Chapter XV -- Concluded

  The Barrier Destroyed

  If you see sarcophagi in unexpected places, give them a wide berth.

  Tregarde’s warning echoed now in Edana’s mind as she stared down the shaft in the cellar. According to Tha?s—as passed on to Selàna — each of the sacrifices would have been lowered into a pit beneath the floors of the towers in the fortress battlements.

  Tha?s spoke truly, for indeed they did find the sarcophagi exactly where she said they would be. To get to them they descended a long spiral staircase from the ground floor of the tower all the way to a subterranean floor.

  The glowlights they carried showed them a huge metal circle inset in the floor, which the Rasena Valentians mistakenly believed to be a manhole cover.

  Until they came closer.

  Gold filaments formed the border of the circle, interrupted at the top edge by a golden lotus blossom. The golden filaments resumed at the bottom of the flower, forming an elaborate stem that twisted and turned at regular intervals. Deep violet enamel bordered the stem on one side, and vibrant red enamel bordered it on the other side.

  “A labyrinth!” Bessa exclaimed, recognizing the pattern at once. “I saw this version of the labyrinth design in Karnassus.”

  Edana halted in her steps. Red and violet — the colors of death and life. By sheer instinct she grabbed Bessa’s arm, hauling her backwards. Ignoring Bessa’s yelp of surprise, she held up her free hand, which prompted Selàna to pause on the second-to-last stair step.

  “What is it?” Selàna asked.

  “The shadow gate antechamber in Amavand’s palace had seals with these symbols,” was all Edana managed to say, before seven shadowy serpents flashed into view over the seal.

  With the shadow snakes came a bone-chilling cold that instantly slowed her and her companions. Each step they took came only with extreme effort; fleeing was impossible. As well, the cold leached the breath from their throats.

  “Nooo,” Selàna managed to cry out. Then, at once, the girl clamped a hand over her own mouth, as if to keep her screams inside.

  Undaunted, Edana prayed. Memory of their expedition into Amavand’s memories bolstered her. In Erebossa the spirit shield her prayers created was visible, manifesting as a violet light surrounding her and her companions. Within the cosmos she could not see the shield at all, but she trusted it would be present nonetheless. Through chattering teeth and shaky breaths she prayed out loud, persisting even as the shadow serpents swirled closer and closer.

  Her faith was rewarded: almost immediately six of the seven shadow serpents were repelled the moment they came within arm’s length …

  … and similar to the gigalions, the serpents dissolved, reabsorbed into the seventh serpent. Shadows fell away, black lightning flashed, and metallic black scales emerged on the now-lone snake.

  The snake reared up and fluttered its enormous tongue at them. Its scales clinked as it undulated against the stone floor.

  But Edana didn’t have time to be frightened; her attention remained fixed on the shadow the serpent now cast on the walls. Fellshades did not have shadows, for they lacked bodies. In devouring its fellow shadow serpents, the seventh had evidently gained the power to become corporeal.

  Her moonbow knives made short work of him.

  Upon the demise of the snake the icy cold vanished. However, the women waited until life returned to their limbs before they approached the seal again.

  Careful to avoid stepping on the seal, Selàna held out her hand and poured a drop of the naiad’s tears. One drop was all it took to destroy the seal utterly. Revealing the sarcophagus that lay in the pit below. Fashioned in the shape of a person, right down to the simulated feet, the sarcophagus featured a death mask made in the likeness of a man screaming in agony.

  Bile rose in Edana’s throat, and with some effort she forced it back down. Only the joyous sight of golden wisps arising from the sarcophagus managed to quell her anger.

  “That’s one,” Bessa said after a while. “Or two, if we assume Alia’s group was also successful. Let’s go get our next two.”

  As it happened, Alia’s group was indeed successful. Every member of the Zanbellian Expeditionary Force — as Bessa so named them — met at the seventh seal, in the seventh tower. Comparing notes, they realized that at each seal they encountered, they also met with fewer serpents. The first seal Alia had come to, there were only six. The second seal Edana’s group dealt with only had five, and they quickly realized the number of serpents were based on the number of remaining seals.

  “You must have destroyed yours before we found ours,” Alia suggested.

  When five of the snakes she faced were absorbed by the sixth, the sixth also managed to become flesh and blood.

  But when Edana’s group encountered the sentinels of the fifth seal, they discovered the snakes simply dissolved. None of them were able to take on a fleshly form.

  “This sounds like a trap,” Tregarde said when they met in front of the seventh tower. “There’s no law that says the shadow snakes didn’t simply re-form inside this tower.”

