Second Kiss (12 page)

Seven Deep

T
wo
days before the equinox, just after the departure of the
Mammuth
on another provisioning journey, Vallaine woke up in the top room of his tower on the west side of Ulde. His hand was white — so white that he could see the blue veins pulsing from within it. Startled, he shook it in the air as though he might somehow fling its pallid hue back into the dream it had escaped from, but to no avail. The hand remained drained of all colour while the dream hung there, dissolving, till all that remained was a feeling of deep dread and one word — one name, the name of the girl from Ilde:
Saheli
.

He stumbled over the heaps of books that had erupted from the locket the night before and reached for the tell-kone on his desk. He had consulted it a lot lately, but had no choice but to do so again now. He grasped the handle and began to turn.

The tell-kone looked like a spell kone but was of a much more ancient origin. Augurs had spun tell-kones since time immemorial. The mechanism was simple. The crank handle was affixed by various gears to a copper kone mounted on its tip in a frame. This kone contained six smaller concentric kones, each one inscribed with letters and numbers, each surface incised with slits of various sizes set at various angles. When the handle was turned the kones all whirled at their respective speeds until one by one they came to a halt. A practiced augur could then write down the words and numbers revealed by the slits in order to make determinations about the future. Today Vallaine's spin achieved a most unlikely result. The small, vertical slits at the bottom of the outer six kones all lined up as one to reveal the seventh and innermost kone. The augurs had a name for this. They called it
seven deep
. Seven deep meant trouble. Especially when the letter revealed was an
X
, as this was.

The colour drained from Vallaine's face, then he cursed. He scanned the room, seeking something, but when he didn't find it he grew angry and began to use one foot to sweep aside the books that littered the floor. At last, under a particularly large pile, he found what he was looking for: his camouflage cloak and his long hemp rope. Throwing them on as he ran out the door, he stumbled over some books that had spilled out onto the stairs, but the leap he took at the last moment to avoid falling ended fortuitously on the seventh step. He raced down the remaining fourteen stone steps and out into the street, as worried as he'd been in years. Taking great care not be seen, he quickly made his way across the city to the Great Kone. He needed strength, and he needed to see for himself if he was right.

During the two years that had passed since he blasted open the bronze gate, Vallaine had developed an efficient method for descending the Great Kone. He draped the middle of his long rope over the railing and then held on to both halves of it as he lowered himself three or four banisters at a time. Then, by tugging one side of the rope, he pulled the rest of it down, folded it over the next banister, and continued the process. Long before he reached the last spiral of the steps, his sense that something was deeply wrong was confirmed. There had always been a round stone chamber at the bottom of the stairs where successful pilgrims could view the tapering point of the Kone just as it met and went through the focal point of a large lens set in a circular table. The Kone's taper was so narrow here it was said to be “more like light than matter.” It was claimed your hand could pass through it and feel nothing. Normally the dim glow filtering back up the Kone from here was Vallaine's first sign that he was reaching the bottom. Today though, only halfway down the Kone, he was already glimpsing a much brighter, much more searing light spilling up from the depths.

For a moment he considered turning back, but even from where he was he could sense the power in the light. He had come here for strength and already his hand was taking on a slight red undertone. He had come here for a clearer foretelling and already he was seeing with new clarity. And if that clarity was only further affirmation of his dread, he had to know it in full. By the time he touched down on the bottom step he had to shield his eyes with his forearm because the light had become painfully bright. He edged his way forward until he got to the table and the lens through which the brilliant spectral light streamed.

He climbed up on top of the table and positioned himself with one foot on either side of the lens as he held his open palm over it. The piercing light at his feet shrieked up at him and he did his best to centre his mind and let it radiate through him, his hand slowly taking on a deeper flush as he did so. This light streamed in at him from infinite worlds. That was his belief. Somewhere just beyond — just a little deeper down, the Great Kone shared its last infinitesimally small and pointless point, with every other Great Kone's final pointless point. This streaming light came not only from the very edge of this world but from the edges of all the worlds created by those other Great Kones, too — all possible worlds. That was why this was the best place to receive intimations of all possible futures. Until now his journeys here had always been encouraging. They strengthened and fortified him with a sure sense of hope. But wherever he gazed now he saw imminent calamity. No matter what future his mind fell upon there was no place for his city and the Phaer way he cherished. No future but one — and survival in that one unlikely future would be dependent on one person. The name he had awoken with sounded for the thousandth time in his mind.

Even as he pictured her face the way it had been that first day he saw her in Ilde, he heard a muffled voice that seemed to vibrate up through the lens. The sound of chanting rose and fell then died away, but after that he continued to sense a presence, an intense agony nearby, saturating every thread of shimmering light. Shielding his eyes with his hands he bent down on one knee and peered more closely into the Nexis below.

The long, tapering ends of infinite kones tilted in from all directions, meeting in a hub at first too bright to look at. But it was from here that the mumbling originated. Gradually as he squinted he began to discern the outlines of a body slowly revolving about that hub. There was a spectral translucent quality to it as though it were more illusion than matter, the lines of light brilliant beneath its skin. As the face came into view Vallaine saw the wrenched features of Xemion, his eyes closed but his lips moving very slightly. Then he heard again that mystical mumbling. Vallaine shook his head, took up his rope, and said, “And now I rescue him a third time.”

