Requiem of Silence

by L. Penelope

  She turned to Varten and her excitement cooled. He was uncharacteristically quiet, face drawn and pensive. Did he regret the kiss?

  Lanar stood on his other side, though she thought they’d lost him in the celebration. A strange, cloudy haze seemed to follow the man around. He was obviously not enjoying the festivities. Whereas Zeli and Varten had lost themselves in the dancing and merriment, Lanar showed no signs of falling victim to that sort of levity.

  So she stayed quiet, clasping her hands in front of her and wondering at Varten’s sudden change of mood. He must regret it. He was a prince, after all, and she was … nobody. Not a Sister, not even a novice anymore now that she’d abandoned her duties.

  He was probably right to have second thoughts, it had definitely been a mistake. What was in that golden honey drink anyway?

  “Want a chocolate stick?”

  She turned to find Remi next to her, face plastered with the remnants of the chocolate confection in question. It must have been one of the candies being sold by vendors set up along the streets.

  “Do you have another one?” she asked, noticing his empty hands.

  “I ate mine, but I can get you one if you like.”

  “No, thank you.” She had no money at all and Varten had still not been to the bank.

  At the pyramid’s base, a group of acolytes in long white robes with funny round white caps on their heads had gathered. One of them lifted a small cone to his lips, which amplified his voice loud enough that the entire audience could hear.

  His voice was rich and resonant and he spoke slowly enough that if he’d been speaking in Elsiran, she might have understood. “What’s he saying?” she asked Remi.

  He motioned her down, so she knelt beside him. “To get inside, you need to…” Remi kept his voice low and closed his eyes in thought. “Find a way in. That’s the challenge. Gain entry to the Archives before sunset and you may possess as many of its secrets as you can gather in twenty-four hours.”

  The crowd chittered with excitement but Zeli’s heart sank. The challenge to getting into the Archives was getting into the Archives? The man up front kept talking, but Remi frowned. “He’s just repeating it again with longer words and more sermonizing about how great Saint Gilmer is.”

  Zeli stood, looking at the massive building with new eyes. Some folk had evidently been ready for this possibility, though as she understood it the challenge was different each year. About a dozen large men near the front were assembling a battering ram from a bunch of smaller pieces. All too soon they had it put together and surged forward to pound at the giant doors.

  Others moved out of their way swiftly, and groups began clustering together all around the base, inspecting what they could see and reach of the building. Zeli didn’t even know where to begin.

  “The glass layer starts at about twenty paces up,” she murmured. “They don’t look like windows that can open, but they might be. Maybe with a ladder…”

  Instead of watching the building, Varten peered at the area around the pyramid. They stood on the south side, a plaza paved with a concrete slab extending about one hundred and fifty paces to the street. On the east side lay a grassy park surrounded by a low fence. A street bordered the west side, with only the width of the sidewalk to separate it.

  “Let’s get a look at the back,” Varten said, already moving. Lanar stayed where he was, a statue sprouting from the concrete, but Zeli and Remi went along. A handful of others had the same idea and toured the perimeter of the building.

  In the back was a narrow alley that dead-ended at the park, and no doors were visible along any of the exterior walls. The front doors were the only obvious way inside.

  Back on the plaza, the battering ram did not seem to be making any inroads in breaking down the decorated double doors.

  “How long has this building been here?” Varten wondered.

  “Hundreds of years,” Remi said, now eating a handful of hard candies he’d produced from a pocket. He crunched through them, heedless of any potential damage to his teeth.

  “The building must need supplies of some kind, where are they delivered?” Varten mused. “What’s the purpose of the alley if not to facilitate deliveries?”

  “Well, if it’s really only open one day every ten years, maybe not many supplies are needed,” Zeli said.

  “The acolytes don’t have access the rest of the time?”

  Remi continued his crunching, speaking while chewing. “No, but they’ve collected a bunch of Gilmer’s other writings in another building.”

  Varten tapped a finger against his lips. His mind seemed to be churning and he had a light in his eyes she’d observed when he was thinking through something. She’d seen it when they’d studied the journal, and when Eskar was showing him how the boat operated. He may say he wasn’t a good student and didn’t like school, but he certainly liked to learn and think. And she suspected he was good at it.

  “No electric or plumbing conversions then,” he mumbled, eyes glazed over. “And if it’s full of ancient books, it must have been constructed to deal with humidity properly. Some kind of natural temperature control…”

  Zeli had no idea what he was talking about, but didn’t interrupt his process. He turned away from the building to the street, then toward the park. While he pondered, several other groups attempted to scale the pyramid in different ways. One team created a human ladder, with smaller and smaller people climbing on top of one another. The woman at the top had a sledgehammer that she was taking to the glass.

  “Are they allowed to destroy it?” she asked. Remi shrugged.

  While Varten continued to mutter to himself, Lanar appeared captivated by the red stone at the top of the building. His gaze didn’t waver from it; he looked almost in a trance.

  Without any warning, Varten marched off around the plaza, walking in a random pattern, zigging this way and that. Remi and Zeli shared a bemused look before following. They meandered through those observing the battering ram and various wall-scalers. Varten seemed to be searching for something on the ground. Then he abruptly turned toward the grassy park and leapt over the short, metal fencing.

