by Jake Halpern
This old sphere may be pried.
Many a clever person has tried.
Remember how the Cyclops died.
Through the ear and not the eye.
What exactly does the future hold?
Its many secrets remain untold.
Hidden in the burning hot and biting cold.
Is the key to a future foretold.
"What do you suppose it means?" asked Resuza.
"Well, the first stanza provides the clues needed to unlock the sphere from the statue," replied Hill. "And I suppose the second stanza also provides clues, perhaps clues to revealing its true power."
"Do you think that we are meant to toss the sphere into the fire, just like the monk did?" asked Resuza.
"And then perhaps toss it into 'the biting cold'?" asked Hill as he raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, that must be it!"
"Hmm," said Hill. "My main concern is that the sphere is our only effective weapon. It's a gamble. If we destroy it, we would be defenseless."
Resuza looked at the sphere. She burned with curiosity but had no interest in returning a broken weapon to Alfonso. After all, it was the Great Sleeper's personal weapon. "I don't think we should try," she said.
"I agree," said Hill. "There's no reason to do so, and we're certainly not desperate." He smiled tiredly. "Not yet."
CHAPTER 48
KIRIL'S RUSE
KIRIL STAGGERED down the narrow, snow-filled pathway. On both sides of the path loomed massive walls of razor hedges. He glanced backwards again and was relieved to see that no one was there.
It had been snowing for many hours and even though the maze was protected by branches overhead, quite a bit of snow had gotten through and accumulated in high drifts. Now at last the storm had eased, and in the hours before sunrise, a deep calm had fallen over the maze. It was a calm so complete and so enticing that Kiril was tempted to sit and rest. But he knew he couldn't. If he did so, it would only be a matter of time before he bled to death.
The puncture from the thorn was deep and bleeding steadily. Kiril had knotted a cloth tightly around his hand to cover the wound, but even so, he was steadily losing blood. In what seemed like only minutes, the cloth had turned red. Under other circumstances, if he were able to visit a modern hospital, he could simply get an infusion of a clotting factor that would quickly stop the bleeding. There were other remedies as well, remedies that he'd been using for centuries. There were certain herbs—like bilberry, grape seed extract, scotch broom, stinging nettle, witch hazel, and yarrow—that could be used by hemophiliacs to help them make their blood congeal. But none of that was available. The only thing that would save him now was the green ash of the Founding Tree of Jasber.
There was also another matter. Kiril was fighting off the temptation to eat one of the red lotus berries that grew on the hedges. Of course, he had taken some Uralian nightshade with him—and this herb could be used to break one's addiction to lotus berries—but it was an unreliable remedy. Kiril had neither the time nor inclination to take chances.
As he walked onward, he felt near death. The fight at the gate had taken a serious toll. Still, he was disciplined enough to sop up the blood to ensure he wouldn't leave a trail. His fevered mind thought of the person who taught him everything he knew about the razor hedges—his father, Kemal Spratic.
As a young man, Kiril's father had served as a labyrinth sweeper. Being a labyrinth sweeper was a highly coveted position in Jasber. These were the elite, the hardy few tough enough to fight off snow snakes and clever enough to deal with any intruders who had found their way into the maze. Kemal had distinguished himself in his service as a sweeper and this seemed to prove to everyone, especially the elders of Jasber, that he was capable of running the Jasber Gate, which he ultimately went on to do.
At one time, when he was still a boy, Kiril himself had entertained the fantasy that he too would be a labyrinth sweeper. Throughout the early years of his childhood, Kiril begged his father to tell him stories about the labyrinth. Kemal Spratic was a serious man, but he loved his son and therefore each night at bedtime, he indulged Kiril's wishes and told stories about the two years that he had spent working in the labyrinth.
