A noise drifted up from below in the house. Nio went to the door, opened it, and listened. The wihht had returned. He heard the front door close, and then there was silence.
The wihht was waiting for him in the hall at the foot of the stairs, motionless in the shadows. Only its eyes moved as Nio walked down the steps. The candles in their sconces on the walls flamed to life when Nio muttered a word.
Lig.
Light.
It seemed there was more detail in the creature’s face, more pronounced cheekbones and a fuller nose. Odd. He put the matter from his mind. He was honest enough to realize he did not know everything about fashioning something as complex as a wihht. Little was written on the subject, for not many wizards had ever dared to fashion the darkness.
“What did you learn?” he asked.
The thing answered him with a hoarse voice that was strangely soft, as if it had no lungs to breathe with and so make normal speech.
“Many things were learned, master. What would you wish to hear?”
“Tell me about the fat man called the Juggler.”
“He cares for a band of children who live and work together. Without father or mother. Orphans. He works for—this group of thieves, this—” It paused, stumbling for the word.
“Guild.”
“Guild,” repeated the wihht.
“Go on.”
“The Juggler controls their lives.”
“Ah,” said the man. “He would’ve certainly known more than the boy. Describe the Juggler to me so I’ll know him when I see him.”
“This one is a short, fat man with a round face. A round face like the smaller sun that lights the night.”
“The moon. It’s called the moon.”
“A round face like the moon.”
“Does he have a real name, other than this Juggler nonsense?” asked Nio.
“This was not learned,” said the wihht.
“And what of the man called the Knife?”
“Less can be learned of this one.”
“Why?”
“He is feared, master.”
“Well,” said Nio, “there must be something you can tell me of him.”
“His name is Ronan and he comes from a town called Aum, in the duchy of Vo. No one believes that. But no one knows better.”
“Aum’s a ruin, a haunt of jackals and hoot owls. No one’s lived there for over three hundred years. He has a past that’s not to be found out and everyone be damned if he cares if they try. Arrogant of him. What else did you learn about him? This is of no use to me.”
“He is a tall man,” continued the wihht. “He is a man with dark features as if he has seen much sun. No one in this city is reckoned his equal with the sword or knife.”
“Weapons don’t concern me. What else?”
“That is all,” said the wihht.
“What? Not even where he lives?”
“No, master. That was not learned.”
“Friends, a lover, a favorite inn?”
“No, master. That was not learned.”
“Is that all you have to say?” said Nio. “We’ll have to start with the fat man. Curse the Guild! They’re a stealthy, sneaking bunch, and curse that paltry excuse of a regent for letting them flourish in his city! Speak of the rest of what you saw today. Maybe some trifle will come to light that might be of purpose.”
The wihht’s hoarse voice mumbled on. A picture emerged of children flitting through the marketplace, of sunlight painful in the wihht’s eyes, of small hands filching from barrows and the pockets of unsuspecting passersby. Men in taverns, gossiping over tankards of ale, of hidden things and the long arm of the regent, the Guard of the city and their captain Owain Gawinn. Locks, wards, streets, and doors. Roofs, back alleys, walls, and grappling hooks. The Silentman, rumored to be hidden in his labyrinth of tunnels under the city. Travelers from distant lands. Merchants, traders, noblemen. The Autumn Fair approaching. An inn called the Goose and Gold. After a while, the wihht ran out of words and stood silent before Nio. The moon glanced in through the window over the front door.
“Tell me more about the inn you mentioned,” said Nio.
At that same moment, there came a knock on the door. For a second, Nio froze and then he jumped to his feet. His mind feathered forward and he felt a familiar presence at the door—impatience, age, someone tapping their foot and grumbling. Severan and another. One of the other so-called scholars from the digging party in the university ruins.
“Quick,” he said to the wihht. “Into the closet there. Don’t make a sound until I release you!” The creature obeyed and Nio locked the closet door behind it. At the front door again came the knock.
“Coming!” he called.
