He looked around, searching for an idea. Hulsidor had already chosen his path. He wouldn’t wait for the young magician, and he ran out of the room, climbing the stairs four at a time. Yan didn’t mind. He was going to go up soon as well, if only to check on Léti, but first he had to warn the others.
There was no time to descend to their level, plus he would be alone and exposed to any attack. He also had no idea what level they were on.
The smoke burned his eyes and scratched his throat, but he finally found an object that could serve his plan: a lustrous glass globe, made to house candles. Yan filled it with bits of paper found among the mountains of books. He wrapped the whole thing in a large cloth and doused it in oil from his lamp. Finally, he lit his ball of flame and threw it down the stairs. As he watched it fly from his fingers, he hoped it wouldn’t break on the first step and that Corenn would understand the message.
Yan turned and rushed up the steps toward the first level. That’s where he would be most helpful now. He would help Léti and Bowbaq put down the fire. If he wasn’t already too late.
The higher he climbed, the more the stairs filled with smoke. Black cinders stung his eyes and throat. The stone steps shuddered with a resounding shock. Yan sprinted up the last few stairs, not worrying about flames, ghosts, or falling stones. He was too focused on what might have made the sound.
Rightly so. The exit to the first floor was blocked by a heavy wardrobe. Hulsidor braced himself against the steps, trying to lift it, but it didn’t budge.
“It’s your giant friend,” he spat when he saw Yan. “He blocked our passage! I saw him do it!”
The young man could respond only by coughing. Usul had warned him that Grigán would die, which was hard enough to handle. What the god hadn’t told him was that Grigán might not be the only heir to fall.
Corenn, Rey, Grigán, and Lana followed the three sirens, escorted by a myriad of other ghosts, less subtle but equally dangerous. This mass stayed well away from the mortals, even without Lana chanting to Eurydis. It appeared that the pact they had made with the sirens gave them protection from the other spirits.
The heirs had lost track of what precise floor they were on, though it was beyond the twentieth, surely. The floors became less regular as they descended, the landings were undefined, and the architecture fell into worse states of abandonment. All around them on crumbling bookshelves were thousand-year-old books covered in dust and rubble. Corenn lusted after such a trove of knowledge, but they had no time to spare.
The lower caste of ghosts grew in number at their backs. Grigán feared that they would decide to attack anyhow, that the growing depths and growing horde would give them too much confidence. Strangely, though, when the heirs began down a new stairway, the ghosts stopped cleanly at the one that preceded it. They couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t, descend any farther. Only the sirens escorted the heirs now.
The last few floors were more blocked than any before. The books and hallways were mixed with excavation materials covered in centuries of dust. More sirens hurried to their sisters’ sides and joined the escort. Corenn wondered if they were approaching the ancestral Romerij library. Would they really get to the bottom of the Tower?
They soon had their response. Their progress stopped at an obstacle created by human hands, or ghosts’ talons. An impressive pile of dirt, beams, and rubble completely barred the way. This was the passage to Romerij, the Mother guessed.
Wait for me here, their guide said, before disappearing behind the obstacle.
Grigán complained, to no one in particular, “As if we had any choice.”
The lead siren’s departure left them ill at ease. She seemed to possess a certain control over the others. Enough, at least, to have prevented any attack until now. The heirs counted each breath while they waited.
“This place is cursed,” a terrified Lana murmured.
“You think?” Rey couldn’t help himself.
“I mean . . . I can feel it. As if evil were an odor,” said the Maz. “And it is seeping from behind that wall.”
They stared at the obstacle nervously. What secrets, what mysteries were hidden behind the mountain of rubble?
“Eurydis, Eurydis!” Rey cried out suddenly. His rapier danced agitatedly in the air.
“What happened? Did they attack?” Grigán asked as he took a fighting stance.
“They tried to—to enter my mind,” the actor explained angrily. “Treacherous bitches! I wouldn’t want you even after I die! Phiras take you!”
