Evenmere (The Evenmere Chronicles Book 3)

by Stoddard, James

  Master must walk alone. We have nothing more than a

  reference in your book to tell us what lies beyond the door.

  You should both return to the boat, where there is light.”

  Carter lifted the lantern and drew his Lightning Sword.

  The jagged blade glowed golden. He pulled at the iron ring on

  the door, but the stone resisted his strength. The bosun lent a

  hand and together the two dragged the door wide, revealing an

  ascending brick stair. A puddle lay at its foot, apparently made

  from water seeping up through the stones. With a nod to his

  companions, Carter began to climb.

  The passage was old. Runes lined the walls, suggesting

  that whatever lay within had been interred with great

  ceremony. The shells of beetles crackled beneath Carter’s

  boots. Stories of mummy’s tombs rose to his mind; he felt his

  pulse throbbing at his wrists. Though he tried to turn the fancy

  aside, he could not help thinking that opening what another

  Master had sealed might be a criminal act. But a crime against

  whom? The ancient Master? The house itself?

  Carter started as a black and gold snake slid down the

  steps. It hissed and darted into a crack in the bricks.

  He came to an upper chamber, empty save for a stone dais

  supporting a large, leather book. Striding to it, he examined its

  cover, but it was blank. He touched it and quickly withdrew

  his hand; it reeked of Chaos. He opened it to the first page. In

  a thin, handwritten script were inscribed the words: The Book

  of Lore . He instantly decided to take it with him. Whatever

  was within it was powerful, and would surely be safer in the

  Inner Chambers than left to lie in a lonely cave.

  “Are you certain you want that?” a voice whispered from

  the darkness.

  Carter shouted in surprise and whirled, his Lightning

  Sword at the ready. Raising his lamp, he discovered a side-

  alcove previously hidden in the shadows. Within it, an eight-

  foot serpent twined around the barren, petrified trunk of a tree

  thrusting from a breach in the wall. Its eyes glowed yellow, its

  fangs glittered diamond-points. Its body was thick as the neck

  of a pony. A pair of large spectacles rested on the bridge of its

  snout.

  “One shouldn’t take what one doesn’t own,” the serpent

  hissed. “Bad luck, bad manners, bad form.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Just a bit of snake left in the darkness like an old shoe,

  waiting through the centuries for someone to appear so I can

  question his motives.”

  Carter gripped his sword tighter. “Why shouldn’t I take the

  book?”

  “Because it ought not to get out. Lots of secrets in there.

  Things your average, everyday person doesn’t need to know.

  Sealing doors, unsealing doors, opening passages into Abysses

  and Deep Knowledge. Have you read Temunte’s Eclipse of

  Doom ?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come closer. It’s difficult to hear you.”

  Carter drew forward only a step, keeping a careful distance

  from the serpent’s maw. “I said Yes .”

  “Then you know Temunte believes Evenmere is a

  metaphor for the universe. He asks two relevant questions, one

  of which is: Why does the house reflect so closely the cultures

  of Europe? Do you recall his answer?”

  “He had several theories.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that. I’m very old.”

  Carter took another step closer and raised his voice.

  “Essentially, if Evenmere is a metaphor for Existence, it

  should reflect the cultures of that Existence. But he was

  mistaken; though the European model occurs nearest the Inner

  Chambers, the cultures become more diverse the farther one

  goes from the center of the house. What has this to do with the

  book?”

  “Impatient, aren’t we? I’m getting there. I spend decades

  waiting for you and you can’t give an old serpent a paltry half-

  hour? No justice in the world. Temunte’s second question was:

  If there is life on other planets, as common logic suggests, why

  are the people of Evenmere human? Why not another species

  altogether, or a blend of species? What was his answer?”

  The serpent slithered to the top of the tree where it could

  look down on Carter, its eyes made huge by the spectacles.

  “That the human race is archetypal for all races

  everywhere,” Carter answered. “But even he admitted the

  answer did not satisfy.”

  “And what do you believe?” The serpent wove its head

  back and forth in an almost hypnotic motion. Carter found it

  increasingly difficult to look away. With a force of will, he

  drew his gaze to the floor and watched the reptile from the

  corners of his eyes.

  “Since I am speaking to a talking serpent, I assume other

  races are represented.”

  “SSSSophistry!” the serpent hissed. “Talking or no, I am

  an earthly snake, as the Tigers of Naleewuath are merely

  tigers.”

  “I believe every facet of Existence is expressed in the

  house,” Carter said, “but since the peoples of other planets are

  separated by a great gulf, so too are those in the High House.

  Travel far enough into Evenmere and you may meet more

  bizarre forms of life. One day I hope to discover the truth for

  myself. But enough of this! I am the Master of Evenmere. If

  the book belongs to anyone, it belongs to me. Tell me what it

  has to do with Temunte.”

