At least, no reason that she could figure out.
Her normal flight speed was almost twice that of an eagle’s. She could fly up to a hundred miles an hour when she really pushed it, and this time she pushed it. She reached the second passageway in short order and passed around it several times, moving in circles of increasing size with each pass.
Where were those pesky Elves?
Nowhere that she could see.
Finally she shook her head and shot north, flying hard.
Quentin was easy to locate. He wasn’t trying to hide either. He had stashed the packs somewhere, changed into the black panther and loped along the edges of a very large meadow that lay a quarter of a mile or so in front of the Numenlaur passageway. He poured over the land, sleek and rippling with fluid muscles moving under the shining black coat. She plummeted to wheel around his head.
The panther glanced up at her. Quentin said in her head, Find anything?
She answered aloud. “No.”
The panther changed direction and headed back toward the Numenlaur passageway. I’ve covered all quarters of the surrounding area. The land carries no scent of them.
She wasn’t surprised. They hadn’t been in the area recently, and the melting snow would have washed away any scent that might have lingered.
When he stopped and changed near a large pine, she landed and changed too. She watched as he ducked under the pine’s low-hanging branches. He emerged a moment later with his jacket and the packs. He handed her pack to her, and she shrugged it on, while he shouldered his as well.
His face was hard, the planes and angles set, but she thought she was beginning to read him pretty well, and she knew his worry had spiked.
“Did you see anything up close that seemed unusual in any way?” she asked.
“No. No signs of any damage, no dissipating magic, nothing.” His voice was flat. “Did you?”
“Everything looked normal.”
“Okay,” he said. “Ready?”
She nodded. They had already discussed it all. There was nothing left to say.
Together they turned and walked to the passageway.
The Elven passageway in Lirithriel Wood, in South Carolina, had been intricately carved from end to end. This passageway looked entirely natural, the entrance to the canyon just another part of the landscape. But the land magic that poured off of it told a different tale. It was a very strong passageway and the only entrance that led into a fabled land.
She wasn’t glad that the Elves were missing, but she had to admit, she was thrilled that they gave her and Quentin a reason to make this crossover.
Quietly, side by side, they started the journey into Numenlaur.
ELEVEN
As they walked the rocky, uneven passageway, she craned her neck, trying to look everywhere at once. She saw out of the corner of her eye that Quentin did the same thing.
The canyon walls that rose high on either side of them obstructed their vision of any surrounding landscape, but halfway through the passage, the snow disappeared, along with the pale wintery sky that had canopied the Bohemian Forest. The temperature grew much hotter, so much so that they had to pause to shrug out of their jackets and sweaters before they continued. The overhead sky turned a brilliant, deep blue crowned with the intense yellow gold of a summer sun.
The scents came next, wafting down the canyon corridor on a breeze, tantalizing and rich with the promise of abundant growth, and spiced with the perfume of strange flowers. Among the old tales of Numenlaur that Aryal had heard were stories of fruits that were so delicate and flavorful they could bring tears to one’s eyes.
In those stories, Numenlaur was a rich, fertile land with olive and eucalyptus trees, a land that other ancients described as flowing with milk and honey, a paradise lost that held palaces, groves and temples more ancient than those found in Egypt and Greece. One, called the Temple of the Gods, supposedly housed statues of the seven Elder Races’ gods that stood several stories high, interspersed with heavy, massive pillars of white marble.
All in all, the place was going to have a pretty tough time living up to the hype.
They reached an area where the canyon floor was bottlenecked. The passage was so narrow they had to walk single file. She gestured for Quentin to go through first. He hadn’t revealed much reaction about their journey in, except for a quick flash of something that looked like real hunger before he managed to shutter his expression. He ought to be the first one to see what was a very important part of his cultural heritage.
Cultural heritage—it was another concept that fascinated her.
They passed around a curve. The passageway opened up, and so did the view.
The canyon ended in profuse greenery. She moved to walk at Quentin’s side. He nudged her and pointed, and that was when she looked at the canyon walls. Two massive, ancient pillars were carved into the bedrock on either side of the canyon’s opening. They rose four or five stories in height.
“They face inward,” said Quentin. “They were not meant for anyone on Earth. They were meant for the Numenlaurians.”
Not placed in an entryway, created to impress the newcomer, but at the exit.
She said, “It used to be important for them to travel out to the rest of the world. It must have cost them a great deal to close the passageway.”
“When I hiked through this area about thirty years ago, I couldn’t sense that anything was here. It was as if the passageway never existed. Somehow they cloaked it. I don’t know of any spell that could have done that, but whatever they did would have taken tremendous Power. If Amras Gaeleval was the guardian, did he maintain the cloaking so that people couldn’t enter? Or did he guard the way so that people couldn’t leave? Maybe he did both.”
Unease trickled down her spine. “That’s a creepy thought.”
The look on his face was cynical. “I’ve got a talent for them.”