The sirens bore the insults calmly, carnivorous smiles growing on their faces.
“It’s not a good idea to invoke He Who Is Night,” Lana scolded. “Never, and especially not in anger.”
Rey mumbled, “They’re already damned, anyway.”
The actor would not let his guard down again, and as they waited for the siren’s return, they grew more nervous. Then the highest part of the obstacle began to move, and the heirs took a step back. A gap opened, releasing a breeze smelling of fetid vapor. A book appeared in the gap, and then the siren walked across the pile.
Here you will find what you seek, she said as she handed Corenn the book.
The Mother grabbed it, filled with emotion. She had waited for this moment for so long, she could hardly believe it was happening. The manuscript was heavy, thick, and in excellent condition, considering it came from before the Rominian Empire. Its cover bore no title, so Corenn opened it to a random page, as Rey and Grigán surveyed the waiting sirens.
Corenn glanced at one page, then another, then switched to a separate section. Her friends simmered with impatience.
“It’s illegible,” she announced with great disappointment. “The text is written in Ethèque. No one can translate it.”
“You lied to us!” Grigán shouted.
I did no such thing, the siren responded with a malevolent smile. This book discusses Jal’karu and its portals at length, as I know from reading it. How is it my fault if you are incapable of reading it?
Corenn contemplated the book’s pages sadly. She had never felt so frustrated. The secret of Ji . . . Everything they wanted to know was right under her eyes, and completely out of reach at the same time.
“If we could take the book with us,” Lana said, “we could try to—”
It is forbidden! The siren sprang into their minds with fury at the mention of such a sacrilege. It’s our treasure. These books must never see the light of day. Never.
“Lana,” Corenn said softly, “look.”
The Mother handed her a loose sheet found stuck between two pages. It seemed like the text was the start of a translation.
“It’s in Ancient Ithare!” the Maz exclaimed. “It looks almost like a poem, or a prayer. I recognize this word . . . and that one . . . I would need some time, but I could translate it!”
Nothing will leave here, the specter said as she grabbed the sheet. Ever. Now you must hold up your end of the bargain. If you can, I will let you study this document at length.
The heirs turned to Corenn, worried. The Mother rustled in her pockets and pulled out a little journal. Her journal.
The siren ripped it from her hands and glanced at its pages with interest before stopping and smiling cruelly.
This kind of work is not famous, she said, victorious. You did not keep your part of the bargain!
“May I?” the Mother asked, sticking out her hand. “I haven’t yet given this volume a title.”
The ghost reluctantly handed it to Corenn, who wrote a few words on its cover with her traveling pen.
“‘A History of Kaul’s Permanent Council,’” she read out loud. “‘By the Mother of Tradition.’ You will see that the majority of this journal looks nothing like a diary.”
The siren grabbed the book back with a hostile whistle. She read through it again, frowning. A law unknown to mortals kept her from bias on this subject.
Very well, she said after a moment. You respected the deal you made with me. Re
gretfully, I must leave you to my sisters!
Lana jumped and snatched the piece of paper from the ghost’s hands. She never would have thought she possessed the courage, but her motivation—to find answers—was stronger than her fears.
The sirens crept toward them slowly, still fearful of Grigán’s and Rey’s blades. Their smiles had disappeared, along with the polite demeanor and gracious faces. The heirs were now facing sharp talons and sharp teeth.
Rey asked, “Anyone have an idea how to get out of here?”
Lana invoked Eurydis over and over, but this had no effect on their intelligent foes. Quickly, the sirens organized themselves for a coordinated attack, one the heirs would be unable to withstand. The ghosts bore down on them, and Corenn realized with horror that Grigán was practically on his knees. So soon after his illness, the warrior had pushed himself too far.
“We can’t force our way through!” Rey shouted, even though they all already knew. “We have to take refuge somewhere.”
The actor tried his best to accomplish the task. His shirt and cape, already covered in blood from the previous attacks, was quickly torn to shreds. At this rate, they wouldn’t survive much longer. They had come so close.
