The Hawk And His Boy (10 page)

“I’m still confused,” said their host. He forced a smile. “Why do you need me for answers?”

He thought of the closet door and wondered if wihhts ever grew restless or out of sorts. He would have some disagreeable explaining to do if the thing decided to emerge.

“You?” returned Severan. “Well, the first of these borders is carved with all kinds of fish, seabirds, and waves. The second has a pattern like flames of fire. The third is covered with trees, plants, and animals. The fourth is carved over with a single, unbroken line that flows—no—rushes about like—”

“—the wind!” said Nio, his eyes widening. “The four anbeorun!”

Severan nodded. “Eorde, Brim, Windan, and Aeled. We think their four separate mosaics awakened might prove the proper unlocking of the larger mosaic. And we were right, for between us we could speak a handful of ancient names related to the earth, to Eorde. The little we knew proved enough, and the mosaic bounded by trees and plants and animals came to grudging life and portrayed a wolf. A great head of black fur with staring, silver eyes. At that moment, the stones in the portion of the huge ceiling mosaic nearest to that wall instantly shifted in subtle ways so that that part of the larger mosaic became sharp and clear.”

“A wolf?” said Nio. “Why would it be a wolf and not a horse? How odd.”

“Eh?” said Ablendan. “What’s that?”

“It’s peculiar that Eorde should be represented by a wolf rather than a horse. Many of the legends written about her mention a horse. The men of Harlech claim their own equine bloodlines are descended from this companion of Eorde, the great horse Min the Morn. But maybe the historians have it wrong. Might her companion have been a wolf instead of a horse?”

Severan shrugged. “Who knows the mind of the anbeorun, even Eorde, despite the stories depicting her as friendly to the race of men? At any rate, Nio, we all know you’re an expert in such lore. Your knowledge might unlock the three other small mosaics.”

“Perhaps,” said Nio. An idea bloomed in his mind. “Perhaps.”

The three men set out into the rain and darkness. Nio did not worry about the wihht waiting in the closet, and he was right in doing so, though he did not realize why. The Dark is patient, and the wihht was fashioned mostly of shadow by now, as a great deal of the water had trickled out of it in its day of creeping around the city. It had left many damp footprints behind.

Nio’s heart quickened as they made their way through the city. The thought of what the mosaic could do was intoxicating. Could the present be revealed, spied upon as it advanced with every clock tick? The box! Perhaps he could discover where it was with the mosaic. And the boy as well. I will be able to see him and so find him. Nio was glad of the rain and the dark and the hood about his head, for his face was so twisted with malice at these thoughts that his companions would have been startled to see him.

They hurried across the cobblestones of Mioja Square. It was deserted at that time of night. Light shone from the windows of the buildings around the square, but the university ruins loomed dark and lifeless. In a trice, they were up the steps and ducking through the little door that opened up like magic—it
was
magic—tucked away to one side of the real doors, massive things that looked more like the tombstones of giants than anything else.

Severan produced a lantern from his cloak. He muttered a word and it flamed to life. Light flickered on stone walls. Everything was grimed with dust. The floor was strewn with rubble. Their shadows ran along the walls beside them, waxing and waning with the wavering of Severan’s lantern. Darkness crowded up on their heels. Anyone else would have been lost after ten minutes in such a place, but the three knew the university ruins well.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in this part of the west wing before,” said Nio. “There’s a powerful warding spell here. I can feel it.”

They paused within an arch opening into a hall lined with slender clerestory windows. Moonlight and shadow alternated in slices of luminance and gloom.

“As I said before. An impressive spell.” Ablendan’s voice sounded suspiciously cheery.

“Don’t tread on the blue tiles,” said Severan. “Though, if you do, the dogs can’t pass the far threshold. They’re quick brutes, but they need a second or two to materialize and that’s enough for a running start.”

