River Into Darkness

by Sean Russell

  “But from where?” Hayes asked, unable to contain his question.

  Erasmus shrugged. “From Darr, apparently.”

  “Faery,” Clarendon said. He gestured to the intersecting worlds on the opposite wall. “From a world beyond.” He looked at Kehler. “Don’t you think?”

  Kehler shrugged. “There was so much to be learned in the archives of the Farrellites. Perhaps if I’d had more time . . . I came seeking Baumgere’s secret, never knowing what it was.”

  Erasmus cleared his throat and began to recite:

  “And Tomas plunged into the mirror lake,

  And emerged he knew not where

  A land unnatural and unknown to man

  And he wandered out by star and moon

  To a land both fell and fair.”

  “The Journey of Tomas,” Hayes said.

  Erasmus nodded. “I spoke with Deacon Rose before we came searching after you, and he reminded me of the tale. He said that whatever you were seeking, what you might find could be very different—as unexpected as Tomas’ journey into a strange land.”

  “He seems to have known something, Mr. Flattery,” Clarendon said. “Does it not seem so? Did we not plunge into a pool and emerge beyond? Does it not say here we are at the gate to another world?”

  “Baumgere had several different versions of the lyric for the ballad,” Kehler said. “That is how we found our way through the pool—he had written a note on one of the texts. Rose must have seen it as well.”

  Erasmus nodded. “He likely spoke of the ballad to see my reaction.”

  “We have not yet taken you up the stair,” Hayes said. “You passed it as you entered. It spirals up and ends in a wall. And there a single large character has been carved. Perhaps it is the gate you spoke of—Landor’s Gate.”

  “Perhaps,” Erasmus said, though he did not seem at all inclined to go see this wonder. “Whatever the purpose of this chamber, Kehler, I doubt that we shall ever comprehend it. And I can tell you without a shade of doubt that we will never be able to use it as the mages did—even if we could read every word written here. It takes a man’s lifetime to become a mage. Seven decades. Not three years, as some people seem to think.”

  “It does not matter if we understand,” Clarendon said. His eyes still glowed with wonder. “We have found it. A miracle, as Mr. Flattery said. And we shall copy every word and reproduce every diagram, and this wonder will not be lost to man again.”

  “I don’t think you understand the implications of this discovery, Mr. Clarendon,” came a voice from the hall’s end.

  They all looked up to find Deacon Rose standing in the archway at the chamber’s entrance. He raised his hands, palms out. “I carry no weapon, as you can see. And Mr. Flattery is right in what he says: I do not have the powers of a mage. You need not fear me. But I do hope you will listen to me, for I have some knowledge of things arcane, and more knowledge about our last mage, for he is of particular interest to my church.”

  Hayes looked over at his friend, who really did look as though he confronted a demon. To his right, Clarendon clenched his fists as though struggling within himself to not assault the man.

  Rose didn’t come forward, and though he was some distance away, his voice carried easily in the stone chamber. “I’m sure that if Eldrich does not know of the existence of this chamber, he certainly suspects that it exists. Even I have read a reference to it, though I believed at the time it was merely myth. Landor’s Gate. Poart Landorianné.

  “If you think you will publish what you have found here and not draw a reprisal from Lord Eldrich, you do not know much of the world. Nor do you understand the powers of the mage. I know your intentions are noble, Mr. Kehler. You wish to see knowledge spread to every quarter of society. I know you believe that my church hoards knowledge to keep its power, and I will freely admit that sometimes this has been true. But it is not as simple a matter as you make it out to be. Eldrich will make you pay a terrible price for what you have done here. This is a sacred place, if I can use such a term, for that is how the mages viewed it. Just being here is enough to earn you Eldrich’s wrath. You had best pray to Farrelle that the mage never learns of our transgressions . . . as unlikely as that might be. I fear it is too late for all of us.” He stepped out of the doorway, and for a moment he forgot what he was saying, and stared in awe at the chamber. But then he shook his head quickly and looked back to the others.

  “I tried to stop you, Mr. Kehler, but you eluded me. And Mr. Flattery, Mr. Clarendon . . . once you had led me to the Fairy Galleries and I realized where Mr. Kehler must be, I tried to slip away, hoping you would not follow. I tell you honestly that I hoped to spare you this. . . .”

  Clarendon stood suddenly, unable to contain himself any longer, but Erasmus took hold of his arm. “Be at peace, Randall. In this the Deacon does not lie. If Eldrich learns that we have defiled this place with our presence—and I can hardly imagine that he will not learn of it—he . . .” Erasmus stopped suddenly, his look very odd. “The price he exacts will be more than you will ever wish to pay, I assure you.”

  Hayes was truly alarmed. “Then what should we do?” he asked, a bit embarrassed at the apprehension in his tone.

