by Sean Russell
“How far into the cave have you been, Mr. Clarendon?” the priest asked.
“Some way beyond this, to a falls. Once we pass that, it will be as new to me as to you.” He began taking food from his pack.
The three men made themselves as comfortable as they could and shared out their food: dried apples and cheese; bread that would soon be too stale to eat; and a bitter smoked meat.
As at their other rest stops, a silence fell over the group and Erasmus was sure that this was because attempts at polite conversation failed and the real questions that lay between them would not be asked—or if they were, would not be answered. Something about the harsh reality of the cave made social discourse seem utterly false—almost an offense to their situation.
So they ate in silence, all three of them speculating, Erasmus was sure. He wondered why Rose was really here. Was it truly fear of Eldrich? But certainly the priest suspected that Erasmus himself was a servant of the mage. There was some other explanation for the priest’s presence, or at least he had not told the entire truth.
Erasmus thought the air in the chamber became more and more charged with unasked questions, like the atmosphere before a storm. He was not sure how long this charge could continue to build before it would be released. And he feared that what would be released would not be answers.
Erasmus looked at his two companions. Perhaps it was something about the cave—it was so harsh and unyielding that those who ventured into it could maintain few illusions—but Erasmus had begun to wonder about both Rose and Clarendon. It was obvious that he should not trust the priest, despite the man’s very real charm, but now he even looked suspiciously at the savant. It was all so convenient, the way Clarendon found Erasmus at the Ruin, how he just happened to be an authority on Baumgere, and knew about the cave as well—had even explored it himself. Clarendon had refused to allow Erasmus to come down here alone, and it was not some younger man that he sent to guide him. No, he professed to be such an admirer of Erasmus that he must accompany him personally.
Too much coincidence, Erasmus decided, and this was a man who professed not to believe in coincidence.
Clarendon and then Rose drifted into sleep, their soft breathing comforting and somewhat familiar in this harsh place. Erasmus blew out the lantern and then closed his eyes, and though he achieved a state near to sleep, he never quite lost consciousness. His thoughts began to drift, random memories surfacing. He thought of the countess, and a warmth and excitement welled up in him. The idea of taking up a lantern and leaving this place came over him, rushing back to the surface, to this astonishing woman. How had he been so blessed as to have her bestow her favors on him?
But even thoughts of his night with the countess could not keep his focus, and other memories surfaced. His last days in the house of Eldrich, the terrible imprudence of young boys, and the carelessness of his teacher. Walky. What had ever become of the man? Certainly he would not still be alive? But somehow Erasmus felt that he was. There was some odd memory of Walky just at the edge of his consciousness, but he could not quite bring it into the light.
The countess again, stroking him, whispering in his ear, her eyes in the firelight. It was impossible that a woman should have such beautiful eyes. A sudden fear that he would never look into them again felt like a chasm opening beneath him—as though there were suddenly nothing solid in his world.
Percy, his loyal follower, easily influenced by his only friend in the lonely world of the mage’s house. Percy . . . gone.
He slipped into something like sleep then, memory blending with dream. The countess sweeping her hair slowly across his chest. A tall man in the dark, and then a flame licked up.
A spark in the darkness, and Erasmus realized he was watching Clarendon relight the lamp, watching the flame shiver into existence, created from nothing—the miracle of fire. The priest stirred, and without saying anything the three men began to ready themselves to go on.
“Mr. Flattery and I should go first with our packs,” Clarendon said, hoisting a pack into the tiny boat, “and that will leave only the deacon and one pack for you to bring next trip.”
They lit the second lantern for the priest and gingerly Erasmus dipped the oars, pulling the skiff out onto the black water, the blades leaving tiny whirlpools at the surface.
When they were twenty feet out, Clarendon touched Erasmus’ arm. “Hold our position,” he said quietly, then he sat up and looked back at the Farrellite priest. “Deacon Rose?”
Erasmus turned the boat sideways so that he could see the priest, not quite sure what Clarendon wanted to say.
“I think it’s time that we had the truth out in the open.”
Erasmus saw that the little man had Rose’s attention now.
“You believe that there are followers of Teller still alive, is that not true?”
Rose clearly did not like what was happening, but he kept his temper in check, for there was nothing he could do—a moat divided them. “I don’t know what you’re saying, Mr. Clarendon. I have come here out of concern for a prize student.”
“No, you have come here because you fear he is a follower of Teller, and your church will have no practitioners of the arts remaining when Eldrich is gone. That is why you are here. Now it is time that we spoke plainly, Deacon Rose, or we shall simply leave you here until we return, and unless you can swim like Mr. Flattery, you . . .”
“No!” The priest put out his hands. “No. I must come with you.”
Clarendon looked at Erasmus, who nodded slightly, giving him permission to continue. He was more than a little impressed with the small man’s boldness.
“The only way you will join us, sir, is by satisfying us with the truth. Not before. Now tell me why you are pursuing Mr. Kehler, and be quick about it. I’m tired of your prevarication—speak now and take no time to concoct a lie.”
Rose paced quickly to one side, his hands to his face.
