River Into Darkness

by Sean Russell

Erasmus sat down on the second stair. “But I had hoped to end my involvement with the arts forever. To escape not only Eldrich, but all vestiges of Eldrich, all memories.”

  “It is a lovely dream, Erasmus, but only a dream. Sometimes we can avoid the battle, but other times we must gather our resolve and wade in and fight it. There can be no other choice if we are to survive.”

  The truth of this, Erasmus knew, was becoming more and more difficult to deny.

  “But you said yourself that Eldrich would have people watching Tremont Abbey, perhaps even Farrow by now. Do we not need a place of power to perform the ritual?”

  “Yes, and I believe we have one.” Anna came and crouched down before him and took his hands. “You remember your vision: the seven-branched tree with white blossoms waving in the moonlight? The ritual which makes one a mage is performed at the full moon, and the tree was certainly king’s blood growing. And it was seven-branched, the mages’ number of power. But even more importantly, you knew the place. Kilty’s Keep, you said.”

  “But it was and was not. It . . .” Erasmus lost his train of thought. “I don’t know. It seemed to be a ruin, but somehow I knew it was not. I can’t explain.”

  “There is no need to explain, Erasmus. It was a vision induced by king’s blood. Accept the truth of it. Kilty’s Keep lies on the same fault as Tremont Abbey. The same line of power. Trust what you saw and what you felt was true.”

  Erasmus closed his eyes and tried to recall the vision, recall the feelings he had experienced. Somehow it was Kilty’s Keep even though its appearance was not quite as it should have been.

  “Erasmus?” But Anna did not finish, for there was a knock at the door.

  They both stiffened for a moment, and then Anna said quietly, “I rather doubt the mage would knock, and even so, once he is at our door, there is nothing left to do.”

  She rose quickly and went to the door, impulsively swinging it wide. And there, in the opening, stood a brightly dressed man not four feet tall.

  “Randall!”

  Clarendon nodded, looking a little shaken and pale.

  “Are you well?” Erasmus asked as he rose from the stair.

  “It’s just seeing you alive, Mr. Flattery.” He glanced at Anna.

  Erasmus crossed the hall and embraced the little man, the two pounding each other on the back.

  “Randall, how in this round world . . . ?”

  “The mage is seeking you yet, Mr. Flattery. Rose and some navy men wait upon a ship across the sound. They will be here at first light, sooner if they realize I am gone.”

  “Blood and flames!” Erasmus glanced over at Anna, who looked no less distressed than he.

  “He is telling the truth,” Anna said quickly. She tore open a bag. “Take only a change of clothes. The barest of necessities.”

  Clarendon held up his hands. “But there is more, Mr. Flattery. Give me a moment to tell my tale.”

  Anna did not stop what she was doing but shifted part of her attention to the small man, nodding for him to go on.

  With the door still open so that he was framed by the night, Clarendon began. “We were met by this man Bryce as we came out of the hills, and he led us to a hunting lodge on the road to Castlebough. I will not burden you with every detail, but we were taken to the mage.” The small man paused here, wiping a hand across his eyes. “Taken to see the mage, and questioned closely, me most of all. I had spent some time writing out the text from the chamber—everything that had been written upon the walls, and this interested Eldrich more than anything. The mage pored over it, speaking with his servant, Walky.

  “‘It is beyond imagining, Walky,’ he said. ‘Beyond dreams. Look at this! The art of Landor, lost more than a thousand years!’ He was beside himself with pleasure. He read parts of it aloud, shaking his head in wonder, as though it were the greatest work of literature ever created. He questioned me about Anna and Banks, having me repeat every word you had said about the text and the chamber—and as you know, I misremember nothing.