The ancient mages who made this viewing chamber had constructed one hatch at the back. It was a round black door with two symbols beveled into the top of its frame. One was the symbol for infinity and the other for the void. In all his many visits to the Great Kone, Vallaine had never dared open it before. But today he had to take that chance. The light spilled in even brighter as he inched it open. Before him were seven steps, which led down to a stone platform overlooking the centre of the Nexis.

He made his way through the doorway and down the steps and saw that he was on the inside of a large sphere that looked to be carved out of solid granite. From every point of its surface, barely detectable lines of force zeroed in on that bright light at the centre where Xemion whirled. At first Vallaine's perception of distance was skewed, but as he focused he realized that the luminous hub they all met in was only about twenty feet away. Vallaine took both ends of his rope and leaned way out from the platform so that he could pass the loop at the bottom over the slowly whirling figure. He was sure he was doing the right thing. The light flooding in and radiating through him from everywhere told him so. He needed this boy — this man. He was crucial to the Phaer Purpose.

When Xemion had completed one more slow spin, thereby winding the rope about his midsection, Vallaine tugged at the rope. As he pulled Xemion out of the centre, the light lessened a little, but still remained searingly bright. He dragged him up like a drowned man over the rough granite edge and laid him on the stone floor. Xemion twitched and jerked and continued mumbling and whispering for a short while, but then he suddenly stopped. Vallaine feared he might be dead, for his body was extremely cold and his flesh had taken on a slightly blue colour. But he was breathing shallowly, so slowly it was almost undetectable. Vallaine knew what this was: spell-shock. The boy had been trying to cast a spell — a very powerful spell. Vallaine grew more and more alarmed. He had to do something. His hand was now a deeper scarlet than it had ever been before. Indeed, the intense red had even spread up to his forearm and past his elbow. It felt hot and powerful. He pinched the webbing at the back of Xemion's thumb and forefinger until he began to see a slight grimace appear on the boy's face.

Good
, he thought.

He increased the pressure, finally causing Xemion to groan.

“Now stay with me,” he shouted. “Stay with me!”

Xemion grunted, his spirit like a moth struggling in thick black tar.

“Wake up,” Vallaine shouted, gripping him tight. “If you sink back into it, you will die!”

Xemion clenched his teeth and took another searing breath. In that instant, like someone waking from a nightmare, the memory of his life flooded back in on him. It seemed but seconds ago when he had fallen, less than a minute since the Pathan had poured that concoction down his throat. With great effort he lifted his eyelids and saw Vallaine illuminated by the bright light still radiating from the Nexis. Vallaine's usual projection of mirthful charm had been replaced by an expression of grave concern. He reached out his red hand to take Xemion's, and as it touched him Xemion remembered his suspicion.

“I have to get you out of here or you will die of spell-shock,” Vallaine said. “Can you stand?”

Xemion tried to move his arms and legs but couldn't, so Vallaine picked the boy up, cradling him in his arms as he ascended the seven steps back into the viewing chamber. He put him down long enough to close the black hatch, then, scooping him back up into his arms, he carried him to the main stairway and began to climb the Great Kone. It was so narrow here that each step was high while the staircase itself spiralled within a small circumference. Round and round he climbed.

“Are you keeping alert, Xemion?” he asked, seeing the glazed look returning to his eyes. Xemion just barely managed a nod.

“What were you doing down there?” Vallaine asked sharply.

Xemion had a vision of infinite versions of himself drawn from infinite universes: side-selves, under-selves, over-selves, all drawn down as one into the Nexis to chant those strange sounds — and he knew now what those sounds were. They were the words Musea had made him memorize. He felt them spring up again, great echoing helixes of conjury.

“Xemion, are you listening?”

Xemion lifted his eyes again and tried to speak, but he only achieved a muffled groan that hurt his throat.

“Did the old woman plant a spell on you?”

Xemion focused hard. He gave the smallest of nods. The apparent circling of the Great Kone above him was so nauseating he had to close his eyes again. But Vallaine wouldn't allow it. He pinched him hard till he groaned.

“What spell was it?”

Xemion's stomach heaved but it was empty. That larger sense of self he'd experienced in the Nexis was fading away.

“Was it a turn spell, do you think?”

Xemion kept retching and retching. Vallaine answered his own question. “I think it was. I think she planted a spell on you in hopes of somehow getting the Great Kone to turn again. Do you remember any of it?”

Xemion's eyes flickered as he shook his head just a little in answer.

“Well, try,” Vallaine said, his voice urgent. “I need to know.”

Xemion turned away but he couldn't hide that flicker again and Vallaine saw it.

“What? You mistrust me?” Vallaine asked, startled. “At the very moment I am saving your life?” Xemion did not meet his eye. “When have I ever done anything to earn such mistrust?”

Xemion managed to get the words out in a dry croak. “Last night.”

Vallaine blinked in confusion.

“Glittervein,” Xemion added, his voice raw, the anger welling.

Vallaine actually paused in mid-step. A look of understanding entered his eyes. “Are you telling me that Glittervein took you in for examination?”

“And a Pathan.”

“And a Pathan?” This latest piece of information seemed to leave him quite shocked. “Inside Ulde?”

Xemion nodded, the lines in his brow deepening accusingly.

“Look, Xemion,” Vallaine said angrily. “This is very serious. It wasn't last night you gave the locket to me. It was a fortnight ago. I haven't even seen Glittervein yet. I still have the locket at home in my tower. I thought you had gone on to the camp in the mountains.”

Xemion showed no reaction. He was trying to move his legs.