by Sean Russell
Hayes could hardly make out Kehler’s face in the dim light, but his friend looked terribly grim. Men went to the scaffold looking thus, Hayes was sure. And he felt it himself. A strange weakness in all his limbs—a hopelessness. Here is where their curiosity had led—to a meeting with this dreaded mage. Anger at Kehler welled up in him. Had he the strength, he might have struck his companion, such was the ferocity of it.
Clarendon caught up with the candle bearer. “Are you Mr. Walky? Mr. Flattery spoke kindly of you.”
“But it is not Walky who will judge you,” the small man said as he put a finger to his lips.
Too soon they came to the hall’s end. The small man opened a door and motioned them through. Hayes stumbled into darkness, the room lit only by a fire that had burned to glowing coals in the hearth. A hand gently pushed him forward as he stopped. And then he realized that something moved beside the fire—a shadow darker than the rest.
With a sound of wings fluttering, flames erupted in the hearth. Hayes could make out the figure now, a large man sprawled in a chair, patting a massive beast that sat at his side.
The wolf of legend, Hayes realized.
The four of them lined up a few paces away, coming no closer than they must. Walky had disappeared somewhere behind them. The mage continued to stroke the wolf, kneading behind its ears. Suddenly he pushed it forward, making a hissing sound through his teeth, and the beast came straight for them. Hayes drew himself up, becoming utterly still.
It snuffled about his feet and knees, then passed to Kehler, leaving him almost as quickly. But Rose interested it somehow. Excited it, in some way. The hackles rose on its neck, and teeth were bared; a low growl emerged. Hayes was sure that it would have attacked the man, but a word from the mage sent it on to Clarendon. Here again, something seemed to incite it, but again the mage spoke, and it went bounding away into the dark.
A long silence followed. Hayes almost wondered if they had been forgotten, or if the mage learned all he wanted without even having them speak. Perhaps they were speaking, and he did not know.
“You . . . we’ve met before,” the mage said, his voice surprisingly melodious. “What is your name?”
“Clarendon,” the small man answered, his voice barely audible. “We met—”
“I remember,” the mage said, his voice harsh despite its music. “As do you. Did I not say it was your curse?”
“Where is Lizzy? Is she yet alive?” the little man whispered, barely forcing the words out.
“Who? Oh, the woman? She is gone, gone this half-century. Not a short time, even to me. Is she alive?” The mage shrugged, unconcerned for the fate of some unknown woman.
Clarendon was trembling now, as though he struggled just to keep his feet.
“I have knowledge. Only I have it. I will offer it to you freely. . . .”
“Indeed you will,” Eldrich said. “And I will pay you nothing for it. She is gone, little man. Gone where you cannot follow, unless you have the knowledge and skill of Landor.”
“Not the skill, but the knowledge, I think. . . .”
Eldrich did not respond for a moment. One long hand passed over a candle which flickered to light and held, yet this light did not touch him. “She exploited you,” he said coolly. “Used you terribly, though you were perhaps too young to realize. I could have let you go with her.” He ran his fingers over the candle flame again. “I seldom do men favors, but you . . . your existence was hard enough. Men do not care for those born . . . unlike them.”
Silence but for Clarendon’s ragged breathing. In the poor light Hayes could see the little man, bent as though he would collapse from the pain.
“Step forward, priest,” the mage said, turning his attention from Clarendon and his precious bargain. The music gone from his voice. “Say nothing!” he cautioned, as the priest opened his mouth. “‘A tongue so sweet it should be cut out and fed to dogs.’ I should have given you to the wolf, and I might yet. If you make any attempt to use that silver tongue here, I shall teach you the lesson that life has neglected. Do you understand? I have much to settle with you and your church for all that you think you have hidden from my kind these many years. Your precious Farrelle spoke of atonement . . . and so shall we.”
The priest nodded quickly. Afraid to speak, Hayes thought, and he would have felt some satisfaction if he were not so frightened himself. If he were not sure his turn was coming.
“You found no bodies? Neither Erasmus nor this woman? Not even the boy?”
No one answered.
“You, Clarendon. Speak up.”
“No bodies,” Clarendon breathed.
Lightning lanced into the earth nearby, revealing a large room, a shadow before the fire. Windows rattled with the deep throbbing thunder, its echo impossibly long.
Eldrich rose from his chair by the fire and went and stood before one of the tall windows, staring out at the night, his silhouette flickering into being with each streak of lightning.
“Perhaps they are dead, swept away by the river. Perhaps. But I am not convinced. Not yet. Your task might not be done. There is still a ship rolling in a strange sea. But first I will have each of your stories, and I caution you to leave nothing out, and to tell only the strictest truth. You cannot lie to me, and I have no patience for those who waste my time. I have particular interest in what you saw within Landor’s chamber. That which was inscribed upon the walls. Which of you is Kehler? You met with Skye: begin there.”
* * *
* * *
The mage bent over Clarendon’s carefully copied text, the writings from Landor’s chamber. He glanced up briefly at Walky, and then turned his gaze quickly back to the page as though overcome by fascination and horror. Then he shook his head and sat back in his chair, closing his eyes. He muttered something under his breath.
