River Into Darkness

by Sean Russell

  She leaned closer to Banks, but Hayes could just hear. “I shall have all the sleep I want soon enough,” she said, and rose, leaving the rest of them to find their own places to rest.

  Hayes watched her walk toward the nance. She stood looking up at it for a moment, then began to whisper, making odd motions with one hand in the air. She bent down, almost reverently, and kissed the floor of the nance, and then, casting a quick glance back at the others, she went up the stair and immediately to the font. Here she went down on one knee, continuing to whisper, and then dipped a hand into the water, sipping a few drops carefully. She stood then and stared for a long moment at the urn to one side of the font. As she reached out toward it, Hayes realized that Rose had risen from his place.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed, but it was an accusation, not a question.

  She turned and glared at him as he came to the foot of the stair. And then with a quick motion and some half-whispered words, she spun and descended the far stair, crossed the chamber and disappeared through the arch at the far end.

  Rose stood and watched her go, hands on his hips. For a moment Hayes was certain that the priest would follow, but instead he returned to his place and lay down on his side facing the nance.

  Hayes was certain that Anna had gone up the stair again, making him wonder if there was not something more to this place than she claimed.

  He noticed then that Erasmus, too, was watching the priest. Hayes lay back down, wondering what he had just seen. Wondering what would happen to them. There was not time to fight among themselves, he was sure.

  We are trapped with no hope of escape, he told himself, but found he could not believe it.

  * * *

  * * *

  Erasmus lay for a long time listening to the even breathing of the others. The questions he had asked all his life seemed no closer to being answered. Some part of him had always believed that one day he would find these answers. He had a fantasy that, once the mage had passed on, he would hear from Walky, still miraculously alive, and from the old man he would have all his questions satisfied. But not now. In a matter of days he would certainly be dead. It made all of his years of searching for knowledge seem terribly futile.

  What had he to show for it? Had his efforts benefitted mankind? Had they even benefitted him?

  The answer, undeniably, seemed to be that his efforts had profited no one at all—except perhaps Eldrich—which was, no doubt, what had been planned.

  I lured the Tellerites here, he thought. Despite what I believed, that has been my only purpose in this life. He felt such a rage toward Eldrich that his muscles began to ache where they had knotted from anger.

  Quietly, Erasmus slipped away from his sleeping companions and crossed to the chamber’s far end.

  Moments later he was ascending the winding stair, his anger driving him quickly on. He wondered what this rather cold and imperious young woman was doing up this mysterious stair. Thinking the end was farther, he rounded the corner to find Anna collapsed against the stair’s end. Her knees were drawn up and her face was buried in her arms.

  Hearing him she looked up, her face shining with tears. She let her arms fall limply by her sides and laid her head back against the stone, and still she cried as though she were alone, utterly alone.

  Erasmus stopped, so taken aback that he had no idea what to do.

  “Bastard,” she said through her sobs, “he trapped us here. I was a fool. . . .” and then she began to sob so violently that she could not go on.

  Unable to bear it any longer, Erasmus came and sat on the step near to her, reaching out and taking her hand tentatively. She leaned forward and buried her head in his shoulder and continued to sob. Erasmus laid a hand awkwardly on her shoulder.

  He found himself making soothing sounds, saying the meaningless things that people say to comfort each other, though he did not believe them. They were trapped without hope—that was the truth. Buried alive.

  It was a long time before Anna began to recover, and then she finally pulled away from him, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands.

  “I haven’t even a clean square of linen to offer,” Erasmus said.

  “And you call yourself a gentleman?” she said, a weak jest. “I have been down here long enough that I would accept a soiled one, I think.”

  Erasmus produced his handkerchief. She held it up to examine it, and then laughed. “I guess I have not been down here quite as long as I thought.” She returned it to him. “I must look a fright.”

  “You are the most beautiful woman in this entire system of caves,” Erasmus said, his tone mockingly solemn.

  She laughed. “Ah, when you are the only woman trapped with a roomful of men, you finally hear the things you wish to hear.”

  “Shall I leave you alone?” Erasmus asked.

  “I gather I am not quite as beautiful as you suggested?”

  “Not at all, it’s just . . .”

  “That you have no idea how to deal with crying women?”

  Erasmus shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “I’m all right now. I will pass beyond it if you can.”

  Erasmus nodded. He was not quite sure what he would say, now that they were alone. Why had he come up here in the first place? To speak with her, certainly, but now he was not sure why.

  “I had no part in this,” Erasmus said suddenly. “I was manipulated and trapped, like everyone else.”

  She nodded. “I believe you. Eldrich is a mage, and loyalty is unknown to them.” She looked up at him, her eyes still wet with tears. “But what do we do?”

  Erasmus shook his head. “I don’t know. I feel certain that there must be another way out, for surely the tiny hole we used to find our way in here is not the main entrance. I’m not sure I even understand its purpose.” He reached up and flattened his hand on the rock. “This is the mystery to me. Clearly one did not climb all the way up here to admire a single character. Once, it must have gone somewhere, or been intended to go somewhere. Hayes believes the outside world might lie only a few feet away. Clarendon and I have studied the survey, but it is not clear how close to the surface we might be.” He looked at her. “Banks said he did not understand the purpose of this stair. Is that so?”

