The Riddles of Epsilon (9 page)

 

So the haughty prince crept alone one night, deep into the hidden tunnels of the island. He sat behind a veil of water and dwelled on his hatred. And he devised a plan that would turn the whole of L'Ume's kingdom inside out.

 

(The wind shrieks. The cobwebs above the grate belly out . . . in . . . out.

I sit shivering before a great oval looking glass, and in it, my right hand becomes my left hand.)

 

As the prince sat alone in the dark bowels of Lume, his hair grew long. His teeth grew into fangs and his heart grew sour. He knew that his own melody had no enchantment. Since he could never match the Lumic, he sought
instead to invert it. So he sang a new song—a Song of Inversion.

 

(The looking glass is suddenly ablaze with lightning! It dazzles my eyes. When I rub my tight-closed eyes, I see the image of the bright mirror—a dark oval mouth. All around it, the shadows are lit, livid green and gold.)

 

Then out of the prince's mouth came a song so monstrous that the great creatures of the sea rolled in terror and the seas rose up. For the song held only unspeakable ugliness. And that is why we call him Prince Cimul—or the Lord of Inversion—for he dared to invert the beauty of the Lumic.

 

(Cimul—the Lord of Inversion! This name stirs me strangely. I feel hot and chilled at once. I am very thirsty. But I do not feel inclined to go back downstairs to the scullery, creeping along the dark corridors alone.

There is no space between the lightning and its thunder. They arrive together. In the face of the looking glass I am captured, a bright-lit scribe.)

 

So out crept the Inverter from the secret seams of the earth, and he broadcast it far and wide, in cunning
whispers, that L'Ume's kingdom was anyone's for the taking! He planted his vile song—the Cimul—into the ears of all.

 

(Yet look—the lamp! It throws my own shape large against the wall. I am a gray giant with a gray quill, scribbling on a gray parchment.

Then the lightning cracks and lights me up again, scribbling. There are two scribes—one bright, one dark!)

 

So a great unrest rose up, and a hunger not known before—a hunger for the songs of the dark. This is why we call him The Dark Peril.

 

(That feeling is back again—that I am being watched. I swivel around. I cannot seem to stop doing it, looking for something I dread to see. It is as if there are eyes in the walls, at the shutters—as if someone peers in at me from all sides. But such fanciful thoughts will not help me with my history of Lume. Enough, Sebastian! Write!)

 

Then Cimul walked out onto Long Beach, and he challenged King L'Ume outright.

“Look,” said he. “Your subjects have never before had
two songs warring within them—they have only known the Lumic! But I have created the Cimul, and your people are no longer at rest. So ask them, one by one: ‘Whom would you serve?' The king who brings them one song—or the prince who brings them choice?”

 

(The gaps between the thunderclaps are longer now. In his room, Papa coughs and paces—the level in the brandy decanter will be falling. And a new sound—very soft—what is that? It is coming from along the corridor. A footfall? But now the thunder is back; it drowns it out. It is my fear anyway, only my own fear.)

 

Then all of Lume quivered, as did the mighty sea creatures swimming and listening. They waited for the king to stand and slay this Cimul, the Lord of Inversion. But he did not. Instead, King L'Ume raised his hands up to the sky. His beautiful hand was scarred by ugly marks—tooth marks, as from a vicious bite.

 

(I am not imagining it! Footsteps approach, soft sounds, like someone creeping along the corridor. No, no!)

 

And this utterance came from the mouth of the king:

“My beautiful heart is breaking, on this day of
dark inversion. But let each one now decide, and then live with his deciding in the coming days, whichever it may be.”

 

(I am listening, listening. I am a gray scribe, listening. Then the lightning flashes. The bright scribe listens. I am split in two.)

 

Then each mortal turned his back either on Cimul or upon the king, who alone had ruled them all. So Cimul gathered a great army that day, the day King L'Ume let each decide.

 

(I swear it—the sound comes nearer, soft along the corridor. No, no! I must pick up the quill from where I have dropped it, all nerves. Here I am, picking up the quill. I will ignore it all.)

 

But King L'Ume still had his hands raised high, and lightning forked from his fingers. The lightning reached out to Cimul, and as it smote him in the mouth, King L'Ume said these words:

(In the garden, a crashing, a mighty tumbling. My eyes seem to see through the shutters: The wooden bench has been torn from its plinth; it rolls over and over, it splinters into the orchard wall. In the corridor—silence.)

 

At the sound of the name Agapetos, Cimul screamed a terrible scream until the seas rose up and smashed the shore.

Then out of Cimul's open mouth fell one tooth, sharp as a dagger, and it fell to the sand on Long Beach. Cimul turned tail and fled then, and all his followers fled with him, onto Coscoroba Rock.

 

(They start again—the footsteps. They are coming closer, they are very stealthy. Write! Write!)

 

But one of Cimul's followers—a foolish youth—reached back to snatch the tooth and carried it to his prince. This was the very first time the tooth was “gifted” unto him. Cimul raised it high in triumph and sang this cursing song in reply:

(My heart leaps in my chest, it bangs so! I cannot open that door to see who is approaching it. I can only scribble, faster, faster.)

 

But Cimul had forgotten the faithful listeners, the creatures of the sea. And as Cimul raised the tooth high above Coscoroba Rock, a shining porpoise leaped from the waves—and caught it in his jaws.

 

(Write write write I am not listening not listening not listening.)

 

Then the dolphin and the whale and the porpoise carried the tooth deep into the secret places under the
ocean, where its powers of cursing lie hidden to this day . . . .

 

(A sigh—just now—right outside the door—)

 

Yet some say that Cimul's followers are rising up in force, are gathering once again to find the tooth and invoke the cursings Prince Cimul spoke over it . . . .

