Authors: Jeffrey Overstreet
Raven's Ladder (53 page)
He moved on, but the desire to go back was taking hold. He wanted confirmation that the creature had, indeed, died there in the Longhouse gate. And he wanted to find Auralia’s colors again.
He walked through a dense wave of haze to discover that he had moved in a circle, and there indeed was the Longhouse, its maw still open wide. He began to run, his question compelling his aching body just a bit farther.
He found the creature’s body there, contorted and still. It was a horrible sight, for it had been crushed and scarred by the beastmen that had clawed their way past it and burrowed down into the labyrinth.
No. Something isn’t right
.
The creature’s body was caving in on itself. It was empty.
Cal-raven approached and found that the body had no head. All that remained was the thick husk of the creature’s breast—a thick shell of silvery scales, beaded with gold. Other scraps of scaly skin had been cast aside like a discarded garment.
He saw tracks—fresh tracks—marking the dust.
The creature has sloughed off its skin. It has crawled free of its own dying shell
.
The tracks led away from the tunnel.
“Alive,” he said aloud.
He walked in dim bewilderment. But as he followed the disturbance through the dust, his steps quickened. He scanned the landscape, in hope that the creature’s shape might rise up, wild and beautiful, triumphant over even his rash doubts.
For hours he followed. Past the carcasses of monstrous cattle, the bones of ruined beastmen, the shelters and storehouses of Cent Regus history engulfed in the spreading disease. His throat was parched, his skin blasted by the stinging dust. “Please,” he said, his tongue swollen and cracked. “If you are the creature Auralia spoke of, if you have sought to watch over and protect my people, forgive me.”
At the effort of his words, the white scar flared, insistent, like a signal waiting to be understood.
The tracks were steady, but they were increasingly difficult to discern. Then, at the crest of an ashen rise, they stopped.
Beyond the rise, the ground fell away into a canyon, a rift that ran in a
jagged line. He began to wander along the top of the ridge, pushing through patches of shoulder-high weeds that grew without any hint of green or blossom—rough, brown branches with dark black stripes.
Then he felt the creature’s voice, a vibration in the ground. It was a menacing music, a warning. He crouched down in the weeds, but as he did, he knew it was too late. He had surely been seen, and there was nowhere to hide.
But the creature did not come for him. It was walking slowly along a trail at the base of the canyon not far ahead. The trail was lined with rubble that had fallen from the walls. Its wings were spread out as if to intimidate anything it might encounter, but its nose was low to the ground, and Cal-raven could hear it breathing deeply as if hunting.
It was as vast as a fleet of ships, armored in new emerald scales, and its wings were like sails, layer upon layer of feathered canvas filled with wind and singing. He wondered why it bothered with the ground. Streaks of light rippled down its tail, and there sparks burned like red jewels in its dusty wake. Beholding it again, he asked himself how he could have refused to help this creature. It had taken him up in its claws and treated him gently. It had comforted him in dreams and given him courage in the wilderness.
Did I really see all that I thought I saw? Did I really understand? This must be the Keeper
.
Now it swayed from side to side, and then it reared up on its mighty hind legs and cupped its wings around its head. It howled a sound like a question, and the bell of its wings magnified its voice so that it resounded through the canyon and shook showers of stone from the walls.
When the sounds diminished into silence, Cal-raven felt a strange foreboding, for the creature was still, its wings cast out as if it might catch something in return.
An answer did come, a high shriek like a bird’s.
The creature retracted those wings—a sound like sheets being shaken out—and began to march eagerly forward. Cal-raven knew he could not move fast enough to follow.
Nevertheless, he studied the precipice and then let himself down over the edge, his hands working only feeble enchantment on the cliff face, for he was exhausted. His fingers found faint holds, and he cautiously worked his
way toward a place where the sheer drop became a faint incline, a place where he could turn and slide down.
But then a sharp twang of wire stung the air, and he turned.
