by Alexey Pehov
“It’s a good thing the priests rarely come up here. They’d consider us sacrilegious.” Her smile gleamed in the night.
“They’re too fat and lazy for that,” I said. “What do they have to do up here, anyway? The bells are somewhere else. Melot wills that once or twice a year they send workers up here to make sure the roof isn’t leaking.”
“Did you notice that Mols wasn’t disposed to discuss Shen’s history?”
“I’m not an idiot. I noticed. It worries me.”
“But you didn’t insist? Even though you could have.”
“Yes. But I didn’t. Of course, he fears you and your Gift. But it wouldn’t be a good idea to take advantage of this fear without real power backing it. That could end very badly. I’ll still find out why the Healer came to him.”
We stopped by the spire. It had a huge, square base, which turned into a steep cone about thirty yards above our heads.
“We want the eastern part.” I was trying to orient myself.
“Then it’s on the opposite side,” said Layen without hesitating. “Come on.”
Each side of the spire was about ten yards long. We had to go west and north before we arrived at the place we needed.
“This isn’t the central temple. There might not be anything here.”
“They were built at the same time and by the same man, my dear. It’s just that the central temple is in the Hightown and this one is in Haven. The sanctuary should be here. I’m sure of it.”
I began searching to the right of where the base of the Sculptor’s enormous spire passed into the roof. It wasn’t all that easy. Finally, by a wall, under the sixth tile from the edge, I found a faint image depicting an arch.
“Can you do it?” I asked Layen.
She licked her lips nervously. “I’ll try. I hope whatever spark I have left is enough.”
“Don’t fret. If it doesn’t work, we’ll find another place to hide.”
“I’m not going to give up that easily.” She smiled. “Slipping past the priests won’t be any fun.”
I winked encouragingly at her. My sun stretched out her palm and covered the partially faded symbol, which the Sculptor himself had put there a thousand years ago. After a few seconds the arch began to shine a ruby red color, and part of the wall by the eastern side of the spire moved aside, revealing a dark, narrow passage. You needed to go sideways to squeeze into it.
“Excellent,” I praised her. “I see you can already do some things.”
M … Gi.… . . ee.….… . ck ev … d.…
“I’m sorry? I didn’t understand.” I was smiling like an idiot. After so many days I could hear her again.
“My Gift keeps coming back every day. Faster and faster. It just lacks strength,” she concluded apologetically.
“The fact that you can do anything at all is good enough for me.”
We squeezed through the opening. It was as dark as if our eyes had been plucked out.
“Light,” Layen requested softly.
I winced from the bright light that flooded in on us from all sides. It was radiating from white spheres.
“I don’t like this place,” I muttered.
Layen, also a bit nervous, put her hand on an arch inscribed on the wall, an exact copy of the one I found on the roof, and the secret door slid into place.
“Does it seem to you that it’s much bigger on the inside than it appears from outside?” I asked nervously.
“It’s one of the Sculptor’s tricks. I’ve heard of it.”
Nine years ago Layen showed me a secret sanctuary, created by the Sculptor, in the spire of the central temple of Melot. How she knew about the secluded nook and why none of the Walkers or Embers had heard of it, I didn’t ask. Just as I didn’t ask who taught her the Gift or where she was from. In our life there were topics we tried not to touch upon.
In those days we used the sanctuary my sun showed me as a hideout. It was small, but fairly comfortable and cozy. And, most importantly, no one knew about it, and getting into it without the Gift was impossible. The only place that would be safer would be under the Mother’s skirts, if you can forgive the blasphemy.
This space seemed enormous. Six yards from the entrance, ten steps down, and it became a spacious hall that extended at least a hundred yards, with a high, domed ceiling, powerful buttresses, and rows of massive hexagonal columns along the walls. All in gloomy gray stone, with no thought toward beauty.
“I don’t understand!” I finally exclaimed. “How can the outside be so small, and the inside so large? How does this hall fit in the spire?”
Layen was distracted from her contemplation of the space. It was obvious that she was no less shocked than I was.
“It’s a game with space, with the world. Something may seem smaller than it actually is. The mages of the past knew how to do such things.”
“And the Walkers?”
“Of today, no.”
“What about the Damned?”
“Their power and knowledge isn’t sufficient either. Only those who lived at the time of the Sculptor could do things like this. Then the Great Decline came. The War of the Necromancers finished off that which had not yet been forgotten.”
“That means—”
“Do you know why the Walkers are so afraid of the Damned?” she asked suddenly. “Because they were born five hundred years ago and they possess knowledge the likes of which none of the current spark-bearers could ever possess. Knowledge, not power, that is the main weapon of the Sextet.”
“Do you mean to say that the Damned aren’t really all that powerful?”
“No. They are strong enough to crush most wielders of the Gift. But there are those who compare to them in terms of power. The Mother, I believe, could very well match Rubeola—she was considered the weakest of those who started the Dark Revolt. But the Mother has much less knowledge than Mitifa does.”
