After they took seats on the long benches, Simon served himself a hunk of savory meat, then passed the platter to Nicci and Nathan. As he filled his plate, Nathan said, “Please tell us more about Cliffwall, how it was constructed, and what it was for.”
Simon accepted his tale-spinning duties as part of his role as scholar-archivist. “Three thousand years ago, at the beginning of the great war, wizards were hunted and killed in the Old World, and all magic was considered suspect. Emperor Sulachan sent teams to scour the land and destroy any magic he could not acquire for himself. He and his predecessors wanted no one else to have the powerful knowledge that had been assembled over generations.
“But the wizards did not surrender so easily, and they spread word from city to city, archive to archive. The emperor’s armies were far superior in number, and the wizards knew that when they eventually lost, their vital knowledge would be destroyed. So the greatest gifted scholars gathered all books of magic and prophecy and slipped them out of known libraries, hiding any volumes that could not be copied in time.”
Thistle sat propped up on the bench, paying little attention to the conversation. She used her fingers to take a second helping of antelope meat and corn. It was obvious she hadn’t eaten a meal like this in some time, perhaps in her entire life.
Simon shifted his gaze from Nathan to Nicci. “The renegade wizards found this place in the maze of canyons up on the plateau, where no one could ever track them down. For years as Sulachan continued his conquests, the desperate wizards smuggled contraband books, scrolls, tablets, and magical artifacts to the new hiding place. They built Cliffwall to hold that knowledge, and many of them gave their lives to protect it, dying under horrible torture without revealing the location of this canyon.
“When every last book and lexicon had been stored inside the warren of chambers and shelves, the wizards knew they couldn’t rely even on the isolation of these canyons to keep this knowledge safe. They needed something more powerful.”
“More permanent,” Victoria added.
Simon’s eyes gleamed. “And so, the wizards conjured an impenetrable shield, an undetectable camouflage shroud that walled off the cave grotto. This entire cliffside was hidden. No one could see anything but a smooth, natural cliff face.”
Victoria didn’t seem to like how he was telling the story. “The shroud was more than a hiding spell, but also a physical barrier. No one could find or enter it. Cliffwall was meant to be sealed away—permanently, until those who would eradicate magic were themselves eradicated.”
Nicci glanced at Nathan. “Like Baraccus hid the Temple of the Winds, whisking away the most vital magical lore by sending the whole temple to the underworld, where no one could have access to it.”
“And that is how so much knowledge was preserved in a time of great turmoil,” Simon finished. “Without Cliffwall and the camouflage shroud, everything would have been lost in Sulachan’s purges. Instead, it remained intact here for thousands of years.”
“Not everything,” Victoria said in a crisp voice. “We had our alternative.”
Reluctantly conceding, Simon let the matronly woman pick up the story while he chose an ear of roasted corn from a platter. He began to eat noisily.
“The physical documents were sealed in the archives,” Victoria explained, “but the ancient wizards had a second plan to guarantee that the knowledge wouldn’t be lost. They insured that someone would always remember. Someone special.” She had a twinkle in her grandmotherly eyes.
“Among the people who lived quietly here in the canyons, serving as the guardians of Cliffwall, the wizards chose a few who were gifted with special memory abilities, perfect retention. Memmers, magically enhanced with a perfect-recall spell, who could memorize and retain all the words of countless documents.”
“For what purpose?” Nathan asked.
“Why, to remember, of course,” Victoria said. “Before the camouflage shroud was imposed and sealed everything away, the memmers studied the works in the archive, committing every word to memory.” A rich undertone of pride suffused her voice. “We are the walking manifestation of the archives. For all the years when the archive was sealed, we remembered. Only we retained the knowledge.”
Nicci was reminded of how Richard had memorized the entire Book of Counted Shadows, line by line, page by page, back when he was just a woods guide in Westland. George Cipher had made him learn the entire book, backward and forward, burning every page after Richard had learned it, so that the evil Darken Rahl could not have access to what it contained. Even though that book had ultimately been a flawed copy, Richard had used that knowledge to defeat both Darken Rahl and Emperor Jagang.
