City of Hope and Despair (30 page)

  Damn, had Kat pushed things too far?

  "However," and that warm smile returned. "Once we've finished interviewing him and are satisfied that he's told us all he can, we may well decide to exile him from Thaiburley rather than enforcing a custodial sentence. Should that prove to be the case, I could always make sure you were alerted as to the time and place of his release. Such details aren't considered secrets, after all."

  Kat smiled and nodded. "Fair enough; then I think we might just have ourselves a deal."

They couldn't wake Dewar.

  Mildra examined him and thought that he was all right physically, but he remained in a deep sleep. She didn't want to leave him but was convinced they were near to their goal and was desperate to continue. The man was too heavy to carry. In the end they pulled him into a more sheltered position and decided to leave him, reasoning that this was the only sensible thing to do. They wrapped him warmly and left a parcel of provisions beside his sleeping form, vowing to return once they'd found the river's source and take him back to Pilgrimage End somehow, whether he was awake or not.

  They set out in subdued mood, recent events weighing heavy on both their minds, as Mildra demonstrated when she asked, "Do you think Ky was anything to do with Seth Bryant, or just an opportunist?"

  "Opportunist, I reckon, and I don't suppose we're the first he's done this too."

  "At least we know we'll be the last," Mildra said, which put him right back to thinking about what he'd done to Ky and Dewar, which both fascinated and frightened him. Simply leaving their erstwhile leader behind seemed wrong, especially as this wasn't the first time, but he couldn't think of an alternative.

  Above the temple the river, now shrunk to a width no greater than two men lying head to toe, ran through a desolate landscape of grey brown rocks and ice. The air seemed incredibly clear and pure, and bitterly cold, while the sky was an impossibly bright blue. They came across a cluster of rusted tins and canisters and what might have been the remains of a sled; proof positive that people had been here before, though not recently by the look of it.

  The river appeared to be leading them directly towards a sheer rock face, or perhaps ice face; it was now difficult to be certain where pale rock ended and muddied ice began. Sure enough, a little further and the frothing white waters disappeared under a low rock/ice ledge, or rather emerged from beneath it.

  "An ice cave," Mildra murmured, before turning to him, her face aglow. "This is it, Tom, the source of the Thair, home of the goddess."

  Tom did his best to respond with a smile, though in truth he found it hard to match her enthusiasm. He felt too tired, too cold, and too numbed.

  At the cave's mouth a chunk of melting, permeated ice sat in the water, its sharp edge jutting skyward. It looked defiant and menacing – a warning of intent to any trespassers.

  A narrow ledge ran into the ice cave on their side of the river, just above water level and all-but invisible until they were almost upon it. Without hesitation Mildra entered the cave, though she had to duck down to do so, as did Tom behind her. They were so close to the water that it was impossible for feet and legs not to get splashed time and again by the gushing, bubbling neo-river, so that socks and trouser legs were quickly soaked through and cold, while the very wall they were forced to press against radiated a level of chill that leached warmth from the body. Despite their thick clothing, Tom's face, hands and feet soon felt so frozen that he was convinced they'd never fully thaw again. Under any other circumstances he might have given up and insisted they turn back, but after all the two of them been through to get here, that would have been ridiculous. So he pressed on, increasingly concerned that neither of them were likely to leave this ice cave alive, that their strength would run out before this tunnel did.

  Just when it reached the point where he didn't think he could take the cold or his back aching, or his legs hurting from the cold and the demands of this new bentover form of walking, the wall beside him vanished, and the claustrophobic presence of rock and ice so close above his head lifted. He and Mildra were both able to stand straight again; tentatively at first, as if not quite able to believe they were able to do so, but they did.

  "Some sort of chamber," Mildra said, almost whispering.

  Tom knew how she felt; it was if they had stumbled into some mystical grotto where no mere humans were meant to tread. But another matter concerned him more. "How come we can see?" he wondered aloud. "Where's the light coming from?"

  "No idea."

  It seemed to emanate from all around them. A soft, pale, bluish and appropriately icy light. They could see, and they could stand straight again, but it was still bitterly cold.

  The chamber was a small one. The frothing water vanished beneath another wall, this one appearing to be far less ambiguous; it was clearly a sheet of ice rather than rock. Mildra was already examining it and beckoned him over.

