The Bell Between Worlds (54 page)

Could it be that he was doing this?
They
were doing this?

Ash and Simia drew close to them and they moved forward as one, somehow protected amid the torrent of books. Moments later they were gathering around Espen. He was no longer on his feet, but on one knee, his bloodied hands still raised in an attempt to control the winds. He seemed near defeat: his tunic had been torn to reveal an open wound in his chest; his scarred face was streaked with sweat and blood, drawn with agony. Sylas instinctively moved to help him, leaning down to lift him by the shoulder.

Simia shouted again.

He saw her panicked face and followed her eyes to the three Magrumen. To his horror they were walking swiftly towards them, their hands sweeping before them as they hurled new missiles through the air: massive, tumbling, black shapes. It was the broken bodies of the Ghor, tossed aloft by some horrifying force, spinning and twisting as they flew; some still conscious, snarling wildly and gnashing their fearsome teeth.

Sylas let go of Espen’s shoulder and stood to his full height, aware of Naeo at his shoulder. They did not flinch or hesitate: they raised their arms towards the wretched bodies of the Ghor and opened their palms. For a moment there was a complete silence. The wind ceased howling and the books and the guards hung in the air as though time itself had stopped.

Simia and Ash glanced at one another; the Magrumen shifted nervously; Espen turned his bloodied face up to Sylas and Naeo, and the trace of a smile creased his lips.

Then, as they dropped their arms, everything tumbled to the floor: the books, the Ghor, the debris, all landed with an earsplitting crash on the marble.

Another moment of stillness followed. The last pieces of torn parchment fluttered to the ground and Scarpia and the Magrumen glanced at one another uncertainly; Simia raised her hand to her mouth; Espen rose slowly to his feet.

Then two things happened at once. The Magrumen moved in perfect unison, extending their hands outwards over the marble floor, and Sylas and Naeo lifted their arms high above their heads.

Simia looked down at the patchwork of marble beneath her feet, wondering what new horror to expect. She caught her breath. The joins between the stone tiles had begun to blur and merge, the white ones starting to seep into the black. They were becoming fluid: melting into one another. The entire floor around them seemed to be in motion, becoming something it should not be – could not be. She felt the grip of panic as her feet became unsteady and she saw white and black ooze over her shoes.

“Sylas! Do something!” she cried.

“They
are
doing something!” shouted Ash. “Look!”

She looked up to the vaulted ceiling and recoiled.

The entire edifice was alive with fire.

Long, snaking tendrils of flame grew from the oil lamps on both sides of the hall, worming and twisting around one another, forming a breathtaking, living mesh of fire. They looped and spiralled beneath and over each other, forming an impossible knot of golden, flickering flame. This blistering weave of heat and light began falling slowly towards the Magrumen – drifting relentlessly towards the end of the hall. As it passed the oil paintings, fingers of flame reached out and touched the canvases, setting them instantly alight, forming pools of fire that rippled outwards towards the frames, feeding the inferno. The rumble became a roar. One of the Magrumen – the old man – changed his stance and raised his arms towards the approaching hellfire, seeking to fend it off. Instantly Naeo reacted, pointing a finger in his direction and, at the same moment, tendrils of fire wound round each other and launched at him, striking him roundly in the chest.

His face bore a look of surprise and horror. His cloak burst into flames, engulfing him in a searing ball of fire. A chilling scream echoed through the hall and suddenly they saw his burning figure falling through the open doors at the rear.

Scarpia and the other Magruman looked around, surprised, even frightened. They glanced up to the great web of fire now just above their heads, hesitated, then turned to Sylas and Naeo. They seemed unsure where to direct their attentions. They began to back away towards the doors, keeping their hands raised to protect themselves.

Their retreat came too late.

A furious wind rose from behind Sylas and Naeo, howling through the splintered doors, screaming into the void. It blasted along the hall, gathering pace as it went, tearing at the walls, clawing at the ceiling. It lifted the burning paintings and hurled them forward, flipping them end over end towards the Magrumen, spinning like murderous Catherine wheels, spitting a shower of sparks, smoke and flame.

