Andaris had seen tricks of the eye like this before, but nothing so convincing, and certainly nothing on this scale. The depth and shading was remarkable, obviously done by an artist of the highest caliber. In the mural, a chess game was in progress, confirming Andaris’ suspicions.
The pieces on the board were life-sized. The black pieces were various types of mundane creatures: bears for the queen and king, baboons for the bishops, horses for the knights, buffalo for the rooks, and foxes for the pawns. The white pieces were various types of mythical creatures: dragons for the queen and king, eldryn for the bishops, griffins for the knights, minotaurs for the rooks, and sprites for the pawns.
Not surprisingly, the white side was winning, having lost only two sprites and a griffin knight. Beyond the pillars on the mural side, the forest teemed with activity, all manner of beasts watching the game, even the vanquished pieces. Here were the creatures Andaris had hoped to find in the real forest, real being relative, of course.
“Well, what do ya know about that?” Gramps said, whistling his appreciation. “Never thought I’d see the like.”
“So, what do you think?” Andaris asked. “Are we close?”
“You tell us,” said Gaven. “You have the maps.”
After digging around in his saddlebags, Andaris pulled out the box. Swallowing the residual trepidation he felt from the dream, he put the box on the ground, undid the hasp, and raised the lid.
Once again, to his great relief and slight disappointment, there was no dog-bird-dragon-monkey thing. He picked up the maps, and was gratified to see a close-up view of the structure on the center of the top page. The detail was impressive, to say the least.
There were, however, some marked differences. On the map, the animals and chess pieces were not confined to the mural—they were on this side, as well. Andaris focused his attention on a drawing of a wyvern with a shrewd expression on its face. According to the map, which indicated the viewer’s location, his location, with a golden key, the wyvern was only a couple of feet to Andaris’ right, peering down at him like an owl peers at a mouse. Foolish though he felt, Andaris couldn’t help but look to his right to confirm that nothing was actually there.
When he looked back, the wyverns face had changed. At least he thought it had. Now it almost looked like it was grinning at him. Andaris’ vision swam. He shook his head and handed the pages to Gaven. “Here, you try. It’s giving me a headache again.”
Gaven took the maps without a word, his martyr-savior expression soon replaced by inquisitiveness. And just like that, he was as engrossed as Andaris had been.
“Well?” asked Gramps.
“According to this,” Gaven said in his slow, methodical way, brow furrowing with thought, “the entrance is in the…center of the mural. See, look.”
Andaris held up his hand in warding, cringing as though from an unexpected blow.
“Oh yeah, sorry,” said Gaven, taking a step back. “Well…here, Gramps, you look. See, it shows the three tiers of stones against the center of the mural. Seems like that means that’s where we’re supposed to enter. There must be a hidden door or something. But…how can that be? There’s nothing but forest on the other side.”
Gramps shook his head and put a fatherly hand on Gaven’s shoulder. “Remember, these are magical folk we’re dealin’ with here. Who knows what’s possible with that sort, my boy. It certainly ain’t no big, double-doored kinda entrance, is it? But…seein’ is believin’, so how ‘bout we quit our jawin’ and just go have ourselves a look.”
A few minutes later, time enough for Andaris to recover his wits and for the horses to graze, they walked to the mural, proceeding as if on slippered feet, the feeling that they were intruding growing stronger with each step.
It was an extremely odd sensation, standing there behind the beleaguered line of white chess pieces, sneaking up on the queen and king like assassins from squares unknown—adding new pieces to the game, themselves, from an adjacent board in order to bolster their flagging brothers in arms. After all, wasn’t it mythical against mundane?
They stared for some time, but saw nothing that even remotely resembled a door. Apparently, if it was here at all, it was exceptionally well hidden. Feeling like he was committing an unforgivable offense against proper etiquette, Andaris began to run his hands along the king’s scaled backside. The artist had raised the edges of the paint around the scales to add depth. Or perhaps to help cover something up like…say…the crack of a door?
