The Bell Between Worlds (50 page)

Simia looked doubtfully at Sylas.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Everything that’s happened to me, to us, leads to Naeo. And...” he hesitated, “I do believe now that this is what my mum wanted. I have to trust that. This may even be the only way for me to find her too.”

She sighed. “Well, I don’t know.” She looked back at Paiscion. “If it’s so natural, why did the bracelet hurt him when he was using the mirrors?”

“Because that’s what it’s meant to do,” said the Magruman.

“
Meant
to do?”

“Yes, it’s a warning.”

“A warning that something bad’s going to happen?”

“You need to remember that the Merisi Band was made for Bringers, not for Sylas. It was there to protect them from accidentally coming face to face with their Glimmer…”

“Protect them! They need
protecting
from their Glimmers?”

Ash rocked forward on his crate. “She’s got a point, Paiscion,” he said. “Why were Bringers so afraid of their Glimmers?”

The Magruman let out a long sigh. “Because it’s happened before.” He lowered his eyes.

“And? What happened?”

“They died.”

“Died?” cried Simia.

Paiscion raised his eyes to Simia and then looked over at Sylas, whose face had paled. “They thought it was the shock,” he said, “but that was a long time ago and it was different. Sylas and Naeo are—”

“Well, that’s it as far as I’m concerned!” Simia exclaimed, turning to Sylas. “I think you’d be mad to go – at least until we know more. It’s just too—”

“Simia!” snapped Paiscion. “I’ve told you, Sylas and Naeo are
different
. Everything has conspired to bring them together, not to keep them apart. You speak of the Merisi Band, well, remember it is the Merisi who began this journey – it all started with Mr Zhi. For Sylas the band was just another way to prove that Naeo is his Glimmer!”

“Yes, but no one can be
sure
!” she shouted, throwing her hands wide. She looked to Sylas for support.

He sat in silence for some moments, then he put his hand on her shoulder. “Thanks, Simia. Really,” he said. “But I think Paiscion’s right.”

Simia gasped. “How can you—”

“Because I think I’m
supposed
to be doing this. Because I think Naeo needs our help.”

“Yes, but—”

“And we’re forgetting something,” he said. “Something in Merisu’s poem.”

“What?”

“The third line. It says, ‘
fear not where none have gone
’.” He shrugged. “Don’t you see? It’s like Merisu wrote that poem about this very moment. He
knew
that I’d be frightened, he
knew
that we’d have doubts, and he said go on, you have nothing to fear. Do it, because then
at last we may be one
.”

Simia looked long and hard into his eyes, then slumped back in her seat.

“You’re impossible,” she said, blowing out a lungful of air.

Ash suddenly clapped his hands together. “Well, this is too fine! Breakfast and a spirited debate! What better way to start the day!” He reached over and patted both Sylas and Simia on the shoulders. “I’ve missed you two!”

They both gave him a weary look.

As a sallow sun climbed in the morning sky, the
Windrush
drifted far out in the estuary, rising and falling on the waves from the open sea. An occasional wind gathered in the half-set sails making them flap and tug at their ropes, as if the old ship was straining at its leash.

“It’s not going to be easy,” sighed Ash, shaking his head. “The Dirgheon is impregnable. Its defences have never been breached... entire
armies
have fallen at its walls. The Ghor legions that patrol them are the finest under Thoth’s command. Even if we find a way inside, it’s vast. No one knows how many rooms there are, how many corridors and forgotten passages. And, if by some miracle we found her, how would we get her out?”

There was a long silence.

Paiscion had been looking out on to the estuary, lost in thought, but suddenly he sat forward.

“Most would say it is impossible,” he said, picking up a glass of water from the table. “But there may just be a way.”

He stood and motioned for them all to follow.