Severan stood on the threshold. Water dripped from his nose. It was raining and dark outside. A fat little man bobbed up and down behind him.
“Catch our deaths of cold, Nio, waiting for you,” said Severan. “It’s bad enough breathing dust and mold in that confounded ruin day after day.”
“Come in,” said Nio, forcing himself to be agreeable. “Ablendan, I haven’t seen you for some days. I’m surprised you tore yourself away from your beloved rubble.”
“Well worth choking on mold,” said the little man, “seeing the find we made today. Amazing! Haven’t seen anything like it before. With what we’ve found, I tell you, we’re one step closer to finding the Gerecednes! Why do you stay cooped up in this dreary house, poring over your books? You don’t know what you’re missing.”
They clumped into the front hall and hung their cloaks over some pegs on the wall. Severan stopped and turned, his nose twitching.
“What’s that smell in here?” he asked. “Almost like mice dying in the walls, but worse.”
“It’s worse in the cellar,” returned Nio. “There’s an open drain into the city sewers and I’m afraid the rains have stirred some muck up. You’ll get used to it after a while.”
“No sign of the boy?”
“He vanished. I can’t fathom how he managed it. Clever wretches, these thieves.”
Severan shook his head. “At any rate, no one will be able to open that blasted box. Probably just rubbish inside once the thing’s open. It’s not like it was a book. Now that would’ve been a loss.”
The two arrivals suggested some bread and cheese and maybe a mug of hot ale to take the chill off. Nio agreed with as much goodwill as he could muster. In the kitchen, Severan stuck his nose around the door leading down into the cellar. He sneezed and frowned, but said nothing.
“What brings you out from your beloved ruin?” asked Nio. “And what’s this find you speak of?” He sipped from his mug and watched Severan over the rim.
“A mosaic,” said Ablendan. “We were digging in the west wing, just past that hallway with all those wretched dog wards—can hardly take a step through the place without some cursed hound appearing and chasing you from here to the moon. We were puttering about there and the floor gave way, revealing a blocked-up stairwell. So down we went, shone the lantern around, and there it was! Covers the whole ceiling.”
“There are many mosaics in the university,” said Nio.
“Ah,” returned Severan. “But this one moves.”
“Some kind of warding spell?”
“No,” said the other. “The mosaic doesn’t pose any detectable danger. Rather, its stones rearrange themselves according to what’s said aloud in the room. At first we thought it was just a beautiful but pointless decoration. The stones shifted and flowed around each other as we stood below gazing up and gabbing back and forth all the while in a confusion of talk. It was only after we fell silent that the mosaic ceased its movement. Then, when one of us spoke singly, the stones moved with his speech.”
“So stones move to the sound of a voice, like pigeons fluttering around Mioja Square at a child’s yell.” Nio shrugged. “Interesting, yes. Unique, yes, but hardly worth rushing all the way through the city in the rain to tell me. More cheese?”
“Is this true?” asked Nio, turning to Severan.
Severan nodded. “As far as we can tell, the older the tongue, the more precise the picture. I spoke about my cottage, naming the earth beneath it, the moor, and the sea beyond, giving such names as I know are bound into the land, and the stones of the mosaic rearranged themselves so as to show me my old place far up the coast of Lannaslech in Harlech, with moon flowers growing up its walls and onto the roof as I know they must be at this late summer’s time.”
“Amazing!” said Nio, startled despite himself.
“It shows the exact present,” said Ablendan, “for old Adlig, on a whim, described us and soon there we were, gazing up at ourselves, blinking and gaping just as we were doing at the moment. A lot of fools we looked.”
“This mosaic could be a powerful tool!”
“It could be,” acknowledged Severan. “But the picture it shows is warped, as if seen through a crooked glass. Happily, though, we think you might have the key to this problem. Part of the key, at least.”
“My possession of such a key is unwitting. What is this thing you think I have?”