“Sir?”
“Tell me I sleep, Walky, and that this is nothing more than a nightmare. The nightmare of all my kind.”
“What is it, Lord Eldrich?”
“It is the cataclysm, Walky, the apocalypse. The ruin of all that I have planned.”
Walky had never heard his master speak thus and found himself staring at the text with great alarm.
“We must pray that this woman is not alive, and if she is, that she has not the knowledge to understand what is written here.” He took a long breath. “And she has the seed. . . .”
“If she survived, sir.”
“Yes, but the Paths have not indicated her death—not yet. And they found no body. Neither she nor Erasmus.”
“Nor the boy,” Walky added. “It is likely they were all swept . . . away.” Walky choked a little on the last word, causing the mage to look up.
“Are you all right, Walky?” Eldrich asked quietly.
The servant nodded.
“Do not be so sure that Erasmus is dead, simply because these men believe it. I told you of my vision? It wasn’t until later that it occurred to me that the creature clinging to the mast could be Erasmus. His obvious hostility to me, his half-fish, half-man appearance—one caught between two worlds, two desires. And then he leaped into the waters to join a nymph and the dolphins. Sailors believe that the spirits of men lost at sea inhabit dolphins and won’t harm these mammals for any reason. How neatly it all fits. Erasmus plunged into this raging river and died with this woman. But water is life, Walky. We swim in it until birth. No, I am not convinced they are dead, so do not despair.”
“But if he has joined forces with this woman, sir, that is worse,” Walky said.
Eldrich looked at the small man briefly, then cast his gaze down, nodding his head. “Yes, there are worse things than a clean death.” The mage reached out and brushed the pages spread before him. “I am worried about the emerging faces in Landor’s crypt. Almost everyone thought one to be Erasmus—though none were absolutely sure. But the other—It has
barely begun to form. Could it be this girl, Anna? Or is it our countess? Do you see what I’m saying? The art that made that chamber was great. Far greater than my own, or even Lucklow’s. The faces forming there are more critical than the people caught in the chamber realized. Absolutely critical, for the art that forms them is subtle and beyond our understanding. Will it be Erasmus?” He shook his head. “That seems unlikely now. And the woman? What if it is Anna? Is that possible?”
Eldrich looked down at the table, flipping over a page. “Imagine not being able to forget a thing,” he mused. “A remarkable little man.” Eldrich gazed at the writing for a moment.
“Everything is so unclear,” the mage said, “so muddled. How I wish they had found bodies.” Eldrich realized that Walky almost flinched when he heard this, and turned to examine his servant. “If he perished trying to save this young man, Walky, then it was a noble death; better than he might have found. Most die for no reason at all—and live for little more. But I’m not yet convinced of his death. Not yet.” He turned back to the text, staring at it with a look Walky had never seen in his master’s face before—fear.
* * *
* * *
A blind child, raggedly dressed, made his way along the wall, running his hand over the stone. Twice he stumbled and fell but stiffly raised himself and carried on with the stoicism of those who did not know they suffered injustice.
Eldrich watched, his mind too focused to even wonder who the child was or what this scene might mean. It was better to ask no questions now. Better just to watch, to let the vision unfold.
A moon floated up from behind a stone wall, casting its cool light down upon the child, who stopped, confused—as though he could sense the light somehow, almost see it. He turned about and his face was suddenly illumined.
Clarendon. . . .
The dwarf turned away from the light and continued along the ruined street, stumbling again at the foot of a long stair. Eldrich followed, keeping his distance. The small man went slowly up the stairs, using his hands on the broken treads.
The mage followed, not feeling the stairs beneath his feet, but up he went all the same, following the child-man who went, crablike, ahead. On each stair Eldrich saw a thin smear of blood from Clarendon’s hands.
Where are you leading me, he wondered, but then turned his mind away from speculation.
A massive beast appeared at the stairhead—a wolfhound—and Clarendon took hold of its shoulder and followed.
By the time Eldrich crested the stair, man and beast were gone. Slowly he turned about, surveying the place: the ruin of an ancient city or fortress made mysterious by moonlight.
“Where have you gone?” the mage wondered aloud. “Where?”
The moon slipped behind a cloud, and Eldrich woke in a chair before a tall window, lightning forking down in the world beyond, his familiar scratching frantically at the glass before him.
Thirty-Four
The dog cart rattled along the rutted track between hedges, and turned abruptly into a field. Erasmus climbed down briefly to open a gate and latch it again as the cart passed. Sheep had browsed the grasses short, leaving only the odd sentinel thistle, purple tufts weaving in the wind. Anna had abandoned her practice of traveling only by night, and had offered Erasmus no explanation.
“Why exactly are we stopping here?” Erasmus looked around. “If you have in mind what I have in mind, this is hardly the place.”
Anna dropped down beside him. “It was not what I had in mind—at least not until you mentioned it—but there was something I wished to see.” She walked out into the field, her skirts wafting in the breeze. Erasmus thought that she looked amazingly restored, though he was also aware that it was not just rest or passion that had accomplished this: it was the seed that she took in tiny quantities. Even her hair did not look so faded, and her face glowed with youth and vigor. She had grown remarkably more attractive, he thought.