“Row on, Erasmus, the priest cannot be trusted.”
“No! You will need me if Kehler has made the discovery he hopes. I don’t know if Kehler is a follower of Teller. I pray that he isn’t. Nor do I know if there are such people still alive, but Mr. Clarendon is right. It is not impossible. I have been sent by my church to be certain that this heresy no longer exists, and to be sure that Eldrich does not turn his anger on us. I am sworn to preserve the church, Mr. Flattery, that is my function.” He ignored Clarendon now, and addressed Erasmus as though appealing to his common sense.
Clarendon, however was not finished, or apparently satisfied. “You were trained to deal with just such a situation, is that not so? I know the church has ways of dealing with the arts—how else could you have rooted out the Tellerites from among your own?”
Rose nodded his head stiffly. “Yes! Yes, I have been trained to perform this function. We must protect ourselves. If Eldrich were to find out that a student found his way here with information from our archive—It would not matter that we were innocent of any crime, the mage’s anger would be turned on us. I cannot allow that, Mr. Flattery, I cannot.”
“And what will you do when you find Kehler and Hayes?”
The priest did not answer.
“I don’t care for his hesitation,” Clarendon said quietly.
“I will obey the orders of my church,” Clarendon said quickly.
“That is not an answer, Deacon.”
“I will perform a ritual that will determine their . . . culpability, and if they are simply innocent young men driven to folly by their curiosity, then I will not harm them.”
“But if they are not deemed innocent, you will destroy them if you can,” Clarendon called out. “Is that not so?” The priest did not answer. “Is that not so?!” he shouted, the words reverberating in the cavern.
“I—I have no choice. If Eldrich is to discover that we have let such a thing occur . . . And think what Eldric
h will do. His justice will be less compassionate than mine.”
“And you believe I will be the witness you’ll need to convince Eldrich you act in good faith?” Erasmus asked so quietly that he could see the priest strain to hear.
“Yes, Mr. Flattery, you will be my witness.”
“But what if I am a follower of Teller, or what if Mr. Clarendon is?”
The priest shook his head. “Eldrich watches over you, Mr. Flattery; that is what I believe. It is almost certain that followers of Teller, if such exist, would be interested in you. Eldrich would want to know if they ever approached you. No, I do not fear that you can betray Eldrich.”
“But Mr. Clarendon?”
The priest shrugged. “Mr. Clarendon is another matter.”
Erasmus turned and looked at the small man in the boat with him.
Clarendon’s face seemed to sag, his mustache drooping. “Do you suspect me, Mr. Flattery?” his voice very hard, almost hurt.
“I’m sorry, Randall, but I am beginning to suspect everyone, even myself.”
“You think you are a tool of Eldrich?”
“It is not impossible, though I have not seen the mage since I was a child. But you change the subject, Randall. You said you do not believe in coincidences, yet there have been any number in our brief friendship.”
“I said I didn’t believe in coincidences, Mr. Flattery, meaning that I believed there are other reasons, other forces at work. There is a design, that is what I believe.”
“And everything will work out for the best?”
Clarendon shook his head, almost sadly. “No, I feel that is very unlikely, for the design depends on men, and men are too often weak when they should stand firm and foolish when they have the greatest need of wisdom. And here we sit, accusing each other, while who knows what awaits discovery inside this cave, or what difficulties our young friends might have found.”
“And who began these accusations?” the priest called from the shore. The boat had begun to drift back toward the priest, and Erasmus backed the oars to keep his distance.
“I began the accusations, priest, but I did not begin the lies,” Clarendon said, his kind manner disappearing and disdain taking its place.
“Do you plan to test us all, Deacon Rose? Is that your intention?” Erasmus asked.
The priest did not answer. “Do not go alone with this man into the cave, Mr. Flattery. I cannot tell you if he is one of them or not, but we should always be on our guard.”
“Ah,” Clarendon said, “just like a priest to try to sow the seeds of distrust and dissension. He will turn us against each other, Mr. Flattery. It is their way.”
Erasmus did not respond but turned back to the priest. “If you were to perform this trial on Mr. Clarendon, what would result if you found him to be what you most fear?”
Again the priest hesitated.
“I would not survive,” Clarendon said, no doubt in his voice. “Is that not so?”
Still the priest did not answer.
“Well, Randall, what of it? Are you a follower of Teller? Speak carefully now, for if you deny it, I might well take you at your word and let the priest perform his trial.”
Clarendon’s mustache twitched, and Erasmus was not sure if it was from anger. The dwarf met his eyes for a long moment, and then he shook his head. “I am no follower of Teller, nor a member of any such society. No, I am merely a small man of enlarged curiosity, and concerned about these young men. And a friend to you, Mr. Flattery, though you don’t seem to believe it.”
These words sounded genuine to Erasmus and he felt guilty that he had betrayed this man’s trust. It seemed to him that Clarendon had known enough betrayal in his life.
“I . . . I’m sorry, Randall, I’m just confused by all of this. I don’t know who to trust any more.”
Clarendon nodded. “I understand what you’re saying, Mr. Flattery. It is one of life’s greatest quandaries—who do we trust. But I vote we do not trust this priest.”
