Heights of the Depths (27 page)

“Others?”

“Well…as luck would have it, Piri are reportedly gifted with an exceptional sense of direction. Piri and Trulls. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that they live underground and cannot depend upon the same manner of landmarks that we do. If they did not possess some sort of internal guidance system, they would probably be in a perpetual state of confusion.”

“And as luck would have it, we happen to have a Piri right among us.” Arren smiled. It did not look pleasant. “Can you tell me how to get to the sewers?”

“I know of several entrances, yes. And the Piri—?”

I’ll have to get her to cooperate as well.”

“What about the rest of the Ocular?”

“They’re going to do it.”

Xeri was taken aback. “Seriously? They have agreed to it? They have barely gotten here…”

“Not yet. But they’re going to agree to it. The Piri woman will see to it.”

“How do you know?”

“I know her type,” Arren said with conviction. “Her type is never satisfied with where she is. She has lusts. Lusts for anyplace that is not where she is at any given moment. And I will do my best to satisfy them. And you, Xeri, are going to help me.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Xeri said, excitement beginning to rise within him. “Do you truly believe they will be able to do it? Get you to the Serabim?”

“I do not see why they should be unable to do so.”

“And the Serabim will lead you to the Preceptor?”

“To Nicrominus, you mean?” Arren shrugged. “I do not see why they should be unable to lead us to Norda. And Norda is with Nicrominus. So it should not be all that much of a chore. How long will it take you to fashion the coverings for them?”

“Lenses,” said Xeri. “They are called ‘lenses,’ and not all that much time at all. A day. Two at the most. I already have a general idea of how large to make them, so I needn’t worry about taking measurements and such.” He looked as if he could scarcely believe it. “When I think of the possibility of the Preceptor being rescued—”

“Yes, well,” said Arren in uncontained disgust, “it is nothing short of astounding to me that you damned Firedraques are sitting around waiting for someone like me to initiate some manner of rescue. Where is Evanna in all of this? She’s his damned daughter. Why are we all still sitting around talking about this when she should be leading the charge?”

“She has her reasons,” said Xeri. He sounded uncertain, though. He added half-heartedly, “And I’m sure they are good ones.”

“Are you? I am not so sure,” said Arren.

“She loves her father.”

“Yes, I can see by the way she boldly attempts to go to his rescue.”

“It is not as simple as that.”

Arren leaned forward, his knuckles on the table. “If you truly love someone, then yes, it really is as simple as that.”

“She has no desire to fly in the face of the Travelers.”

“My sister has been taken, and because she is my sister and I love her, I would fly in the face of the Overseer and all his minions and track her straight into the bowels of hell if that was what was required. Because that, Xeri, is what it means to love someone. Tell me: If they had taken Evanna, whom you profess to love, and it was Nicrominus advising caution…would you be listening to him? Would you be sitting here? Or would you be going out of your mind, mad with worry, and doing whatever it took and to whomever you needed to do it in order to get her back?”

“I would accept the decisions of the Preceptor because we trust him to be in charge and know what is best for all concerned. Not just for me; for all concerned. That would be showing respect for those above me.”

“Well then, Xeri my friend, that is ultimately the difference between us. Because, to me, that would not be showing respect. That would be showing cowardice.”

“Are you calling me a coward?”

“I suppose I am. Why? Do you wish to challenge me on it?”

No. I wish you to leave Perriz because Evanna continues to speak of you incessantly, and because when compared to you I am pathetic and undesireable. So I want you out of my city and out of my life. If you return with Nicrominus, fine. If on the other hand you die in the attempt, even better.

“No,” said Xeri after a moment’s hesitation. “No, I have no wish to challenge you. Why should I care what your opinion is of me? At the moment we share the same goal, and getting into some sort of battle with you will do nothing to achieve that goal. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have lenses to fashion.”

“Yes, of course you do,” said Arren. He placed a hand on Xeri’s shoulder. “I suppose I should apologize for my rather rough treatment of you earlier.”

