River Into Darkness

by Sean Russell

  “Everything I see here seems to have some meaning that is just beyond my grasp,” Hayes said suddenly. “I have never felt so much that I walked in a dream. Do you know what I’m saying? Like you, I felt that the stories of those men and women whose faces we saw were just on the edge of my consciousness. And I feel much like that here. As though I can almost understand the significance of these figures, of this font. Of these stones set into the floor. Look at the way this man and woman hold out their hands. . . . I am touched by this, in some way that I cannot explain, as though my heart understands, but my head is not quite able to grasp it.”

  Kehler nodded. Hayes realized that his friend was close to tears. He had persisted in his efforts for so long, taken such risks, and now he was so overwhelmed by what they had found that he could no longer control his reaction.

  He sat down on the step, hanging his head so that Hayes could not see, and if his shoulders shook a little, Hayes did not think it was unwarranted. Hayes was not far from tears himself, though largely because they had survived the ordeal of the cave. Tears for the child he had found and the horror of crawling through those dark tunnels. And he hadn’t taken the risks in Wooton that Kehler had. Demon Rose did not pursue him.

  Kehler rose suddenly, not looking at his companion, and went on, his attention apparently drawn to the script on the far wall. Hayes kept his distance, continuing to float through this peculiar dream, in which everything seemed to have ephemeral meaning, yet nothing was familiar.

  Kehler walked along one wall, Hayes the other, running his fingers over the words as though he could absorb their meaning thus. He closed his eyes, hoping words would form in his mind, and felt yet again that the meaning was so close, but he could not quite grasp it—like a memory trying to surface.

  The two met before the final archway, and gazed through, wondering what would be revealed to them here. But this room had no light of its own and what lay within was not clear. Hayes waited for Kehler to go first, for he found himself curiously reticent to enter. When his friend made no move, Hayes gathered his nerve and stepped through the arch.

  His eyes quickly adjusted and he found himself in an oval room, its ceiling vaulted and carved to look like a beamed ceiling of intricate design.

  In the center of the chamber stood a crypt of white stone, its cover sculpted to resemble a recumbent knight in full armor. His hands closed over the hilt of a sword, the point of which rested at his feet, and he held the stem of a small blossom entwined in his fingers.

  Kehler had come in behind him and stood staring at the face of this knight. Like the faces carved in the hall, this man’s countenance was marked with sorrow, his heavy brows and strong mouth speaking nothing else.

  “And who is this they have laid here in such solitary state?” Kehler asked, quoting a well-known line.

  Hayes turned away from the melancholy knight and realized there was yet another face sculpted into the wall behind him, but as he stepped closer, he realized that it had been left incomplete.

  “Look at this,” he said. “Everything we’ve seen was finished to the smallest detail, but this is hardly begun.”

  The face was unquestionably that of a woman, or would be when it was complete. The curve of her hair was clear, but the eye sockets remained unfinished and she stared blindly out at them. The nose would be relatively fine, and the lips full. The chin was small, but even so the face was strong. Hayes felt there was a personality trapped in the stone that struggled to emerge, to take form before them.

  “It is like looking through frosted glass or fog. The features are not quite clear.” Kehler squinted as though somehow that action would bring the face into focus. “Very odd. As you say, nothing else we have seen was left unfinished.” He turned to examine the rest of the chamber. Text covered the back wall, and this, Hayes was almost certain, would tell the story of the man who lay in the crypt.

  On the wall at the foot of the knight a second head was carved, this one a man and quite complete. Hayes moved closer, drawn to these mysterious individuals, as though they held the key to understanding the purpose of this chamber.

  “Farrelle’s blood . . .!” he said under his breath.

  Kehler came up beside him, and stopped, putting a hand to the wall for balance. “It is Erasmus. . . . Isn’t it?”

  “So I thought, but now that I have stared at it a moment, I am not so sure. The likeness is not perfect, but it is so close that it can hardly be coincidence.”