  "Look at this."

  Embedded in the wall, at around shoulder height to Tom, was the outline of a human hand. The indentation was obvious when you stood close to it, but from six or seven steps away it was invisible, with nothing to differentiate it from the rest of the ice.

  "What do you think it is?" he asked.

  "A door," Mildra replied instantly. "I think a hand pressed into this will open some sort of door, one which we can't even see as yet."

  The two looked at each other. "You try," Tom said. "Since this is your goddess we're supposed to be visiting."

  "True," and she smiled. "But I think this is something you have to do. After all, you're the one the prime master sent here. I just came along for the ride."

  Tom raised his eyebrows, wishing he could argue the point, but instead he reached forward to press his right hand firmly into the depression. He was grateful for the glove. Without it, his hand would probably be frozen in place.

  Nothing happened.

  "I think it's supposed to be done with a naked hand, Tom," Mildra said quietly.

  Unfortunately, Tom had a feeling she was right. Taking a deep breath, he pulled off the glove, spread his fingers and, before he could think about what he was doing, pressed firmly against the indentation, which was larger all round that his actual hand. There was no give, in fact no obvious response at all. To his considerable surprise, there was no sense of cold either. Perhaps, despite appearances, this wasn't ice after all.

  "Keep your hand there," Mildra urged. Tom did so, but after another uneventful second he was about to stand back and suggest the Thaistess have a go, when there came a low rumbling; not loud, but seeming to emerge from somewhere deep in the ground.

  The wall in front of them, which they'd taken to be a sheet of ice, started to rise. Water ran from its edges and dripped down from above, where the wall appeared to be sliding up into a wide slot in the ceiling. Beyond was darkness. Light from the open doorway fell onto the stone floor of what could only be a vast cavern but threw little illumination onto whatever waited further inside. The faintest of outlines were all that Tom could make out. The floor was solid, the waters of the nascent Thair emerging from somewhere beneath it. That was as much as Tom registered before the lights flickered to life, and the room's contents were revealed.

  Two large caskets stood close to the back wall, dominating the room. Grey, moulded, perhaps metallic, although he couldn't be certain, they were supported by a complicated system of braces, almost upright but tilting slightly backwards. Each looked large enough to house a Kayjele and they were unmistakably humanoid in shape. There were other things behind, arranged against the wall, equipment and wonders enough for any curious mind, but Tom barely noticed them; the two caskets claimed his attention completely. Mildra, though, gasped on seeing them, her gaze sweeping along the various objects.

  "Some of these things…" she murmured. "I recognise them. We have equipment similar to this in the temples."

  Tom led the way into the room, Mildra at his shoulder, each absorbed by their own fascination. As a result, it was Tom who noticed the change first, who saw that the casket to his left was showing signs of – what? – life? Signs of something, at any rate.

  "Look, the casket," he murmured, pointing.

  The front no longer looked plain and grey, no longer resembled metal or anything else Tom could name. Instead its substance seemed to slide and shift, as if it were liquid rather than solid; a viscous gel that moved sluggishly but with apparent purpose. And it glittered, shimmering with internal light.

  Beside him, Mildra's breath seemed to catch, giving rise to a quiet, "Oh."

  Whatever transformation they were watching gathered pace – the gel no longer moving slowly but instead seeming to race around within the confines of the casket's front, rippling with colour and light that spread across it in waves.

  Mildra sank slowly to her knees, hands clutched before her breast.

  Tom didn't.

  He thought about doing so, if only for Mildra's sake, but instead determined to meet the goddess or whatever they might be about to face as a man, standing on his own two feet.

  The bursts of light increased until they became dazzling, causing Tom to shield his eyes. For one horrifying moment he was reminded of the Rust Warrior, but as the light faded and he was able to look again, any such fears disappeared.

  The front of the casket had vanished. The interior was padded in what looked to be soft off-white cushioned material. Cosseted within this nest was a figure that was unmistakably a woman. Outlandishly dressed in a pale blue one-piece suit which left only her head exposed, she was tall, slender, and had a face that looked to be settling comfortably into middle age, with high cheek bones and well-sculpted features – a face that could be described as handsome, though hinting that it might once have been a good deal more than that. The unkempt hair hung long and straight, falling to her shoulders, and it was grey, though not lank or lacking in lustre. This was the grey of burnished steel.