  “What is it?” Zeli asked, racing after him.

  “Not sure, I just…” Varten turned around and walked back to the fence, then began counting off steps as he crossed the grass again. He stared at the ground for a long moment until Zeli stepped into his line of sight. Then he looked up, sheepish.

  “Sorry, I was just thinking about how the Archives must have been here before the city, or built around the time of its founding, but it’s pretty far from the lake. Cities usually begin close to bodies of water, especially fresh, drinkable water. So they placed this building here, while the city grew from way down there.” He motioned south, back toward the lake. “And Gilmer City has been modernized with electricity and plumbing. There’s a whole world below our feet, pipes and tunnels for bringing water in and out.” He spread his hand around to the other buildings.

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “What if we can get in from below?” He stomped his foot and a metallic thud rang out. He bent to clear away a tuft of unruly grass, revealing a round metal disc in the ground.

  They kneeled down to inspect it. While Varten tapped at it, Zeli looked up and noticed that Lanar had finally torn his attention away from the pyramid’s peak and was walking over to join them.

  “We may be able to access the building from below,” she told him, motioning to the disc in the ground.

  “Hmm,” Lanar said, squinting doubtfully. “It is unlikely this building was ever plumbed.”

  Varten stopped inspecting the round plate and sat back on his haunches, shoulders sinking.

  “It’s an interesting thought,” Lanar continued, “but rather improbable.” Without another word he turned and ambled back to the plaza.

  The dejection on Varten’s face made Zeli’s blood boil. “I don’t care what he says, it’s a good idea. Look, they’ve been at that bat
tering ram for ages and the door hasn’t budged, neither has the window they’re banging on. No one else has any better ideas, least of all him.”

  But Varten was shaking his head and rising. “No, Lanar’s probably right. I don’t really know anything about architecture or anything at all. And even if there were pipes, they’d be too small and filthy to get through.” The cast of his eyes and jaw were dejected.

  “I still think we should try—at least look around down there. It’s worth a shot. We’ve come all this way.”

  Varten stared, unseeing toward the pyramid. It’s like he wasn’t even there anymore, all his excitement and thoughtfulness wiped out by Lanar’s careless words. “It’s too heavy to lift anyway.” He toed at the disc with his boot before sighing and turning away.

  “Varten, wait!” But he moved off slowly, shuffling back toward the plaza.

  Zeli let out a groan of frustration. Why would he just give up like that? What was wrong with him? She stomped her foot once, then again just because it felt good. Next to her, Remi watched his retreating figure with solemn eyes. She sighed and crossed her arms.

  “Are you giving up, too?” Remi asked.

  She turned sharply to him. “If he couldn’t lift it, I certainly can’t.”

  Remi shrugged and fished more candy from his pocket, which appeared to have an endless supply.

  The battering ram thudded like a pendulum. One of the human ladders wobbled and then rippled, thankfully able to catch the woman at the top with the mallet when she lost her footing.

  The sun was lowering and the temperature getting colder by the minute. All the warmth and joy of earlier had faded away.

  Zeli shook her head. She wasn’t giving up. They’d come this far, hadn’t they?

  She dropped to her knees stuck her fingers in the small holes drilled into the metal plate. The disc was thick and didn’t budge a bit. If those two ridiculous men hadn’t left, maybe they all could have tried together. She strained again, then sat back, out of breath.

  “I can help,” Remi offered, looking solemn, but comical with remnants of chocolate mixed with the cherry candies he’d been eating coating his lips and cheeks.

  “I think we need chains and an ox to move this thing.”

  “Let’s just try, eh?” He crouched down and stuck tiny fingers in the holes. Zeli shook her head and moved back into position for another attempt. She was humoring Remi—children always thought they were invincible, and she certainly wasn’t going to be the one to kill his little spirit.

  They pulled and tugged, straining with the effort, but nothing happened.

  Zeli lay back in the grass, all at once tired and hungry and sweaty. At least the temperature wasn’t bothering her anymore. “This isn’t working,” she said.

  “One more time,” Remi said.

  “We could hurt ourselves if we’re not careful.” Her arms already felt noodley.

  “Just once more?” He blinked innocently, and she chuckled. Adorably strange child.

  “All right. Once more.” They pulled and heaved and grunted and the disc actually slid a fraction.

  Zeli blinked, unsure if she’d imagined it or not. Remi gave her a huge, red-tinted smile. She took a few breaths before nodding for them to try again. With that slight movement, they were able to gain additional leverage, enough to slide the disc completely out of the way.

  It was impossible—but true. The hole below was dark, and cool air wafted up. She didn’t like the idea of low, dark places. It reminded her too much of being kidnapped, being sold. Waiting with the cries of others amidst the stench of a hole in the ground.

  But this was different, she reminded herself. There was some chance, small or not, that whatever she faced would be worth it. Besides, could whatever was down there be worse than what she’d already faced and lived through?

  Probably not.

  She swallowed and looked up, searching for Varten in the crowd. He stood out, a head above most, but too far away to hear her if she called out. Too dejected, too fragile maybe. She wasn’t sure. She didn’t want to do this alone, but she could.