  Anna twisted her head around, looking up at the wall. “Do you know this character?” she asked.

  “It is the Darian equivalent of our ‘L’.”

  “Exactly . . . or almost so. Spoken, it is not voiced as it is in Farr, or perhaps is only half-voiced, so that it is softer, almost a whisper, and hard for many to master. But it is Landor’s initial and was used as his signature. Centuries later, Lucklow would pattern his own distinctive L on this one.” She turned her head and looked down the stair, pondering. “I have been thinking much about this. In fact, I came up here to be alone and contemplate it more, not to collapse in tears as you saw.” A tear streaked her cheek again, but she had mastered her emotions now and did not give way to them. “This entire chamber is bespelled, and with a sophistication that I can hardly begin to understand, let alone explain. The men—and women, for there were both in the seven who made this place—were skilled in the arts far beyond any who came after. Look at this chamber. It is true that it is hidden beneath the surface, but even so it is untouched by time. When the outer passage collapsed, the dust that at first blew into the hallway was then forced back out again. Did you not realize? One moment we were choking in dust and debris, and the next the air was clear. This chamber is protected, and Eldrich could only collapse the entrance.” Anna paused, and Erasmus was sure tears would appear again as she remembered her colleagues who had died just beyond the safety of the chamber. “But we were allowed in, which indicates that it was meant to be discovered.” She looked up at Erasmus again. “And in the vault which contains Landor’s crypt, we find your likeness carved in stone.”

  �
�But could you read the text around it?” Erasmus asked quickly. “I couldn’t make sense of it.”

  She nodded, still staring at his face. “It is a confusing phrase, for a direct translation is not possible. ‘The last keeper of the gate,’ is how I would render it.”

  These words chilled Erasmus utterly. He felt himself push back against the wall, as though drawing back from the meaning. “What does it mean?” he asked, afraid that he already knew.

  For a moment she didn’t answer, but continued to stare. “I am not completely sure. What I find odd is that the likeness is not more exact. Though perhaps there is a simple explanation for that. Halsey might know.”

  Erasmus didn’t want to ask if Halsey was one of the people killed in the collapse—he assumed he was. “But what of the face of the woman? Why was it never finished?”

  She looked at him oddly. “But these were not carved by human hand,” she said, a bit incredulous. “Did you not know? The face is emerging, slowly. I don’t know the role of the woman, but the face will form when it is clear who she will be.”

  “Clear to whom?”

  She shook her head, puzzled by his response. “To no one. It is like augury, though it is a spell that was cast centuries ago. At some point the vision will be complete and the identity of the woman will . . . emerge. There is no human agent. The spell is the agent. Do you see?”

  Erasmus had only the vaguest sense of what she meant. “Is it you?” he asked.

  Her look suddenly changed and her eyes glistened again. “That is what Banks believes. . . .” She could not speak for a moment. “I don’t know. If it was meant to be me, I think the face would have formed by now. I can’t imagine why it would not.” She shook her head. “I don’t know enough to understand.” She looked up and touched the wall, tracing the bottom of the character with delicate fingers. Erasmus realized then how young she was—barely into her twenties, he thought—and at the moment she looked even younger and quite vulnerable.

  “But this gate, I began to say . . . It has a spell about it, if I can use that term. You understand, Mr. Flattery, you worked through some part of the primer. But I am not skilled enough in the arts to understand it. Unless there is some clue written in the main hall, I fear we shall never unlock this gate. And even if we could, there is no guarantee that it would lead to the surface.”

  “Are you saying it would lead to this other land? Is that where it goes?”

  She shook her head. “No, it is not that sort of gate. It might open into another chamber, one that was not meant to be penetrated by anyone but a mage, and perhaps not just any mage. But I suspect we will never know, Mr. Flattery, for we haven’t the skills even if we had time.”

  Erasmus reached down and worried the edge of the leather that flapped over a hole worn in his boot. “I am not the sort of man who will sit idly by and starve to death. I must try to find a way out. I can’t believe there is nothing we can do.” He banged his fist against the wall. “If we give up now, then we’re certainly walking about in our own crypt, and I’m not ready for that. I’m not . . .”

  She nodded agreement, rather unconvincingly. “Nor am I, Mr. Flattery. But I am not sure what we can do. Even if we could unravel the spells that surround the urns on the nance, I’m not certain we would be further ahead.”

  Erasmus looked at her quizzically. “I think you assume I know more than I do. What is this about urns?”

  “I thought you’d read the primer,” she said, surprised. “The urns contain the king’s blood, or so I surmise. I can’t imagine they would be so protected if they were empty. Can you?”

  “I do remember references to king’s blood. But I never understood what they meant.”

  She drew her head back, her look quizzical. “I am amazed, Mr. Flattery, but then I suppose the book was not meant to be read without guidance. King’s blood is a plant—beyond rare. There are references to it in the chamber below.”