  Overhead, lightning sparked. Rain had never come to the gate fortress, only snow, which ceased to trouble them when they overthrew the reign of the soul devourers.

  Lightning flashed. Yet no cloud graced the sky, nor did thunder rumble. Experience had taught Bessa and Edana to associate such a strange phenomenon with the giants.

  But in Zanbil they ascribed it to another source.

  “The dome is getting weaker,” Bessa pointed out. “If the shadow sentinels really did reassemble, then let’s face them together.”

  But inside they were confronted by something they did not expect.

  Seven ethereal figures floated above the floor of the the tower’s antechamber. Men wearing pleated kilts and bearing beautifully wrought cuffs on their wrists; women in bright sheath dresses overlayed by a fancy network of beads; every individual surrounded by a golden haze. As one they tented their fingers together and bowed, as if giving homage to priests or prophets.

  “By the Huntress,” Alia whispered.

  The man in the center of the ethereal figures—ghosts—floated forward. The smile on his face radiated warmth and joy. When he spoke, his lilting voice hinted of luscious songs he might have song in his living years. He wore a jeweled collar about his neck, but unlike the others his featured a prominent stylized swan.

  “Greetings and gratitude We extend to you, O blessed saviors! Because of your noble actions these steadfast friends were able to rescue Us. Userkaf are We, brother to the king of Zanbil. In Our life We called always for peace, and practiced the virtues of devotion and fidelity. Those who sought to desecrate Tha?s, daughter of the Restorer, found Us implacable in Our refusal to betray her hiding place. Not only Us, but our companions before you now. For this transgression We were sacrificed alongside them. Our warm thanks We all of us extend to you now.”

  His use of the royal “we” emphasized his status as a prince, but the way he gestured to his friends as he spoke suggested he was speaking for them as well.

  Alia bowed her head. “Thanks are not necessary. We couldn’t let this abomination stand. Rest easy now.”

  The ghosts bestowed brilliant smiles upon them.

  But Edana eyed them warily. “Was it you who whispered to us that we should join you?

  A momentary flicker rippled through the ghosts, their lights dimming for only a heartbeat. Userkaf’s smile oddly did not waver, though he lowered his eyes.

  “For this you have Our deepest apologies also,” he replied. “The curse Our enemies laid upon Us included using Our distress to attract souls to fortify the strength of the barrier that trapped us here. When first We were cursed We had the strength to warn others to flee. But in time We succumbed, and could only make mortar for the infernal barrier with every soul we drew to Us. What amends can We make to you, you who still draw breath?”

  Caught off guard, the others looked to Edana. She must have considered the matter already, for she promptly answered him.

  “We have freed every soul and destroyed every soul devourer we know of in your gate fortress. To avenge you is not in our power, so I echo my friend in bidding you peaceful eternal rest. For our part, we came here seeking the means to defeat an ancient enemy, Rahqu of the Endless Void, and the giants who serve her. Know that we will not leave here without redeeming our purpose. Tell us by what means we can destroy the barrier over the Royal Ward. And by what means we can leave Zanbil.”

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  The female ghost to the left of Userkaf laughed. Though the haze surrounding her imparted a golden aspect, the shape of the flowers in her hair suggested they were moonglow blooms.

  “You’ll avenge us in your way, you’ll see! But our time is past, so we ask you not to forget us. Let our names be known to those of your age, that we helped you in your quest. I am Tetisheri, and in life I was a scriptomancer: what I wrote is what was so. My powers were used against me and my companions, but now I give to you the scroll of unmaking. Unmake that which was constructed by lies and deceit.”

  Tetisheri then displayed her power. Extending her index finger into the air, she began writing. Golden shapes flashed into view with every flick of her wrist, until she made an extravagant flourish.

  “It is done,” she said.

  Edana gasped. Where before her hands her empty, she now held a scroll of papyrus, rolled up and held in place with a golden ribbon. Two charms hung from the ribbon, one silver and one gold, both shaped like swans.

  Each ghost in turn gave their names, and each of them bestowed what knowledge they could. Userkaf instructed them to take his royal seal ring, which he said would “open doors that might otherwise hold fast against you.”

  “When you find Tha?s tell her We bear her no grudge or resentment. In her way she will honor Us, and We ask nothing more of her than that,” Userkaf said.

  In the blink of an eye the ghosts vanished.

  “May Sorcha guide you to the Everlasting Lands,” Bessa prayed.

  No more did lightning crackle overhead. Gone also was the harsh unrelenting brightness of an unseen sun. Night greeted them when they exited the final tower. Not the oppressive dark imposed by the shadow crocodiles, but a true night: stars twinkled in the expanse, offering up light and hope in equal measure. Refreshing cool breezes lifted their hair, and brought relief from the exhausting heat they’d endured.