The creature lurched, hissing with the force of a river breaking through a dam. Golden wires had sprung up from the ground, coiling about its legs. The creature roared, shattering plates of stone from the walls and shaking Cal-raven free. He fell upon that slant of stone and slid head first down its rugged incline until he tumbled into a thicket of lifeless weeds.
When he got back to his feet, he watched the creature breathe streams of fire across the ground as if trying to fight some unseen assailant. But the wires had a life of their own, tightening their grasp. He had heard of Bel Amica’s cruel beastman trap-wires, but this seemed a frightful new invention. And it brought the creature crashing down. He breathed the scent of hot blood, and he choked. The creature fought on, thrashing with such ferocity that Cal-raven could hardly see it for the dust.
From a ledge above, a great black tarpaulin weighted with large green spheres was cast out like a net, and it pinned the distraught behemoth to the ground. Dark figures ran from their hiding places in the rocks to seize the cover and tighten the cords along its edge.
Strongbreed
.
There were sharp shouts from a tall figure on the overlook. Cal-raven recognized the white-wound Seer at once.
There was nothing he could do but watch in silent, aching horror as the Strongbreed tightened the black, oily trap around their prey. The creature fell hard on its side, groaning, unable to fight.
More of the altered guard emerged from the base of the canyon wall, leading harnessed prongbulls. They were dwarfed by this creature, and yet they formed an obedient line as the Strongbreed bound their harnesses to their struggling captive.
The Seer disappeared from the promontory, and Cal-raven began to climb, concentrating on each handhold. At times deep pangs of grief would leave him breathless, clinging to the wall while tempted to surrender and fall away.
Evening deepened into night as Cal-raven crept westward along the canyon’s edge toward the setting sun, following this nightmare parade. There
was just enough light for him to see that the trail turned a corner. He woke from something near sleepwalking when he heard a cacophony of beastly voices. He heard the Seer giving orders, and he dropped to his belly, hoping no one had seen him silhouetted against the sky. He crawled to the rim and peered over.
Set into the canyon face was a line of fourteen caves—great, dark caverns carved into the opposite wall. Bars of dark metal—thick as tree trunks—closed off those caves.
Behind the bars of twelve caves, similarly tremendous creatures paced, groaning and spewing fire—each one magnificent and terrible, each one different. The creature that had found Cal-raven in the brambles outside Barnashum was being hauled into the space of the thirteenth cavern, dragged beneath the bars that had been raised by a mechanism in the wall.
Malefyk Xa walked along the avenue, keeping a fair distance from the bars, a whip in his hand. He shouted in the Cent Regus tongue, but Cal-raven understood the sound of mockery in that voice. The Seer was reveling in his dominion, taunting his captures.
Thirteen of them.
When the latest catch was through the arch of its prison, the bars crashed back down into their deep holes, trapping the animal.
The black canvas fell away, and the creature hurled itself against the bars in a fiery tirade. The canyon wall shuddered with the impact.
In the cell alongside, a creature slammed against its gate with its heavy, curled horns, clutching the bars of its cage with massive, reptilian claws.
Ram’s horns
, Cal-raven realized.
And those claws—two fingers and a thumb. Just as Snyde said
.
Cal-raven crawled away from the view. Then he got to his feet, his thoughts in shambles, and staggered off into the night.
The hard wind took what was left of his understanding. Detail faded from the landscape. The white scar, still pulsing the memory of a distant beacon, was all that Cal-raven could see, even as he sensed someone cautiously approaching.
“Jordam,” Cal-raven whispered, “I’m lost.”
Strong arms caught him, lifted him, and carried him away.
PILOGUE
T
hree days after Queen Thesera’s orders that the Seers be imprisoned and Ryllion slain, the soldier was still missing, and the Seers remained locked inside their invulnerable laboratories.
The riots that had broken out shocked Bel Amica’s defenders. They withdrew to enforce the walls around the palace towers, restraining the tide of people who believed they could not live without the solace of the Seers’ potions.
