Ned’s eyes bulged as he saw the seal, and then the big constable laughed. “You’re bloody serious?”
“Gary has been stealing a wage for years now, son. The Narrows deserves somebody with a head on their shoulders, and the High King’s Royal Constabulary has entrusted me the authority to adjust things if I deem it necessary. Congratulations.” John clapped Ned on the shoulders.
He left the Narrows Constabulary behind with a smiling, new, and hopefully much more competent chief constable. It was all John could do not to kick Gary down the stairs as he left, but already his mind was back on the case.
Their killer was important enough to have an extremely powerful Vinda witch making sure the Constabulary didn’t get too close. However that was arranged, it would have taken some doing, and that didn’t bode well. Everything had just become much more complicated, and John’s gut told him big players were involved in this.
The whole bloody investigation had just become a hundred times more dangerous.
6 - Echoes of the Past - Wayran
Why do I write all of this down? Is there any point other than to stroke my ego, or is it more to formalise my thoughts in a desperate attempt to keep myself sane?
I spent a small nation’s fortune constructing this book so it would last well into the ages, and what have I filled it with? Nothing but the ramblings of a madman. For that is what I am now, here at the end, in all senses of the word: truly mad.
I’m old now, so old. Damn you, Time. Damn you.
Bah. Pointless. Yet still I write, filling these pages with my useless words.
- Journal of Robert Mannford, Day 288 Year 065
They had been wandering for hour upon hour. The strange glowing blue and white lights followed Wayran and Matoh as they made their way through the enormous Jendar building, which was beginning to feel like some maniacal labyrinth.
The white-blue lights were always blinking. On, when they walked forward. Off, when they moved away from a spot, almost as if the lights were mocking them, letting them see what was there but then never letting them look far ahead or behind. Wayran felt as if they floated within the lonely pale light, moving from darkness into darkness, and always with the noiseless lights following them.
Yet Wayran also thought he was beginning to understand this place, and what he had seen only made him want to find more. They had found rooms filled with instruments and devices whose use Wayran could not even guess at. Yet each of these relics was a wonder unto itself. The intricacy and complexity of some of the devices boggled the mind. Wayran, having grown up with a father who worked closely with professors at the Academy in New Toeron, had been privileged with access to some of the top minds in the world at the time. Yet, for all of their combined knowledge, they would have been like small children to the minds of people who created the marvels around him.
“What about this one?” Matoh asked, holding up another of the black glass squares on what appeared to be yet another abandoned desk. It was if the people three thousand years ago had left suddenly, for signs of hurried departure were everywhere. “This could probably fit into a pocket easily, not too hard to carry,” Matoh said.
Wayran watched as Matoh touched the centre of the black glass with his finger. The surface lit up, and within its light the brothers could see yet another of the rotating symbols upon a geometric field. “It’s really clear, this one, very impressive,” Matoh commented.
“What happens when you touch the symbol?” Wayran asked.
Matoh slid his finger across the face of the now shining glass square. “Same. Comes up with a box with some writing behind it. Can you read it?” Matoh handed the relic to Wayran.
Wayran looked down at the shining face to try and decipher the archaic writing. “A word here or there, but it’s just as Chronicler Talbot says, most of what is written here is incredibly specific and bogged down with jargon. I wouldn’t really have a clue where to start.”
“So how do we choose?” Matoh asked, taking the glass relic back from Wayran.
“I don’t know, Matoh,” Wayran sighed, “we should just try to find our way out.” They had blundered upon probably the greatest cache of Jendar relics to date, yet they had no way to choose what was important, or what the Chroniclers could use.
“I thought that’s what we were doing.” Matoh smirked and tossed his thin braid back over his ear. “But we shouldn’t leave empty-handed. We’ve got to take something back. Otherwise, who’s going to believe us?”
Wayran shrugged. Matoh was probably right. But what did they take?
“So what do you make of all this then?” Matoh asked glancing around the room once more. “You figure out what this place was used for yet?”
“If I was to guess ... I think it was a research building,” Wayran answered somewhat absently. How he knew, he couldn’t say. It just felt right somehow. He tried to justify his feeling. “Each room so far has been very similar, we’ve found hundreds of those glass squares, and the writing in each has been slightly different, but from what I could make out was very technical. Lots of words I’ve never seen before. Perhaps Chronicler Rutherford might be able to figure them out, although even he has a set of specific interests. This place reminds me of the Research Wing of the Academy.”
“Huh,” Matoh grunted. “That’s what I was going to guess. It feels like that time we got to visit the santsi laboratories.”
“Santsi are a more recent invention.” Wayran looked around the room once more.
“Yes, I know.” Matoh scoffed. “You take things too literally at times. I was trying to agree with you.”
“Agreement accepted then. Shall we go?”
Matoh nodded.
Wayran turned to leave and froze in his tracks.
A man stood in the doorway.
A man with glowing red eyes.
Wayran started and put his hands up reflexively.
“What is it?” Matoh sprung forward to join him.