Near the halfway point it happened. The light was poor, and the pattern of blue, black, and white tiles was bewildering to the eyes. The blue and black tiles were so near in color that they could only be safely distinguished apart in daylight. At any rate, Ablendan trod on a blue tile, and all three heard the feathery whisper of a ward activating.

“Oops,” said Ablendan. He took off for the far door, bounding like a child’s rubber ball. The others ran after him, though Nio saved a breath or two to curse him as they went. Many other blue tiles came to life in their wake. Paws scrabbled and teeth snapped behind them.

“Safe,” called the little man, flinging himself over the far threshold. The other two almost tripped over him, so close behind were they.

“That is not a child’s game of tag!” gasped Severan, mopping sweat from his brow. “I’m too old to be playing such a thing, and the beasts want blood if they win!”

“You did that on purpose!” said Nio. He scowled at Ablendan.

“My eyesight is quite poor at night.”

They all turned toward the hall. The pack stood just on the other side of the door. They were magnificent brutes, all with fur tinged blue and eyes an even brighter blue that glowed with light. Their teeth gleamed white. Some paced back and forth in agitation, but most stood stock-still, eyeing the three men. They did not bark or growl, but their rasping breath was audible.

“Astounding, aren’t they,” said Ablendan. “Brilliant spellcraft. Lana Heopbremel of Thule. Apparently, she had a thing for wolfhounds. They’ll fade in a few minutes.”

They clattered down the stairs. The room below was well-lit with torches. A tall man with a nose as big as a vulture’s beak pounced on them as they reached the bottom.

“Where have you been? Half the night gone and I had to give old Adlig a tincture of sluma leaf, so worked up was he. Look at the mosaic. It’s moving as we speak. There’s Adlig snoring away in bed. At least what you can make out. Confound the thing! If only it were clear. Just imagine if we can coax a glimpse of the
Gerecednes
out of it. Nio, what’ve you been doing all these days hiding away in that gloomy house? Do you know any of the ancient names for the wind?”

“Peace, Gerade,” said Severan. “Give him a moment and we’ll see what he can add. The wolves were just chasing us.”

Ablendan laughed at that, but Nio stepped forward, ignoring them. The place smelled musty and the air felt heavy, as if it had lain within the stone confines of the room for hundreds of years. He gazed up at the ceiling. Overhead, the mosaic rippled with movement, surging in silent mimicry of the sound of the men’s voices. Thousands of tiny stones gleamed in the torchlight—white, black, brown, scarlet, shimmering yellow and glossy green, vermilion, dull gold, and a blue gleaming like the summer sky. His eyes flicked to the smaller mosaics, high up on each of the four walls of the room. Four smaller stars ringing the larger fifth. A strange constellation. The wolf stared down at him with silver eyes from the wall on his right. The other three were blank. Their stones were a uniform, dull brown. Behind him, he heard several impatient coughs. He ignored them.

The wolf in the small mosaic was a puzzle. Four small mosaics. Each one framed with the traditional signs of one of the four anbeorun. It would make sense that each, when revealed, would represent the four corresponding companions of the anbeorun. Unless, of course, they would show things such as actual earth or sky or water or flame. But the earth mosaic containing the wolf disproved that. Perhaps the four little mosaics were intended to reveal enemies? But that was illogical. The wolves were the subjects of Eorde.

According to the legends of the anbeorun, each of the four wanderers had a companion of sorts—an entity that was an extension of themselves, a shadow of their being, an echo of their voice. Only Eorde’s companion was identified in the legends with any certainty. A horse named Min the Morn, whose hooves had shattered the earth in the north and formed the hill country of the Mearh Dun. However, the wolf’s face staring at him from the little mosaic cast doubt on that.

There was hardly anything known about the companions of sea and sky and fire: a hint in a treatise, a suggestion in an obscure codex, an idea woven into the strictures of an ancient weather-working spell. And then there were the guesses inspired by an excess of learning. For example, some maintained that the companion of fire was a dragon, as no other known creature was better suited to the inherent power of flame. Logical, but logic is only one lens of many through which to examine existence.