Twenty paces out into the field she spun on her toes and pointed to the north. “Do you know that town?”
Erasmus followed her gesture and found a few rooftops showing through the trees. Looking back to Anna, he shook his head and walked toward her.
“Can you not make a guess?” She smiled, teasing. “I will give one hint. It was made famous by an incident that was immortalized in oils.”
Erasmus wondered what she was on about. He looked toward the town again as he caught up with her. “Is it Compton Heath?”
“The very place. I am guessing that this is approximately the point the Pelier depicted. Do you see? There is even a brook, though it seems only to flow in one direction, unlike the one you described to me.”
They continued down the slight incline to the water, looking around.
“There is no bridge,” Anna said, “but then we must consider artistic license in this matter.” She shaded her eyes and gazed off toward the town. “What say you, Erasmus, is it at all like the Pelier?”
Erasmus nodded, considering. “It is, and it is not. The trees are not quite right, that small wood there was larger in the painting, and this pasture seemed a natural meadow, without hedges or gates. Of course the church steeple is gone—and has been for some years. But all in all, considering that Pelier was likely never here, it is quite remarkable.” He looked at Anna. “Why do I not think this visit is idle curiosity?”
“I think you are coming to know me rather better than I would like,” she said, turning full circle. “I wish to employ the arts here, briefly, though I fear that we might be seen.”
“It is a risk,” Erasmus said. “And what would this use of the arts be in aid of?”
“Knowledge,” she said, “or, at the very least, curiosity. You see, if this is really the place where the Stranger appeared, as the painting suggests, then it would mean the worlds lie closer here—or at least did briefly. Even so there might be some trace of it. Indulge me for half the hour, Erasmus, for it is a question I would have answered. Wouldn’t you?”
Erasmus nodded. “How obvious would it be to anyone watching that we . . . you were practicing the arts?”
“That depends on the proximity of the watchers, and their perceptiveness. Perhaps more obvious than we would like.”
“Let me take a walk along the edge of the field and see if anyone is about. Was it not you that said we should take no chances? I am becoming rather fond of being dead.”
“As am I. Have a look, then, and I will begin my preparations,” she said.
Erasmus struck out across the field, crossing the brook on stepping stones. From the top of a stile he looked into the next field, then walked along beside the hedgerow and the edge of the wood. It appeared they were alone, though it would not have been hard for any curious onlooker to step back out of sight while he passed.
When he returned to Anna, he saw that she had made peculiar marks in the sod with a knife and built small cairns of river stones in three places.
“You might want to go stand by the horse, Erasmus. Animals often react badly when they sense the arts in use. Lead him out of sight—onto the road, perhaps.”
Erasmus did as he was told, though he wanted to see what was done. As he was trying to decide if he would leave the cart and walk back, the horse suddenly shied, and it was all he could do to stop the animal from bolting. A quarter of the hour later Anna appeared, looking exhausted and flushed.
She slumped into the cart as though stricken with the vapors. Erasmus waited patiently until she finally pushed herself upright.
“I’m recovering,” she said. “Press on, but I don’t think we should pass through the town. Can we get up onto that high point, do you think? I would like to look at the surrounding terrain and have my empiricist explain its formation to me.”
They wound their way up the odd hill that Anna had indicated. When they got to a suitable outlook, they turned the cart off the lane under the shadow of som
e regal oaks. Then they climbed down and walked a few feet in order to have the best vista.
“Well? Tell me about the geology.”
Erasmus looked out over the countryside and tried to dredge up what he knew from Layel. “This long flat plain was once the floor of a large lake or arm of the sea. There are places not far from here where you can see perfect beaches, twenty miles from the sea. All of Farrland was scraped by massive glaciers, or so many believe, and the few hills hereabout, such as the one upon which we stand, were formed by the glaciers, though we don’t really know how.”
“But what of that?” Anna asked, pointing off toward a rather broken-down hill, like the ruin of some vast fortification.
“Ah, now that is different. That is a very ancient volcano, called Kilty’s Keep, like the ancient song, though which came first scholars still debate. It is a geological feature of some interest. I visited it once, and found it surpassingly strange, for it does appear to be the ruin of fortifications, but on a vast, inhuman scale. One can imagine it was built by some race of men far more powerful than our own, which is what people believed in ancient times. If we could see back to the west there is another like it, though not nearly so large. They form a line, a fault of some kind where the molten core of the earth would well up and spew forth. The fault extends back into the Caledon Hills, though farther north, as though the line curved.”
“And where exactly is Tremont Abbey? Do you know?”
Erasmus turned around and looked back toward the trees which hid the view to the north and west. He swept a small arc with his hand. “In that general direction.”
“But near to this flaw in the earth?”
“Yes, very near, I should say.”
She nodded and, finding an area of grass to her liking, spread one of their blankets. They sat down, close to one another, kissing briefly.
“And what has all of this proven?” Erasmus asked.