They walked out of the passageway, into what was either a hot summer morning or evening. Sunshine slanted at an angle through the nearby trees. She studied the bushes and the long tough grass around the canyon’s entrance. The foliage was too rich for a desert climate, and none of it bore signs of any moisture from morning dew. It was evening, then.
Quentin squatted and ran his hand lightly over the grass as he studied the ground. “If the four Elves passed through here, they did it some time ago. There aren’t any footprints, and there’s no scent.”
She put her hands on her hips as she looked around. “What did Gaeleval do, live like a wild man in the trees? There isn’t anything here except for the pillars carved into the cliffs. Which makes sense since this place wouldn’t have been a priority for any Numenlaurian for … however long of a time has passed in here.”
In Other lands, the lands did not necessarily correspond with the geography that surrounded the passageways that led to them. The sun shone with a different light, and time moved at a different pace. The phenomenon was called time slippage.
Millennia had passed on Earth since Numenlaur closed itself off from the rest of the world. That did not mean that the same amount of time had passed in Numenlaur, although since the event had happened so long ago, the passing of time here had to have been significant in some way.
The length of time was certainly significant enough to leave the entrance to the canyon looking natural and overgrown. If there had been a road or a path through here once, it had disappeared long ago.
She spun backward in a circle, giving the area a second, closer look, and because she was who she was, that meant she looked up.
Set into the cliff beside one pillar, there appeared to be a long ledge. From the ground it was difficult to tell for sure, but the line looked too even to be a natural break in the granite. She tapped Quentin on the shoulder and when he straightened to his full height, she pointed to the ledge. “There. And I think that line that cuts to the left might be a narrow path. See how it goes down gradually?”
“Okay,” he said. He
glanced at her. “I don’t suppose you can lift my weight into the air.”
She tapped her foot as she tried to decide how to answer him. Just how sort-of friendly and kind-of cooperative was she feeling toward him today? She was not one of those females who got all gushy just because she had a little fun and a guy gave her a climax. Especially if that guy was someone she had been determined to murder not that long ago.
Finally she admitted the truth. “If we were just going from here to there, I might be able to manage it. Want to give it a try, or do you want to follow the cliff along the ground to see if you can find where that path meets the ground?”
If he annoyed her on the way up, she could always drop him. The thought made her feel better about herself.
“You don’t need to strain yourself for something this unimportant. I’ll see you at the top.” He loped away, his head angled to study the cliff as he went.
She shapeshifted and flew up to the ledge. Once she had landed, she shifted back and looked around with satisfaction. The ledge was much larger than she would have guessed from below. It was wide and spacious, and cut into the cliff itself where there was a finished facade with a door and shuttered windows. The line she had noticed was indeed a narrow path that led up the side of the cliff.
She shrugged out of her pack, let it fall to the floor and tossed her jacket and sweater on top of it. She was tempted to go into the dwelling without waiting for Quentin to catch up, but as she turned her gaze to the view that was visible over the treetops, she lost the impulse and stared.
The landscape rolled out in a downward slope from the passageway area, and a large lake or a sea sparkled a silvery blue in the distance. The edge of land curved around to a promontory where a long, white-pillared building dominated the scene.
The building’s proportions were perfect. It was a monument of graceful simplicity. She shaded her eyes with one hand. Her avian eyesight was especially suited for long distances, and she clearly saw the outline of tall figures in between the pillars.
Other buildings of marble and limestone dotted the coastline, tall beautiful structures of classic design, not quite Greek or Roman—these had been built much earlier—but somehow they were evocative of both.
Along the visible part of the shore, slender piers held graceful Elven ships of ancient design. The sight of ships like these had all but disappeared from Earth itself, where the Elves, along with everybody else, had adopted ships with modern technology and design. On the horizon of the silvery blue water was a dark blue silhouette of land. She squinted, trying to discern details, but she couldn’t tell if the land was an island or another promontory. It was possible they were in the bowl of a very large bay.
Quentin came up the narrow path with sure-footed, confident grace, and he joined her to look out at the view. If he hadn’t come to stand right beside her, she would have missed his quick, quiet intake of breath.
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s stunning. When the Elves break away from hiding everything in the landscape, they really break away in style.”
After a long moment, he turned to glance at the face of the cliff. He gestured to the door. “You didn’t peek inside?”
“I got distracted by that.” She waved in the direction of the temple.
“Yeah, that’s a hell of a distraction.” He gave the view another long look. “I could look at it all day.”
She turned away and walked over to the door. It had an ornate metal handle. She held her hand over the handle, checking for magic. There was none. She tried it, and the door opened easily.
A waft of cooler air from the interior brushed her face. It smelled stale and vaguely exotic, like some kind of Elven spice. Curiosity was goading her forward, but she forced herself to be pragmatic. “Nobody’s been in here for a long time.”
Quentin approached and stood at her shoulder to breathe deeply. After a moment he said, “There’s a whisper of old Power, but it’s very faint, like dissipating magic, and it doesn’t feel active in any way. Exploring here can wait. We should move on toward the coast.”