Wayran began to point, but when he looked back at the doorway, the man was gone. It wasn’t possible. Wayran had barely shifted his gaze, but where there had once been a man, there was now no one. “Aaah ...” was all he could muster.
“Did you see something?” Matoh said, and before Wayran could stop him, Matoh sprinted to the doorway. One of the large metal canisters beside each of the doors was already in his hand as a makeshift club. Outside the lights sprang to life as Matoh moved into the hallway.
“Nothing here,” he said, turning back to Wayran with a quirked eyebrow.
The lights hadn’t switched on until Matoh moved outside. There couldn’t have been anything there.
Wayran looked at the bench just behind him and picked up an empty cup and something which looked like a calliper. He walked up to stand next to Matoh in the hallway and put his forearm to Matoh’s chest to stop his brother from walking forward.
“Wait a moment,” he said. Matoh looked at him strangely again but complied, no doubt noting his odd tone.
Wayran threw the cup as hard as he could down the hallway. The lights followed the cup as it sailed through the air and then shattered against the floor. Immediately, he spun and threw the metal callipers down the corridor in the opposite direction, watching as the lights again followed the object down the hallway. All the while the light above them stayed on. The callipers eventually scraped to a halt. Now there were three lights in the hallway, one above them, and two others highlighting the now still objects he had thrown.
“While that does look like fun ...” Matoh quirked an eyebrow at him and smirked as he turned to look at Wayran “… care to explain brother?”
Wayran’s heart was still pounding. “Just ... just testing a theory,” he said, not quite sure anymore if he had actually seen something.
“Which was that cups break when you throw them and metal tools don’t?” Matoh grinned.
“No – the lights,” Wayran scoffed. “They don’t just follow us. They follow movement.”
“The ligh
ts have been following us moving this entire time. You just figured that out?” Matoh shook his head and patted him on the shoulder. “And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”
“Oh shut up.” Wayran grimaced. “Cups and metal tools are different from people; I now know the lights track everything, not just people.”
“Sure.” Matoh rolled his eyes. “It was still pretty random. We were going, weren't we?”
“Yes,” Wayran answered and started down the hallway. But he couldn’t help feeling now as if they were not alone down here. “Yes, let’s go.”
* * *
“This place is absolutely massive.” Matoh groaned as they reached yet another landing on yet another stairwell. “Surely behind this door ...” He moved forward and the door flicked open.
Wayran hoped his brother was right. His legs were so tired they felt as if they were about to buckle beneath him.
The lights blinked on outside the door, but they did not reveal another stretching hallway; instead there was a small chamber, with a large metal door barring their way. This door looked different, larger and more solid than what they had encountered so far.
“That’s new,” Wayran said, and they stepped into the chamber together.
“This one’s not opening.” Matoh stepped forward and bumped his chest against the solid metal door.
Wayran studied the enormous door. It seemed like one seamless piece of metal. He put his hand on the door and began to siphon, trying to pull in the small amount of energy in the air around him and push it into the metal.
The energy left his hand as if falling into an abyss, meaning the wall was very substantial. “It’s incredibly thick. Steel, I think.”
“Looks like it’s time to find out what’s down on the next floor.” Matoh turned to go down the staircase.
“Wait. What’s this?” Wayran had been feeling around the edge of the door jamb when one of the panels beside his hand suddenly flickered with light and began to glow. A voice cracked a command, making both brothers jump.
“Did the wall just talk to you?” Matoh asked.
Wayran nodded, his hand hovering over the faint blue panel.
“And what did the wall say?” Matoh prompted.
“It said to put my hand on the square.” Those Jendar words had been clear enough, basic and precise.
“Well, who are we to argue with a wall,” Matoh said, and pushed Wayran’s hand onto the blue panel.
“Don’t!” He tried to jerk away. “What if –”
Something within the wall hummed and the giant steel door slid up into the wall.
“See.” Matoh shrugged. “It worked. Good job translating.”
“What if it had been a trap? What if my hand hadn’t worked?” Wayran gasped, pulling his hand off the panel.
“But it did.” Matoh stepped forwards. “Are you coming or what?”
“Unbelievable,” Wayran muttered to himself. “What if we can’t get back out? Ever think of that?”
“There’s another one of those panels on this side. It’s fine, come on, you’re gonna want to see this.” Matoh waved him forward.
Wayran grumbled and stepped into the room, and suddenly any hesitation he had shown vanished.
The room was enormous, and all around them panels in the wall began to switch on, except this time they didn’t glow blue, or show the odd boxes with writing on them. As each panel came to life they showed windows out onto the world, but they showed more than what was outside of the building. Wayran recognised some of the places. He saw one panel showing a street in New Toeron, bustling with people going about their daily business. Another showed a jungle scene; another must have been outside the city of Dawn, as he recognised the fabled skyline of the holy city with its dozens of temple spires and domes. One after another, the room was lit with the glow of scenes from all around the world, many of them places Wayran had never been.
“Have you ever read about anything like this?” Matoh whispered, the wonder obvious on his face.
“No,” Wayran managed to say as he tried to take in the majestic sight. He stepped forward to get a closer look.