And yet, on this third morning of unrest, some things went on as if these were ordinary days. The fog bank moved out to sea, as it always did, crashing over Bel Amica’s rock like a mighty wave. The marketplaces were busy. The seabirds fussed and sang their complaints.
Tabor Jan woke from a deep sleep to find an invitation on his pillow. He rose and followed its instructions. He went down to the glassworks, where he was met by Krawg and—much to his surprise—Warney.
“You’re lookin’ better, there, Captain!” Warney exclaimed.
“I slept. I’ve slept two long nights now.” Tabor Jan stared, bewildered, trying to figure out what about Warney had changed. “Did you shave your beard or something?”
“How’d it be…” Krawg interrupted, fidgeting with the fringe of his yellow scarf. “What if I walked with you on the wall this evening?”
“Why’s that?”
“Seein’ how you’re a sort of hero now, folks will want to hear tell of Tabor Jan’s courage and the nest of beastman invaders. I reckon there’d be no better source for details than the man who made it happen. And I’d like to tell that story before anybody has a chance to get it wrong.”
“I’ll give it some thought.” The captain was happy to see the old men together again. “You’ll have to include Wynn and how his humble service on the docks gave him the opportunity for a brave act. And don’t forget
Cyndere’s perfect arrow. Or the girls, Margi and Luci, who almost drowned when the water came in.”
Krawg was tying the scarf in knots now. “Yes, we’ve got to do this story right.”
“Oh, and Krawg…make it short.” Tabor Jan forced a straight face. “Too many characters, too much description—an audience won’t have patience for that.”
Krawg looked crestfallen. “I would.”
Leaving the old Gatherers to ponder the future of Krawg’s art, Tabor Jan walked through the open door of the glassworks.
Inside, he meandered through the bewildering reflections until he found Cyndere and Emeriene waiting in the glassmakers’ workshop. Cyndere seemed fidgety, lifting herself up on tiptoe several times and smiling a little more than seemed necessary. Then she took his arm and led him deeper into the glassworks, straight into a small room littered with paints, bottles of glue, and pieces of glass.
Obrey sat on the floor playing a game with Bauris and two very young boys. Emeriene, who sat between the boys with her arms spread like wings around them, introduced them as her sons, Tenno and Terryn. Her hands were locked on their shoulders as if she worried someone might snatch the boys away at any moment. Cyndere explained that they’d been found hiding on the queen’s ship, unattended and afraid, when soldiers stormed it in search of Ryllion. Emeriene’s husband, Cesylle, was missing—most likely hiding or fleeing into the Cragavar with Ryllion. Cesylle, like Ryllion, was a fugitive student of the Seers.
Tabor Jan expected Bauris to greet him, but the old man was absorbed in his play. Beside him sprawled an enormous viscorcat. Tabor Jan watched the animal carefully, hoping it was, indeed, tame.
“After seeing the worst our house has to offer,” said Emeriene, “Cyndere thought you deserved to see some of what’s best.”
When Cyndere pulled back a heavy curtain, Tabor Jan stood mesmerized as crescendos of light pulsed through the intricate glass lace of Obrey’s window. “Must you keep this hidden?”
“You saw how people have lost respect for true beauty in this house,” sighed Cyndere. “Best to leave this where it will be preserved.”
“Strange,” said Tabor Jan. “Strange that they riot because you’ve punished those who sought to kill their queen.” He sighed and turned back to the light. “Forgive me, but I’m ready to leave for New Abascar.”
They were quiet for a time while Obrey, Bauris, Emeriene, and the sisterly’s sons rolled marbles back and forth across the colorful floor.
“Bauris,” said Tabor Jan quietly, “Thank you. I don’t understand how you knew, but you were right. The tetherwings…they did have something to tell me.”
Bauris rose to sit in the large, cushioned bear-chair like a king on a throne, smiling as if he knew a world of secrets.