But The Book of Counted Shadows was just one book. Each of these memmers had committed hundreds of volumes to memory. Nicci could not comprehend the incredible scope of the memmers’ task.
Victoria tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “I am one of the memmers, as are all my acolytes.” On cue, Audrey, Laurel, and Sage came into the dining hall carrying bowls of honeyed fruit. The three young women made a point of offering the dessert first to an embarrassed Bannon; then they spread the plates and bowls around so that all could partake of the fruits.
Nathan chose a glistening peach slice, which he savored, then licked the honey from his fingers. He looked at Victoria, his forehead furrowed. “You each committed thousands upon thousands of volumes to your memory? I find that amazing—though somewhat hard to believe, I’m afraid.”
Victoria’s expression puckered. “No, one person could not hold all that knowledge, even with memory-enhancement spells and our gift. So the wizards divided the task among our ancestors. Each of the original memmers took specific volumes to study. All told, with enough memmers, our predecessors preserved most of the archive, but the books are scattered among many different minds, and those memmers taught the next generation and the next, dispersing all the books further, depending on how many memmer acolytes were available.” She tapped the side of her head. “Nevertheless, the knowledge is there.”
Nicci had no interest in the sweet fruit and passed the bowl to Thistle, who began to paw through the dessert with her fingers. “So you have taught and recited all these volumes for thousands of years? Losing nothing? Without a mistake?”
Simon said, “An expert memmer drills and practices with several acolytes, teaching them line after line, so that their students remember every word of every spell. In this way, the memmers kept the knowledge alive for centuries, even though the books themselves were locked away behind the permanent barrier. The camouflage shroud kept us all safe.”
He paused to drink from a goblet of spring water, then wiped his mouth. He heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately, every wizard who was powerful enough to remove the shroud also died in the ancient wars, and no one could access the knowledge hidden here. It was lost forever, the impenetrable camouflage sealed in place. No one could break through the shroud.”
Victoria interrupted him. “Until I figured out how to dissolve it, thus opening the archives again for study. Fifty years ago.” She chose three fat strawberries and ate them quickly, then wiped her fingers and lips on a cloth napkin. “I was just a young woman at the time, barely seventeen.”
Simon looked at the scholars up and down the plank tables, many of whom were buried in books, focusing on the words while they ate. “Yes, and that changed everything. After guarding the hidden archive for millennia, the canyon dwellers suddenly had access to the vast treasure trove of information. But what were they to do about it? They were simple villagers with quiet untroubled ways. They had known little of the outside world for all this time. And even the memmers—they could recite the words they had memorized, but they didn’t necessarily understand what they were saying. Some tomes were in languages no one could understand.”
“We understood enough.” Victoria picked up the story with an edge in her voice. “But we did recognize we needed help. The canyon dwellers occasionally traded with the towns in the gr
eat valley, although we were considered primitive and strange. The wizard wars were long over, and as far as we could tell, the Old World was at peace.
“So, when the camouflage shroud came down, we decided to bring in experts from outside. The best and most studious scholars from the valley, those who showed an aptitude for the gift. We were cautious. We invited only the exceptional ones, and then we guided them here through the maze of canyons, up from the valley and into the plateau.”
“All told, this archive now supports a hundred dedicated scholars,” Simon interrupted her. “I was one of those who came here long afterward, a gifted scholar—gifted in both senses of the word—summoned when I was young and eager, so that I could devote my life to relearning all the lost knowledge. I was quite skilled at reading and interpreting, and I learned many languages. I was so talented, in fact, that I rose to prominence here.” His smile of wonder turned into a troubled frown. “I came twenty years ago, just after the Lifedrinker escaped.”