He led them just a few paces to a part of the deck that still lay in shadow, shrouded by one of the
Windrush
’s torn sails. They looked at one another expectantly. Paiscion held out the glass until it caught one of the passing beams of light and instantly it glowed with the sun’s reds and oranges. It scattered the light, casting it on to the deck at their feet so that it danced over the timbers as the water lapped in the glass. He flicked the side of the glass with his finger, making it ring with a long, resonant note that seemed to hang in the air. Inside, the surface of the water also began to vibrate and, as it did so, strange patterns formed over its surface: tiny ripples like the whorls and curves of a fingerprint.

“Behold the Dirgheon,” said the Magruman, pointing out over the shaded deck.

They turned and gasped, for there, depicted in the bronze light of dawn, was a perfect image of the Dirgheon, its harsh angles and jagged lines blazing out in the darkness. Around it there were streets and buildings, pathways and squares, even the river – all of them marked out in shimmering light: their outlines rippling and undulating as though made of liquid fire. The scene was viewed from somewhere high above such that the great mass of the Dirgheon looked almost square, with each of its four triangular sides clearly visible, dominating the huddling rows of buildings at its base. As the light from the glass moved, they saw the jagged rows of stone from which it was constructed and, towards the peak, the few dark openings: ominous windows, like dark eyes presiding over the cowering city below.

Paiscion turned the glass slightly and in the same instant the entire scene turned as though they were flying in a wide arc over the city. The vivid lines of the map warped and contorted as the water undulated in the glass, but then settled and once again became distinct.

“How do you
do
that?” whispered Ash, full of wonder.

Paiscion smiled. “Just Essenfayle,” he said crisply.

Ash looked down and made a face.

“Now, all of you, look carefully,” commanded Paiscion. “Look there, where the river passes closest to the Dirgheon – an inlet – do you see?”

Sure enough, they saw a place where the river met a stream or perhaps a canal, its narrow sides straight and regular. It passed between a series of low buildings, then seemed to disappear beneath one of them.

“It’s a canal,” continued the Magruman, “a waterway that passes deep below the city and into the heart of the Dirgheon itself.”

Simia leaned in to get a better look. “What’s it for?”

“It serves two purposes. It forms a private route between the Dirgheon and the Temple of Isia, and it is also a gateway – a concealed entrance to the Dirgheon for those whom Thoth wishes to keep out of sight.”

“Like who?”

“Like us,” said Ash under his breath.

Paiscion nodded. “That tiny canal was the last many of our sisters and brothers saw of the world.”

Sylas shifted uneasily. “And
that’s
the way I have to go in?”

“As Ash said, the main entrance is watched over day and night by Thoth’s personal guard. I’m afraid this is the only option.”

“But surely there are still guards there?” said Simia, far from convinced.

“There are, but a much smaller garrison. Its reputation is such that they hardly expect anyone to try to enter it.”

“Ending’s Gate...” murmured Ash.

“Indeed,” said Paiscion reluctantly, “some do call it that. But, as I say, the garrison that guards it is small. Small enough to be distracted, I would have thought. That will be my task.”

“And if we get through this... this Ending’s Gate...?” asked Sylas with increasing scepticism. “How will we find her?”

“
You
will find her, Sylas. Espasian has seen to that, whether he intended to or not.”

Sylas looked confused. “How do you mean?”

Paiscion’s eyes travelled to the bracelet on his wrist.

Sylas gasped. “Of course! The Merisi Band!” he said, turning it in his fingers. “It’ll
tell me
when I’m near Naeo!”

He gazed down at the perfectly smooth band of silver and gold: it too was there for a reason.

Ash peered at it over Sylas’s shoulder. “This could just work…”

“Yes, it might,” said Paiscion soberly. “But the last challenge remains. Getting out… Anything I do to distract the guard will only raise the alarm – they’re likely to double or treble their number by the time you’re finding your way out. That needs some more thought…”

“And there’s no way out other than the main entrance?” asked Ash.

Paiscion shook his head. “Two ways in, two ways out.”

“What about those?” Sylas pointed to the dark windows near the top of the Dirgheon.

“Well, yes, they’re openings, but they’re no use. Once you’re out on the terraces you can be seen for miles around; you’d never reach the bottom. No, that part of the plan is a problem.”