  “‘She must not have understood. Is that possible?’ the mage asked. ‘But she will realize in time; she must,’ the servant said. And then there was some debate of whether you would have the text at all, for all the notes the others had written were destroyed by water in our escape from the cave.” Clarendon looked from one to the other. “‘But what will it profit her to open the way?’ the servant asked. ‘It will only profit her in that she can escape me,’ his master said. ‘But that would be to our benefit,’ Walky said, but the mage only shook his head. ‘If she can pass out of this world, Walky, she can return. Return after I am gone. No, the gates must be closed. Closed for all time.” He pointed at the text I had so carefully preserved. ‘This must die with me, Walky, as we both know.” Clarendon closed his eyes for an moment. “And as it seems even the mage cannot take away my memories, I knew what that meant for me.”

  Erasmus looked to Anna. “Can this be true? The text was an enchantment to open the gates?”

  Anna nodded. “It could be so. Banks thought it possible. It was so arcane, so complex, written in an older form of Darian, and obscure even by the standards of the mages. But if Eldrich says it is so—”

  “But can it be used?” Clarendon broke in. “Used to open the way to this other world? Can you do it, Anna?”

  She shrugged. “One would have to be a mage, not a near mage as I am. Could I do it, then? It would not be without risk. . . .”

  “But could we not escape Eldrich thus?” Clarendon asked. He came and stood before Anna, suddenly animated.

  “Randall,” Erasmus said, “you have let your hopes blind you. Lizzy has been gone these fifty years. If she is alive at all, she would be very old.”

  “You do not understand. Eldrich will see me dead with what I know. My need to escape is as great as yours. But even if I do hold onto hope of finding Lizzy, it is not utterly foolish. Time does not run at the same pace in these other worlds—that is clear in the Tale of Tomas, and Eldrich referred to the old story himself. She might still be young, as was Tomas.”

  Erasmus shook his head. “It was a tale, Randall. An ancient lay.”

  “But based on some truth.” He appealed to Anna. “Was it not?”

  Anna shrugged. “We haven’t time for this debate. We must fly. Find a boat and get ashore before Deacon Rose arrives.”

  “But fly where?” Clarendon asked. “Eldrich will catch you without doubt. Without question. And then what will we do? Throw ourselves upon his mercy?” Clarendon reached into his coat and drew out a sheaf of neatly folded papers. “But with this we might escape him. Escape him for all time.”

  Forty-Nine

  Deacon Rose walked around the razed house, glowering alternately at the ruin and than at Hayes and Kehler.

  “You let him go, knowing full well that he would warn them?”

  Neither Kehler nor Hayes answered. They had been seen the night before lowering Clarendon into the fishing boat—though the sailors on watch had no orders to interfere with civilians, and gentlemen at that.

  Rose stepped gingerly into the ruin, testing the remains of the collapsed roof.

  “Have a care, Deacon,” James said.

  Rose seemed not to hear, but went slowly on, perhaps relying on Farrelle to protect him.

  In the center of the destruction he stopped and turned a slow circle, his lively eyes fixed and unwavering. He ran a hand over his cropped hair and made a sign to Farrelle.

  “Were they . . . inside when it happened?” Hayes asked quietly.

  Deacon Rose shook his head, his concentration not wavering.

  “No,” he muttered. “Better if they had been. Better for all concerned. But no, this house was burned deliberately. Burned so that they could not be followed by means of the arts. Clearly Clarendon warned them, may Farrelle damn him for it. But they are not far ahead now, and we
shall catch them.”

  The Deacon looked up, his jaw set tight and his eye very clear. He picked his way carefully out onto the lawn, coming straight to Hayes and Kehler.

  “What did you think you were doing, getting Clarendon off the ship?”

  “Warning Erasmus,” Kehler said, unintimidated. “If he were alive.”

  “Oh, he is alive, or likely so,” Deacon Rose said. “Certainly Anna still lives, and who else would the gentleman be who fit the description of Erasmus? Eldrich will deal with the two of you.”

  Brother Norbert stood three paces behind his fellow priest, saying nothing, his face completely neutral.

  “Captain James,” Rose ordered, “you must put these two in confinement. They cannot be trusted.” He shook his head, turning back to the ruin. “Well, we begin yet again. Anna and Erasmus Flattery have fled . . . somewhere. We must find their track. Find it and run them down.” He turned back to the others.