Scarpia’s eyes widened. She raised her arms, but as she did so, the wind breathed into the lattice of fire, giving it new, terrifying energy. It flared as bright as a sun and bellowed a thunderous battle cry, then surged forward with horrifying force, closing in upon its prey. Scarpia’s sleeves burst into flames and with a shriek of pain she gathered her arms to her chest, charging towards the doors that were all too far away. The other Magruman threw herself to the floor, clawing hand over fist to the opening, but before she reached it the fiery web suddenly opened wide like a grasping claw, then collapsed into a fist of fire, engulfing them both. There were desperate screams and a calamitous crash as the burning paintings whipped into the heart of the flames, smashing into the floor and wall beyond.

The blast of heat subsided; the final traces of the lattice thinned and disappeared into smoke. All that remained was a wall of leaping flames and the crackle and roar of the settling fire.

Sylas and Naeo suddenly seemed smaller, almost frail. Children once again.

Their arms wavered in the air and fell slowly to their sides; their feet shifted uncertainly in the ooze and then, as if not knowing what else to do, they turned to each other.

They gazed at one another for a moment and then, silhouetted against the mounting flames, they clasped hands.

“
From the darkness
the sun will rise,
and lay before it a carpet of light.”

F
OR A MOMENT EVERYONE
stared at the raging fire, trying to take in what had just happened. Their eyes passed over the splintered remains of bookshelves, the scattered books and pictures, the orange flames licking up the walls and the great plumes of black smoke climbing rapidly towards the vaulted ceiling.

Finally Sylas turned his pale face to his friends. “Are you all right?” he asked in a husky voice.

Espen raised his bloodied face and answered with a broad smile. Simia and Ash looked at Sylas with a mixture of wonder and fear.

“We’re... fine,” said Simia hesitantly. “You?”

“Yes, I think I’m OK,” he said, surprised. The trace of a smile creased his lips. “Did you finish? Before they took you?”

“Just about,” she said.

She shifted her gaze to take a proper look at Naeo. It was bewildering: the face she knew so well, Sylas’s face, yet changed, different, somehow more feminine and delicate, her expressions quicker and sharper. Naeo met her eyes for a moment and then, looking unsure of herself, she glanced away, moving a little closer to Sylas. The two of them stood easily together, shoulder to shoulder, relaxed with each other. Neither looked at nor spoke to the other, but somehow they responded, seeming to know one another’s mind.

“We need to get to the Apex Chamber,” said Simia. “To the opening on the south side.”

“Well... I hope you have a plan,” panted Espen doubtfully. “There’s no way down from—”

“We do,” she interjected, rather more harshly than she intended.

Espen raised an eyebrow and thought for a moment. “I know how to reach it. This is the Medial Chamber – it leads to all parts of the Dirgheon. There are staircases behind the shelves – one of them should take us there, though I’m not sure which...”

“Scarpia took me that way once.”

It was Naeo’s voice. She spoke more softly than Sylas and she had a different accent, but her voice was uncannily similar: the tone, the cadence, the way she formed the words – all were the same.

“You’ve
been
there?” asked Simia.

“I’ve just come from there,” said Naeo. She glanced at Sylas. “I left my father—”

“
Bowe?
” exclaimed Ash, feeling a surge of renewed hope for their friend.

Naeo nodded. “He was...” Her voice faltered. “He was barely alive.”

“Then show us the way,” said Ash with new urgency.

She pointed to the large bookcases now bearing just a meagre scattering of books. They made their way across the hall through the strange black and white ooze, shaking and stamping the peculiar liquid stone from their shoes. When they reached the bookshelves, Espen and Naeo moved along them, investigating each one, searching for the one that formed a concealed entrance. But, despite pulling and heaving and shifting books, the shelves seemed to hold firm. They looked at each other anxiously and walked back to the end of the hall, trying each in turn.