“Is Mitifa Rubeola’s name?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“The Tower prefers not to spread it about. But any bearer of the Gift knows the real names of the Damned. In the Rainbow Valley they don’t consider it necessary to conceal the history. Or at any rate, the history that benefits them.”
I could hardly refrain from asking Layen if she had been to the Empire’s most illustrious academy, where those who have the spark are taught.
“I’m afraid we’ll never know why the Sculptor created this space,” she said, apparently not noticing my hesitation. “Come on. Let’s have a look around.”
“You could fit a whole lot of people in here,” I said, running my hand along one of the columns.
“You know, I wasn’t sure we’d find a hiding place here,” she confessed suddenly.
“So you didn’t know about it before?”
“Of course not. But going to Hightown at night made no sense. You know that no one would let us in. So I thought of the temple in Haven. The Sculptor built it and at that time this structure was beyond the city limits. Why not give it a try?”
“And if you were mistaken?”
“We’d have spent the night in the refectory attic. With the pigeons.” She giggled.
I raised my eyes to heaven. That would have been so much fun!
“Hey! Look here! There’s a hatch in the floor!” Layen exclaimed suddenly. She fell to her knees and began trying to pry the heavy lid up with her fingers.
“So this place is even bigger than I thought.” I shook my head.
“Instead of standing there trying to look smart, you could help a poor woman!”
“I’d prefer to stand a bit farther away. This place isn’t hidden for nothing. A hungry monster could crawl out of that at any moment.”
“You said the same exact thing when I opened the passage into the central temple for the first time. Nothing jumped out at you then.” She was beginning to get angry.
I got down to work.
The cover was wedged in tightly, and I could only
just get my hands into a crack.
“Watch your fingers!” Layen warned.
I strained my muscles and threw the heavy steel lid to the side. It fell on the stone slabs with a clang, and we looked down into the dark gap in the floor. Only the first five steps leading into the darkness were visible.
“Shall we climb down?” I asked, already knowing her answer.
“As if you have to ask! Light!”
At the bottom, magical lanterns flared up, but they didn’t shine as brightly as those in the hall.
“Wait.” I grabbed Layen’s hand as she was about to descend and at her perplexed look explained, “I’ll go first.”
“I swear by my Gift,” squeaked my sun when we got to the bottom. “I swear by my Gift! It’s … it’s…”
She didn’t finish. She just paused on the stairs, frozen with wonder.
We were in a small heptagonal room with a flat ceiling, rose-colored walls, and a floor of the exact same color. A wide circle was inscribed on the floor (ten people could fit comfortably inside it), and inside the circle seven mosaics were cleverly laid in the shape of large petals. Each petal corresponded to a wall. All seven of the petals of the flower exceeded the boundaries of the circle, and seven tips sprung up from the floor where they ended. Half as tall as a man, the steeply curved petals pointed back toward the center of the circle.
I’d never seen anything like it before.
“The Paths of Petals!” Layen finally recovered the ability to speak. “Ness! It’s the Paths of Petals!”
“Oh!” I said profoundly.
A legendary creation, made by the Sculptor himself. According to all the myths and tales, which I have heard more than once, it was possible to travel unimaginable distances almost instantly with the help of the magic embedded in the Paths of Petals.
“He was a great man. And a great mage.” She passed her hand over the nearest petal tip.
I didn’t bother to ask who “he” was.
“Sure. So great that he took the secret of their creation to his grave. As far as I recall, from the moment of his death, not one of the Walkers could even come close to the creation of this miracle. Nothing they did worked.”
“You’re correct, my dear. But that doesn’t overshadow his greatness.”
“I don’t know.” I watched with apprehension as Layen entered the circle. “Call me greedy, but I don’t understand why he didn’t share this knowledge with his descendants.”
“Perhaps he didn’t find them worthy. Or maybe he just didn’t have the time. Who knows? So many centuries have passed. It’s all forgotten.”
“Hey,” I said, unable to restrain myself. “Could you get away from them? I’m not sure it’s safe.”
“Don’t be silly,” she dismissed me. “None of the Petals have worked for the past five hundred years or so.”
“I know,” I grumbled resentfully.
“Then I don’t know why you’re worried. When the Damned left the Council and staged a revolt, Sorita managed to close the Sculptor’s works before she died, and since then they’ve been dead.”
“Dead, huh?” I walked over to the nearest tip and touched it. The stone was unexpectedly warm and smooth. “I’m not so sure of that.”
“Dormant, then. What difference does it make?” Sometimes her complacency amazed me. “All the Walkers in the world, including the Damned, could not wake them up. We’re certainly not going to. Believe me, Sorita strived to make it so that the Petals would be lost forever. Not a single Walker will ever walk through them again. Unless, of course, a wise person is found who can revive stone.”
“Do you know how they work?” I was curious to hear what she had to say because I’d heard many different theories about how the Petals worked. From the simplest, such as uttering a word, to the most ridiculous, like bat dung and donkey urine.