  “Like the Pelier. . . .” Kehler said.

  Hayes sat down, suddenly utterly exhausted. He put his back against the wall, drew up his knees, and buried his face on his arm. What in this round world? Erasmus Flattery?

  A moment later he opened his eyes and found Kehler sitting opposite him, slumped against the crypt, his eyes fixed on the face that so resembled the man they knew.

  “I came here,” Kehler said, his voice trembling with fatigue and awe, “unsure what to expect, with little more than the maps and the painting of Pelier to feed my imagination, and what I have found is utterly unexpected. I thought I knew something before we arrived here. I thought I had delved into the secrets held by the church and knew things that others did not even suspect. And now I realize I am utterly ignorant. I know less of these matters than a child knows of the greater world. I . . .” He shook his head in bewilderment. “What have we stumbled upon, Hayes? Is it nothing more than an elaborate tomb? Is it the key to some secrets of the mages themselves? The recording hall of Teller’s society? Or something else altogether? Something we cannot even imagine. Why is there a likeness of Erasmus Flattery here, in this chamber that must be . . . centuries old? What in the round world have we found?”

  Hayes looked up at the face again. The likeness showed a younger Erasmus, or so it seemed to Hayes—a man in his early twenties. But was it Erasmus? The hair was curlier, and the features finer, but then clearly the artist had not been working from knowledge of the model.

  “It must have been done from a vision,” Hayes said, struck by sudden insight.

  Kehler nodded. “Yes. That would explain it. But whatever does it mean?”

  “I think that Erasmus is not so innocent of the ways of the mages as he claims. Perhaps the rumors are true, and he is a mage himself. Does he even know of this chamber, I wonder?”

  Hayes shook his head. “I suspect he has never seen it, but considering our discoveries, I would not be overly surprised to find that he knew of its existence. We might even be performing the task of finding it for him.”

  Kehler had obviously never considered this, and looked sharply at his friend. “Do you think so?”

  “Anything is possible. We are dealing with mages, with men who, it was said, could look into the future. Perhaps their vision was not perfect, or utterly clear, but they could see some things. Perhaps they even saw us.”

  Saying this, Hayes lowered himself to the hard stone and, using his arm as a pillow, surrendered to the sweet sleep that overwhelmed him.

  Thirty-Seven

  She stood before a small niche that time and water running over stone had etched into the rock. A crystal stalactite, thrice the thickness of a stem of grass, hung there, and on it a drop of water laboriously formed. Like a swelling womb, Anna thought. She could see a reflection of the lantern’s flame flicker in the droplet, like a tiny, rapidly beating heart.

  For a long moment the drop continued to swell, and then, with what appeared to be a final inhalation, it let go its hold and fell into the world. She watched the droplet distend as it plummeted toward the natural basin below.

  Opening her mind at that instant, Anna stared into the water. The droplet created a hollow where it struck the surface, and in the depression she saw stars spinning.

  And then she reeled away from the basin, clutching her head in pain. Hands took hold of her, lowering her gently to the floor of the cavern, which spun around her so
that she spread her arms to keep her balance. She wept.

  Gentle hands supported her, and after a moment the world resumed its normal ways; the spinning slowed and then stopped altogether. No one spoke for some time, and she kept her eyes tightly closed, trying to shut out the cold, the terrible feeling that she balanced on the edge of a precipice, and all around her was a dark, cold void.

  “Anna?” It was Banks. She could hear the concern in his voice, though it was partly worry that she would lose the vision if she did not speak it soon. It happened sometimes. She would cling to the vision, but it would be driven out by the feelings of terror and anguish that augury engendered.

  “I have it, still,” she said, and no more, not quite ready to move. She knew that this attempt at augury would slow their progress by several hours, but it couldn’t be helped. There were times when a vision announced itself, and she had learned to listen at such moments, listen very carefully.