IT IS NOT REAL—ANY OF IT! It is a story, a legend, written in a quaking room in a quaking house in the middle of a terrible storm. That is all. It is just a myth. I will open the door now. I will open the door calmly, and there will be no pale eyes there, watching. There will be nothing waiting—no dark creatures crouched there, gathered.

I will say a word to help me do it. A word, to make me brave.

The word will be “Agapetos.”

Go now, Sebastian.

THERE ARE TWO MEMBERS IN THE CHAT ROOM:

J
ESS AND
A
VRIL

AVRIL:
So what
did
he find when he opened the door?

JESS:
Dunno. Haven't even found that bit yet.

AVRIL:
You're seriously telling me that all these spooky things are about a fang? A
tooth
?

JESS:
Apparently.

AVRIL:
And who do you think the men are? The men meeting in secret at the tower thing?

JESS:
Not sure. But from what they were saying, they are up to no good.

AVRIL:
Jess. You sound like an Enid Blyton story.

JESS:
Avril. This is no story.

AVRIL:
The Island of Adventure!

JESS:
I'm scared.

AVRIL:
No need to be scared.

JESS:
No?

AVRIL:
Noooo. Just make sure you have lots of yummy picnics and wash everything down with lashings of ginger beer—then it will all come right in the end. According to the gospel of Enid Blyton.

JESS:
I HATE IT WHEN YOU DO THIS!

AVRIL:
Well, come
on
! Every time I talk to you, you go on and on about ancient myths and ghosts, and here am I expelled from school again and what do you care?

JESS:
You've been
expelled
?

AVRIL:
Yesterday.

JESS:
Why?

AVRIL:
Drinking. Smoking. Usual things. Not that you care.

JESS:
But I didn't know! How can I care if I didn't know? That's not fair.

AVRIL:
Not fair? All you talk about is yourself and your spooky new mates, and you never even ask about me at all. Why should I tell you—you don't care about me—it's all you, you, you.

JESS:
I'm sorry, Avril. Really. I'm just so—freaked out.

AVRIL:
Can I remind you of something? Like, why we all fell out with you last spring?

JESS:
I'm not sure I want to hear this.

AVRIL:
Hard luck. We all got so sick of you going on and on and on about your puny little self. Your life, your mom and her stupid affair, on and on and on. You might be the center
of your own little universe, Jessica White. But you are not the center of mine. Thank god, or I'd die of utter boredom. You are the most boring person I have ever,
ever
met.

AVRIL HAS NOW LEFT THE CHAT ROOM

E:
Ouch! I saw that!

JESS:
Go away.

E:
No. I have to show you a picture. A round picture. In a square frame. Down at the cottage.

JESS:
A picture? Don't tell me—another snippet of the whole. Why can't I see it all at once, instead of this stupid . . . 
jigsaw puzzle?!

E:
Sometimes jigsaws are entirely necessary.

JESS:
Epsilon. Read my lips. I do not like jigsaw puzzles. I do not like any jigsaws. I especially do not like this jigsaw. This Jigsaw freaks me out.

E:
Nevertheless, you are as involved as Sebastian was.

JESS:
Oh, and you really cared about him, didn't you! I mean—where were you when he needed you? Poor little boy, stuck in a scary library with dark things creeping down the corridors, where were you?

E:
Working elsewhere.

JESS:
On the island? This horrible, spooky island?

E:
On the island.

JESS:
Which reminds me—what is that tower thing? And who are the men I heard doing all that horrible chanting?

E:
They are workers of the Dark Ones who are watching you. They sense that the time of dark choices has arrived again. They sense that their ancient relic has come to light again—the tooth. It has been lost for many, many years now. They want it.

JESS:
So . . . this is all about a tooth?

E:
<> Not at all. It's all about a
curse
. They want to invoke the old curses spoken
over
the tooth.

JESS:
I get it. Not.

E:
You will. Just stay close to me.

JESS:
Oh, yeah! Right! How the hell do I stay close to someone I've never met? Get real.

E:
Use your mind. And go to the small library. Tonight.

JESS:
The small library?

E:
I believe that's what I said.

JESS:
Tonight?

E:
I believe that's also what I said.

JESS:
Alone?

E:
I believe I did not actually say that. But the inference was there—yes.

JESS:
Are you
kidding
? You must think I'm crazy!

E:
You'll be fine. I will protect you.

JESS:
You'll be there?

E:
In a sense.

JESS:
<>

E:
It shouldn't take you long, anyway. Just go and look for the other book.

JESS:
Other book?

E:
I wish you would stop repeating everything I say. The other book—the one Sebastian didn't have time to write about.

JESS:
The cartography thingummy?

E:
The very same. It's time for maps. Talking of which—you are not a hermit, you know! Tsk tsk! Lazy girl!

JESS:
What's that supposed to mean?

E:
You should get out more. Go for a walk. Get some exercise.

JESS:
So. You want me to find a map of Lume? Then go and explore?

E:
You are learning.

JESS:
Gee, thanks. Anything else?

E:
Yes. Take a bit of interest in your mother's artwork.

JESS:
Mom's artwork? You cannot be serious! After all the panic it's causing? Have you
heard
my dad lately? He's foaming at the mouth!

E:
I fail to see why.

JESS:
You're a little slow, aren't you—for an invisible being? She is supposed to be a PORTRAIT PAINTER!

E:
So?

JESS:
Well—it's her career! It's what we live off! Not all this
weird black-and-white stuff!

E:
You disappoint me. You sound just like your father.

JESS:
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E:
I see I have hit a raw nerve.

JESS:
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E:
Well—you DO sound like him!

JESS:
Oh, just SHUT UP!

JESS HAS NOW LEFT THE CHAT ROOM