“We could try knocking,” said Gramps with a mischievous grin.
Gaven and Andaris gaped at him, wondering how he could even suggest such a thing in jest when they already felt like burglars poised before a locked window at night, fearful of waking the master of the house.
“I think I feel something,” said Andaris. “There’s a vertical line here. If I run my fingernail along the inside, maybe I can—”
“Here, try this,” said Gaven, pulling a metal file from one of the pouches on his belt.
Andaris took it somewhat reluctantly, not wanting to damage the mural any more than absolutely necessary. Regardless of what else it might be, it was a first-rate work of art.
Eventually, after slowly, painstakingly running the tapered end of the file along both the vertical and horizontal lines, the vague outline of a door began to take shape. Andaris got to his feet, perspiration glistening his brow. “So, what now?” he asked, looking first to Gaven and then to Gramps. “It’s definitely a door, but I don’t see any way to open it.”
Gramps leaned forward, placed his hand on the door’s exact center, and pushed. The panel receded into the wall by at least an inch. There was a distinct clicking sound, after which the panel popped out by at least an inch.
“Good thinking,” said Andaris.
Gramps nodded to him, expression suggesting that he was about to reply with some witty rejoinder, when they heard the distant, echoing caw of a, by the sound of it, very large bird—echoing, that is, from the other side of the door.
They all stared as the panel opened wider, its thin, rectangular body animated by a sudden gust of wind, a gust carrying streamers of mist atop its cool, undulating shoulders.
Acting as if this was the sort of thing he did every day, Gramps lit a torch and poked in his head. “Well I’ll be,” he said, gracing them with another of his impressed whistles. “There’s a circular staircase descendin’ into…oh, about thirty feet down or so…a blanket of mist, pretty as ya please. Don’t see any light source, and yet I don’t need this torch to see.” And here his voice lowered with awe. “Everything just sorta…glows.”
The Stair of Time
“Mind if I take a look?” asked Andaris.
Gramps glanced over his shoulder, nodded, and reluctantly handed the torch back. When the way was clear, Andaris stepped into the threshold, poised between worlds, or so it seemed to him.
The circular stair was fashioned of wrought iron, scrollwork balusters descending from elegantly curved handrails, narrow steps inlaid with softly glowing stone, bluish-green like the mist. Oddly enough, the landing did not appear to be attached in any physical way to the wall. Nor, as far as he could tell, was it meant to be, lacking the necessary armatures to make such an attachment possible. It simply swayed back and forth in the breeze, making Andaris feel queasy.
The mist, as Gramps had said, lay like a blanket about thirty feet below. What he had failed to mention was how it moved, forming and reforming like clouds in the sky, birthing all manner of things—here a tree, there a mountain, and way off in the distance, a castle. And as with clouds, Andaris suspected the scene changed with the viewer, becoming whatever one’s imagination deemed worthy of conception. Which is fine as long as it’s not real, he thought. Like those windows in Ashel’s tower.
“Well,” came Gaven’s deep voice from behind, from that other world, “this must be the place. It’s what we came here for, so….”
Andaris was only halfway listening. Gaven went o
n, highlighting all the reasons why they needed to proceed, despite whatever dangers may or may not await. To Andaris, his voice faded into obscurity, becoming scant more than background narration for what unfolded below.
***
A three-masted mistship rose into the air, sails full and billowing, oars pulling in time to the frantic beating of drums. It was the flagship, and it was in full retreat. Soon, other ships rose to its left and right, flanking it in tight formation, hundreds becoming thousands, a vast armada flying towards the fast diminishing castle.
Andaris wondered what could make a fleet of such obvious prowess flee with such obvious panic, and then decided he didn’t want to know.
But by the time the last ship was airborne he had his answer—whether he wanted it or not. Thousands of dragonsnakes burst from the surface like arrows shot from giant mystical bows, careening unerringly towards their targets, wings tucked back, bodies straight.