  “So we are somewhere,” Sheridan noted, awe in his voice. He had been the first to exit the tower, and step outside into the western enclosure of the fortress.

  Looking up, Bessa turned and turned, trying to get her bearings as she scanned the sky in search of any familiar star. “What stars are these? On the Salamandra homeworld two moons light the night, along with stars we don’t know. I don’t recognize these stars, either.”

  “I do,” Selàna replied. She sounded giddy, and actually smiled as she twirled about on the grass. Pointing to the sky she indicated one arrangement of stars. “That’s the Harp! In your Silura you would not see this, but come to Ta-Seti and you can see it in winter.”

  “We see it all the time in Lyrcania,” Alia added. “This heartens me. We are seeing a true night, not an artificial day or an infernal darkness.”

  “If this night be true, then let us lay the dead to rest in the morning light,” Tregarde said.

  The night indeed was a true night, because dawn came when Alia’s watch said it would.

  From the sun’s rise all into the evening they transported the remaining corpses into the cellars of the nearest warehouses. Once more they attended to what funeral rites they could manage under the circumstances.

  Night had fallen again by the time they made their way to the pavilion, not even stopping to have dinner or a bath. On their walk Bessa imagined that when humans last walked about in the gate fortress the air had been perfumed with night blooms. Under her nose she held a cone of amber incense, her best attempt to drive away the scent of death and decay she’d kept company with for so long.

  Ahead, the king’s pavilion stood in the distance. Made of marble, its standout feature was the wraparound porch on which stood columns with swan capitals supporting the roof. In the daylight the shade of the porch would have provided welcome relief from the sun. The striking edifice was shaped like a hexagon, prompting Bessa to ask aloud if it may have been an oraculum.

  “Mama said the king of Zanbil met dignitaries there. Sometimes he would invite them to his palace, and his key bearer—an official who carries the portal staff and operates it for him—would open the portal to the palace. That’s where we might end up,” Selàna warned. She strolled ahead, perhaps eager to see the king’s meeting place for herself.

  After so long living with the handiwork of the Conservationists, the thought of just appearing in their midst unwarned and unbidden made Bessa halt her steps.

  Walking beside her, Edana came to a stop as well. “What is it?”

  Hearing her, the Lyrcanians and Selàna turned to hear Bessa’s response. They, too, must have been keenly alive to the possibility of some new infernal scheme or trap, she supposed. Privately, she commended them for their vigilance.

  “Let’s nail down what we’re going to tell the people of the Royal Ward,” Bessa began. “Selàna, you can tell them the truth: you wish to become a priestess of the Restorer, and your mother possessed a coin of Zanbil. As she came and left here on friendly terms, that should buy us time. Perhaps their scribes kept records of her visit, which should help us.”

  Tendrils of smoke wafted out of the censer Sheridan casually swung at his side. He gathered the thin chain around his wrist as he pointed out, “But if they have truthsayers, they’re not going to believe we came here as escort. They’re going to know we have another reason for coming.”

  “Lady Nensela asked us to come. Truth. And Lady Nensela is a prophet. Also truth. If the Zanbellians are wise and still heed the gods, this alone should stay their hand against us,” Bessa said firmly. “Given that for over four hundred years they have been cut off from the world, do you not suppose curiosity for what a prophet might say of them now would also work in our favor? Especially if they wonder why she thought we might be of use to them? And in truth, we know nothing more of Zanbil other than Lady Nensela asking Edana to come here. They can’t torture us into telling what we don’t know.”

  A shiver ran through her, for it suddenly occurred to her that their ignorance bestowed a vital advantage, an an advantage which may have kept Lady Nensela from revealing more. While the seer insisted she would not play games with their lives, she might have deliberately withheld any information she judged too dangerous for Edana to possess. No matter how deeply a truthsayer probed, an impregnable layer of adamantine ignorance would thwart efforts to learn their motives.

  “And how did we all of us meet, in this tale you wish to weave?” Sheridan pursued.

  Though she was used to him challenging their plans, she also appreciated the effect it had on helping to refine those very plans. If there was a blind spot, something important she overlooked, she trusted he would bring it to their attention.

  “Exactly as we did meet: rescuing the people of Elamis. Rescuing them, specifically, from a ruler as wicked as any the Conservationists would have feared in the Age of Iniquity. Which should make their descendants inclined to think we sympathize with them, in part if not entirely,” Bessa replied.