“Mr. Flattery?” Rose called out upon hearing this. “There is more. You cannot know what we will find in this cave. If the Tellerites hid something here, it might be protected by the arts. Young Kehler and Hayes, if they are innocent as you think, could be in real danger. Unless you know more than you claim, I do not think you will be able to help them. In fact, you might suffer the same fate. I can detect such things and protect us from them. If you go on alone, you might not be able to return for me if you require my help. Do not leave me here.”
Clarendon looked at Erasmus, raising his eyebrows.
“Is this possible?” Erasmus asked him.
The small man shrugged. “Let us row on and discuss it out of earshot.”
Erasmus nodded, and called back to Rose. “We will consider what you’ve said.” With that he dug in his oars and set them off across the underground lake.
Neither Clarendon nor Erasmus spoke for some time, nor did they seem to notice the wonders around them, but both brooded on what had been said. It was not until they’d passed through the strait between two small peninsulas that Clarendon spoke.
“What did you make of all that?”
“I don’t know, Randall, I really don’t. I’m getting the feeling that Rose expects to find . . . something significant in this cave. Perhaps the church has suspected for some time that something is hidden here. And I’m afraid of what he might try to do to our young friends. Whether they are followers of Teller or not matters not to me. I am no minion of Eldrich, and I don’t believe it is the place of either the church or the mage to pass judgment on them. Unfortunately, we shall not stop Eldrich if he finds out, and I fear that this priest would not hesitate to inform the mage if he believed it would deflect Eldrich’s anger from the church. For that reason I am reluctant to bring him with us. Even if he does no direct harm to our young friends, he might well do greater harm by informing Eldrich.”
Clarendon considered for a moment. “But what if his claims are true? Could the followers of Teller have left some kind of charm or spell that could cause us harm? Is that possible, do you think?”
Erasmus nodded. “From the little I know, I would say that it is, though such things fade with time. Still, a well-wrought work of the mage’s art can last many decades, perhaps even longer. It is possible. If Hayes and Kehler have encountered such a thing, I don’t know what we shall do.”
“So, though we may need him, we cannot trust him,” Clarendon said.
“That seems to be true.”
They came to the end of the lake and brought their boat gently to the shore. They disembarked and unloaded their packs, neither making comment on their dilemma.
The dwarf sat on his pack. “If we could only bind him to his word. . . .” He considered a moment. “We could make him swear an oath to Farrelle.”
Erasmus shook his head. “If it came to protecting his church, I think our good Deacon would burn for eternity before he’d put it in danger.”
“Then you’re saying we cannot trust him to live by his word, so we should go on,” Clarendon declared, not sounding so sure of himself, despite his earlier opposition to the priest. “I suppose that if we found need of his services we could come back for him—though he may no longer be waiting.”
Erasmus nodded. “We are, of course, doing the same thing as our young friends, and making it difficult if not impossible for anyone to follow. We must hope we don’t require rescue.”
Having exhausted the argument they sat, still unwilling to make the decision to go on. Suddenly there was a splash and a distant call for help that echoed eerily in the cavern.
“What in Farrelle’s name?” Erasmus leaped up and pushed the tiny boat back into the water, climbing quickly aboard. Clarendon set the lantern on the aft seat as Erasmus dropped the oars into their sockets and then swept out into the lake. Another half-muffled call for help and th
en his name, followed by more frantic thrashing of the water.
Erasmus pulled his little skiff through the narrow pass and quickly found Rose, in the water, clinging to the wall of the cavern. Just as Erasmus spotted him, the priest’s grip slipped and he went under, flailing ineffectually. He managed to get a hand on the stone but only pushed himself away from the wall. Erasmus thought he would have to leap in and rescue the man, but somehow the priest’s flailing kept him on the surface until Erasmus came near.
But just out of reach Erasmus brought his skiff to a stop.
“Listen to me now. If you upset the boat, we will both be in the water. Take hold of the transom gently, and do not try to pull yourself up. Just hold your head out of the water, and I will tow you to shore. Do you hear me?”
The priest nodded desperately, trying to take a grip on his own fear. Erasmus backed the oars and brought the stern up to Rose. To his relief the priest did as he was instructed.
Erasmus towed the priest back to the place from which he had started and they were joined by Clarendon who had launched the second skiff.
Rose crawled wretchedly up on the rock, looking like a half-drowned dog. “I will swear not to harm Hayes and Kehler,” he said between coughing. “I will swear by my church, and my sacred oath.” He tried to catch his breath. “But if you do not take me with you, I will be forced to try to make my way across the lake again, for I will not be left behind. I will not.”
Erasmus glanced over at Clarendon, who looked on with some concern. The little man nodded and Erasmus stepped ashore to assist the priest, not at all sure they were making the right choice.
Thirty-One
Over the years Eldrich had used entrails, bones, mirrors, cards, even tea leaves, but water and its variations remained his favorite medium. He was not a master of augury, though in the present world he was almost certainly without equal. This did not, however, allow him to forget that compared to practitioners of the past he was not particularly skilled.