Sylas tried some as well, but had no more luck. He began pulling out some of the books, wondering if they concealed a secret latch or lever of some kind. None seemed to hide anything, but soon he became distracted by the volumes themselves, which looked very different from the leather-bound books he had seen in the Den of Scribes or on the
Windrush
. The covers were shiny and colourful and the text seemed neat and regular: printed rather than written. He tilted his head and looked at some of the titles:
The Age of Industry
read one;
Man and Machine
read another. He felt the hairs begin to rise on his neck.

These were books of his own world.

His eyes came to rest on a small group of books that still lay undisturbed on the shelf. He read the titles under his breath:

“
The Encyclopaedia of Weaponry… Technology of Warfare… Science and Supremacy
…”

He gathered one of them off the shelf and looked through it, turning to page after page of photographs and diagrams depicting engines, factories, cars, guns, planes, missiles... He raised his eyes and looked about him... to the other shelves. He saw legions of books about technology, industry, weapons and war. This was not a hall, but a library – a collection of knowledge taken from his own world. The wrong kind of knowledge.

“They’re all about science and war…” he murmured. “They’re
learning
from us…”

He felt a new dread. He knew instinctively that these books had no place here; that however they had been brought here, whatever their purpose, they were not to be used for good. Gathering his strength, he did something he would never have dreamt of doing before – he hurled the pile of books into the fire.

Behind him Naeo pushed against one of the bookshelves. There was a loud click. Instantly it sprang back and swung open, a rush of cool air entering the hall. They all gathered around to peer into the dark passageway beyond.

Espen leaned cautiously into the blackness. “This is it,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He led the way into the shadows, taking just a few paces before beginning to climb a steep, spiralling stone staircase. Simia and Ash set out after him, followed by Sylas and Naeo, who kept an eye out behind.

The cool of the stone stairwell was pleasant after the hall’s searing heat, but once they had left the doorway behind, the darkness was almost absolute. They found themselves searching the shadows for signs of movement, their eyes lingering on every dark shape, every misshapen step and uneven wall. Several times Sylas and Naeo thought they heard footsteps below them and they both stopped, holding their breath, straining to listen. Each time they paused for a few seconds until they were sure that it was nothing and then, without saying anything to the other, continued the climb. Sylas had the strange sense that Naeo was thinking the same thing at the same instant, that as he resolved to continue, she would be at his side. It was peculiar, but at the same time comforting.

The staircase was behaving like a giant chimney, drawing smoke from the inferno below up into the cooler air above. It was thick and acrid and it quickly started to sting their eyes and fill their lungs, making them cough and splutter. Espen continued to lead, climbing with remarkable speed, but his breathing was heavy and laboured and Simia saw him wince a number of times, as if racked with pain.

A dim glow appeared above them and moments later they saw the top step. A large dark hallway extended beyond, flanked by two faceless statues, their arms clasped to their chests. They stepped into the open space and saw the source of the light: a long, vertical crack at the far end of the hallway – a gap between two doors.

They all paused for a moment, bending low to take in gasps of clean air, and then Espen walked up to the doors. Crouching low, he pressed his hands to the wood, listening for a moment before putting his eye to the light.

The others stayed at the top of the steps, trying not to cough, getting their breath back.

For some moments the Magruman peered silently into the room beyond. Finally he rose to his full height and glanced over his shoulder.

“We seem to be in luck,” he whispered. “There’s no one here.”

Naeo stepped forward. “No one?”

“I don’t think so.” He drew a wheezing breath and pushed on the doors.

They squinted into the light. As their eyes became accustomed, they saw a vast square chamber – several times larger than the hall. It was lit by huge flickering flames that rose from four giant urns of oil, one in each corner. There was an opening in the centre of each wall, which provided enticing views of the night sky beyond – a promise of escape. But their eyes were drawn to the strange splendour of the room: floors decked with red carpets and animal skins, strewn with seats and pillows of glittering gold fabric; in the centre a broad circular pool of still black fluid, accessed by white marble steps; walls covered with tapestries depicting scenes of magic and battle.

The towering ceiling was painted with a host of murals, each telling its own story: peoples trekking across deserts and mountains; feasts and banquets attended by strange, unnatural beasts; priests chanting incantations in a magic circle; maps of castles and great cities; yet more battles; yet more magic.