  Then she opened her eyes.

  Dark, incredibly dark, like Tom's.

  "Holy Mother Thaiss, we welcome you," Mildra said.

  The goddess ignored her and stared straight at Tom. "You're late," she snapped.

  Tom stared, uncertain of how to respond. He wanted to look at Mildra for guidance but didn't dare. "I'm sorry," he said carefully, "when were you expecting us?"

  "At least a hundred years ago," the goddess replied. She stretched her neck, flexed her arms. "Is Thaiburley still standing?" Barely pausing, she then answered her own question. "Of course it is, or you wouldn't be here. I'm amazed it's survived this long." She rubbed her eyes, and then skewered Tom with that intense gaze again. "The city is still standing, isn't it?"

  "Yes," he assured her. "Yes."

  She seemed to relax a little. "Good, then there's still hope."

The prime master scrutinised his hand, turning it over so that the vein in his wrist stood proud, then opening and closing the fingers, moving from the aggression of clenched claw to the spread of earnest entreaty and back again. No visible signs yet, but he knew it wouldn't be long. He could feel the joints stiffen, the skin solidify, and knew that scaly hardness lay just beneath the surface.

  In the past few days he had utilised every discipline to stifle emotions, measures that were known to be infallible. So why did he sit here still feeling such fear, such frustration, such despair?

  The weight of years suddenly sat heavy on his shoulders. The prime master sighed, bowed his head, and allowed himself the luxury of a single tear. It trickled from the corner of his left eye to drop from his cheek, a pinpoint of moisture sitting proud on the desk before him.

  Was this really how his life was destined to end?

EPILOGUE

Ol' Jake looked around the familiar taproom of the Four Spoke Inn. These were strange times and no mistake; Seth and Wil vanishing like that – here one night, gone the next morning. It had been the talk of Crosston for days. Things hadn't been the same since. At times like these a man needed the reassurance of familiar surroundings, and the Four Spoke Inn could at least be counted on for that.

  He took a sip from his tankard, savouring the maltiness of the brew.

  Jake was of an age where he didn't much care for change. A steady routine, things in their place and faces where he expected to see them; that would do him just fine thank you very much. Nor was he one for asking too many questions, not like some folk around here.

  The regulars were thin on the ground tonight. Not even Matty had put in an appearance as yet, which meant Jake was short of good company. He could always go and join Col Blackman, but in truth he'd rather squat over a nest of agitated ladder snakes than share a drink with that twisted soul. He wouldn't trust him as far as he could throw him, and at Jake's age that was no distance at all.

  A high pitched squeal drew his attention away from Blackman and he looked round in time to see the young barmaid Bethany slap the face of a garishly dressed merchant. That minx would come a cropper one day, but not this one it would seem; the merchant was clearly furious and looked fit to take things further, but his two friends were laughing and slapping him on the back. Jake hid a smile behind another swallow of beer as he watched the red-faced pompous ass fight down his initial anger and attempt to muster a laugh of his own, more worried about losing face in front of his fellow fops than he was about seeking petty vengeance on an uncooperative tavern girl.

  Bethany flounced back to the bar with the empties, her long, straight, strawberry blonde hair bouncing in time to the jiggle of her pertly modest bosom. Every eye in the house was on her – an occurrence she always enjoyed.

  The girl wrinkled her pretty little nose and batted her eyelids at the landlord as she set the empty glasses down.

  "Everything all right, Bethany?"

  "Of course," she responded, with a gratuitous flick of her dark-gold locks.

  Jake and the landlord exchanged knowing glances, which fell just short of grins.

  Jake had come to accept that life presented far more questions than it ever did answers. No point in fretting over that, it was simply the nature of things. Definitive explanations were rare, particularly where men such as Seth Bryant were concerned. Not that Jake minded in the least. He was simply glad to have Seth back behind the bar at the Four Spoke Inn.

  "Same again, Jake?"

  "Oh, go on then, Seth. One more never hurt anybody."

  Something Jake had learned long ago: the more things change, the more they stay the same, and, as far as he was concerned, all was again right in the world now that Seth was back where he belonged.