He drew a long breath and once again flicked the side of the glass. The lines of the map blurred and began to move and then, slowly, new shapes began to form on the deck. It was a new map, showing corridors instead of streets, rooms in place of buildings. “Now not very much is known about the inside of the Dirgheon, but from what we have been told—”

“I know!” exclaimed Sylas suddenly. He was not watching this new display; he was staring straight past it and along the length of the
Windrush
.

The Magruman searched his face. “You know...
what
?”

“I know how to get out of the Dirgheon.”

The sentry stood in the darkened hallway, guarding the ornate doors into the Apex Chamber. It had been bred for precisely this purpose, trained for it from birth. It held its gigantic frame perfectly still and to attention, even though there was no one to see it. Even its wolfish eyes were fixed and steady, staring down the long flight of stairs that led to the chamber, alert to the slightest movement. The only motion came from its ears, which turned slightly on the sides of its mongrel head, catching the faintest sounds from the chamber, listening, attentive.

Even for its Master, this had been a long and vicious interrogation. For hours it had heard the sobbing and pleading of the human child, the cries of pain from her father, the torment, the refusals. More than once its Master had lost his temper, filling the Apex Chamber with a terrifying roar of anger, or a scream of rage that rattled the doors on their hinges.

But now, and for some time, all had fallen quiet. Even the child had ceased her whimpering.

“Guard!”

Thoth’s pervasive voice pierced the silence. Instantly the guard turned and pulled the doors wide, squinting as it entered the relative light of the Apex Chamber. It stood proudly to attention, knowing that it made a splendid sight, its burnished armour glistening in the torchlight.

“Take her to Scarpia. I have what I need.”

The voices of many echoed round the walls, whispering into the corners.

The guard strode forward and untied Naeo’s bonds. It lifted her tiny limp body from the chair and carried her to the doors. It turned and bowed deeply, then stepped backwards.

In another moment, it was gone.

Bowe lay on the slab, watching the door close. He blinked away a tear of sweat and blood.

She was gone.

“A
Magruman of the Suhl
commands the very skies;
the ocean laps at their feet and the earth rumbles their name.”

T
HE WATER WAS BLACK
and flawless, smooth and heavy, like oil. It stretched around them like a vast mirror to the night sky, reflecting its dark, empty face. There were no waves, no ripples, just lazy undulations that licked the putrid banks. The surface never broke as it slid past the sides of the boat and rose in a silent wave behind the stern; instead it heaved and rolled reluctantly, making no sound.

Paiscion’s black silhouette appeared briefly as they passed flickering lamps high on the shore and dimly lit windows in the eaves of buildings, but in moments it was gone, swallowed back into the night. The little boat glided unseen and unheard, borne forward on the silent wave.

“Where are we?” asked Sylas, turning to Simia’s blackened face.

“Don’t know,” she whispered, “but it can’t be far now.”

“Unless he’s missed it and we’re on our way back to the mill,” mumbled Ash somewhere in the darkness. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

As he spoke, a pair of lamps came into view. They swung on the icy breeze high above the river, illuminating Paiscion’s figure in the prow of the boat. Gone was his neat, worn shirt and threadbare smoking jacket and in their place he wore a long, flowing black robe that fell to his ankles. The change suited him. This was his rightful dress, the clothing of a Magruman. He carried himself differently, seeming larger, more substantial.

He lowered himself to a crouch and turned towards them.

“Quiet,” he murmured. “We’re there.”

The boat changed direction slightly and started to head in towards the shore a little beyond the lights. As they drew nearer and the lamplight faded behind them, they saw a low arch rising from the water. The stone was grimy, coated in filth, moss and lichen, giving the opening the appearance of a sewer. The stench of rank, stagnant water poured from the gaping blackness at its centre and the illusion would have been complete were it not for an overgrown carving in the keystone of the arch: two staring, empty eyes, framed by a skeletal face. The symbol of Thoth.