Kiril recalled one story in particular—an incident when Kemal had almost eaten a lotus berry near the end of his tour of duty in the labyrinth. Typically, a labyrinth sweeper served in this position for two years and, during this time, made a series of month-long journeys through the maze. At the end of each journey, the sweeper was allowed to return to Jasber for a short rest, and then he or she was deployed back into the maze for another month. This pace was grueling and it was made more punishing by the fact that sweepers always traveled alone. Sometimes the sweepers passed one another in the maze, but the maze was so vast that such encounters occurred rarely—perhaps once a day at most. If and when two sweepers encountered each other, it was customary for them to brandish their khopeshes at shoulder height and clash their weapons so forcefully that the clanging sound carried for miles. No words were ever exchanged. This ritual was also a safety measure. If an imposter entered the maze dressed as a sweeper and tried to talk or simply walk past another sweeper, that person would immediately be cut down.
In this particular story, as Kiril recalled it, his father was near the end of his month-long journey and he had not seen another sweeper in many days. A week earlier, he had battled a snow snake and, during this skirmish, Kemal had lost his bag of provisions. Interestingly enough, the snow snakes did not care for human meat. They preferred the various rodents that inhabited the hedges. However, they were starkly territorial and willing to kill anything that disturbed them. The snake that Kemal had fought and vanquished had also destroyed his entire bag of supplies with one gulp and now Kemal was close to starvation. He was stumbling home, one step at a time, but the situation was becoming worse. In a moment of exhaustion, Kemal sat down to rest and soon found himself staring at a cluster of lotus berries dangling just a few inches from his face. Immediately, his mouth began to water as he smelled the sweet, luscious scent of the berries. Then, before he even realized what he was doing, Kemal reached out, plucked a single berry, and placed it on the tip of his tongue.
The consequences of swallowing the berry would be dire: the berry induced week-long comas and was highly addictive. Eventually, of course, another labyrinth sweeper would come upon Kemal. Yet, even then, a sweeper would be compelled to do nothing. According to the ancient code of the labyrinth sweepers, it was strictly forbidden to wake another sweeper from his coma or help break an addiction to lotus berries. Either sweepers were strong enough to do this on their own or they were condemned to remain in a coma forever.
"So I was sitting there with the lotus berry on the tip of my tongue and every sense in my body urging me to eat it," Kemal was fond of saying to his son. "And what saved me was you, Kiril, the thought of you. You were just a boy, and so perfect in every way—"
Kiril's reminiscing was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. He looked up and noticed that someone in a scarlet robe was approaching him head-on. It was a labyrinth sweeper. Kiril took a deep breath and reminded himself that he had prepared for this moment. Kiril was dressed in a scarlet robe too, and he carried a khopesh. He certainly looked the part of a sweeper. The labyrinth sweeper drew nearer and Kiril saw that he was an enormous man, perhaps seven feet tall, with broad shoulders. The khopesh that he carried was quite large, almost twice the size of Kiril's. The two of them were now just ten paces apart. Kiril brandished his khopesh. The enormous man did likewise. They pulled even. Kiril raised his weapon overhead and whipped it toward the enormous sweeper. There was a deafening clang. Kiril felt tremendous vibrations ripple through his hands and he almost dropped his khopesh. He remembered to keep walking. He took a step and then two more. The open wound in his hand throbbed painfully, and he knew the blood was flowing in a steady stream. He felt weaker by the minute. Still, he kept his discipline. He didn't look back, but he sensed that
they were each continuing on their respective ways. His ruse had worked.
Kiril kept walking for another ten minutes before stopping to glance backwards. The path was clear. He stared up and saw that the storm had cleared and the moon shone through an opening in the branches. It was time.
Kiril reached into his robe and pulled out a thin slab of rosewood. It was the lid to the box that Alfonso had found in Alexandria. Kiril brushed a hand over the lid, almost lovingly, and examined it closely. It was blank. There were no markings on it of any kind. Then he held it up so that the moonlight shone on the surface of the lid. Over a period of several seconds, the moonlight caused an intricate map to appear.