“It’s a guess on my part,” said Severan. “Only a guess, but one I’m convinced will prove sound. Upon each of the four walls of the room are smaller mosaics inlaid, high up on the wall, just out of arm’s reach—one for each of the walls. They are fashioned of the same stones but lifeless and unmoving in their pieces, while the large mosaic shifts at the sound of our voices. Naturally, this drew our attention and we noticed that a border framed each of the four smaller mosaics—”
“That’s why!” broke in Ablendan. “That’s why we thought you might have the answer! And then, we’ll ask it to show us the Gerecednes!”
“I’m still confused,” said their host. He forced a smile. “Why do you need me for answers?”
He thought of the closet door and wondered if wihhts ever grew restless or out of sorts. He would have some disagreeable explaining to do if the thing decided to emerge.
“You?” returned Severan. “Well, the first of these borders is carved with all kinds of fish, seabirds, and waves. The second has a pattern like flames of fire. The third is covered with trees, plants, and animals. The fourth is carved over with a single, unbroken line that flows—no—rushes about like—”
“—the wind!” said Nio, his eyes widening. “The four anbeorun!”
Severan nodded. “Eorde, Brim, Windan, and Aeled. We think their four separate mosaics awakened might prove the proper unlocking of the larger mosaic. And we were right, for between us we could speak a handful of ancient names related to the earth, to Eorde. The little we knew proved enough, and the mosaic bounded by trees and plants and animals came to grudging life and portrayed a wolf. A great head of black fur with staring, silver eyes. At that moment, the stones in the portion of the huge ceiling mosaic nearest to that wall instantly shifted in subtle ways so that that part of the larger mosaic became sharp and clear.”
“A wolf?” said Nio. “Why would it be a wolf and not a horse? How odd.”
“Eh?” said Ablendan. “What’s that?”
“It’s peculiar that Eorde should be represented by a wolf rather than a horse. Many of the legends written about her mention a horse. The men of Harlech claim their own equine bloodlines are descended from this companion of Eorde, the great horse Min the Morn. But maybe the historians have it wrong. Might her companion have been a wolf instead of a horse?”
Severan shrugged. “Who knows the mind of the anbeorun, even Eorde, despite the stories depicting her as friendly to the race of men? At any rate, Nio, we all know you’re an expert in such lore. Your knowledge might unlock the three other small mosaics.”
“Perhaps,” said Nio. An idea bloomed in his mind. “Perhaps.”
The three men set out into the rain and darkness. Nio did not worry about the wihht waiting in the closet, and he was right in doing so, though he did not realize why. The Dark is patient, and the wihht was fashioned mostly of shadow by now, as a great deal of the water had trickled out of it in its day of creeping around the city. It had left many damp footprints behind.
Nio’s heart quickened as they made their way through the city. The thought of what the mosaic could do was intoxicating. Could the present be revealed, spied upon as it advanced with every clock tick? The box! Perhaps he could discover where it was with the mosaic. And the boy as well. I will be able to see him and so find him. Nio was glad of the rain and the dark and the hood about his head, for his face was so twisted with malice at these thoughts that his companions would have been startled to see him.
They hurried across the cobblestones of Mioja Square. It was deserted at that time of night. Light shone from the windows of the buildings around the square, but the university ruins loomed dark and lifeless. In a trice, they were up the steps and ducking through the little door that opened up like magic—it was magic—tucked away to one side of the real doors, massive things that looked more like the tombstones of giants than anything else.
Severan produced a lantern from his cloak. He muttered a word and it flamed to life. Light flickered on stone walls. Everything was grimed with dust. The floor was strewn with rubble. Their shadows ran along the walls beside them, waxing and waning with the wavering of Severan’s lantern. Darkness crowded up on their heels. Anyone else would have been lost after ten minutes in such a place, but the three knew the university ruins well.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in this part of the west wing before,” said Nio. “There’s a powerful warding spell here. I can feel it.”
They paused within an arch opening into a hall lined with slender clerestory windows. Moonlight and shadow alternated in slices of luminance and gloom.
“As I said before. An impressive spell.” Ablendan’s voice sounded suspiciously cheery.