If he listened closely, he could hear them whistling through the air, piercing shrieks rising to a crescendo too high for the human ear to register, crystal on the verge of shattering. It was their death cry, which meant they were already past the point of no return. Their burrows had been destroyed while they’d been on patrol. Their friends and families were dead. This was retribution—revenge! They would reach their targets or die trying.
A hundred yards or so from the prow of the flagship, the head of a statue rose into view, mouth cranking open laboriously, as though driven by an ancient apparatus of questionable make and function. The flagship, upon whose deck Andaris could now see mist people scurrying about, flew into this great, toothless mouth without even slowing down.
The ship in the rear was just about to be overtaken by the dragonsnakes when Andaris felt a hand shaking his shoulder.
***
“Andaris!” Gaven shouted, apparently not for the first time. “Come on. You’ve had your turn, give me a look.”
Andaris glanced away from the scene to nod at his friend. When he glanced back, the ships, the statue, and the dragonsnakes were gone, replaced by a relatively calm sea of mist.
After deciding how best to proceed, Gaven and Andaris took what supplies they needed from their saddlebags to the opening, and there began to outfit themselves in preparation for the descent.
“Now remember,” said Gramps, tightening one of the straps on Gaven’s pack, his concern for them peeking from behind a wall of forced levity, “I’ll be waitin’ right on the other side of this door. If ya boys get into trouble just holler, and I’ll come a runnin’! And Rodan help whatever’s tryin’ to harm my boy and his friend! My friend, too, now,” he added with a wink to Andaris. “Family to the only family I got makes ‘em family to me, if ya hear what I’m sayin’. If’n somethin’ nasty’s on your trail and ya can’t shake it, just lead it up here to me, and ol’ Gramps will give it some what for!”
He brought his sword ringing from its sheath and slashed it diagonally across his body, face set in a fierce snarl. “Make no mistake for I tells ya true. I’ve got a trick or two left up my sleeve, and I can fight as well as any man half my age for half as long as I used ta. So far, it’s been long enough.”
Gramps resheathed his sword with a self-conscious smile, sighed, and with surprising solemnity said, “I’ll wait for one week for you boys to return. After that, I’m comin’ in whether ya want me to or not.” He raised his hand to forestall Gaven’s protest. “Now I’ll hear no argument about it. Ya can’t stop me anyhow, so you might as well save your breath, something tells me you’re gonna need it.”
Gaven swallowed what he’d been about to say and instead reached forward to shake Gramps’ hand.
Gramps beheld the proffered appendage as if it were an undercooked potato. “I’ll have none of that foolishness,” he said with a catch in his throat. “Now do yourself proud and give an old man a hug.” The two men embraced briefly, armor and weapons clanking comically. When they pulled apart, they wiped their eyes, each prepared to blame the lapse on hay fever, fatigue, or some other equally flimsy excuse. Gramps even went so far as to pull out a handkerchief and, in rather honking fashion, blow his nose.
“Now get goin’! Both of ya! Time’s a wastin’, and the goose ain’t gonna cook itself.”
Spurred by Gramps’ colloquial eloquence, Gaven and Andaris jumped onto the landing, grabbing hold of the railing as their combined momentum caused the stairs to sway alarmingly.
“Take care, boys!” Gramps called from the cracked door, the sunlight turning him into a living, breathing silhouette. “Don’t forget the secret knock. One, two, three, pause. One, two, three, pause. One two. Wait one minute and repeat. I’ll bed down right here, so even if I’m asleep, I’ll hear and…open ‘er up! Remember to knock as loud as ya can, case I’m out gatherin’ firewood or huntin’. I’ll make a point not to stray too far and to check in on a regular basis. Okay then, you boys take care of each other. Guard your noggins best ya can. See ya soon!” He waved, started to close the door, parted lips to impart some final tidbit of wisdom, thought better of it, waved again, and at last closed ‘er up!
“Good huntin’,” Gramps whispered from the other side, feeling the full weight of worry and loneliness settle upon him. “Just be careful and…come back.” It took every ounce of will he had not to fling the door open then and there and go after them. But he had made an agreement, and he was the sort of man who took such things seriously, so he went to go check on the horses instead.