“I’ve read in books”—she had stopped looking around and came to stand next to me—“that people stand in a circle, a Walker imagines the place they need to be, and with the help of the Gift she makes the Petals come to life and then—you’re already in another place.”
“Uh. Um…” I stuttered, trying to formulate a thought. “So without Walkers it’s impossible to make do?”
Layen looked at me somewhat strangely and gently asked, “Ness, do you know why the Walkers are called Walkers?”
I’d never thought about it before today, but I saw what she was getting at quite quickly.
“Oh!” That simple word was becoming my trademark. “They’re called that because they operated the Petals.”
“Clever boy.” She kissed me on the cheek. “You’re absolutely right.”
“Wait, wait! What do the Embers do then?”
“What do you think?” She answered my question with a question.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I always thought they were weaker than the Walkers. Something along the lines of pupils or schoolchildren.”
“Not at all. You understand…” She lapsed into thought; then she smiled, caught my surprised look, and quickly explained, “I’m sorry. It’s just strange to have to explain common truths to you.”
“Common?” I was indignant. “Go out on the street and ask a hundred people what differentiates one mage from another and why they are called what they are, and you’ll see what they tell you.”
“You’re right. Of course you’re right.” She nodded. “No one gives any thought to why they are named so. It developed over the centuries, became habitual. And because the Walkers were more important and sat at the Council, the Embers were instantly placed on a lower step. In terms of power, of course.”
“And it’s not so?” It was strange to learn something new on a subject I’d thought I’d known since childhood.
“Do you remember what I told you about the Healer? About the fact that he has a different Gift from the inhabitants of the Rainbow Valley? Just so, between the Walkers and the Embers there are a few differences. The first could travel with the help of the Paths of Petals, could force them to submit, could so clearly imagine a place that it became almost real to them. Also, they are more adept at weaving spells. Adept, I said, not more powerful. It’s like knitting. If they are working with complicated patterns, then the Embers can’t create very serious spells, although they may be powerful. But the Embers have a different ability; they can share their spark, their warmth. They can transfer a part of their strength to a Walker, enhancing her Gift for a time. This is very crucial, especially in battle.”
“Like a quiver of arrows held in reserve?” I chuckled.
“Just about. If we take two Walkers of identical strength, who for whatever reason decide to fight each other, the one with the stronger Ember on her side would win. Or the one with a few Embers. They strengthen exponentially when added atop one another.”
“I think I understand,” I said thoughtfully. It’s funny to say! I lived my whole life, and here now such a revelation! “Embers can be stronger than Walkers?”
“In terms of power, yes. But not skills. Also, Walkers are always women, but Embers can be men. Excluding the Healers. Male Healers could command the Petals. The Sculptor was a Walker.”
“I already knew that. But other men couldn’t talk to the stones?”
“It seems they couldn’t.” Layen smiled cheerfully. “But I don’t think this was very frustrating to Plague, Delirium, and Consumption. Especially after Sorita lulled the Petals to sleep.”
I recalled that three of the eight original Damned were men. And two of them were still alive. But one question was still bothering me.
“And how is it, now that the Petals have stopped working, that they determine who is a Walker and who is an Ember?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’ve never seen it happen. But I can assume that all that’s required is to check how complicated the spells are that an applicant can weave and whether she is able to give a bit of her spark to another bearer of the Gift. For myself, I’m curious as to why the
Petals are in such an odd place. You have to agree, it’s a strange find. I doubt anyone knows they are here except for their creator. Did the Sculptor have a reason for secreting away one of the Petals in this place? What for?”
“I’m afraid we’ll never learn the truth. Come away from here. We only have a few hours for sleep. Tomorrow will be a hard day.”
She nodded reluctantly and was already beginning to climb the stairs, when I saw something curious on one of the walls.
“Layen, that drawing is here, too!”
We walked over to it.
“The arch, the sign of the Sculptor. It seems we haven’t found everything he hid here. The lock is exactly the same as the one by the entrance on the temple roof.”
“Do you want to take a look?”
“No,” she replied resolutely. “Otherwise, we’ll be here too long. Right now I’m not strong enough to squander my spark. Next time.”
“We’ll definitely return here.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Her smile was tired.
“Lights,” my sun whispered softly when we had settled into our travel blankets, and the spheres hanging on the walls plunged the room into darkness.
* * *
Ga-Nor awoke because the door creaked. He jumped up, grabbing the dagger lying next to him on his pillow.
“Calm down, buddy. It’s just me,” said Luk quickly, and just in case he held up his hands to show he was unarmed. Who knows what kinds of things the Son of the Snow Leopard imagined in his sleep.
“I can see that it’s you,” grumbled the tracker and, letting go of his weapon, he fell backward onto the bed. “Don’t stand in the doorway, come in. And shut the door behind you. Where have you been for half the night?”
“Bah! What’s this I hear! Were you really worried about me?”
Ga-Nor cast an evil glance at his comrade, but he ignored it.
“Why did Ug send such a punishment to me?” groaned the northerner suddenly. “For what sins?”