  “Here,” Remi said, producing a box of matches from his pocket.

  “Thank you. Stay up here, just in case it’s dangerous.” She thought he might protest, more little boy pride, but he merely nodded.

  Zeli lit a match and stuck her hand into the hole, revealing the metal ladder leading down. She looked around until the match burned down and blew it out before it singed her fingertips.

  With a deep breath, she nodded to herself, and descended into the darkness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Who’s to say

  one day

  we will not recall

  the future

  as well as the past.

  —THE HARMONY OF BEING

  You pace your room restlessly, heedless for once of the intense cold flooding your bones. Where is the servant to stoke the fire? But the thought flits away as soon as it comes and in a moment you’ve already forgotten.

  What you need hovers just out of reach, locked in the fortress of your ancient mind. The spell used to summon the spirits is familiar, but not. You are on the verge of a great discovery but it keeps eluding you.

  It makes you want to smash something.

  The door to the chamber bursts open, stopping you midpace. You are about to rail at the servant for such an indecorous entrance—but it is not one of the silent guards, it is Cayro, sour expression marring his pallid face.

  “How can I help you?” you ask with a slightly mocking bow.

  He narrows his eyes and settles unbidden into a seat by the fire. “I want to know what you are planning.”

  You perch on the threadbare seat across from him, affecting an innocent expression. “Planning?”

  “I’ve been to Lagrimar, you know. I was a Seeker in my youth.”

  “Is that so? How did you find my land?”

  “Hot. Disgusting. Full of starving people embittered by hatred for you, their so-called leader.”

  You lean back and steeple your fingers, waiting for him to continue speaking. He is not flustered by the silence; it seems that once again he is taking your measure.

  “I think it is a mistake for you to be here,” he finally says.

  “Then I take it you were overruled?” You smile as he clenches his jaw. “Does Nikora not respect your advice and counsel? Pity.”

  His eyes bore holes into you. But he is hundreds of years younger and isn’t adept. Your skin might as well be made of diamonds for all the effect his glare has.

  “Was there a reason for this visit or did you just want to rehash old times?”

  He blows out a breath and looks off into the fire. “I know a way out of here. A path to freedom for you, and I would see you use it.”

  You sit rigidly, not betraying any emotion.

  “There is a tunnel through the mountain that leads down to its base,” he says. “A city lies not twenty kilometers from there. I will show you how to get out if you agree to leave.” His gaze spears you again, intense and calculating.

  He seems serious, though this could still be a test. “And who will control the Wailers? Who will provide the Earthsong you need?”

  Cayro shakes his head. “This plan of Nikora’s is absurd. We should not waste what’s left of Dahlia’s flesh on this mission. What’s more, we should not sacrifice our people’s lives for this. Better to regroup and rebuild our strength. Find another way to restore our magic. Locate our scattered brethren and reform ourselves. This quest is folly.”

  “Then why do you follow her?”

  His chin juts up. “I am a believer.”

  You try to keep the smirk from your lips. “What, pray tell, do you believe in?”

  “In Saint Dahlia, her goodness, her power.” His shoulders straighten with earnest emotion. “To use her to summon spirits is heresy. It is not what she would have wanted.”

  You cross your legs, affecting a pose of ease. “Perhaps you’re right. A
nd I agree, Nikora’s plan is madness. But will you really help me go free? Why not just kill me?”

  Cayro tenses his jaw and looks away. “Your debt to the Physicks could be useful. I would expect a favor in return at some point.”

  Ah, the real reason for his visit. “So you let me go, off to my own devices, and then what, I offer you a boon in the future?”

  “I’m certain you will discover another way to regain your power and take over the Elsiran land. It may be a good place for my people once we regroup.”

  “A safe haven for the Physicks?”

  “Indeed.”

  You stroke your chin and think it over. This ally may be useful to have, when you need him. And easy to crush when you do not. “Very well. When would this escape take place?”

  “I have loyal men among the guards. When it is time to move, I will arrange to have my people on guard duty. Wait for my signal, and we will make it happen.”

  Cayro rises and takes his leave quickly, believing that he has forged a useful alliance. Dissension among the ranks of the Physicks can only help your cause. Eyes turned toward fighting one another will not be looking in your direction. And if something untoward were to happen to Nikora, then her blood spell would be null and void.

  It is one path forward, a window opening while the door remains barred. You ponder in front of the fire for a long while.

  * * *

  The answer you’ve been seeking comes to you in a dream. It hits like a bolt of lightning, like the strikes of Nethersong used to obliterate the spirits and banish them from the bodies of their hosts.

  A memory from centuries earlier, long repressed, returns. It is from when you were a power-starved lad with a taste for Earthsong and your sister staunchly refused to give you more. You knew of blood magic, knew that Cantors like Yllis studied and innovated it. That the Cavefolk in the eastern mountains practiced it and used it to accomplish things that Earthsingers could only imagine.

  Those of the Folk who left the safety and cloistering of their caves had emerged and shared secrets—your mother having been one of them—but the true masters of blood magic were the shamans who never left the mountain. With them lay its most powerful secrets.