Then a panicked movement shuddered through the sirens, and some fled into the Romerij library. The heirs looked around for the unexpected help, but discovered only another threat. The smell of smoke crept into the room.
They didn’t waste any time, but used the confusion to escape to the stairs, pushing back the disoriented and isolated sirens. A fire raged in the stairwell. What strange phenomenon could have lit a fire in the bottom of the Tower? It was a question they didn’t bother to ask. Instead, they found the least dangerous path and climbed with reckless speed.
A crack reverberated from the room they had just left, followed by a powerful howl that froze their blood. The heirs didn’t bother to discuss it. They all knew what had happened. Fear quickened their steps. The fire had angered the leech.
Together, Yan and Hulsidor tried to move the wardrobe blocking the doorway, but in vain. It was impossible to move it, and their blades barely dented the oak wood. They needed an axe and enough space to use it; they had neither.
Yan worried about what had happened to Léti and Bowbaq. Their silence didn’t help. Had they fled? Were they injured? Worse?
He couldn’t believe that Bowbaq would betray them; there must have been some other explanation. Hulsidor had seen an illusion in the smoke, that was all, Yan concluded, unwilling to consider any other possibility. Either way, they had bigger problems to confront. The rest would clear itself up later, or never.
They were both sweating profusely, from the effort and the heat. Doubt washed over them. They were wasting their energy. They would never get through this way.
Yan had an idea. He told the librarian to step back, which both intrigued and angered the man. Then the magician cast his Will against the wardrobe.
The magic cracked the wood, and a two-foot-long fissure appeared. Hulsidor cried out in surprise and backed away from Yan fearfully.
The young man took a moment to rest then; the languor was stronger than he had expected. Corenn said it was easier to destroy than to create. Yes, but this wood had a very weak recept, and it had strongly resisted his Will.
He gathered his thoughts, hoping to perceive this new thing Corenn had called the Sublime Essence. The wardrobe’s was a sphere full of sand—the earth element, a little bit of fire, and infinitesimally small quantities of water and wind. It was a simple, solid object with no spirit and a tiny amount of life that had been slowly devoured by time.
The sphere itself symbolized the sensitivity of the object to magic. Yan couldn’t figure out what element it was made of, as the sphere was only a spiritual interpretation of reality. He saw it as glass.
From practice comes greatness, Corenn said, and practice had taught him that the thickness of the sphere’s walls was proportional to the object’s resistance to magic. The wardrobe’s sphere wall was quite thick.
Magic seemed like their only chance, though, so Yan steadied himself and tried again. He slowly concentrated on the fractured heart of the wardrobe and let his Will grow to its limits. He focused solely on concentrating his Will, and then he unleashed it with all the force in his body.
One of the planks exploded noisily, showering them in a rain of splinters. The other planks hadn’t moved an inch. There was now a hole in the wardrobe, but it was still too narrow for passage.
The languor that hit Yan was so strong it knocked him to the floor. The young man passed out, falling heavily to the ground, weak and icy to the touch, despite the fire’s heat.
“Help!” Hulsidor cried desperately through the hole.
The Rominian cursed the carpenter who had made this wardrobe with two-inch-thick planks.
Something was following them up the stairs, and Lana had no desire to learn what it was. She was running faster than she ever had in her life, but the inhuman snarling that pursued her only seemed to get closer. It was a horrifying sound, coming from a single throat. It sounded powerful. It sounded hungry.
“You can go faster!” Corenn shouted, struggling for breath. “Don’t wait up for me.”
Grigán swore and grabbed Rey’s lantern. He let the Mother pass in front of him and threw the object down the stairs, lighting a small fire on a landing below. The warrior had no belief that the small fire would do anything to slow down their pursuer, but he had to try.
“You two, run!” the warrior ordered. “I will stay with Corenn.”