  Edana stepped in. “It may be wise to let them think we’re sympathetic. We’ve seen the lengths their ancestors were willing to go to in defeating their enemies. Though I am disturbed and disgusted by those lengths, I think it’s prudent to withhold our opinions on the matter. If the current-day Zanbellians were taught by their elders to revere the Conservationists, they may think we’re Unificationists simply because we criticize their methods. Until we make them understand we’re entirely outside of their paradigm, it’s better to speak only the truth without adding in what we think of that truth. Can everyone agree to that?”

  To Bessa’s surprise, Sheridan gave an approving nod. “It is not for us to judge them. We were not there, when these things were done. When the two factions fought each other, we don’t know exactly what was happening, what they were facing. In Silura do you have the concept of a punishment suited to the crime? It might be that even the Soul Devourers were justice, if the Unificationists were aligned with the sorcerers that brought about the Fourth Cataclysm. If we condemn the Conservationists, we’ll just make their descendants hostile to no good purpose. They outnumber us.”

  Alia clapped a hand on Sheridan’s shoulder and beamed at him. “Rightly said. As the only outsiders the Zanbellians have seen in four hundred and fifty years, let’s behave as ambassadors. Only we’re not representing our countries, but Thuraia itself: a world in need of saving from infernal enemies of the day. For the world’s sake, let’s not do anything to make the people of Zanbil believe we are aligned with evil. Their powers, their knowledge, may be of use to us. Let’s convince them to rejoin the world.”

  Up close, they found curtains in a set of columns flanking the doorway to the pavilion. Exclaiming aloud, Bessa ran and grabbed hold of one of them.

  “Cloth-of-moonbow! By the gods, they have cloth-of-moonbow!”

  Iridescent and shimmering, the rare fabric easily outclassed even shimmersilk in beauty and quality. Cloth-of-gold could not compete, for it was merely silk thread wrapped in gold. This was silk wrapped in moonbow steel, and it slipped lightly through Bessa’s fingers when she caressed it.

  When she thought of what it would cost to even have her wedding veil woven of such material, she shivered again. As Aurelia’s granddaughter she ought to be more practical and think of how she might instead buy and furnish a house with the proceeds a comparable length of cloth-of-moonbow would fetch her.

  “Here is another way to appeal to Zanbil’s people: trade. You, Alia, can show them what you can do with your Ellura devices. It will be a subtle demonstration they are behind the times. In our time they are irrelevant and forgotten, but works such as this is their right of entry to a path of glory and consequence again. If heroism doesn’t appeal to them, they might be moved by pride and acquisitiveness. We would welcome their moonbow goods, and together with Selàna’s quest and her connection to her mother, we should be safe long enough to do whatever the gods wish us to do here.”

  With Bessa’s three-pronged approach of trade, edification, or heroism in treating with the inhabitants of the Royal Ward, they entered the king’s pavilion with confidence. As Tha?s promised Selàna, the king’s portal staff was cached in a false floor beneath a luxuriant rug in the center of the gathering room. The staffs they usually saw, belonging to sorcerers or priests, typically were surmounted by figures made in the likeness of creatures sacred to the relevant god. The chrysopteron’s staff used a golden eagle, the high priest of the Restorer a phoenix, the staff of Aletheia’s high Truthsayer was surmounted by eternal flames, and so forth.

  The king’s portal staff; however, was carved in the likeness of a vine of moonglow flowers. At the top of the staff the “vine” split and curved, forming a wreath. When Tregarde stood it upright, it proved to be almost his height, coming up to his chin.

  Turning the staff in his hands, Tregarde whistled. “Nice work, these Zanbellians did. Even a rank beginner might use this safely. Look here,” he said, pointing to one of the stylized vine tendrils.

  Alia brought her glowlight closer. “These don’t look like what we’ve seen in the Zanbellian texts.”

  Bessa’s heart sank. In her mind, she had supposed Selàna’s translation skills would assist them. After everything they did to get this far, would they be stopped now by ignorance of some exotic language they had never seen or heard before?

  But Tregarde’s smile touched his eyes. “No, that what you’re talking about would be everyday writing, for a Zanbellian. With sorcerers, you need a hedge of protection. You don’t want to risk accidentally activating a spell. You want to keep your backside attached, you do your spells in a language you don’t speak day-by-day. This here is the language of my people. Older, yes, but I know it when I see it. And my mama and papa didn’t sleep and skimp on the teaching of the old ways.”

  “Your people?” Alia asked. “You aren’t Lyrcanian? I thought you were one of the New Lyrcanians.”

  This time Tregarde laughed. “Lived there long enough to pick up an accent, but I hail from wandering Adamanteans. Now. Let’s get what we need and prepare for the Royal Ward. If we’re going to be ambassadors let’s not smell of brimstone and shadow.”