It was a map of the razor hedges and it showed thousands of turns and passageways. In addition, there were three distinct markings. The first was of a door at the southern perimeter, which quite clearly was the entranceway to the maze. The second was a large lake at the northern end of the maze, which was Kiril's final destination. The third was the symbol of an X at the center of the maze. The X was glowing very brightly, as if this was where Kiril was meant to go. This had to be the location of the Great Sleeper's cottage. It made perfect sense. Only a Great Sleeper would ever go to Alexandria, take a rosewood box like this one, and then enter the maze. The X had to mark the location of the cottage, the place where all Great Sleepers, like Leif, were supposed to go.
Once he oriented himself, committing his specific path to memory, Kiril considered his next step. Time was of the essence. He was bleeding and therefore couldn't risk further delays. But he would have to pass by Leif's cottage anyway. Why not pay his old enemy a little visit? The very thought warmed him, like a fire on a cold night or a swig of strong spirit in the biting cold.
Kiril shook his head. "Don't be a fool," he muttered. "Your only goal is the armory."
This was true; the real prize was the armory in Jasber. This is where the Jasberians kept their supply of green ash and the canisters of ether from the city's Founding Tree. Of course the ether was his ultimate goal, but the Jasberian ash would likely save his life, in addition to restarting the clock and giving him decades, perhaps centuries, of life. Clearly, he needed to get to the armory as soon as possible. It was the logical thing to do. Still, he could not remove Leif's memory from his head, just as he could not remove the scar from his face.
Suddenly, the wind gusted, rattling the branches and thorns of the razor hedges. Kiril glanced around nervously. He was alone. He placed the rosewood lid back under his robe and continued trudging through the maze.
CHAPTER 49
THE AGELING
JUST AS HE ENTERED the labyrinth, Alfonso tripped over a buried root and fell headlong into a snowdrift. He floundered, swallowed snow, and in a blind panic tried to stand up straight. He assumed Kiril was waiting for him, and Alfonso's only remaining weapon was a small dagger hidden in his left boot. A hand shoved him backwards and when the snow cleared from his eyes, Alfonso saw the barrel of a wooden club poised to strike his face.
"Move and I'll kill ya," growled the man standing above Alfonso.
Just then, Kõrgu bounded up to Alfonso and let out a playful yelp.
"Alfonso?" said the man.
"Yeah, it's me," replied Alfonso.
The club wavered, then retreated.
"For the love of Magrewski, what are you doin' in here?" asked Bilblox. "I thought for sure you was Kiril. Good thing I said somethin' first."
Alfonso struggled to his feet and brushed the snow away from his face. He looked about and saw that he was in the middle of a narrow, snow-filled path, bordered on both sides by walls of thorns. The walls rose eighty feet high, and at the top branches and leaves from either side met and crisscrossed, forming a thick canopy. Swirling flakes of snow angled their way through, but, for the most part, the walls and the ceiling of the labyrinth insulated them from the world outside. Not that this was especially reassuring. They were trapped here.
"Any signs of Kiril?" asked Alfonso.
"No, I tried to listen for him, but he'd already run away," replied Bilblox. "Then I think that lady came rushin' in here. She took off up the trail after Kiril. It was just a minute or so ago, and then you come in and I thought it was Kiril doublin' back."
Alfonso scanned his eyes over the snow. There were two sets of footprints—one small and the other large—and they both headed away from the gate, down the trail, and deeper into the labyrinth. Alfonso took a closer look at the footprints. The large tracks had to be Kiril's, but the smaller ones were too petite to be the tracks of the young woman they had seen climbing the cliff and battling Kiril. They looked like the tracks of a child.
It didn't make sense.
"Come on," said Alfonso. "We better get going. Kiril is wounded and weak. I think we can handle him."
After several minutes of fast walking, they saw a clearing ahead and slowed down to approach more cautiously. The path emptied into a large hexagonal space, with five other paths leading in other directions.
In the middle of the clearing stood a little girl. She was wrapped in a brown robe much too large for her and was shivering uncontrollably. It was the same type of brown robe both the old woman and the younger woman had been wearing. As Alfonso and Bilblox entered the clearing, the girl looked at them with a strange, detached curiosity, as if they were animals at the zoo.
"The man with the scar has escaped," she announced. "The wind has blown snow across his tracks."