  “They are here, ahead of us. I saw them; a priest, a man, and a dwarf, climbing above a raging torrent. But there is more. Two men sleep, and an armed knight watches over them. And in a window I could see a man, Erasmus Flattery it seemed, and he looked in on this scene with great sadness. Behind him there was the shadow of another. Someone very large and powerful, I thought. On the wall I could see writing. . . .” She paused, pressing her eyes closed, focusing her mind. Trying to create a complete picture of the vision. “Landor,” she said. “There are more words, but. . . . Curre d’ Emone,” she said suddenly, words coming clear to her.

  Those around her waited as she tried to recall more, but finally she shook her head. “That . . . that is all.”

  “Curre d’ Emone,” Banks said. “Heart of the world.”

  “Landor’s gate,” Kells said, his voice echoing like falling water.

  “It is only a story,” Banks said, the disdain in his voice less than convincing.

  “All stories have roots,” Anna said, pulling her hand free of Banks’. “However remote and disconnected, they have roots.”

  She forced herself to her feet, swaying terribly, her head suddenly light. But she did not fall.

  “We must make haste. We must drive ourselves until we are there. I fear Halsey was right—the shadow behind Erasmus Flattery must have been Eldrich. I can think of no other explanation.”

  “But if Erasmus is an agent of Eldrich, then we are already too late,” Kells said, looking genuinely frightened.

  Anna shook her head, trying to work the knots from her shoulders and back. “But I sensed that Erasmus was not knowingly the mage’s agent. That feeling was very strong. We might influence him yet. I must try. But we must make all haste. With such a thing to be discovered, Eldrich cannot be far off.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Clarendon kept staring at the survey, which he had spread in the lamplight on the cavern floor.

  “‘Beyond the Fairy Galleries.’ This is the only passage that is shown, but clearly there must be another that hasn’t been recorded.” He nodded at the pool of water which ended the passage. “Perhaps we have passed some little bolt hole. Such things can be almost impossible to see, sometimes.”

  Clarendon made an effort to sound his usual self, but even Erasmus, who had not known him long, could tell that he was still affected by the incident with Rose. Erasmus was not sure if Clarendon was still enraged at the priest (very likely) or if he was a little chagrined by his own reaction. After all, he had placed Deacon Rose in more than a little danger when he threw the man’s belongings into the void.

  Despite his own hostility toward the priest, Erasmus was concerned about the deacon’s well-being. If Rose were injured, or worse, on his journey to the surface, Erasmus would feel more than a little responsible. Perhaps he should have done more for the man, but then Clarendon had caught him utterly by surprise when he threw the priest’s pack into the falls. Erasmus would never have allowed Randall to do that if he had realized what he intended.

  Turning his mind from this, he began to search the immediate area, examining the rock, looking for an odd shadow that hid a small opening. They had already noticed a few of these as they traveled through the cave. And then he spotted a tiny bit of flowing moonstone which was too gray-white to be real.

  “Well, look at this.” Erasmus dug a fingernail into the wax. “I don’t think that this has been here too long. Certainly only days and not years.” And then he realized that the letter H had been etched on the rock in wax.

  Clarendon stared at the marking, his mustache twitching. “Our friends were here, that is certain. Perhaps they didn’t know precisely where the passage was, but had to look for it themselves. At least it seems they arrived at this point unharmed. It gives me hope.”

  Starting at the pool, they began searching back up the passage, Clarendon holding the lantern and Erasmus investigating every niche and concavity in the rock. A short time later they arrived back at the Fairy Galleries.

  “We have missed something,” Clarendon said.

  But Erasmus shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. Not in that passage at least. Let’s look at the survey again.”

  They made their way back to the pool, where they spread out the survey and stared at it as though it were a puzzle with a hidden solution, some trick that they couldn’t quite see.

  “I might be a fool,” Clarendon said at last, “but I can’t see anything here that answers. Perhaps there is an undiscovered passage back in the Fairy Galleries, but certainly there is nothing in this section. What did your young man’s letter say?”