  “We must determine if they have fled by land or sea. That is our first task. Captain James, let us best detail your men to accomplish this.” With a curt nod he set off across the lawn, taking Captain James and Brother Norbert in tow. Half a dozen sailors came forward to escort Hayes and Kehler, who glanced at each other. Rather than looking frightened, Kehler was red with suppressed rage. Hayes thought he might suddenly throw himself at their escort, then murder Deacon Rose with his bare hands. Hayes knew precisely what his friend felt. One grew sick of it. He wanted his life back.

  * * *

  * * *

  They had been confined in a storeroom below decks, with only a small scuttle to allow in air, but no light.

  “Who would have guessed the bowels of a ship are as dark as the bowels of the earth,” Kehler said.

  It had been some hours, neither knew how many, since they had heard Deacon Rose and his party depart, and they sat there miserably, imagining what Eldrich would do to them when their reckoning finally came. It was not a pleasant way to pass the hours.

  “I still cannot fathom how Erasmus and Anna escaped us in the gorge. They could not have planned the entire thing.”

  “Leave it be, Kehler,” Hayes said. “If Erasmus is still alive, then I think he will have had good reason to do what he did. Who knows what Eldrich had planned for him? Remember the ritual that Percy Bryce gave him? Self-immolation is hardly a reward for a job well done.”

  They fell silent, hearing only the slapping of water along the hull and their own quiet breathing.

  “We seem always to be left in the dark.”

  “Kehler,” Hayes cautioned.

  Hayes could hear his friend shift in the darkness.

  “It is true, Hayes. We have not understood for a moment what we’re involved in. And I’m sure we don’t even yet. But what is really choking me now is the thought of Rose out there tracking down Clarendon and Erasmus. He has hated Clarendon from the moment they met, I’m sure, because Randall saw what a hypocrite Rose really was. And now he will have the pleasure of handing him over to Eldrich.” His anger brought him to silence.

  Small waves slapped along the hull in even rhythm, followed by a jingle of metal.

  Hayes sat up.

  “Ah, they have not forgotten us,” Kehler said, stirring to rise. “Our evening turn on the deck. I am ready for it.”

  “Shh, keep your peace,” Hayes cautioned.

  And then the lock turned, a bolt was drawn back, and lantern light spread about the tiny storeroom.

  “Brother Norbert?”

  “Please, Mr. Kehler, keep your voice low.” The hermit held a finger to his lips. “It took three bottles to lay the bosun’s mate low so that I might lighten him of his keys. Do not let my efforts go to waste.” He crouched down in the door. “There is a ship’s boat lying alongside to starboard. Only two men stand watch, and they have sequestered themselves with another bottle on the foredeck. It is a full two hours until the change of watch.” He motioned behind him. “Let me go ahead to be sure the way is clear, and then we will be over the side and gone before anyone is the wiser.”

  “‘We,’ Brother Norbert. Will you not suffer greatly for a betrayal of the church?”

  “Perhaps, but I will suffer longer for my betrayal of the word of Farrelle. I have long known this was my choice, but hiding alone in the Caledon Hills allowed me to avoid it. Now it is no longer possible. Deacon Rose is what the church of Farrelle has become; a man who practices the very arts he has vowed to destroy, as the church is beset by all the evils they publicly condemn. Follow me to the ladder, but then wait until I give the word.”

  Brother Norbert slipped away, the lantern swaying as he walked. They waited at the ladder’s foot, listening for the sounds of sailors. Norbert appeared, a disheveled apparition in the opening above, and motioned them on.

  A moment later they were out into the night, the swimming moon caught overhead in the net of rigging. The boat was precisely where Norbert had said, and they were quickly away, silently dipping oars into the reflected sky, stars sent whirling.

  Shore was their only goal—to land and slip away before the sailors missed them. Once they were ashore, the navy men likely wouldn’t know what to do, and by the time the Admiralty had been contacted for orders, they would have escaped, pulled along in the wake of Deacon Rose.

  “But what will we do now?” Hayes asked as the boat ran up on the beach.