“Forget it,” said Xeri dismissively. “Think nothing of it. We are all endeavoring to cope with the stress of the current situation. And we express that stress in different ways.” 
In my case, I endeavor to find a way to arrange for a potential rival to send himself off on a suicidal mission.

“You are right, of course. And I expressed it through brute force. It was unworthy of me. Thank you for understanding, Xeri.”

“’Twas not a problem.” He made a sweeping gesture that was supposed to come across as magnanimous but instead appeared as if he were swatting insects. Arren stared at it in confusion for a moment, then shrugged. As he started out, he paused and said, “Imagine. A series of tunnels. That is exactly the sort of thing Norda would have loved. Let us pray that I can find her and bring her back here so that she can enjoy exploring it.”

“I am certainly hoping with all my heart that my prayers will be answered,” said Xeri solemnly.

the spires

Norda Kinklash heard something.

She had been draped over her friend, the statue, deeply involved in conversation with it. She could not recall when she had last had such engaging discussions. Back home, back at Firedraque Hall, she had endeavored from time to time to chat with the statues that lined the upper walls, but it had been difficult. They had spoken to her in a language she could not understand. A lot of “voos” and “weees” and “see vooplay” that made no sense to her. On the other hand, the statues in her new home at the Spires were far more approachable and easy to comprehend.

She had just been in the process of reminiscing about New Daddy. She knew he was gone, and was saddened over that. She could not quite recall what had happened to him, though. “Do you know where he is?” she had asked the statue.

“I seem to recall you saying something about eating him, actually.”

“Did I?” She tried to remember. Her memory was ever so frustrating a thing. It was not unlike a thousand little insects, buzzing about in countless directions, and she was always trying to gather them in and collect them into one place so that she could nail down her recollections.

Then it came back to her. The mess of her New Daddy lying all over the street, and her devouring him piece by piece, finishing with his heart. And the dugs running around trying to get at him, and the dug that had then led her to this place. All of it came back to her in a rush and she made a soft choking sound. “Oh, yes. I did do that,” she said sadly, wistfully. “I wish that had not happened. In fact…I think my wishing it hadn’t happened is why I wasn’t remembering it.”

“That could very well be,” agreed the statue. “It’s always easy to forget things when you want it to be so.”

Matters were complicated even more by the fact that she couldn’t recall exactly how New Daddy had met his demise. She knew that he had fallen, but the sight of it had been so upsetting to her that she couldn’t gather up the little flitting creatures that held the memory of how he had died. Had he leaped? Had he been thrown? She was leaning slightly toward the latter, but still couldn’t pull it all together.

That was when she had heard the sound.

It was a voice. A voice that she had not heard before, or at least she thought she hadn’t heard it. As always, it was difficult for Norda to be absolutely sure about such things.

She tilted her head slightly and listened more carefully. Her tongue flicked the air; the holes in the side of her head gave her some degree of aural sensation, but her tongue aided her further in sensing vibrations.

“There is definitely someone down there,” the statue said. It didn’t move its mouth or head or any part of itself; it never did. But it spoke with a voice that was firm and even strident. “A male, I think. Young, by the sound of him.”

“Who is it?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. How would I know? If you want to find out, then you are just going to have to determine it for yourself.”

“Yes. Yes, I will do that. Ooo! Do you think,” she said, taken by the idea, “that it will be someone that I have to kill?”

“Impossible to say without checking first.”

“Because I could do it, you know. I could kill someone. I have before. I could again. Arren was very proud of me the last time I killed someone. It helped him get what he wanted.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said the statue impatiently. “So you’ve said and nattered on about, far too frequently and for far too long. Are you going to stay here and continue to blather about it, or are you going to take some active initiative?”

“I’m going to do the second thing,” Norda said with deter-mination.

She swung herself off the ledge and skittered up and over the tower. Her clawed fingers sought and found purchase within the bell tower. She glanced up at the large array of bells hanging over her and fought the impulse to grab onto the long ropes hanging within. They would have provided the fastest way down, but she did not want to alert anyone below to the fact that she was approaching.

