Hoarfrost (Whyborne & Griffin Book 6) (13 page)

Griffin

I should
never have drawn attention to the buried mountain pass. But all day, I hadn’t been
able to shake the sense that the stele was familiar, in form if not detail. And
with the aurora raging overhead, the voice no one else heard had returned, and
I’d no longer been thinking clearly by the time we pieced the accursed artifact
together.

Was I
going mad?

The
doctors at the asylum had been wrong to try to cure me of my desire for men.
There was no aberration in my love for Ival, no disease of mind or soul. But
the rest…

The
daemon in Chicago had broken something in me. Had confronting another of its
ilk in Egypt caused some deep fracture in my mind? Something that had lurked
like a trap, making itself known only through the occasional strange dream,
until the strain of Pa’s death and Jack’s danger forced it to the surface?

If
Whyborne said the stele held no magic, I believed him. If he didn’t hear a
voice on the aurora, there was no voice to be heard.

It was
all in my head. And that terrified me.

I said
nothing, only held him tight that night, when we at least had the luxury of
sleeping together, if not doing anything more. The next morning, we set out for
the mountain.

I tried
to bury my fears beneath physical activity. I’d done little in the way of
mountaineering, and certainly nothing like this. Reverend Scarrow proved to be
the expert among us, although one or two of our guides had also climbed the
high passes of the St. Elias Mountains during the Klondike stampede. From here
on out, the glacier-fed creek was far too steep to use as a road. The dogs
dragged the sleds up steep slopes, over rocky outcroppings, and between trees
whose limbs brushed the ground beneath their burden of ice and snow. The thick
forest of spruce gave way to barren rock, and the air grew increasingly thin as
we made our ascent. Still, the dogs pulled with good heart, and we made rapid
progress. We’d had astonishingly good luck with the weather so far, and I could
only hope it held, as I had no desire to be caught on the glacier in the middle
of a blizzard.

Despite
Christine’s reassurances, I still wasn’t at all certain we were doing the right
thing by looking for this lost city. Especially given what Whyborne said about
a potential connection with the dweller in the deeps. I still didn’t see how it
was possible, as one city lurked beneath the waves and the other stood on a
mountain, but I trusted his expert eye to notice such similarities.

And,
unfortunately, made it even more likely my feelings of familiarity were the
product of my imagination. I had no ketoi blood, no connection with the
dweller.

Jack
picked up on my dismal mood. When we stopped for lunch, he came over to me as I
repacked our supplies onto the sled. “Is everything all right?” he asked
quietly.

“Of
course.” I glanced about, hoping for something on which to blame my melancholy.
“I miss the sun.” A statement that was painfully true. The aurora had its own
beauty, but I longed for real daylight again, rather than the murky sun that
barely broke up the long arctic night.

“Ah.” He
nodded his understanding. “I hope you haven’t quarreled with your companions?
Dr. Whyborne perhaps?”

Why
would he think such a thing? “No.”

“It isn’t
uncommon. Even the best of friends argue when forced together for months on
end,” Jack said. “It’s amazing more miners don’t shoot each other in the dead
of winter, trapped in their cabins by storms, in the endless dark.”

I dug my
canteen from inside my coat and took a swallow. Did he really believe I’d
fought with Whyborne, or did he think of his own argument with Turner? “Understandable.”

“Yes,
well. I’m glad to hear you haven’t had a row.” He nodded, as if to himself. “Still,
if you ever find yourself in need of a sympathetic ear, I hope you’ll come to
me.”

I met
his gaze. The shadows flung by the wavering light above made it hard to discern
his expression within the depths of his hood. “Of course. And I hope you would
do the same.”

If he
felt a need to discuss his fight with Turner, he gave no indication. “Thank
you. Now, we’d best finish up here so we can be on our way.”

The
great glacier provided a road for us up the side of the mountain, so at least
we didn’t have to climb the rugged peaks. From a distance, it seemed smooth and
unbroken, but up close the glacier proved to be far more uneven. Its slow
movement from peak to base left great splits and cracks in the ice, some of
them large and deep enough to be a danger. Reverend Scarrow went first, probing
the thick layer of fresh snow with a long pole, in case of hidden crevasses.
Traversing these offered something of a challenge. For the most part we were
able to go around them, but once we had to use the sleds as bridges across a
narrow but lengthy gap. This meant unharnessing the dogs, maneuvering the sleds
into position, herding the dogs across, crawling over ourselves, then putting
everything back together again.

A sense
of urgency, reinforced by the brief hour of sunlight, drove us. Time was short,
if there really was some creature that might be unleashed by the thinning of
ancient seals. The day after tomorrow would mark both the solstice and the new
moon, an ominous combination. I expected Scarrow or Turner, or even the guides,
to suggest we stop for the night when the sun slipped back below the horizon.
They remained silent, however, as if the same urgency drove them. Perhaps
Christine’s dreams of archaeological glory had infected them as well.