  “Leave this place,” the priest said. “Destroy every scrap of paper you have written on. Leave this place and never speak of it to anyone—not even to each other. Let it be as though we found nothing. Never write a word of it in your most secret journals. Do not even think of it. And if we are fortunate and Eldrich does not already know of our discovery, we might escape his notice.” He was agitated now, and began to pace across the chamber. “You cannot conceive of the powers of a mage. He might even now be aware of our trespass. Mr. Flattery is here, and though I believe that you are no minion of Eldrich, sir, still, you might be surprised at how much he knows of your endeavors. We should leave now—not tarry an instant more.” He pointed up at the figure above the font, though Hayes thought he almost seemed to avert his eyes. There was a look near to horror on the priest’s face. “We have seen too much. Things we were never meant to see.”

  Clarendon could be restrained no longer. “And when we leave this place with nothing to show for it, this priest will offer us up to Eldrich. When the mage is gone, the church will want to be sure that no word of this place escapes. Who knows what might be learned here? But the Farrellites will bury that knowledge. They will bury it, and we will be buried as well, frightened into silence, or betrayed to Eldrich. If we were not civilized men, we would leave your bones here, priest, for you are the danger to us. You and your desire to appease Eldrich.” Clarendon stopped suddenly, his anger so great that it drove out his thoughts.

  “Randall is right,” Erasmus said, his tone so quiet and reasonable that it hardly seemed to belong to the same debate. “We always come back to this problem of trust, Deacon. If you go to Eldrich, the rest of us will suffer for our discovery.”

  Rose nodded, stopping his pacing. He looked up at Erasmus. “There is an answer to this, Mr. Flattery. You must go to Eldrich and tell him what has been found. Make him realize that no one understood what their discovery would mean. Plead our case. Eldrich would not likely accept our promise of silence, but the mages have ways of making people forget. It is our only chance, I think, unless you are willing to trust my silence—and I am sure you’re not.”

  The others looked hopefully at Erasmus. Here, from this unlikely source, came an offered solution. But Erasmus did not look so hopeful.

  He shook his head. “I am willing to try to take our case to Eldrich, though I will tell you honestly that there is no reason to believe the mage will even speak with me. He has forgotten me, I think, and was barely aware of me even as I lived in his house. I would not pin my hopes on this. Even if Eldrich heard me out, there is no guarantee of leniency or even justice, no matter how eloquently I plead our case.”

  No one spoke. Even Clar
endon’s anger seemed to give way to despondency. The little man sat down hard on the steps, glancing once at Erasmus and then quickly away.

  “We have already desecrated this place,” Erasmus said after a while. “It is too late to change that. We’re all exhausted and our thinking no longer clear. Let’s stay some hours and rest and then decide.” He looked up at the priest. “Deacon Rose? I’m afraid we will have to ask you to make your bed in the chamber at the far end of this hall. We will sleep before the door. I mean you no harm, but we would like to decide our course together, if you don’t mind.”

  The priest looked up at Erasmus, and then nodded once. He would not cross the terrace where the others sat so casually, but instead stepped over the small stream which flowed across the chamber.

  The others followed the priest, staying a few steps away, as though he were a condemned man, and no one wanted to stand so close to anyone about to meet death.

  Rose hesitated as he went into the poorly lit chamber. On the threshold he paused, leaning in to look, as though he feared foul play, but then Hayes thought the small room with its crypt had such a religious feel—though not of the priest’s religion—that Rose hesitated entering.

  When he did cross the threshold, he went slowly, still unsure, taking in everything without urgency. He passed behind the crypt, pausing to examine the unfinished face of the stone woman. He gazed for a moment at the text on the back wall, and Kehler caught Hayes’ eye, his question obvious: Can the priest read this?

  But Deacon Rose moved on, stopping abruptly when he came to the face that resembled Erasmus. He looked sharply back at Erasmus, but to Hayes’ great surprise he asked no question. Backing away, he slumped down against the wall, his eyes still on the face that so resembled their companion.

  Yes, Hayes thought, how long ago was that face sculpted? And what does it mean?

  * * *

  * * *

  To Walky, Eldrich seemed to be listening, though he knew it was not the sense of hearing that was being used. But that was how he thought of it, for Walky had seen this before. Eldrich walked among the trees that grew in this small depression in the hillside, and then stopped, his head bowed as though completely given over to concentration—sensing things that other men were unaware of, things the mage could not explain, even if he were inclined to explanation.

  An unseasonably warm wind, fresh from Entonne, hissed through the hills, sweeping away the clouds and leaving the sky unnaturally clear. Stars stood out, cruelly bright, and Walky could not remember seeing such a bright moon.

  All around, tree branches waved in circles, and the new leaves fluttered softly. Gusts seemed to fall from above, pressing the underworld flat against the hill, and all the while Walky thought the emotions of the world are in this wind. A world disturbed by the presence of Eldrich and by his intentions. The emotions of the world; whirling up, ebbing, rising in sudden agitation, moaning and shaking the trees, then falling to despairing silence. He could feel the concern, the distress. The knowledge that the natural course of events was about to be interrupted.