She had known he’d had some kind of magical training in his past, and wasn’t surprised that what he said confirmed it. Mixed-race creatures who were “triple threats” were relatively rare and tended to have high concentrations of Power.
She said slowly, “I want very badly to take to the air and fly over the land just out of sheer curiosity, but I don’t think I should quite yet.”
He gave her a quick glance. “What’s your thinking?”
“If the Elves abandoned their post and came in here, they had a compelling reason to do so. That compelling reason might not be very … friendly. We don’t necessarily want to broadcast our presence right away.”
“Can you cloak yourself?”
“Yes, from most creatures.” She held his gaze with hers. “Could you sense me?”
“Probably,” he admitted. “But I’m pretty sensitive to magic.”
She shook her head. “We don’t know what happened. But they didn’t leave anybody at their post.”
He said slowly, “Which means that, if they came here, they were dealing with something that took all of their combined strength and concentration.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I just think until we know something, we’d better be wary.”
“Good point.” He turned away from the open doorway and looked across the scenery again. “Let’s see how far we can get before the sun sets.”
It needed to be said. She told him quietly, “You know they might be dead, right? I mean, there’s no recent sign of them anywhere that we expected them to be.”
His jaw and body tightened. He didn’t look at her. “Anything’s possible. Including that.”
After a moment, she sighed. “Well, hopefully we’ll discover a much less catastrophic explanation for what’s happened. Ready?”
He nodded. She took a few moments to repack her things, and he did the same. Guns and ammo went into the special side pocket created just to carry them. Combustible technologies didn’t work in Other lands, and guns were worse than useless. They were downright dangerous.
They strapped on short swords at the hip, stuffed sweaters inside the packs, and tied jackets to the outside. As soon as they were ready, she followed him down the path that wound down to the lower surface some distance away.
Nearby, a path led into the trees. The ground looked like it had been well trodden, but fronds of leafy, delicate greenery had grown over it. After considering it, they looked at each other.
Quentin shook his head. Following it was too obvious.
She agreed. She nodded.
They stepped into the forest about twenty yards away from the path and moved quietly through the underbrush. For a long time they remained surrounded by a silence that was heavy with the lingering heat of the day.
The sunlight faded as full night approached, deepening the shadows on the forest floor. Her sharp hearing caught the furtive sounds of rustling in the distance, but nothing moved anywhere near them. The wild creatures that lived here sensed their presence.
I want to hunt, she said in Quentin’s head.
He hesitated. Fresh meat sounds good.
He didn’t need to explain his hesitation. Lighting a fire to cook a meal would broadcast their presence more loudly than using the overgrown path would. She could eat raw meat, but she had lost her taste for it many generations ago. It was one of the things she had lost to civilization.
She sighed. Maybe tomorrow.
Definitely tomorrow, he said. Either that or we need to harvest more food supplies from any living quarters we find. We’ve eaten almost everything we brought with us.
How they acquired food might very well be dictated by what they found. It made sense for them to go quickly and quietly into Numenlaur as an initial approach, but if they didn’t find anything unusual, there would be no reason to remain quiet. Then they could hunt, cook and harvest food supplies in any way they liked.
Okay.
After that they didn’t speak for some time. They kept moving until she could see glimpses of the moon through the branches of the trees. While the temperature cooled with full night, the constant breeze that sighed in the trees overhead rarely reached the forest floor, where the air remained close and warm.
They came to a stream where the streambed itself was much wider than the modest flow of water that currently ran down the middle. The abundant foliage spoke of plenty of rainfall, so the land wasn’t under a drought. The stream probably carried the snow runoff from higher ground during the spring, then shrank in size during the summer months.
It created a widened area, much like a clearing. To their left, the path that they had been following led to a long stone bridge that spanned the entire streambed.
When they stepped out from underneath the trees, the air felt much cooler. They both moved to drink their fill of the delicious, pure liquid, scooping it in handfuls. When Aryal had finished, she dumped a handful of water at the back of her neck. The cold trickle of water on her sweaty skin was both a shock and a relief. She wiped her mouth and sat back on her heels to look up at the night sky.
The stars were so sharp, clear and bright, they looked as though she might be able to pluck them from the sky if she flew as high as she could. The moon was massive, appearing three times larger than what could be seen from Earth, and it was partially obscured by the top of the trees.
“We might as well take a break,” Quentin muttered.
“Works for me.” Aryal moved to the edge of the forest where she found a dry, grassy place. She threw down her things and sprawled beside them, loosening the sword buckled at her hip.
Quentin padded over to join her, setting his pack alongside hers. She noticed all over again how he moved silently, despite his size. He levered himself down to the ground beside her with his usual cat’s grace. He hardly ever lost his footing, and when he did, he recovered himself quicker than almost anyone else she knew.
His body and his face might be in deep shadow, but she knew better than ever just what he looked like. Not only what he looked like, but how the most private part of him tasted.
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