“Are they showing us what’s happening now?” Matoh asked.
“I don’t know,” Wayran began, but then watched one particular panel more closely. “Yes, they must be, look.” He pointed to a panel showing a desert scene. Within the glowing rectangle floated Deliverance, his uncle’s airship. It was moored near the unique rock hill they had set out from this morning. It was meant to be their rendezvous point.
“Wow.” Matoh stepped closer to a panel showing New Toeron. “Huh, look! That’s just outside our house! It’s Mrs. Peterson and her flower cart.” Matoh’s grin was so wide it threatened to split his head. “This is just amazing.” He turned to walk into the centre of the room, still gawking at the glowing panels all around him.
“Wait, Matoh.” Wayran jumped down to grab his brother’s shoulder. “Look.” He pointed to what looked like a chair dominating the centre of the room, and a hunched form sitting upon it.
Matoh froze mid-step, and both brothers studied what was obviously the form of a person. “Hello?” Matoh said, and began sidestepping, trying to get a better look at whoever was sitting in the chair.
There was no response, so they crept together to the front of the chair. The largest of the glowing panels was directly in front of this chair, and this central panel kept switching from scene to scene almost as if it were turning pages of a great book.
“Hello?” Matoh said again, but as they found themselves directly in front of the figure, they understood the reason for the lack of response.
Vacant sockets stared back at them from the mummified corpse sitting in the chair. An open mouth screamed in silence as the screen behind them once again changed scenes. The brothers said nothing as they imagined how this person must have died. They had encountered no other bodies within the massive complex. Whoever this person had been, they had died quietly and alone.
“Creepy,” Matoh said, shaking himself.
“This room was like those old crypts the Navutians liked to use for their dead,” Wayran said somewhat absently as he continued to stare at the corpse. It had been a man, if Wayran were to guess by the size of his shoulders and what remained of the clothing.
“Who was he?” he asked himself. He stepped forward for a closer look. It was then he saw a book resting beside one of the mummified hands. It was covered in dust but looked to be in excellent condition. He reached to grab it but halted as he leant over the corpse.
Eyes which hadn’t been there a moment ago stared up at him from the mummified skull.
“Woah!” Wayran sprung back.
Matoh yelled, “Holy Halom! It’s alive! Lady take me!”
Wayran scrambled back several steps, his heart pounding in his chest. “Who are you?” he demanded. His fright made his words sound harsh.
It was then he noticed three bright lights shining from pinpoint sources around the room and which appeared to coalesce into the ghostly form.
The glowing man stood up, but as it stood, the mummified corpse was once again revealed, and yet the lights seemed to move to follow the ghostly figure. Something clicked within the chair, and a powerful voice boomed through the room.
The glowing man was speaking to Wayran, but as he moved the glowing eyes did not track him. Was this somehow like the images on the glass squares? It had the same feel, like this too was a predetermined sequence of images set in motion when Wayran had tried to grab the book.
“Is it a ghost?” Matoh asked, still with his hands curled into fists waiting for the luminous and transparent man now standing in front of the corpse to make a move. “Do you understand what it’s saying?”
“Not a ghost,” Wayran said, staring at the apparition. Wayran couldn’t translate what was being said, but he recognised enough to know it was Jendar. These were the dead man’s last words, a man who had waited here while everyone else had abandoned this giant facility
. “I need a quill – something to write with!”
“A quill?” Matoh asked dumbfounded. “Where am I going to find a –”
“Just get me something to bloody write with!” Wayran waved Matoh on, yet was transfixed with what the man was trying to tell him. He was saying something about a river? Time to get to the river? Changing my destination? Wayran couldn’t make sense of it. Here was someone actually speaking in the long dead dialect of the Jendar, and he couldn’t understand any of it! The apparition was talking too fast.
“Here, use this!” Matoh handed him something which looked a bit like a pencil. “I don’t know if it’s their equivalent to a quill, but it made a blue line on my hand.”
Wayran didn’t hesitate. He let the strange quill roll over his arm, trying to get down what was being said in phonetic form. Maybe a Chronicler back in New Toeron could make sense of it if he could write down something close.
The glowing blue man finished and abruptly disappeared. The points of light that had connected to the man blinked off. The brighter lights from overhead switched back on and the room was once again dominated by the flashing images of the panels all around them.
“Okay,” Matoh said, “that was odd.”
“It was important,” Wayran whispered, more to himself than Matoh. “I couldn’t understand, and I needed to. I bet it was important.”
They heard something rumbling and then the floor began to shake around them. A horrible screech of metal grinding against metal ripped through the building. A panel fell off the wall and crashed to the floor with a pop and shower of sparks.
“Look!” Matoh pointed to one of the glowing panels still on the wall. “It shows another storm. That looks like it could be just outside. There!”
Wayran watched as the panel showed a long metal spike shaking as it poked its way out of a sand dune.
Another horrible screech echoed through the complex. A giant bang shook the room and this time dozens of panels fell.
Visions: Knights of Salucia - Book 1 Page 10