Victoria’s mood darkened, too. “For years now we have had no more new scholars. The towns in the valley are gone, swallowed by the growing Scar.” Her voice became bleak. “We are all that remains. The Lifedrinker’s devastation has not reached us yet, but it is only a matter of time, a few years at most.”
Simon nodded somberly. “Our main work in the archive is simply to understand what we have. So much knowledge, but in such disarray! Even after half a century, two-thirds of the books remain to be organized and cataloged.”
“All of my memmers recall separate pieces,” Victoria said. “We have tried to exchange information so that we can at least refer one another. It is a vast puzzle.”
Simon’s voice took on a sarcastic edge. “Yes, and what the memmers say they remember cannot always be verified with printed documentation.” He picked up a honeyed orange slice and sucked on it. “Thankfully, we can study all of the scrolls and tomes, and specialized memmers are no longer necessary. Entire teams of scholars have been reading tome after tome, studying and translating in order to relearn all that knowledge … and make use of it. We will become great wizards someday, but it takes time. We are all self-taught, and some of us have a greater gift than others. We are searching to find a spell powerful enough to fight the Lifedrinker.” He swallowed hard and looked away. “If we dared to do so.”
“Self-taught wizards?” Nicci was skeptical. “The Sisters of the Light spent years training gifted young men to use their Han, to understand their gift, and now you are attempting to train yourselves? Using old and possibly mistranslated books?”
Nathan’s brows drew together in a show of his own concern. “I’m afraid I also have to worry that the memmers must have garbled some lines, misremembered certain words from generation to generation. Such trivial errors might not amount to anything of significance in a legend or a story, but in a powerful spell the consequences could be dire.”
While Victoria took quick offense, and Simon mumbled excuses, Nicci suddenly recalled the damaged, half-melted tower in the Cliffwall alcove, and she drew her own conclusions. “You have already made mistakes, haven’t you? Dangerous ones.”
Simon and Victoria both looked embarrassed. The scholar-archivist admitted, “There was a certain … mishap. One of our ambitious students had an accident, an experiment went wrong, and the main library vault holding our prophecy books was forever damaged. We lost much.” He swallowed hard. “We don’t go there anymore. The walls are collapsed and hardened over.”
“The memmers still recall some of those volumes that were lost,” Victoria said. “We will do our best to reproduce them.”
Nathan exchanged an expression of concern with Nicci, then spoke to the scholars. “I suggest you exercise a great deal of caution. Some things are too dangerous to be dabbled with. Your one ‘accident’ destroyed a building or two. What if another error causes even greater harm?”
Simon looked away as he stood up from the table. “I’m afraid you are correct. Another one of our scholars already made such a grave mistake and turned himself into the Lifedrinker. Now the whole world may have to bear the consequences.”
CHAPTER 42
After the meal, Simon led the companions deeper into Cliffwall through the back of the stone-block buildings and into the warren of excavated tunnels that penetrated the vast plateau. The wide halls were lit with so many magically burning lamps that Nicci hoped this was the extent of their dabbling. Small light spells were one thing, but unleashing larger, uncontrolled magic was far more dangerous.
The main fortress buildings that filled the cave grotto were enormous, but the archive vaults were even more impressive. The spacious, vaulted chambers had walls lined with shelves crammed with books. In room after room, students sat in reading chairs or hunched over tables next to the bright glow of oil lamps. Bins filled with scrolls stood at the end of each long table. Ladders extended to the highest shelves to make hard-to-reach volumes more accessible. An intensity hung in the air, a hush as so many people devoted their full energies to relearning knowledge lost to history.
“Places like this were called central sites,” Nathan said, “large caches of books hidden under graveyards, in the catacombs beneath the Palace of the Prophets, or in ancient Caska.” He looked around, curious. “This appears to be more extensive than anything I have previously seen.”
“And you are only seeing the smallest fraction here,” Simon answered. “Remember, these archives have only been open for fifty years, and the wealth of information is daunting, tens of thousands of precious volumes.” He spread his hands. “Even after decades, we are still trying to catalog what knowledge we have. That is the first important step. We don’t even know what’s here.”