  “Excellent credentials. But to make myself clear, I must

  tell you a tale from before the making of the book, a story

  from long ago, in the time when Tharmaldrun was king—”

  “I will hear no tales.” He loathed being alone with this

  creature, who was surely some type of guardian.

  “It will only take a moment. It was in a day long ago.

  There was drought upon the land and—”

  Carter heard the faintest noise behind him. He whirled as a

  second serpent struck. Reacting instinctively, he brought his

  Lightning Sword in a downward arc to block the blow.

  Something hit him hard in the chest. Without stopping to see

  what it was, he turned back to the first snake, which extended

  itself from the branch, striking downward. The Word of Power

  that Carter had prepared from the moment he met the viper

  sprang to his lips.

  Falan ! The Word Which Manifests. A golden wave of

  force hurled the reptile against the wall.

  In one continuous motion, Carter whirled back to the

  second assailant. The serpent’s severed head lay at his feet. It

  was that which had struck him. He glanced at his chest to

  ensure the fangs had not penetrated his coat, then returned to

  the first snake, who lay writhing, glasses broken, eyes

  blinking, half-blind.

  “Now you will answer,” Carter said. “Who are you? Who

  set you here to protect the book?”

  But the serpent glared and said, “Ashes, ashes, all fall

  down.” Flames abruptly licked it, consuming it instantly,

  leaving only a
pile of ash.

  Hands trembling in the aftermath of the battle, Carter

  glanced around the chamber for further danger. The room was

  empty. He turned back to the book.

  “You really should leave it alone.”

  Carter dropped to his knees and pivoted, bringing his

  sword above his head in anticipation of another assault. The

  serpent, or one identical down to the spectacles, had returned

  to its treetop perch. Wrapped among the branches, it stared at

  the Master.

  “What are you?” Carter demanded.

  “I could ask you the same thing. Don’t you think

  ‘Guardian of the Universe’ a presumptuous title? Suggests a

  touch of delusion. Maybe you’re simply a madman in an

  oversized house.”

  The serpent slithered from the tree, and as it did it grew,

  nearly doubling in size by the time it reached the floor. It said

  no more, but advanced with marvelous speed, tongue forking,

  fangs gleaming. With one hand occupied with his sword,

  Carter was forced to drop his lantern in order to seize the

  voluminous book. Tucking it under his arm, he retreated

  toward the top of the stair. The monster continued to grow

  until it filled half the room. Its bulk sent the discarded lantern

  rolling across the floor, where it struck a wall and went out,

  leaving only the faint glow of the Lightning Sword for

  illumination.

  As the viper coiled to strike, Carter reached the stairwell.

  He leapt down it, coat flapping behind him, and landed several

  steps below. Lurching from side to side, overbalanced by the

  heavy volume, he stumbled, missed a step, caught himself

  against one wall and continued running. Behind him, he heard

  the noise of the serpent’s massive head colliding with the sides

  of the doorway.

  With the hissing of the reptile at his back, Carter took the

  steps two at a time. Reaching the room below, he found

  L’Marius awaiting him in the dark.

  “The door!” Carter cried, dropping the book to thrust

  against it. “Help me, man!”

  Aided by the dim glow of the Lightning Sword, the bosun

  rushed to Carter’s side, where the two hurriedly pushed the

  door shut. The Master rapidly raised the Word Which Seals

  into his mind, even as the body of the serpent slammed against

  the door, sending painful shudders through the men’s arms and

  shoulders.

  “Stand back!” Carter ordered.

  Lord Anderson now had to use the Word Which Seals on

  an object he was physically touching. He had never tried it

  before and could not predict the result, but there was no time

  for hesitation. No sooner had the bosun withdrew than Carter

  spoke the Word.

  Nargoth !

  The rising power seemed to emanate from his face. When

  it struck the door, he gasped in pain as a force like twin

  hammers struck the backs of his hands. He fell to his knees,

  momentarily blinded by the agony.

  As the blackness cleared, he dared to look, expecting to

  find smashed pulps at the ends of his wrists. He gasped again,

  this time in gratitude. His hands were whole, though stiff and

  tingling with pain. With some effort he used them to retrieve

  his Lightning Sword from where he had dropped it.

  A silence filled the room. No sound came from behind the

  door. Carter turned to find L’Marius crouched on the floor, his

  hands clasped to his ears.

  “Sorry,” Lord Anderson panted. “There was no time to get

  you out.”

  “I’m all right,” the bosun said. “You?”

  “Better than expected.”

  The two men got to their feet. Bending down, L’Marius

  picked up the heavy leather volume. “You found the book.”

  “Yes. Where is Mr. Hope?”

  “Waiting outside.”

  “Probably hurrying to see what caused the noise. I’d better

  reassure him.”

  Carter squeezed through the crack in the outer doorway.

  “Will? Where are you? I’m fine, no harm done.” Carter

  hoped he was right; his hands, numb from the blow, were stiff,

  almost useless. He sheathed his sword, which he could

  scarcely grasp.