“Don’t tread on the blue tiles,” said Severan. “Though, if you do, the dogs can’t pass the far threshold. They’re quick brutes, but they need a second or two to materialize and that’s enough for a running start.”
Near the halfway point it happened. The light was poor, and the pattern of blue, black, and white tiles was bewildering to the eyes. The blue and black tiles were so near in color that they could only be safely distinguished apart in daylight. At any rate, Ablendan trod on a blue tile, and all three heard the feathery whisper of a ward activating.
“Oops,” said Ablendan. He took off for the far door, bounding like a child’s rubber ball. The others ran after him, though Nio saved a breath or two to curse him as they went. Many other blue tiles came to life in their wake. Paws scrabbled and teeth snapped behind them.
“Safe,” called the little man, flinging himself over the far threshold. The other two almost tripped over him, so close behind were they.
“That is not a child’s game of tag!” gasped Severan, mopping sweat from his brow. “I’m too old to be playing such a thing, and the beasts want blood if they win!”
“You did that on purpose!” said Nio. He scowled at Ablendan.
“My eyesight is quite poor at night.”
They all turned toward the hall. The pack stood just on the other side of the door. They were magnificent brutes, all with fur tinged blue and eyes an even brighter blue that glowed with light. Their teeth gleamed white. Some paced back and forth in agitation, but most stood stock-still, eyeing the three men. They did not bark or growl, but their rasping breath was audible.
“Astounding, aren’t they,” said Ablendan. “Brilliant spellcraft. Lana Heopbremel of Thule. Apparently, she had a thing for wolfhounds. They’ll fade in a few minutes.”
They clattered down the stairs. The room below was well-lit with torches. A tall man with a nose as big as a vulture’s beak pounced on them as they reached the bottom.
“Where have you been? Half the night gone and I had to
give old Adlig a tincture of sluma leaf, so worked up was he. Look at the mosaic. It’s moving as we speak. There’s Adlig snoring away in bed. At least what you can make out. Confound the thing! If only it were clear. Just imagine if we can coax a glimpse of the Gerecednes out of it. Nio, what’ve you been doing all these days hiding away in that gloomy house? Do you know any of the ancient names for the wind?”
“Peace, Gerade,” said Severan. “Give him a moment and we’ll see what he can add. The wolves were just chasing us.”
Ablendan laughed at that, but Nio stepped forward, ignoring them. The place smelled musty and the air felt heavy, as if it had lain within the stone confines of the room for hundreds of years. He gazed up at the ceiling. Overhead, the mosaic rippled with movement, surging in silent mimicry of the sound of the men’s voices. Thousands of tiny stones gleamed in the torchlight—white, black, brown, scarlet, shimmering yellow and glossy green, vermilion, dull gold, and a blue gleaming like the summer sky. His eyes flicked to the smaller mosaics, high up on each of the four walls of the room. Four smaller stars ringing the larger fifth. A strange constellation. The wolf stared down at him with silver eyes from the wall on his right. The other three were blank. Their stones were a uniform, dull brown. Behind him, he heard several impatient coughs. He ignored them.
The wolf in the small mosaic was a puzzle. Four small mosaics. Each one framed with the traditional signs of one of the four anbeorun. It would make sense that each, when revealed, would represent the four corresponding companions of the anbeorun. Unless, of course, they would show things such as actual earth or sky or water or flame. But the earth mosaic containing the wolf disproved that. Perhaps the four little mosaics were intended to reveal enemies? But that was illogical. The wolves were the subjects of Eorde.
According to the legends of the anbeorun, each of the four wanderers had a companion of sorts—an entity that was an extension of themselves, a shadow of their being, an echo of their voice. Only Eorde’s companion was identified in the legends with any certainty. A horse named Min the Morn, whose hooves had shattered the earth in the north and formed the hill country of the Mearh Dun. However, the wolf’s face staring at him from the little mosaic cast doubt on that.
Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey Page 125