Del whinnied and tossed his head at him.
“Yeah…I know,” said Gramps. “I’m gonna miss ‘em, too.”
Lonely Descent
Gaven and Andaris stayed very still, hanging onto opposite ends of the same railing until the stairway, for the most part, stopped its vertiginous lurching. When they turned around, they were more annoyed than shocked to discover that there was no sign of the door.
Of course, given past experience, they had considered this possibility. After all, it was a magical entrance out of a magical forest into a magical city—which meant pretty much anything goes. Still, they weren’t entirely without surprise. Turns out recognizing something as a possibility and having it actually occur are two very different things.
Andaris stepped to where the door should have been, moving slowly, not wanting to start the stairs to swaying again. Once there, he reached up and ran his hand along the dark, misshapen surface of the wall.
“Feels like…dirt,” he told Gaven, his tone managing to be bemused and unnerved at the same time. “It’s moist and smells kinda…musty, like potting soil.”
“Do you feel the outline of the door?” the big man asked. “I heard it shut. It sounded like wood against wood. Seems like the dirt would have muffled it, but even so—” Gaven sighed, interrupting himself. “Try the secret knock. See if Gramps can hear us.”
Recognizing good sense when he heard it, Andaris nodded and proceeded to bash his fist against the wall hard enough to make a thudding noise, dirt raining down onto the landing. Three times he tried, knocking and waiting just as Gramps had instructed, and three times there was no response. Knowing full well what this likely meant, Andaris’ heart sank.
“Let me give it a go,” Gaven said from behind, words armored in steely determination.
“Maybe he’s just too far away to hear,” Andaris suggested. “I mean, he wouldn’t expect us to knock right after he closes the door.”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Gaven, drawing his sword and placing its tip, about waist high, against the wall. “But I don’t think so.”
Andaris was about to ask what he was doing when, with a mighty grunt, Gaven thrust the length of his blade forward, burying it to the hilt. After twisting the sword around a bit, he gave another grunt and yanked it back out, dislodging a rather impressive chunk of earth which, after landing and turning onto its side, came to rest against his right boot. The big man wiped his blade clean on his pant leg before resheathing it, then peered into the hole as though searching for somethi
ng to throttle.
“See anything?” Andaris asked, feeling sure he knew the answer.
“Nope,” replied Gaven. “Just dirt, dirt, and more dirt. Oh and…there’s also some dirt.”
“Yeah, ha, ha,” said Andaris. “You get funnier all the time.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” said Gaven. “I take it back. I do see something. Seriously. There’re worms in the back of the hole. They look like regular groundworms but…longer.”
Never having cared much for things that crawl and slither through the earth, Andaris said, “Maybe you shouldn’t poke around in there. Could be anything in there.”
“Hmm,” said Gaven, sounding unimpressed. “You know what I wonder? If a fellah was to start digging’ through this wall, would he eventually break out into the open? Like maybe we got turned sideways, and the surface is straight ahead.” Laughing, the big man stuck in his arm to the shoulder. “Wouldn’t that be somethin’, if we busted outta the dirt at Gramps’ feet? Why, he’d be tellin’ that story for years to come, and with no need for embellishment, neither.”
Watching a dozen or more worms squirm from the hole, displaced by Gaven’s meaty arm, Andaris found himself struck momentarily speechless. A couple of the squirmiest ones plopped onto the landing and, together with the largest centipede he’d ever seen, began slithering and crawling towards him.
“I don’t know, Gaven. Sounds pretty unlikely to me, but then who’s to say in a place like this? Either way, I think we should try going down the stairs first, leave the fun stuff like digging through the bowels of the earth for later.”
Andaris brushed his attackers, which were now only a few inches away, over the side with his boot. It was unnerving how they had gone straight for him like that, and at a pretty good clip, too.
The Stair Of Time (Book 2) Page 13