  The lantern glowed beside the boat. Carter walked to the

  edge of the pier, but saw no sign of his friend.

  “Where is he?” Carter asked, as the bosun pushed through

  the doorway.

  “He was here a few moments ago.”

  Puzzled, Lord Anderson turned a slow circle. There was

  little to conceal a man, though it was impossible to see beyond

  the lantern light.

  He turned back toward the bosun. L’Marius held a gun

  aimed directly at Carter’s heart.

  In the split-second that the weapon erupted, Lord

  Anderson dodged to the right. Searing pain jolted his side. His

  knees gave way, sending him tumbling off the pier into the

  marsh. The water was black and ice-cold. He swallowed a

  mouthful and came coughing to the surface.

  Scarcely had he cleared his lungs than the bosun appeared

  on the dock above him, preparing to fire again. The Master

  dove. Bullets sped like arrows past his head. He plunged deep

  into the murky depths, floundering along the edge of the pier,

  trying to distance himself from his assailant. At last, when he

  thought his lungs must burst, he rose.

  He had passed thirty yards or more along the pier. The

  bosun, now in the boat, was holding the lantern high,

  searching for him. This continued for several moments, while

  Carter clutched the dock with his benumbed hands, keeping to

  its shadows. He was weakening; he must be losing blood. He

  wondered how long he could remain conscious. He tried to

  summon a Word of Power, but was unable to focus.

  At last, after what seemed an agony of waiting, the bosun

  turned from his search and paddled away, leaving Carter in

  complete darkness.

  He tried to pull himself onto the pier, but his vitality was

  gone. He sought to summon the Word Which Gives Strength,

  but his concentration failed. He seemed to be watching himself

  from a distance, as if it were someone else. The waders

  L’Marius had given him had filled with water, dragging him

  down. His fingers lost their grip. He slipped below the surface.

  He knew he was dying, but could do nothing about it. Sarah ,

  he thought. Jason .

  At the last second, before darkness took him, he thought he

  saw a golden glow like a star in the water above him, and a

  man rowing a boat.

  Now I am dead , he thought. And the ferryman comes to

  take me home .

  Assault

  Carter awoke to find himself lying beneath warm sheets, in

  an oak-paneled room with a tall bookshelf built into one wall.

  Beside him sat an old man with a Roman nose, a strong jaw,

  and a lithe body belying his age. He wore a green uniform

  with gold buttons and braids, and the sunlight passing through

  the lace curtains of the single, octagonal window made his

  gold-green eyes almost luminous. A locket in the shape of a

  scar
ab beetle hung from a chain around his neck; a green

  admiral’s hat sat by the foot of the bed.

  “Do you know where y’are?” the man asked, in a

  Westwing accent.

  Carter cleared his throat with difficulty. “Pilot Abershaw.

  Did you find Mr. Hope? Is he alive?”

  The gentleman smiled. “Safe and sound. Your assailant

  beaned ’im with an oar, bound ’im, and hid ’im in the shadows

  beyond the pier. No permanent damage.”

  “Thank God! I was certain he was dead. Of course, I

  thought I was, too. Before everything went black I remember

  seeing a light from a raft.”

  “That was the lantern from m’ship.”

  “How did you ever find me?”

  “I was looking for you. Few things occur within the Mere

  without m’knowing. I sensed something amiss even before

  you arrived. I knew enemies had infiltrated; I knew when you

  entered the portals. But I was far downstream, lured away

  from the Cozy Rooms by other business. It took several days

  to get back. The man, L’Marius, who claimed to be my bosun,

  was an imposter.” The pilot’s voice grew low. “The bosun

  himself is dead.”

  “I’m sorry. If L’Marius spoke the truth, your bosun had

  been with you many years.”

  “Since he was a boy.” The old man’s eyes grew bleak. “I

  should’ve gotten here sooner.”

  Though Carter had spent little time with Raven Abershaw,

  he held the man in high esteem. The Pilot of the Mere of

  Books could sense the currents within the Mere, the passing of

  the waters, the dancing of its shadows. He knew the locations

  of its secret passages and possessed unexpected knowledge as

  well, such as the names of the Seven Words of Power.

  “The false bosun was doubtless an anarchist,” the pilot

  said. “The deception was well managed. The office within the

  secret corridor where you were taken is never used, and the

  connecting corridor allowed him to lead you to the boats

  without encountering m’people.”

  “That explains why the bosun avoided the Book Dryers.

  What of the boy, Nuth, and his companion—I have forgotten

  his name—they said they were dusters.”

  “There ain’t any Nuth working in the Mere. He and his

  accomplice were part of the deception. From what I’ve been

  able to piece together, so was the history they fed you about

  the book you found, The Book of Lore . Mr. Hope and I spent

  much of yesterday and today searching for references to it. I