Lana protested, but Rey grabbed her hand and forced her to follow him. With their youthful strength, they quickly disappeared from view.
“Grigán, climb!” Corenn implored him. “I’m exhausted. Leave me now! And remember me well.”
“What are you talking about?” the warrior managed to whisper between breaths. “I’m in no better state than you. And I won’t abandon you, Corenn. I will never abandon anyone again, ever.” He said this last to himself.
They hadn’t climbed up even half the steps. Behind them, the king of ghosts pursued, talons squealing on the centuries-old stone. Ever closer.
Léti was woken more by a strange instinct to survive than by the fire or Hulsidor’s racket. She was intelligent enough to realize she had to slowly crawl out from the rubble to stay hidden, but what she saw distressed her.
The entire floor was in flames. If the center of the room hadn’t been empty, the fire would have already washed over her. Crackling came from the floors above, indicating the fire’s spread. Would the Rominians try to save the building?
Her memory came back to her piece by piece, and as it did, she peered through the smoke, searching for Bowbaq. The giant was on his feet, not far from her, and was doing a strange dance in the middle of the fire. He was still possessed. Before anything else, she had to bring him back to himself.
An idea formed clearly in her mind, and Léti didn’t bother looking for her rapier, but instead grabbed a long piece of burning wood. With flame in her hand, she cautiously approached her friend.
It was a strange spectacle, watching the bearded giant, covered in ashes, dancing like a drunk. Bowbaq’s destructive strength was terrifying, especially with his mind being controlled by an evil spirit.
Léti thought she was close enough and sprinted the last few yards. She pushed the burning wood into her friend’s calf and jumped back anxiously to see his reaction.
Bowbaq jumped reflexively, and the ghost left his body like a panicked fish. The giant immediately grabbed at it with his immense hands.
“Come back here!” he growled like a bear, as the ghost slid away. “Come back and fight!”
Léti couldn’t believe her ears. Was this really the peaceable Bowbaq?
The ghost didn’t respond to his threats, but dove into the ground, laughing. She had no idea she was heading directly for another fire.
Bowbaq massaged his temples and mumbled in frustration. Léti didn
’t waste any time explaining. She rushed to the exit, before remembering that Hulsidor had locked it behind them. She turned on her heels and ran to the stairwell, only to discover that the passage was blocked.
That was why the librarian kept screaming for help. She stuck her head through the hole and saw Yan’s inanimate body on the stairs.
“Is he injured?” she said, panic rising in her voice.
“Only exhausted. Help us!” the Romine implored as he coughed.
The smoke burned their eyes and mouths as the intolerable heat encircled them. If the floors above were as badly damaged as theirs, it wouldn’t be long before the entire tower collapsed on top of them.
“Where are the others?” she asked fearfully.
“They are below! Help us, quick!”
A heavy hand lightly brushed Léti aside. Bowbaq had recovered enough to take action, and he grasped his battle mace with a single hand, knowing exactly what to do with it.
“Don’t stand so close,” he said, simply.
Hulsidor took two steps back before the first blow fell, and four more steps back after. Bowbaq swung again and again. After the fifth strike, the giant had opened a hole large enough that even he could pass through it.
The Rominian dove through and ran to the door without so much as a thank you. He unlocked it and rushed outside, followed by Frog, who was equally loyal to his friends.
Léti jumped down the stairs and picked Yan up, enough so that Bowbaq could pull him through the opening. Sounds of running rose from the lower levels, reverberating on the stone walls. Léti climbed back up, and they waited anxiously for their missing friends.
Only Lana and Reyan appeared. The fire and wardrobe surprised them only slightly, their focus remained on the more immediate danger behind them.
“It’s following us,” Rey warned as he stationed himself above the hole in the wardrobe, with his rapier drawn. “Behind Corenn and Grigán. It’s enormous.”
Léti went to find her weapon and tried to imitate the actor’s position, but the wardrobe’s placement made their positions difficult to maneuver.
Shadow of the Ancients Page 9
