by Ross Lawhead
Wiping the tears caused by the stinging light from his eyes, he followed Ecgbryt upward. They passed other windows, which allowed more views of the ocean surrounding them, but so far they had no indication of what was inside the tower they were circling.
Then they came to an archway that a stiff wind blew through, creating a low, hollow whistle. From one side of it, they could look down into a chamber that fell beneath them, nearly as far as they had climbed—roughly fifteen metres, Alex judged. Stairs led down, curving against the wall, and above them, the tower appeared to be open at the top since a pale silver disc of sky was visible. The walls were as straight and flat as the day they were carved, but slits and strangely angled windows were placed at odd points in the tower that served to create some sort of complex wind tunnel.
The entryway into the chamber looked down on the sleepers. There were eight of them lying upon the customary plinths at the bottom of the tower.
“They look to be unharmed,” Alex said in wonder. “It’s hard to say exactly, but they look . . . fine.”
“There, see,” Ecgbryt said, pointing to the base of the steps. “Bodies. Bones, some weaponry. They are yfelgópes!” he exclaimed, excitement instantly mounting in his voice. “There must be a hundred of them. This is where their murderous path ended!”
Alex peered around Ecgbryt’s shoulder. What he first thought was rocky debris was in fact a pile of bodies, reminiscent of pictures of holocaust camps.
He swallowed and started into the chamber, but Ecgbryt held him back.
“Hold. They may have perished by some sort of trap,” Ecgbryt said. “I don’t see how the yfelgópes would be so foolish as to awaken the knights, even accidentally.”
They stood there for a moment, pondering their next step.
“Where is the horn?” asked Ecgbryt.
“I don’t see it. Do they need it?”
“Horns wake the sleepers.”
“Horns . . . oh, aye. I think I have it!” Alex said and pushed past the large knight.
“Be careful as you—” Ecgbryt started to warn him.
“Don’t worry, I think I’ve sussed it, look—”
Alex took one step forward and felt the strangest sensation. The air blowing past him suddenly whirled around and twisted upward. He was in the middle of a wind dervish. Just standing there had affected the flow of air in the tunnel in the most ingenious fashion and started it in a new course up the tower. A low, reedy hum was first heard, and then other notes rising in a cacophonous chord that threatened to deafen them all.
“It’s the horn!” Alex shouted in delight, looking upward again at the holes in the wall that the wind blew against. “The tower itself is the horn! That’s why the knights awakened! The yfelgópes did it just by entering the room!”
The noise tapered off and Alex turned to continue his descent down the stairs. Then he leapt back in surprise. The knights had already awakened and were mounting the stairs toward him, weapons drawn and ready.
“Ecgbryt, do you want to talk to them?”
“Knights of Ennor,” Ecgbryt called out from the top of the staircase. “Rise up now to fulfill your secret oath and complete your sacred duty. A brother knight calls to you—the time has come to awake.”
The knights looked at each other and then at the strange pair standing at the entrance to the tower.
“Is it time?” the knight at the front asked. “Truly, is it time?”
“It’s past time,” Alex said. “Come on, grab your gear. We’re offski.”
CHAPTER SIX
A Show of Good Faith
_____________________ I _____________________
“We call ourselves the léafléas. That means ‘The Doubtful.’ My name is Argument.”
Daniel blinked. “Argument?”
“I am told it is my dominant trait.”
“You would find it hard to believe how long it took us to convince him of that fact,” the léafléas behind him said.
Daniel swayed. His body was weighed down by exhaustion, but he could feel his heart beating quickly. The left side of his body was throbbing, issuing waves of heat at every swell. He looked at the band of yfelgópes in front of him; they appeared as ugly and hostile as any other group of the creatures. Could he trust them? Was it possible he was so tired that he was delirious? Could he even trust himself?
He would have to trust his instincts. And right now they were . . . vague. He was getting an impression, but it was hard to fit into words. The yfelgópes—or the léafléas, as they called themselves—were . . .
“Sticky,” he said to himself.
“What?” asked the yfelgóp in front of him.
“You look sticky—I think you’ll stick,” Daniel said decisively. They were leading him through the cells and up and around a spiralling back entrance. The ground had a tendency to lurch beneath him like the deck of a ship. He wished he still had his jacket and that it wasn’t back in the Langtorr’s foyer.
“You’re the right length,” Daniel said, trying to clarify. That might be misunderstood, he reflected, but . . . well, he knew what he meant. Do I have a concussion? Daniel wondered. Well, what could be done about it if I do?
Argument nodded. “Then come. We will take you east and east by northeast, through an untravelled and unwatched route out of the city and into the wild caves beyond.”
“What then?” Daniel asked.
“Then we look for Godmund and the other resisters,” a léafléas behind Argument said.
Daniel laughed. “Of course.”
“Shh! More quiet, please. It is funny?”
“No, not really. I think I’ve just worked it out.”
“You know where Godmund and his band are?”
“Hah, no. That’s still . . . sort of . . . purple. No, I just—never mind. Go ahead and get me out of here.”