Instead, the moment she was within the tower, she leaped to the far side. When she struck it, she bounced to the other side. Like a fast moving ball, she rebounded from one side to the other, dropping down the tower with dizzying speed. Had one been listening carefully one would have heard the faint but steady “whump” “whump” of Norda as she made her way down. Fortunately whoever it was that was down at the bottom was much too involved in saying whatever it was that they were saying to take any notice of her.

Just before she hit bottom, Norda wound her tail like a spring. When she dropped lightly to the ground, she landed on it and it cushioned her fall. She sprang forward off it and landed on all fours. Her head snapped back and forth and her tongue flicked out once more, tasting the air, sensing the intruder.

Yes, it was definitely a male. His voice was rising and falling in a cadence that suggested he was singing. She didn’t know what he was singing about and didn’t recognize the words.

What she did recognize, though, was the concept of intruders. This male, whoever he was, had entered her place, her adopted home. How dare he? How dare he do such a thing? It was monumentally rude to come in without knocking or requesting a right of entrance. It was just…just bad manners. And in such an instance, the only thing she could do in response—absolutely the only acceptable thing—would be to kill him. Only thing for it, really. Anyone who was that utterly bereft of manners couldn’t be taught. He just had to be disposed of before he spawned and produced more creatures like himself who were similarly unburdened by any concept of how one conducted oneself in a polite society.

Hugging the shadows, she made her way toward the sound. Staying low, remaining on all fours, she entered the huge hallway that constituted the majority of the bottom floor of the building. The vast chamber that reminded her in so many ways of Firedraque Hall, which had a similar chamber replete with much of the same meaningless iconography.

She spotted the intruder. He was kneeling directly in front of the raised stand at the far end, and he was continuing his singing. Every so often he would stop, pause, apparently trying to remember some of the words, and then he would continue.

As much as she did not recognize the language he was speaking, she likewise didn’t quite comprehend what she was looking at.

It certainly wasn’t a Firedraque. Nor was it a Mandraque. Those were the two races that Norda knew best, and definitely, most definitely, it was neither one. Instead of red or dark green, its skin was quite dark. Brown and smooth. Fur seemed to be covering the top of its head but was confined to that area; it didn’t appear to have fur anyplace else. It had two arms and two legs, but no claws on either that she could make out. It was wearing simple clothing, little more than rags, really. On the whole it seemed small and weak and utterly incapable of defending itself in any manner.

Which would make the entire business of killing him that much easier. Because whatever it was, it had intruded upon her. That wasn’t up for debate.

So then the question wasn’t whether she would kill it or not; the only thing left up for discussion was the how of it. Would it be quick or slow? Quick would certainly be the more merciful way to do it. And she was, after all, a merciful individual. With that decision made, Norda crept forward, stealthily, silently. She was prepared to duck under the long benches at any point in order to keep herself out of sight, but it didn’t seem necessary. The creature continued to have no idea that she was there. How pathetic its senses must have been for it to be oblivious to her presence.

Yes. A quick death, definitely. Something as pathetic as this didn’t warrant her expending any energy upon him.

On the other hand, a slow death would drive home the notion of punishment.

What good punishment, though, if one wasn’t going to live to learn from it?

The notion froze Norda in her tracks, still a good thirty feet from her prey. This was certainly a poser. Should she perhaps almost kill it so that it would then be able to realize the wrongness of its actions? Could it realize? Whatever creature it was, whatever species unknown to her, was it high enough on the evolutionary ladder to be able to learn? What if she was wasting her time?

Well…she certainly had an abundance of that. What else was there for her to do, after all? Simply wait around for Arren to come find her and take her home. And…something else. There was something else she wanted to do, and she thought it was in connection to New Daddy, but again her memory and mind betrayed her. Frustrated with herself, Norda thumped herself soundly in the head in hopes of jogging her memory, but nothing presented itself.

And still the boy sang.

Suddenly an angry barking filled the chamber.

It was the dug. The dug, who had apparently been out foraging, had now returned, and he was apparently no more thrilled about an intruder into their home than was Norda.