Alfonso stared at her, dumbfounded. She was right—Kiril's tracks had suddently disappeared. However, Alfonso was astonished because she spoke Dormian in the same exact accent with the same mannerisms and facial expressions as the older woman they had found in the rowboat.
"Who in tarnation is that?" exclaimed Bilblox. "That sounds like a little girl."
"It is," confirmed Alfonso.
"Does she live in the maze?" asked Bilblox.
Alfonso stared at the girl very closely. "Do I know you?" he asked in Dormian.
"Yes, of course," replied the little girl. "We met on the boat. You're the one who rescued me. Thank you."
"That's impossible," replied Alfonso. "I rescued an old woman from the boat."
"That was me," said the little girl. She stared at him with eyes that conveyed the utmost seriousness. "I'm an ageling."
Alfonso looked up sharply. He recalled Imad's directive to find the ageling, the one who could find his father.
"A what?" asked Bilblox.
"An ageling. I shift from being a child to an adult to an old woman," explained the girl. "Mostly it depends on what kind of mood I'm in, but the elders say eventually I'll be able to control it. For now, when I'm tired I tend to become old, and when I need to be fast and strong, I'm a young woman. However, I most prefer being eight years old, which is my true age."
Alfonso turned to Bilblox and asked, "Did you get that?"
"Yup," said Bilblox in astonishment. "Just when ya thought it couldn't get any crazier, we come across the old lady from the rowboat. I can't wait to see Jasber!"
He turned to the girl. "You're looking for Kiril, the man with the scar?"
"Yes," she replied. "I believe he went that way." She pointed off to a trail on the left.
"Ya sound like yer shiverin'," said Bilblox as he reached into his pack, pulled out a blanket, and offered it to the girl. "Put this on, and let's keep goin' in the direction ya think Kiril went. Meanwhile, we'll look for a place to rest and make a fire. Then ya can tell us what's goin' on. Besides, I'm gonna need to sit down soon. I feel a really bad headache comin' on."
***
As they walked silently through the maze, Alfonso marveled at the hedges that surrounded them. The vast thickets of branches were absolutely impenetrable and yet they never crossed over into the path. Indeed, the hedges were so well groomed that Alfonso felt as if he were in a rather nightmarish version of an English garden. Yet, oddly enough, none of the branches bore signs of being cut or shaped by a human hand. They appeared to be wild but orde
rly, as if they had simply decided to shape themselves into vertical blockades.
Alfonso, Bilblox, Kõrgu, and the girl kept walking. Deeper into the labyrinth, the wind died away, but still the snow drifted lightly to the ground. The silence was total, and there were no signs of Kiril.
They eventually stopped in an area where the narrow path became slightly wider. Alfonso began building a fire using some dried wood they had brought with them. He couldn't find any dead branches from the hedges, and finally he cut away a lone leaf. He dangled the leaf over the fire, but the leaf refused to burn. Instead, it simply glowed red, like a piece of metal that was heating up.
"We should conserve our wood," Alfonso remarked. "I don't think this hedge can be burned."
Bilblox was sitting on the ground with his head in his heads. He was moaning softly. This was very unusual. Alfonso had never—not even once—seen Bilblox display any signs of being in such pain.
"Bilblox," said Alfonso tenderly, "are you all right?"
"It's a bad one," whispered Bilblox. "A really bad one. Feels like someone's takin' an ice pick to my brain."
"Have your headaches been getting worse?" inquired Alfonso.
Bilblox nodded. "They don't last long, but every headache is worse than the one before," he replied hoarsely. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."
"Have some food," suggested Alfonso. "It'll make you feel better."
Alfonso took out a tin box wrapped in heavy cloth. He opened the lid and immediately began to salivate at the rich smells of leftover mutton, prepared by Second-Floor Man. There were also two loaves of heavily crusted sourdough bread. Alfonso put the tin over the fire to heat it up. As they waited for the food to warm, he dug into his backpack and checked the contents of the small box he had been carrying with him since Marseilles. The vials of Polyvalent Crotalid Antivenin were thankfully intact, although Alfonso's skin crawled every time he looked at them.