“May I?” Tabor Jan knelt to stroke the viscorcat who lay purring drowsily in a sunbeam. “Never touched a viscorcat before.” As he ran his strong hands down the cat’s silky black fur, he wished that he could purr as well. He dug his fingernails in behind the cat’s left ear, which so thrilled the animal that he stretched out his hind legs and let out a
rrrrowwlll
of pleasure.
“That’s Dukas,” said Bauris. “He’s happy today. He’s so happy to have her around again.”
The cat sighed contentedly as if to agree.
“Who?”
“My favorite.” Bauris beamed at his visitors. “She’s come back.” He looked from one visitor to the other, then shrugged. “Nobody’s paying attention.”
When Frits stepped into the room, holding a bundle of golden cloth, he furrowed his brow. “Such a gloomy crowd. And I’d been told this was a playroom.”
“It is a playroom!” shouted Obrey. “Will you join the game?”
He laughed. “Perhaps later, Granddaughter. You should chase out all these serious adults before Milora finds them. You know how she feels about people disrupting your play.”
Cyndere was sitting on Obrey’s workbench, and Frits approached her, unwrapping the treasure. “Here it is. Your mother’s new chalice.”
They gathered around and stared at its exquisite complexity, at the way
it caught and cut the light, opening it up and refracting rays of radiant color. “It’s for her voyage. See how the eagle’s feathers ripple when you turn it in the light? I took this down to the
Escape
for her departure ceremony, but things did not go as planned, did they?”
“No. Partayn’s with Mother now,” said Cyndere. “She’s having difficulty adjusting to life without her puppeteers.”
“When she’s ready, she can drink from it on the shore of some new world.”
Cyndere smiled sadly. “Our own world needs a bit more attention before that happens. She won’t sail until we sort some things out.”
Incredulous, Tabor Jan turned to Cyndere. “Your mother’s still going to make the voyage?”
“It will be best,” said Cyndere, “if she’s away for a while. We’re encouraging her to go. She’s so distraught. I caught her trying to unstitch her new face last night. She needs to get away from here. And Bel Amica will be better off with Partayn on the throne.”
“If I can be of any help while I wait for Cal-raven, well…you’ll have to interrogate your defenders, I assume.”
Cyndere raised a hand to assure him. “You’re generous. And, yes, some of our defenders will have to be questioned and even imprisoned. Most are reaffirming loyalty to the queen. Many served my father, so they’re ready to tear Ryllion to pieces.” Cyndere took the goblet from Frits. “I’d like to have a house worth defending again. A house full of beauty like this.”
“You’ll observe,” said Frits in hushed enthusiasm, “that we included no moon-spirit symbols in the chalice’s engravings. No wolves howling. We went back to early Bel Amican rituals. This blackstone symbol is a gem from a necklace that Queen Bel Amica herself wore when her throne was first established.”
He pointed to the outline of a small silver bell, the kind that might hang in a tower.
“Mother once told me a story about Queen Bel Amica and her obsession with bells.” Cyndere ran her finger over the smoothly sculpted symbol. “There was a certain tone she heard when she awoke in the morning. She had
no memory of where she might have heard such a thing. No bellmaster ever found its equal. Many tried. Bel Amica used to be full of bells instead of mirrors.”
“We should have a contest,” said Obrey, “to make the most beautiful bell.”
“Frits could craft us a bell made of glass,” said Cyndere, turning the chalice upside down and tapping it lightly with her nail. “Please take no offense if my mother barely notices the chalice, Frits. The best things dazzle us so slowly.”
And that
, thought Tabor Jan,
is why House Abascar cannot stay
.
“What was that?” Emeriene looked at the captain.
Realizing he had spoken aloud, Tabor Jan said, “I only meant that we learned to be patient and attentive during our hardships in Barnashum. While we’re grateful for your help, we mustn’t delay. We’ve become distracted from our own story.”
“You cannot rush such a huge endeavor as rebuilding a house.” Emeriene took her youngest son’s hands in her own and showed him how to snip the marble toward a bracket that Obrey held in place.