The brown skinned creature’s head snapped around as it heard the dug’s barking. It looked startled at the sound, but then its gaze fell upon Norda, who was remaining in precisely the ready-to-strike pose that she had adopted upon her approach. The dug growled and the creature let out a high-pitched and startled shriek, and at that point Norda charged.

Its hand a blur, the creature reached into the folds of its pathetic garment and yanked out something else that Norda didn’t recognize. It appeared to be some sort of curved club with a hole at the end. It wasn’t particularly intimidating and she wasn’t the least concerned that a club could do her any harm, especially when wielded by something as small and pathetic as that.

Then the club exploded.

It echoed throughout the vast chamber as if a thunderstorm had formed right there in the building. The force of it was so great that it knocked the boy off its feet. As for Norda, something struck her in the left shoulder with such impact that it slammed her backwards with the force of a boulder. One moment she was airborne, and the next she was flat on her back, staring up in confusion at the ceiling.

She was only caught that way for a moment. Pulling herself together, Norda scampered to the side and took refuge under one of the long rows of benches. Her right hand trembling, she reached up and touched her shoulder. There was blood seeping from a hole in it. Norda whimpered in confusion, craning her neck, and saw that there was another hole directly on the other side. Something had gone through and come out, like an invisible spear. Something had actually drilled a hole right through her body, and it was at that point that she realized it could just as easily have gone through her chest or her head.

Every scrap of common sense told her that the smartest thing she could do was to hide.

The dug began to bark furiously and snarl, and she heard the “clack clack” of his paws running across the floor. Then the thunder erupted again, repeatedly, and the dug yipped and howled and then stopped. There was the sound of fleeing footsteps, and a door banging in the distance, and then silence.

The pain, which had been slow to come initially, began to spread through Norda’s upper body. She whimpered even more loudly and then slowly climbed out from under the bench.

The dug was lying a few feet away. His body was twitching, and Norda went to him quickly and poked him and begged him not to go, but he did just the same. In fact, he was likely already dead by the time she touched him; it was just some after-the-fact spasming.

Norda realized what had happened. The dug had been protecting her. He had seen that she was injured, and heedless of any danger to himself, he had attacked the creature that had thrown the invisible spear at her…

…and he had died for his efforts.

The pain began to subside as it gave way to a swell of anger, and that swell quickly escalated into a virtual maelstrom. The dug had sacrificed himself defending her, and the thing that had killed him was running away on the assumption that it was going to get away free and clear and that nothing could stop it.

The creature was going to discover that it was wrong.

With a roar that would have sounded at home in the throat of a monster roaming a primeval forest, Norda Kinklash sprinted down the aisle as fast as her legs would carry her. 
It should have been quickly. I should not have hesitated for even half a moment. I should have just killed it quickly and not even paused to wonder whether it should live or die. I made a mistake. It will not be a mistake I make a second time.

There was a door at the far end of the chamber. Assuming that that was the door through which the creature had passed, she burst through it without slowing. It opened out onto a garden, and for half a heartbeat she was almost distracted by the attractive scents wafting her way. Then she remembered where she was and what her goal was, and with that recollection came the scent of the creature that she was trailing. He had run across the yard and kept going, and there was no way that he was going to get away from her. She paused only a moment for her nostrils to flare and his spoor to be brought solidly into her consciousness, and then she took off after him. (She had started thinking of “it” as a him, not realizing it was the beginning of the end of her ability to kill him.)

He had been moving quickly, she would give him that much. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have overtaken him in no time. As it was, she was slightly slowed from blood loss. Her instinct was to climb under a rock somewhere and allow herself time to heal. But that was not an option; she could not allow the creature to get away, and there was no telling how long his spoor would remain on this surface. Instead she gave herself over to her rage, allowing it to push away any impulse to pass out or give up. It drove her forward and she hurtled down the sidewalk after her target.

Down and around a corner, she heard another sound of a door shutting. This one was even heavier than the one back at her home. She rounded the corner and found the door immediately. The creature’s scent brought her right to it.