bam had to stifle a smile. Namji was trying to make the captain feel uncomfortable rather than showing any real intent to defy her father further.

  The captain turned his authority to Van Bam. ‘You and your fellow delegate of the Nightshade are to attend a banquet this evening as honoured guests,’ he said in a stony voice. ‘I must insist that you return to the High Governor’s house to await summons.’

  ‘Of course,’ Van Bam said respectfully.

  ‘How splendid,’ Namji said dryly, ‘A banquet to celebrate the homecoming of us poor exiles.’ She sighed. ‘Very well, Captain, you may lead the way. And thank you, Van Bam, for such a pleasant afternoon.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Van Bam replied, which clearly pleased Namji. She raised a hand in farewell as the captain and three of his guard led her away.

  Van Bam watched after her, realising that Ebril must be well-respected indeed if the captain of the High Governor’s guard was willing to tolerate such taunting from an Ambassador’s daughter.

  As the three remaining armed guards began to escort him back to the High Governor’s House, Van Bam spared a last glance at Master Buyaal’s stall. The Aelf himself had disappeared, but within the glass tanks, each of the coppions had emerged from the sand. They hung on their webs, their stings held above their bodies, poised to strike.

  Wake up!

  Denton’s voice cut through the darkness like a spear of sunlight slashing across a starless sky.

  Put up your defences, the old empath added urgently, anxiously. Make them as strong as you can.

  Instinctively Marney obeyed, closing down her every emotion, protecting them behind a shield of apathy.

  She became aware that her body was being jostled; she felt the pressure of blood in her head. The scents of mud, sweat and spent thaumaturgy filled her nostrils. Orders were barked. Somebody screamed. Intense emotions – fear and panic – tapped at her protective shield with a finger of hopelessness.

  At a dull boom, Marney’s eyes snapped open. She looked down onto the back of someone’s legs, someone who was carrying her over their shoulder, wearing heavy black boots and running through thick mud. She lifted her head to see Denton struggling to keep pace with whoever carried his protégée. He clutched Marney’s rucksack in his hand. Beneath the brim of his rumpled hat, the old empath’s face was deeply anxious.

  Stay on your guard, Marney. Don’t let your magic slip. With that warning also came a giant cracking sound, and Denton’s concerned face turned sharply to his right.

  Marney looked to see what had attracted his attention, what was making such a nerve-shredding din. Not too far away was the edge of a great city. Many of the outer buildings were badly damaged and smoking; but one, a mighty tower, was in the process of collapsing. With a shower of stone and fire, the tower crumbled to the ground. Before a cloud of smoke obscured her view, Marney tried to convince her dulled mind that she had not witnessed many figures failing to escape the screaming avalanche of debris.

  Another boom jerked Marney’s gaze in the other direction, and she saw pandemonium.

  Huge guns with barrels as long and round as lampposts shot missiles into the air, streaking the grey sky with tails of magical light as they sped towards the spires and high-rises of a second smoking city. Before the huge guns, a makeshift defensive wall had been built from hard-packed dirt and stones. Aelfirian soldiers in green uniforms lined up along the wall, firing weapons of all shapes and sizes. The air was filled with the flashes of thaumaturgy, the din of chaos, and the stench of war.

  ‘This way,’ said the one carrying Marney. It was a man’s voice, raised against the tumult.

  Marney was carried down a crude set of stairs cut into the earth and into an empty underground bunker. Descending a second flight of stairs brought the group to a damp and cold room where the roar of violence became blessedly muffled. Marney was dumped into a rickety wooden chair beside the door, and she gained her first look at the Aelf over whose shoulder she had been slung.

  He seemed little older than Marney herself. His hair was shaved close to the scalp and his grubby face bore some scars.

  ‘How do you feel?’ he asked, his large Aelfirian eyes searching for signs of concussion.

  ‘I’m all right.’ Marney blinked the grogginess from her head. She looked from the Aelf to Denton who stood beside him. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Bad timing, Marney,’ Denton replied, shrugging off his backpack and placing it beside his protégée’s on the floor. ‘This is Lieutenant Morren. He and his soldiers saved our lives.’