  “‘Beyond the Fairy Galleries. . . .’ And that he would mark his route with the letter H.”

  They slumped down on the rock, both of them lost in thought.

  “I can answer your question,” a voice said softly.

  For the briefest second Clarendon looked puzzled and then he was on his feet. “I warned you to go back!” he shouted down the passage.

  Deacon Rose stepped forward, a dark form on the edge of the light. Erasmus found this apparition unsettling.

  “That is true, Mr. Clarendon, but without me you will not go forward, that is certain.”

  “Will we never be free of you, priest?!” the small man shouted, and Erasmus rose up to calm him.

  “Don’t be so hasty, Randall,” Erasmus said, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. “I’m willing to hear the Deacon out.”

  Clarendon shook off Erasmus’ hand, glaring at him, clearly not intimidated by size. “Have you not heard enough lies? Enough promises? He put me in the gravest danger, swinging out over the falls because of his obsession. I don’t believe there are followers of Teller still among us, and I have looked into these matters, Mr. Flattery. Studied the life of Baumgere, and much else besides. . . .”

  The priest interrupted quickly. “Yet you are curiously reticent to allow me to perform a trial that would prove you, and these young men you pursue, innocent,” Rose said, his voice as reasonable as ever.

  “Because I do not trust you!” Clarendon said with feeling. “Because the church of Farrelle has always judged in haste and with little regard for the truth. I know your history, priest. I will not have you sit in judgment of me.”

  Rose came forward a step, and Erasmus could see that he bowed his head, almost like a penitent. “I cannot dispute what you say, Mr. Clarendon, for there is truth in it. Some truth at least, and despite what you think, some members of my church do care for truth. I count myself one of these. That is why I’m here. I believe that there might well be Tellerites still among us, but I will see no innocent men or women persecuted. However, if there are Tellerites, as I fear there are, their purpose will not be innocent.

  “They desire the power of the mages, and you do not even begin to understand what that means. You claim to know history, Mr. Clarendon; look at the history of the mages. They did not even know the meaning of the word justice. If they did no
t bring ruin to men, it was not because they were just or fair, but because their energies were taken up with other matters. But the followers of Teller, who hope to replace the mages after Eldrich is gone—what are their intentions?

  “I believe there is a reason the mages have dwindled to one. It is not an accident. They mean to leave no trace of their arts behind when the last of them is gone. But we will have new mages to take their place, and who can be sure that they will maintain the same indifference to the affairs of men? Are you willing to take a risk that these mages will leave men in peace? I am not.”

  “You have already persecuted the Tellerites without mercy,” Clarendon said, his voice calmer now, but the tone of accusation hardly reduced. “What will be their intentions toward the church if they rise to power now? It is no wonder you are apprehensive. You have reason to be. It is not men who need fear, but priests.”

  “Can you be sure?” Rose asked. “Can you, Erasmus? You know something of mages, I think. You know how little they care for mankind. Shall we have new men of power rise up, when we know so little of their intentions, or their morality? I, for one, fear it.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he says,” Clarendon countered, appealing to Erasmus as the priest had just done, as though it were Erasmus who sat in judgment. “He is a priest and has already proven that he can’t be trusted. I believe he is a danger, not just to me, but to Hayes and Kehler, and perhaps even to you, Mr. Flattery.”

  “But you have overlooked something, Mr. Clarendon. I know the way on. I saw what Kehler saw in Wooton, though at the time I did not quite realize what it meant. But I have located the way and could simply go on without you. I could confront your young friends, and there would be nothing you could do. But, you see, I am trying to make amends for what you believe was an act of bad faith. I will show you the way, and you can accompany me. We will find Kehler and his friend, and you can assure yourself that I will not harm them. I believe now that you are no follower of Teller, Mr. Clarendon, and I apologize, both for doubting you, and for my actions. I’m sure it was terrifying, though I will say I would never have done it if I had not had utter faith in the rope to hold your weight. Despite what you might think, I did not intend to endanger your life.”