  “Find Erasmus and Clarendon. Take them bodily away from Anna, if we must. But Anna—she is on her own.” Hayes turned to the monk. “Erasmus was convinced she murdered her guide, Brother. I am not sure why—something about the ritual performed. But this was not just some fabrication of the Deacon’s to demonize her even more.”

  Norbert nodded. “Yes, and for this she should pay a price. But to a court of law. As to her soul: Farrelle taught that all sins could be forgiven. Whatever the case, it is not for me to judge.”

  They struck out into the town, wondering how far ahead Clarendon and Erasmus were, and how close behind Deacon Rose and Captain James followed.

  “There must be an ostler in town somewhere. We need horses,” Kehler said, suddenly energized, almost bouncing.

  “Yes,” Hayes said, “so that we might ride off into our uncertain future.”

  “Not so uncertain as all that,” Kehler said, but he did not smile.

  Fifty

  The moon, two days from the full, lit the roads and allowed them to ride by night. And ride they did, changing horses often, pressing the poor beasts on without regard for their well-being, or for the black looks of ostlers. Erasmus had never known the countryside to pass beneath him so quickly. Poor Clarendon looked like a man who had fought a war, and Dusk was being run to skin and bones.

  Eldrich can rival the speed of a bird if he has need, Anna had said, and pressed on. They hardly spoke, for when they stopped, they fell upon their food and drink like the starving, and during their brief rests they descended into a sleep that was near to stupor.

  Anna dressed in the clothing of a man, not that she was trying to pass herself off as one, but only for its convenience. And much to the scandal of ostlers and innkeeper’s wives, she did not ride sidesaddle.

  “Time,” she said, “has become our enemy. More even than the mage.”

  And so they rode, stiff and sore and blistered, into the interior of the kingdom, until Anna’s horse stumbled and fell, nearly landing atop her.

  “I’m unhurt,” she said when Erasmus and Clarendon reached her, but she appeared pale and shaken. They made her sit a moment at the roadside, and she became so nauseous that she was almost ill.

  “It will pass in a moment,” she said. “It will pass.” Then she gestured at her mount. “Has it a broken leg?” she asked.

  Erasmus regarded the beast as it tried for the third time to rise, obviously in agony, one limb hanging limp. “I’m afraid it does.”

  “You
must put it from its misery, Erasmus. Look at the poor beast. . . . Have you a dagger?”

  Clarendon cut the beast’s throat as quickly and cleanly as he could, and with some effort they retrieved Anna’s tack.

  Using the other horses, they dragged the dead beast into a thicket, and then went on, Anna riding with Clarendon, though more slowly as a result.

  In two hours they came to an inn and fell down upon benches to eat while new horses were readied. The patrons tried not to stare, for certainly they had never seen people of the educated classes who looked so . . . well, who looked as though they fled the law.

  Clarendon took food outside to see to Dusk, leaving Erasmus and Anna alone.

  Erasmus tried to smile at the innkeeper, to put him at ease, but he had not the energy to concoct a story to explain their strange flight. If they had not obviously been of good families, certainly the innkeeper would have reported them to the local authorities—and might still do so when they left.

  “Tomorrow by midday,” Anna said, tearing off a chunk of bread, “barring further accidents.”

  Erasmus nodded. “Good. I don’t think I can go further. Will we have time to make our preparations?”

  She shrugged. “If the mage is not upon us.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Eldrich walked around the edge of the razed building, a stooped shadow in the moonlight. Twice he stopped and performed a brief rite, drawing lines on the ground in silver fire. The countess stood well back, watching. Bryce had made his way into the middle of the ruin, his passage releasing the pungent odor of smoke and ash. Eldrich asked him a question, then sent his servant searching among the still-standing walls.

  They spent an hour in that place, the countess wondering if this was the work of Eldrich, and if the enemy he sought had died here, Erasmus with her. Or if fire had been carried here by the fanatical priest of whom Walky spoke. Erasmus seemed to go from one death to the next—first in the cave, then the gorge, and now, just when Eldrich was sure that he still lived, this. The final death, she thought.