  “Yes! Of course, I saw one, but could make nothing of it.”

  “The seed is a powerful herb. It is said to be a physic able to cure the worst illnesses, and it is also believed that the seed was the source of the mages’ long lives. But it does something more. It wakens the talent in individuals, if there is any talent there to begin with. But it is said that the seed exacts a price, for all who use it become habituated unless they have an iron will, or take certain precautions. But it was a key to the mages’ powers, and they guarded it even more closely than their knowledge.

  “The legend tells that Landor bore the king’s blood with him from beyond, and it grew here only under uncommon circumstances. But if the urns contain seed . . . well, we must study the text on the walls with care and examine the chamber meticulously. Banks believes that it is even possible that there is a hidden door—an entrance from the surface. We must look. It could be anywhere. We must focus all of our energies on this task. All of us. Even this priest, Rose, will have to put his secret knowledge at our disposal.”

  Erasmus wanted to jump up and begin immediately, but Anna did not look ready to start just yet.

  “How did you come to be down here?” Erasmus asked suddenly. “Were you following me?”

  She pulled the stray hair that had escaped from its braid away from her face. “We knew that this young man Kehler was searching the archives at Wooton for Skye. His interest in certain events had caught our attention. We watched him as we could, for we are wary of the priests and thought they might be using him to tempt us. For some time we didn’t realize that there was a connection between Kehler and yourself—Mr. Hayes. When we did discover this, we realized that . . .” She searched for words. “Events were converging. Happenstance is not something I believe in, not where certain individuals are concerned. Through Kehler, Skye was seeking the secrets of Baumgere, which we believed were likely hidden in Wooton, where we dared not go.

  “When Skye set off for Castlebough, we felt almost certain that the time to approach you might be near. You see, the similarity of your life to Teller’s is undeniable—or so we thought. You both apprenticed to a mage yet left his service. Both you and Teller spent your lives thereafter seeking out the secrets of the mages, or so it seemed to us.

  “We practice augury—it is not so reliable that we base all our actions upon it, but we consider it in our decisions. We had a vision that you played a part in, Mr. Flattery. And here you were in Castlebough meeting up with this young man who had been in Wooton.”

  “What vision?” Erasmus asked, his tone flat, for he felt a little apprehension.

  Anna did not answer, but he thought she colored a little. She simply could not answer.

  “You are filling me with fear,” Erasmus said quickly.

  “No need,” she said, her voice pitched very low, as though afraid they would be heard. “I have had two visions in which you played a part, or so I believe. In the first Skye opens an ornate bronze gate set into a stone wall. I pass through and inside I find a man who offers me a book and a white blossom—king’s blood. . . . I could never see the man’s face, though I long believed this might be you.” She looked away. “The second . . . the second was not so . . . significant.”

  “Why do you say that? This first vision seems to have been wrong, entirely. Perhaps the second has more meaning?”

  She took a breath, as though steeling herself. “We were on a hillside, you and I, beneath the stars, with trees all around. There was a bed of soft moss, and we . . .” She had looked down, but now she glanced up at him, not raising her head, and she colored, making her hair suddenly appear more red.

  “I see,” Erasmus said softly, feeling his own cheeks warm.

  “It does not necessarily mean that we will. . . . It is a vision and must be interpreted.”

  Erasmus nodded quickly. For a moment he sat looking at her, and she did not meet his eye. He thought of the countess, comparing her to this young woman before
him, in her boy’s clothes, her hair a mess, her face streaked with dirt from her tears. And he realized that he felt immense pity for her, trapped here so young. She looked more vulnerable than he could imagine—unlike the countess who seemed so in control—in control of every situation.

  He reached out a hand and touched her shoulder softly, meaning to offer her comfort in some way, but she moved forward immediately and came into his arms, pressing herself close to him. She did not raise her face, but kept it close beside his own so that he could not see her, but only hear her breathing close to his ear. Hear her catch her breath.

  “Perhaps there is more truth in your vision than you know,” Erasmus whispered. “Perhaps we will escape yet to see the stars.”

  Forty-Three

  The message found Kent pacing the room, his confusion and chagrin not even slightly reduced. He had not slept that night and his exhaustion made his entire situation seem more dire. After hours of turmoil he’d sent a note off to the countess, hoping that she would see him so that he might try again to persuade her that he had been telling the truth. Even if she did not choose to travel with him, she must flee. It was imperative to her safety.

  But his note had gone unanswered for several hours now, and he had begun to despair of it ever receiving a reply.

  A knock caused Kent to start, and he rushed to the door, hoping that it was not merely a chambermaid come to change his bed. At the door he found a young local man, who presented him with an envelope.

  “From Miss Edden, sir,” the man said, waiting expectantly.

  Kent handed the young man a coin, hardly aware of its denomination, and closed the door with barely a nod.

  He began to tear open the envelope, but paused, knowing full well that a reply from Marianne Edden, not the countess, meant that his overture had been rebuffed.

  He lowered himself rather gently into a chair and stared at the envelope, too dejected even to be angry at Marianne. Slowly he opened the letter, pulling the single page free and shaking out the folds.