Daniel followed them, a smile tugging at the right side of his face. They wound through dark corridors, and he was amazed at how calm and relaxed he felt, despite the situation. He felt he had a secret weapon, an advantage—the knowledge of what was really going on.
They came out through a cavern near a wide pool of water. Daniel wondered if there were fish in it, and if those fish had eyes. Maybe, maybe not, he thought and then stumbled slightly.
“Try to be quiet. Each sound we make may draw suspicion.”
Annoyed, Daniel was going to tell the yfelgóp—léafléas, whatever—that he should worry about his own feet and not his, but had trouble framing the sentence, and then the moment passed. It’s still the right length, he told himself, and anyway, he had his pocket—his secret in his pocket—and that put him at ease again. But there was another thought floating around his head: Length, sticky, pocket? Who talks like that? There was something going on in him that didn’t make objective sense. Well, there was nothing to do for it now—he just had to stay the course. Push through, even if it was only by sheer bloody-mindedness.
After another fifteen minutes of walking, they came to a group of yfelgópes seated around five Niðergeard lamps with shutters on them, letting out only the dimmest light.
“Who approaches, and from what direction?” one of the yfelgópes from the other group challenged.
“It is Argument. I approach from the south: one hundred and twenty-nine steps north, one hundred and thirty-three steps east. How long have you waited?”
“We have stayed this ground one hundred and thirty-nine minutes. How long did your journey take?”
Argument began a response. “What’re they doing?” Daniel asked the léafléas next to him.
“It is our way of identifying members of our group. Those numbers hold significance.”
“Doesn’t he recognise him? Like, by his face or length?”
“Yes, but it is well to make sure.”
Daniel nodded and listened to a few more exchanges.
“Is this he?” asked the interrogative yfelgóp, finally satisfied with the responses.
“Indeed,” said
Argument, with a good measure of selfsatisfaction.
“Hi, Daniel Tully. Pleased to meetcha!” Daniel said, extending a hand and grinning carelessly.
The yfelgóp standing in front of Daniel looked at his hand expressionlessly.
“This is Certain Doubt,” said Argument, behind him. “He is the most senior of us.”
“I used to be called Eddik,” Certain Doubt said peevishly. “It is time we left. We should not have stayed so long.”
“I don’t suppose anyone managed to pocket my things?” Daniel asked.
“We did not,” said Certain Doubt. “Your items would have been noticed missing before you were. We did, however, bring you this sword.” He signalled to one of the other yfelgópes, who stepped forward, carrying a large bundle. Daniel took the sword that was resting on top of it. “It is not yours, but it is of the nearest dimensions we could find at the time. Also, here are clothes, to keep you as warm and dry as possible.”
Daniel had been counting, and there looked to be about twenty-five of them altogether. He pulled the sword partway out of its scabbard to inspect it and then pushed it back in with a snap.
“Are you tired? Do you need rest?”
Daniel’s head bobbed upward. “What? Sorry, what?”
“Sleep! Are you tired—do you need rest? It is of the utmost importance that we move swiftly, but if you need to rest, then we will stop here for a moment.”
“No, no, I should be fine,” Daniel said, fitting the sword belt around his waist and shaking out the travelling cloak he’d been given. It didn’t seem to have a pocket. “Ready when you are, captain. Stretch on.”
“I am ready. We all are ready. I am no captain.”
Daniel nodded, with an apologetic expression that he then wished no one had seen. He had to be careful. He couldn’t stretch it, or they’d tumble that he was on to them. He couldn’t stretch it. It had to stay the right length. Otherwise it wouldn’t stick.
Stick. Sticky. Stretch. Stick.
“Well, come if you’re coming,” Certain Doubt growled.
Daniel shook himself. He had to stay awake. Stay focused. He had to figure out this new situation he was in. He had to find the answer.
“You must be understanding of him and allow some exception if you are able. There is much in these events that press on him,” Argument said as he tugged Daniel along by his arm.
“I’ll just bet there is,” said Daniel.
They carried on, northward, Daniel was told, but he had no bearings. Niðergeard was more or less behind him, that’s all he knew. The yfelgópes—the léafléas—were apparently orienting themselves by the alignment and distance between certain lights they could make out, but Daniel was not familiar enough with the city to know which side of it they were viewing. He didn’t know where they were taking him.
He found the léafléas strange. He had never accredited the yfelgópes with much intelligence—he had almost always known them to be half-crazed, animalistic savages. But here, he was surprised to find they actually had a human-like intelligence. They loved to argue and debate over any little thing that could be found. Where they were, which direction they were walking, how much more in weight one was carrying than the other and for how long, and—more than anything—how far they had walked.
“I’ve got two thousand and five hundred,” one of them—Daniel had picked up that he was called Judicious Speculation—announced. “How about the rest of you?”
There came a cascading report of numbers from the others: two thousand three hundred and seventy-one, two thousand four hundred and eight, two thousand two hundred and ten, one thousand nine hundred and eighty-three . . .