“Come on,” said Gerade behind him. “Have at it! We’ve been waiting long enough on this blasted mosaic.”

“Well, then, you can wait a bit longer,” said Nio.

The mosaic was magnificent. He could sense a weaving of power so delicately designed it was as if he could hear it as music. It was a melody played on the edge of his thoughts. He stood in awe, for the fashioning was beyond his understanding. The blue stones shimmered above him, standing out from the rest. Blue like the sky washed with sunlight.

Sunlight.

“Sunlight,” he said. The stones shifted slightly, as if encouraged.

“
Sunne
,” he continued. “
Brunscir, beorht
.” And the mosaic over them flared into a near white yellow. The room flooded with light. It was so blinding that everyone had to shut their eyes.

“
Sweart
,” said Nio, and the radiance vanished as the mosaic went dark.

“Light and darkness,” said Severan from somewhere behind him. “You picked the only two things in existence that require no clarity. Blurred or focused, both are the same to our eyes and, I wager, to this mosaic.”

“I was only curious to see the stones transform,” said the other.

“But what about fire, wind, and sea? Do you know any of the ancient languages that might describe the three?”

“Of fire I know a fair amount,” Nio said reluctantly. “And of wind, three words gained at great cost. I am loath to share them. But of the sea? Nothing, for the sea has never been interested in man’s affairs. All the books I’ve read are silent on the subject. The sea remains a stranger and, I think, always shall. The sea is unknowable and unstoppable. She’s an alien land of unfathomable depth and distance and darkness. Even the fishermen who venture upon her waters, day after day, even they do not know her. They take their livelihoods from her, yet they know she’ll demand their lives one day. Brim, the eldest of the anbeorun, is a mystery to me. And my study has been considerable.”

“Yes, yes,” broke in Gerade. “Your study is considerable, but my patience is not. So what about fire and wind? Speak, man, and bring some clarity to this confounded mosaic.”

“Very well,” said Nio.

But he would not speak a word until the other men retreated to the far corner of the room. They grumbled at this, but he was unmoved. His knowledge had come at a price and he was not inclined to share it. He first approached the small mosaic bordered with carved flame on the left-hand wall.

“
Brond, byrnan, sweodol, ond lig
,” he said quietly. “
Fyr
.” The stones of the fire mosaic shifted slowly and then the dull color of them darkened. The music on the edge of his thoughts changed. The new melody sounded uncertain and ominous.

Would it reveal a dragon? Nio’s pulse quickened. “
Bael
!”

The stones adjusted themselves into darkness etched with darkness. Within the absence of color there was the suggestion of a face. A human face. No. Nearly human. There was something wrong with the eyes. Something slightly off. Unbidden, the memory of a sketch in an old book came to him. He gaped at the little mosaic in astonishment. But only for an instant.

“
Undon
,” he said, and the image blurred somewhat until the face was no longer recognizable. The others hurried forward. From where they had been standing they had only been able to discern the stones’ movement rather than detail. They gawked at the little mosaic.

“What is it?”

“Were your words enough? You brought color to it. That’s more than we could do.”

“I suppose those are eyes and something of a face, but it’s impossible to tell where it begins and leaves off. Perhaps there, right where that deeper shadow—”

“You needn’t be so secretive about a few old words, Nio. Why, I’ll tell you the thirty-three curses of Magdis Gann in exchange, if you want.”

“Much better than our efforts, but is that all you can do with fire?”

“Yes,” said Nio.

“Rather like a fire salamander, I’d say.”

“What? Are you crazy? Who ever heard of a fire salamander with black scales?”

“Perhaps a black dragon,” said Ablendan. “I read somewhere—I can’t remember where—that if the gefera of fire is a dragon then it must be a black dragon.”

That gave them pause, and they all studied the image uneasily.