The
sunlight banished my delusions of a distant voice speaking too quietly to be
made out, for which I was profoundly grateful. I tried to believe it wouldn’t
return with the coming of darkness. But once the thin light vanished, it came
back, stronger than ever. As if it drew closer.

I had to
tell Whyborne. If I was losing my faculties, it could prove fatal in this
wilderness, not just to me but to my companions.

We
stopped at last, high up on the mountain in the thin air. The tired dogs
immediately flopped onto their bellies. Whyborne rather looked as if he wished
to do the same. The guides set about unpacking the wood we’d hauled up from the
tree line far below, and the rest of us saw to the tents.

“This
seems like a good place to make our base camp,” Christine said, surveying the
area as she spoke. “The ridge there provides some shelter from the wind, and we
should be close to the location of the city as shown on the stele. We’ll rest
up tonight, and tomorrow we’ll see if we can’t find any way to reach the
bedrock below us. Perhaps one of the larger crevasses.” She trailed off,
staring at the mountain as if it might offer up its secrets to her.

“It’s
hard to believe, isn’t it?” Whyborne asked. He sat back on his haunches, his
gaze on the vast valley carved by the glacier. “A city once stood here. Long
before anyone dreamed of the pyramids, people lived in this very place.”

“I
wonder what happened to them?” Jack mused. “Did the Ice Age drive them away?
And where did they go?”

“Perhaps
we’ll learn soon,” Whyborne replied. A spark livened his tired eyes. “If only
there was some way to interpret their writing. Might any known languages
descend from it? I wonder…”

“May I
speak to you privately a moment?” I asked, before my courage failed.

Whyborne
and Jack both frowned in surprise. “Of course,” Whyborne said, rising to his
feet.

“Don’t
go far,” Jack warned. “There are crevasses everywhere.”

I waved
to let him know I’d heard. In this cold, clear air our words would carry all
too easily, so once I judged us a safe distance away, I spoke in a lowered
voice. “Something’s wrong with me.”

“What?”
Whyborne’s eyes widened with concern. “Are you ill?”

“No. Or,
yes. Just not physically.” I didn’t look at him as I confessed to my delusion,
not wanting to see his pity or his fear.

“This is
bad, Griffin,” he said when I finished. “Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you
started hearing things?”

“Because…I
didn’t want it to be true.” Acid churned in my stomach, and my chest felt too
tight. “After the asylum, I always feared that—that the doctors might
have been right in some small part. And I know the Brotherhood was behind my
confinement, but no one else seemed to question it. Even Elliot thought I’d
lost my senses. Hearing voices no one else can…I can’t tell you how many
inmates I saw who suffered from the same madness. And now I am as well.”

“Griffin,
you’re being absurd.” Whyborne gripped my shoulder. “Clearly something is going
on, but I’m certain it has something to do with this blasted city.”

“I’d
thought of that, but it doesn’t make sense. I’m ordinary. There’s nothing
magical or special about me.”

“Everything
about you is special,” he said gently.

“To you,
perhaps.” I gave him a rueful smile.

“Not
just to me. Widdershins knows its own.”

A former
client of mine had once insisted Widdershins collected people, but I had never
believed it. Not until last year, when Whyborne had touched the maelstrom and
found some kind of mind, or sentience, or…honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure, and
even Whyborne had trouble explaining it.

“The
town didn’t collect me,” I said. “I’ll grant there are arcane forces at work,
and an unusually high number of strange people living there, but not everyone
in Widdershins is odd. Look at Christine and Iskander.”

“Everything
about Christine is odd,” Whyborne muttered. “And Iskander is from a line of
ghūl killers, which is hardly ordinary. But I’m not talking about everyone
in town. I’m talking about you. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m certain this has
something to do with the stele and the city. You aren’t going mad.”

I wanted
to believe him. “You can’t be certain.”

He
squeezed my shoulder, and I knew he longed to embrace me. But that was
impossible, with so many watching eyes. “Which one of us is a sorcerer? Trust my
expert opinion.”

“Very
well.” I met his gaze. “I will. And I hope you’re right.”

“I am.”
His hand fell to his side. “I don’t know what’s going on here, Griffin, but
we’ll find out and make it right. I promise.”

Whyborne

Exhaustion
ensured I slept deeply, despite the discomfort of the tent and my own restless
thoughts. Even so, I didn’t hesitate when I awoke, quickly shaking off the
dregs of sleep and making my way to the campfire before anyone else except for
the guides. Christine soon joined me, and we waited impatiently while the rest
of our expedition made ready for the day. Tomorrow marked the winter solstice,
and there would be no moon. The darkest night of the year by far, and according
to the Pnakotic Manuscripts, the seals would be at their weakest. If we found
them, I could probably reinforce them as I’d explained to Iskander, and hold
back whatever might want to come through.