“Your knee’s deformed, Informed Dissent; that’s why your steps are so close.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my knees, you insipid old fool. It’s your gangly bowlegs that are irregular.”
“Is there an accord for an average?”
There was an accord, and then a silence as arithmetic was applied to the situation.
“I make it two thousand three hundred and seventeen.”
“I concur.”
“I also agree.”
“Very well. Replace your original estimate with the agreed total and add that to the number of steps that have been taken since the estimate was last called into question.”
There were grunts of assent and another moment’s silence as this was done, and then they continued as before.
Daniel suddenly felt a lurching forward, like he was falling. His eyes snapped open and his legs locked. He had actually started to fall asleep while walking. He pinched the side of his thigh to wake himself up. He had to keep it together. “So where do you guys come from?”
“Where?” asked one of the yfelgópes walking next to him.
“Yeah, there are so many of you. What’s . . . uh, what’s the story?”
“Our kind enjoys debate and disagreement, but some of us came to realise that our courses of dispute ran in unique channels. Approaches were made—at great cost—and then names were shared. More were—”
“No, I mean, where were you born? Where did you grow up? Why are there so stretching many of you?”
“We are born as you are—we live our lives in the blinding light, and thus it is that we cannot see until we come underground.”
“How does that make sense?” Daniel asked.
“The world—the universe is so big, no man can keep it all in his mind. Blinded by the light, blinded by fact. We seek a life in the dark under our own terms.”
“Better to stand up in the dark than lie down in the light,” said an yfelgóp on the other side of Daniel.
“One day we will emerge, once we have quantified the very foundation of the world, of knowledge.”
“But . . . really?” Daniel asked. “You want to know everything? Aren’t there some things you just can’t know?”
“Yes. Yes. Life is a mystery.”
“A mystery unknown, but not unknowable. Undefined, but not undefinable.”
“That is how the léafléas are different from our brothers. It is their contention that all that can be known is known—all the edges of life have been found and measured. Whereas we are doubtful.”
There were exclamations of pride and support following this declaration. “The Doubtful! The léafléas!”
“We doubt that the world is all that is seen. We doubt that all experience has been quantified. We doubt that all distances have been measured.”
“And we doubt even those doubts. But what is undoubted is that there is more.”
“More! Yes, more. And that is what defines us—the others, the hopeless, the slaves to Gád, they believe that the walls of the world have been found, and they are angry. They have built a prison for their own senses and are angry at it.”
“They have killed their own spirits and are mortally jealous of anyone who still possess joy and wonder.”
The exposition continued, but Daniel’s attention was already drifting. He was having trouble following the words and found that his feet were starting to drag.
_____________________ II _____________________
After much debate about distance and steps taken, they all negotiated a halt in order to rest and take stock. They hadn’t yet crossed the niðerplane yet, but the ceiling was getting closer to their heads. They couldn’t see it, exactly, but they could hear the difference in the echoes and feel it in the air.
“Oh dear. We must make our decision about which direction, exactly, to strike for,” a léafléas named Consistent Uncertainty said. “We must decide which direction is the most probable that Godmund and his forces lie in. I fear this will be most difficult.”
He brought out a map from his pack and Daniel joined the huddle around the rolled sheet of parchment. The lamps were placed around it and the shutters lifted. It was a map of the whole of the land beneath England. He noticed many similarities to the ones that Alex and Ecgbryt had shown him, but there were also differences. Either rou
tes that the others didn’t know about, or else errors, Daniel didn’t know. The locations of knights’ chambers, or their suspected locations, were marked with a reddishbrown fingerprint. It might be worth keeping if he could get his hands on it.
“What makes you think that Godmund is still underground?” Daniel asked. “Why not go above?”
“It is possible that he is not underground.”
“But not probable. Probabilities suggest that he would stay beneath. It is what he knows. It is where his resources are. He would be lost aboveground.”
“Further, he has not made contact with you, an overworlder with knowledge of the lower realms.”
That made sense, Daniel thought. Also, he knew that Godmund hadn’t contacted Ecgbryt or Alex. So he really must be down here, somewhere. But did the yfelgópes really not know where he was, or was it all part of the ruse?
“So where do you think he’ll be?” Daniel asked.
“We were hoping you might be able to direct us. All yfelgóp searches for him have turned up nothing.”
“As far as we know.”
“Yes. As far as we know. Those that have returned have returned empty-handed.”
“But there are some that did not return.”
“Yes. Those are still unknown factors. Those may be worth investigating.”
“That is predicated on the assumption that he stays only in one place.”
“To leave not one member of a hunting party alive to report back would indicate an ambush site. Which would indicate a fixed location.”
“Or more than one.”
“That is possible as well.”
“So, one location or several,” Daniel said, jumping into the flow of conversation once again. “Where is the, uh, area of greatest unknown . . . the area of the most unknown factors? Because that’s where he’d be, right?”
“Yes, that logic follows,” said Certain Doubt. “And that area would be here.” He pointed to the top of the map.