“No.” Tabor Jan smiled sadly, looking into Obrey’s window. “Careful as we’ve been, we’ve lost so many important pieces along the way. New Abascar will be a cold and blustery place for a while.”
“Look,” whispered Cyndere, “the sun’s coming through.”
It was true—sunlight was streaming into the room in bold rays, captured and focused by breaks in the glass.
Tabor Jan watched Cyndere’s face, which was canted into the effusion of light, and he thought to himself that, broken as she was, the queen’s daughter was as extravagant as Obrey’s window.
“Frits,” said Cyndere, “I’ve asked Abascar’s healer to spend time with Milora. We must restore her health so the three of you can go home.”
“You are gracious,” said Frits.
“I suspect,” said Cyndere, “as you do, that the Seers made her sick just to force you to come to Bel Amica and work here. We want to make this right. You should be working in freedom, following your own vision rather than flattering my mother.”
“They can go north under Abascar’s protection,” Tabor Jan said quickly. “Cal-raven has a particular care for those who catch light and color in this world.” He looked up to Obrey’s window. “He once gave his strongest pledge of protection for a girl called Auralia who—”
“Auralia. Yes, her name is known in Bel Amica,” said Cyndere.
“She was young,” said Tabor Jan. “No family to speak of, her history a secret. Cal-raven spoke with her for only a few moments. But she won his heart by her way with colors.”
Bauris stood and elbowed the captain. “This is my favorite part,” he whispered. Tabor Jan patted his arm, uncomprehending.
Obrey snipped a red marble to Emeriene, and it ricocheted off the side of the bracket, careening across the room. It bounced off Frits’s boot and rolled to the doorway. Emeriene’s older boy rose to chase it, but Milora, just arriving on the scene, stopped it with her bare toes.
Seeing Milora scowl in disapproval at the solemn crowd, Cyndere clapped her hands together. “We should leave Obrey to her play.”
“My work!” said Obrey solemnly. “It’s my work!”
Milora rolled the marble under the ball of her foot, clearly impatient.
Stifling a laugh, Cyndere turned to Tabor Jan. “I know you have much to do to prepare your people, Captain. But Cal-raven and Henryk will not be back for several days. I hope you can take the time to join us for a quiet meal tonight—Emeriene, her boys, Frits, my brother, and myself.”
The captain’s expression revealed his surprise. “You honor me too much.”
“I’d like to light a ceremonial lamp and place it in the center of the table. And around it, we’ll speak of wishes and dreams. The future.”
“After all that has happened,” he said, “you want to call to the moon-spirits?”
“To call whatever power we believe is listening. The Keeper. Ghosts of our loved ones. Whoever might be out there weaving our threads together.”
“Will there be wine?” Tabor Jan asked.
“You saved my life and the lives of my family. For that, I’ll personally fill your glass.”
He smiled. “Just a glass?”
“Come now,” she laughed. “Let’s not get greedy.”
“Let’s go, boys.” Emeriene drew her sons away from the game and toward the door.
Cyndere followed, threading her arm through Tabor Jan’s and leaning into him a little. He lost the rhythm of his step for a moment but quickly found it again, letting events unfold without a plan.
Bauris returned his attention to Auralia’s cat.
“She loves you, Dukas,” he whispered. “She told me so while I was away. She told me how you used to carry her through the forest. But now that she’s come back over the wall, she has to remember everything again. Give her some time. She’ll play with you.”
Obrey stared up at him, her face full of unresolved questions. Bauris knew that his words were making her uncomfortable. But then, his words made most people uncomfortable. What could he do?
He had come back through the well on certain conditions. He was forbidden to speak directly of those gentle, shimmering strangers who had found him at the bottom of the well and carried him upstream to revelation. He was forbidden to speak of all they had shown him.
He could not make his friends see what he could see—the witnesses passing through the chambers, through the corridors, through the walls. Nor could he explain for these poor, half-blind people why all his fears had dissolved, why his joy endured through every trouble.