  And Walky had begun to feel much as the earth did, though he had some idea of what was to come.

  Poor child, he thought. He so wanted to speak. To intercede.

  Apparently unaffected by the concerns of the earth, Eldrich stopped near to the bole of a beech tree, its silver bark almost aglow in the moonlight. The wind blew his dark hair and tugged at his coat as though seeking his attention, but he was not to be distracted from his task.

  “Sir?” Walky heard himself say, so quietly that the wind certainly drowned him out.

  “Sir?”

  Eldrich’s eyes snapped open and he glared at his servant. “Mr. Walky!” he said, using the honorific and a tone Walky had heard only once before.

  And the servant fell silent, realizing that his entreaties would have no effect. He swallowed hard, not because he had earned the displeasure of the mage, but because someone needed him and he had failed.

  But he is a mage, and I am merely a servant, he thought. Even knowing this did not take the shame away.

  Eldrich turned his back to his servant, a deliberate gesture. For a moment he did nothing but move his head very slightly as though listening. Walky knew the mage’s eyes were closed. Then the man turned, his stiff movements a bit odd in the poor light.

  Eldrich’s eyes opened, and he moved a few paces to one side, stopping to look up at the stars. Walky saw the wolf glide across the edge of the clearing, as swift and silent as the shadow of a bird. A deep howl came from far off, like a beast in pain, but Eldrich paid no attention.

  He crouched down before a flat rock that emerged like the back of a whale from the moss and ferns of the forest floor. Lifting his hand, palm down, the hand hovered above this stone for a moment, and then suddenly struck the rock with great force. Walky was sure he saw sparks fly from the impact, and he stepped back, startled. The wind muttered through the trees, disturbed.

  The mage spoke in a low voice, addressing his words to the earth, it seemed, and he ran his hand over the stone in a pattern, over and over. Lines began to appear on the stone, lines of glowing silver, like moonlight or starlight.

  Walky shut his eyes, knowing what was to come. He reached out and placed his hand against the bole of a tree. A tear escaped from one eye and, as it ran down his cheek, the breeze marked its path with a welcome coolness.

  * * *

  * * *

  A troubled sleep was all Hayes could manage. He felt so guilty that his note to Erasmus had led the priest to them that he slept sitting in the doorway of the crypt to be sure the priest could not slip away. Every half of the hour, or so it seemed, he would wake, cock open one eye and find the priest had not moved. Around him the others slept, Kehler most fitfully. Twice he leaned over and shook his friend out of a nightmare, and both times Kehler awoke with a moan, putting his hands over his eyes briefly.

  Later Hayes woke to muffled voices, far off, almost beyond the dream, and lay listening in the enchanted starlight. He closed his eyes after a moment, hearing only the sounds of his companions sleeping, and the constant voice of the water as it sang to itself. Sometime later he woke again, certain he heard a woman’s voice; and then he fell into a sleep and saw a beautiful woman. She seemed to be making her way toward him through a tunnel in a thick mist, reaching out blindly as though she might find him by touch.

  Later still, Hayes woke to find Erasmus standing on the terrace, staring up at the figures above the font. For a moment he watched, but when Erasmus made no move, Hayes fell back asleep without meaning to.

  When he woke again, it was to a hand on his shoulder. Erasmus stood over him, and some of the others were already awake, trying to shake sleep from their minds.

  “I’ve heard something. From back in the tunnel,” Erasmus said. “Wake the priest.”

  “I’m awake,” Rose said, emerging from behind the crypt.

  Clarendon was on his feet, rubbing his eyes like a tired child.

  Erasmus met the priest at the doorway. “Has someone followed us into the cave?” he asked.

  “Not to my knowledge.” Rose met Erasmus’ gaze as he said this, and Hayes felt he was either the consummate actor or was telling the truth.

  Erasmus shook his head. “I don’t know who it is or what their intention might be, but we had best meet them at the entrance in case they do not wish us well.”

  “Is it Eldrich?” Hayes asked, unable to stop himself from voicing his fear.

  “I don’t think so, Hayes. The mage is not one for crawling through tunnels.”

  Erasmus set off across the chamber, and Hayes thought Erasmus looked both tired and very grim. Sensing his mood, everyone fell in behind, not even asking what he’d heard.

  “Stay off the terrace,” Erasmus said, stepping over the stream. “Something is very odd here. I can feel it.”

  Hayes looke
d at Kehler, who shrugged, his eyes a bit wide.

  They passed quickly into the long hallway, the stone faces watching their progress with infinite sadness. At the arch leading back into the cave Erasmus stopped abruptly, and Hayes pressed forward so he could peer over Kehler’s shoulder. There, at the bottom of the slope leading up to the three stairs, stood a woman dressed in the clothing of a man, and just then, behind her, a young man appeared.