And
there was something wanting to come through, I was utterly convinced of it now.
I didn’t know why or how it had fastened on Griffin, but the distant voice
invading his mind must surely be connected to this umbra, whatever it was.

Could it
be some ancient god-creature, like the dweller in the deeps? But the dweller
communicated with ketoi and madmen, and Griffin was neither. Perhaps it was
something lurking Outside, waiting for the right person to come along, like
Nitocris. But Griffin had read no unholy tomes, no forbidden treatises to open
the way. I was far more likely to have run afoul of some awful creature than
he.

As I’d
told him the night before, it didn’t matter at the moment. What mattered was
severing whatever tie it had formed with his mind. Reinforcing the seals,
shutting away whatever unholy power affected him, seemed the surest way of
doing that.

But we
had to find the seals first.

Over
breakfast, we discussed how we might search for the city, should our theory
about underground diggings prove correct. “I suggest looking for a moulin,”
Scarrow said. He indicated the landscape around us. “They tend to form in areas
like this—flatter parts of the glacier marked by crevasses.”

“An
excellent suggestion,” Christine said. “If we have no luck finding one, we can
try some of the deeper crevasses.” She finished her coffee in a gulp, then rose
to her feet. “No sense loitering about. We’ve work to do.”

Christine
organized us to cover the most area without re-crossing each other’s tracks. Under
the guise of having a question about the transects, I discreetly told her about
the voice Griffin had been hearing. The news put a scowl on her face.

“So you
think the umbra is still here? And in my city?” she asked.

“That’s
my opinion. Still behind the seals, presumably, but maybe not for long.”

“Hmph.
Well, we can do nothing about it if we can’t find the blasted thing.” She
turned away. “Get to work, Whyborne.”

I trudged
along in snowshoes, probing the snow in front of me with a pole and casting
about for any shadow that might prove to be an opening into the glacier.

What
would happen if we didn’t find one? Could the distant voice do Griffin any real
harm? It hadn’t so far, but the solstice hadn’t yet come. Presumably it would
grow stronger until then.

Unless I
was wrong, and it had nothing to do with the umbra. Curse it. And curse Griffin
for not telling me sooner. He didn’t wish to worry me, oh no, much better to
imagine himself going slowly mad. When we returned to the cabin at Hoarfrost,
we were going to have a long discussion about the inadvisability of keeping
things from one’s husband.

“Whyborne!”
Griffin called. His voice echoed strangely in the cold air.

I couldn’t
run in snowshoes, but hurried to join him as quickly as possible. He stood very
still, staring down at the ground. “Griffin?” I panted as I came up. “What’s
wrong?”

“I think
I’ve found what we’re looking for,” he said.

He
pointed at a hole in the ice, perhaps four feet across. Lines of strain showed
around his mouth, and his skin looked horribly pale beneath the flickering green
aurora. “The voice?” I asked softly.

“Yes.”
He tore his gaze from the hole and met mine. “It’s louder here, for lack of a
better word. Still distant, but not as far.”

“Can you
make out what it’s saying?”

“No.”

Thank
goodness for small favors. I clapped his arm, then shouted for Christine. In
short order, the rest of our party gathered around the moulin. At Christine’s command,
Jack tied his lantern to a rope and lowered it into the hole. The light
glittered from the smooth walls, revealing the deep blue of the compressed ice.

“How far
down do you think it goes?” Scarrow asked.

“It’s deep.”
Jack had reached the end of the rope, and still only darkness showed beneath
the reach of the lantern’s light.

“There’s
only one way to find out,” Christine said. “Fetch the climbing ropes. I’m going
down.”

Scarrow
frowned. “I’m not certain that’s wise, Dr. Putnam.”

“The
reverend is right. It might be dangerous.” Griffin’s voice shook slightly, and
I winced. Being trapped beneath the lightless pyramid in Egypt had done nothing
to lessen his fear of underground spaces.

Turner
nodded. “Agreed. I’ll go first.”

“You
certainly will not!” Christine drew herself up, eyes flashing fire. “This is my
expedition, and I have the most experience when it comes to archaeology. I’m
going down.”

Iskander
looked worried. Had Christine told him of Griffin’s half-heard voice? “Perhaps
you shouldn’t go alone. Just in case.”

“Oh,
very well.” She scowled at him, then transferred her gaze to me. “Whyborne, you’re
coming with me.”

“Me?” I
exclaimed.

Jack
looked equally dubious. “Are you certain? No offense, but perhaps someone with
mountaineering experience would be a better choice.”

Christine’s
expression grew thunderous. “Are you all hard of hearing? I said Whyborne and I
meant Whyborne!”

“I
agree. Dr. Whyborne is an excellent choice,” Iskander said.

Oh.
He—and probably Christine—didn’t want me for my non-existent
mountaineering ability. They wanted me as a sorcerer. Just in case the umbra
lurked at the bottom of the hole.

“All
right,” I said, looking at the moulin with distaste. “Let’s go.”