Victoria added, “When the ancient wizards compiled this archive, they were in a rush and under threat of extermination. They desperately needed to preserve as much knowledge as possible before Sulachan could destroy it. Caravans bearing magical tomes and scrolls came into the hidden canyons to unload, and riders arrived overland with packs of stolen books, half-scorched manuscripts rescued from libraries and universities that were burned by the emperor’s hunters. As time ran out, books of all kinds were piled up and sealed away with little attempt at organization.”
Victoria brushed a stray wisp of gray-brown hair from her forehead. “The memmers were assigned volumes by level of importance, rather than specific categories. Therefore, certain memmers might know about weather magic and prophecy, along with dire warnings about Subtractive Magic. Another memmer might preserve knowledge of how to manipulate earth, clay, and stone, as well as how to control lightning, and maybe change the currents in the sea, although we are far from the ocean.”
“That is quite a jumble,” Nathan said. “How does one locate any specific knowledge?”
Simon shrugged. “By searching. That is the life of a scholar. All knowledge is useful.”
Nicci’s response was harsher. “Some knowledge is more useful than others. Right now we need to know about the Lifedrinker. The Scar continues to grow, and he must be stopped.”
Simon wore a troubled expression. “Let me tell you—or better yet, I’ll show you, so you can understand.”
He led them through passageways like wormholes, deeper into the heart of the huge plateau, and eventually up a winding slope until they reached the opposite side of the mesa. A natural rock window opened out from the cliffs of the plateau’s sheer drop-off, which spilled down to hills and the sprawling valley. They stood together at the opening and looked out upon the sickening extent of the Scar, far away.
It was late afternoon, and the sun set in a glowering red blur at the horizon. Nicci could see the spreading desolation that rippled outward from a distant central point. “All of this used to be beautiful,” Simon explained with a sigh. “A green, bucolic paradise. Until the Lifedrinker destroyed it.”
Nicci frowned, more determined than ever. “Before we can fight him, we need to know who the Lifedrinker is, where he gets his power. Where did he
come from?”
Simon sighed. “He was one of Cliffwall’s most ambitious scholars. His name was Roland.”
Bannon stared out at the desolation. “One of your own people did that?”
“Not intentionally,” Victoria said, as if defending the man. “It was an accident. I was a scholar, married, in my middle years. Roland had been studying the archives for a long time. He was one of the first outsiders invited in after I brought down the camouflage shroud.”
“Roland was revered among us,” Simon interjected with a sigh. “I wanted to be like him—everyone did. He was Cliffwall’s first scholar-archivist. But even the greatest scholars suffer human frailties.” He shook his head. “Roland was not an old man, but he fell ill with a wasting disease, a terrible sickness that weakened him, made him grow gaunt. Tumors grew inside him like snakes. And the sickness was beyond the skill of our best healers.”
Victoria picked up the story. “Roland lived his life in terrible pain, weakening, and he knew he would die before long. We could all see it. His eyes were hollow, his cheeks sunken, his hands trembled. He had such a great mind, and we were all dismayed that we would lose him. There seemed to be nothing we could do.
“But Roland did not accept his weakness. He did not surrender. He was afraid to die, in fact, and he vowed to save himself, at any cost. Roland said he had too much work to do here.” Victoria swallowed hard.
“He asked questions, trying to find someone with the knowledge that he sought. He studied scrolls and books, searching desperately for what he needed in order to draw energy that would let him fight the wasting disease. So, he found a spell, a dangerous spell that would allow him to absorb life energy and keep himself alive. One of my memmers recalled it, at least partially, and that gave him a clue for his search of the uncataloged archives. He knew it was unwise, but he told no one. Knowing he would die soon, he worked the life-energy spell without hesitation, even though he didn’t really understand what he was doing. He bound it to himself so that he could borrow bits of life from the world and rejuvenate his ailing body.”
Death's Mistress--Sister of Darkness Page 30