  ‘A stray missile exploded near the portal just as you came through it,’ Morren said grimly.

  ‘The blast knocked us all off our feet,’ Denton added. ‘But you took the worst of it.’

  ‘After that, we were lucky we weren’t shot by snipers.’ Morren managed a smile for Marney. ‘Welcome to the Union of Twins.’

  ‘Lieutenant!’ a man’s voice interrupted, low and commanding.

  Morren snapped to attention. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘A word, please.’

  As Morren left and Denton stepped to one side, Marney gained her first proper look at the room.

  It seemed to be a command centre. As in the observation chamber in the Nightshade, the back half of the room was filled with spectral imagery of the outside world. The war being fought at this House played out in eerie silence. Two soldiers lay on reclining chairs, their heads and faces concealed within the black glass bowls of receptor helmets. Marney reasoned the Aelfir of the Union of Twins were using devices similar to the eyes on the streets of Labrys Town.

  The Aelf who had summoned Morren stood straight-backed and stiff as he surveyed the silent imagery. Without looking at the empaths, he addressed the lieutenant.

  ‘I assume these are our visitors?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Morren turned to Denton and Marney. ‘This is Captain Eddine. Sir, these are—’

  ‘Save the introductions, Lieutenant,’ Eddine growled. ‘It hardly matters who they are.’ He turned his large, grey eyes on the empaths, his expression carved from stone. ‘I’ve enough on my hands already without having to escort a couple of humans safely through this battle.’

  ‘I understand, Captain,’ said Denton.

  ‘Do you?’

  Denton cleared his throat. ‘I appreciate our presence might be most inconvenient, Captain, but let me assure you that we are keen to journey on and be out of your hair. We only need to reach the portal to—’

  ‘Ghost Mist Veldt, yes I know,’ Eddine interrupted, thus revealing to Marney the next destination on this unlikely journey to find the Library of Glass and Mirrors. ‘I’m afraid what you need is easier said than done,’ Eddine added, and turned again to the silent imagery of war.

  Hazily, Marney seemed to recall that Denton had once told her that Ghost Mist Veldt had a portal that led directly to Mirage, the House to which Van Bam had been sent.

  �
�Show me the enemy position,’ Eddine ordered the watchers.

  As the image of the battlefield slid to a new viewpoint, Lieutenant Morren stepped away from his captain, indicating furtively that the empaths remain patient and silent. He moved to a small stove in the corner of the room, and poured two tin mugs of coffee from the pot warming there. Marney’s hands shook as she accepted a mug. The coffee was bitter, unsweetened, but its heat and strength was a welcome breeze that blew away the last clouds in her mind.

  ‘As you’ve no doubt guessed,’ Morren whispered, ‘our fight against Spiral’s army is a little relentless.’

  The imagery that flowed through the control room zoomed up to display the defensive wall of hard-packed dirt and stone, then over the heads of the soldiers, and finally gave a view of the enemy Eddine’s troops were fighting.

  The combatants were separated by a wide and wild river, the torrid current frothing the water to a dirty brown. On the far bank was another makeshift defensive wall. All along it, power stones flashed on enemy rifles; from behind them, mighty guns pumped missiles into the air. Yet the distant rumble of concussions was the only sound that reached the command room.

  On both sides of the river were the remnants of a demolished bridge that must at one time have been wider than any street in Labrys Town. Now, only the first few metres of either end remained on the banks.

  The cities are the twins, Denton said in Marney’s mind. Technically, they’re two separate Houses – sworn enemies, at one time. But they made peace and joined together when the Timewatcher created the Labyrinth. That broken bridge was once the only way across the river. It stood as a symbol of unification. But now the Twins are divided again.

  Marney nodded her understanding. Spiral’s army controls one city, the Timewatcher’s the other.

  Exactly, Denton replied. Let’s be thankful that we arrived on the right side of the river.

  Although the tone of Denton’s voice was calm and exhibited none of his earlier anxiety, his emotions were shielded and his true feelings were hidden from Marney.

  Captain Eddine told his watchers to pull back from the enemy position, and to show him his own defences.