The Swords of Night and Day (11 page)

He sat down on the wide leather chair by the window, his head in his hands.

Life had changed that day, so many centuries ago, when he had excavated the ruined palace in Naashan. One of his workers had called out to him. The man was on his knees in the mud at the bottom of a newly dug pit. Beside him, protruding from the earth, was a face, sculpted in white marble. As Landis stared at the face it seemed that the universe suddenly shifted, and all that was broken and disharmonious suddenly became perfect. The face was that of a woman—a woman more beautiful than any he had ever known in life. Scrambling down into the muddy hole, he had dropped to his knees and wiped the wet dirt away from the stone face. The man beside him let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Must be a goddess,” he said.

Landis Khan called more men to the pit, and slowly they unearthed the full statue. It was of a woman sitting on a throne, her arm raised to the heavens. A snake was entwined around the arm. For the next few days Landis had teams working both day and night to clear away the earth. They discovered the edges of a curved marble wall. Landis estimated it would have a diameter, if fully excavated, of around two hundred paces. As more of the wall was unearthed Landis realized it must once have edged a man-made lake. He cared nothing for the lake, nor for the ruined city. His entire focus was now on the statue. Days were spent examining it, sketching it, staring at it. Landis Khan, the young priest of the Resurrection, forgot all his teachings and found himself dreaming of the woman who had inspired this exquisite sculpture. There were engravings on the base of the statue. Landis sent for an expert in the hieroglyphic writings of Naashan. An old man arrived. Landis remembered him well. He had a crookback and a twisted neck. He had crouched by the base of the statue in the moonlight, and scribbled his findings on a tablet of wet clay. Then, awkwardly, he had climbed from the pit.

“It says she was Jianna, Queen of Naashan. It speaks of her victories and the glories of her reign, which lasted thirty-one years. Her bones are probably interred at the base of the statue. That was the custom then.”

“Her bones are
here
?” Landis could barely control his excitement. His hands began to shake.

The crookback had been correct. A secret compartment had been located in the base, just beneath the carved throne. There had also been the rotted remains of a box, and two rusted hinges. From the ruined debris Landis guessed the box had contained parchment scrolls. But water had seeped in at some point and destroyed them. He had the bones packed away, and he returned to the mountain temple, hidden within the desert. The journey took three long months, across the Carpos Mountains, then northwest to the city port of Pastabal, which had once been named Virinis. From here they sailed west, then north, moving through the straits of Pelucid and finally reaching the western shore at the mouth of the Rostrias River. Few of the priests there were concerned, as he was, with the more recent history of the world. His finds in Naashan were greeted with mild interest, for they had dedicated their lives to rediscovering the greater secrets of the ancient, long-lost peoples who, it was said, had mastered the magic of the universe and then destroyed themselves.

Landis had never had any abiding interest in the origin of the artifacts, only in how their use could benefit him. It was well known that the priests enjoyed preternaturally long lives. This appealed to Landis. It was also believed—and Landis now knew this to be true—that it was possible to return from death itself. These secrets, however, were known to very few. Landis had befriended one of them and become an assiduous student. His mentor, a Reborn named Vestava, loved to talk of the ancient days when the temple was first founded.

It had followed the archaeological research of Abbot Goralian more than fifteen centuries ago, and had led to the creation of the first Temple of the Elders on the present site in the desert. Below the rock of a lonely mountain here Goralian had discovered a series of buried chambers, containing arcane machines constructed of a metal that did not rust or decay, and white wood that did not rot. Goralian spent much of his life studying the machines, but it was only after his death that a second abbot, the mystic Absyll, had reactivated them. Landis Khan would have liked to have witnessed that moment. According to Vestava the abbot had entered a dream trance and had pierced the mists of time, floating back through the ages. He had watched the ancients at work on the machines. When he awoke he led the priests to a high, secret chamber on the mountainside. Here he pressed a series of switches and levers. Within moments a groaning sound had been heard, and the mountain chamber began to tremble. Some of the priests ran, fearing an earthquake. Others stood rooted to the spot. Absyll led the still-frightened priests to a stairway, and slowly they climbed higher into the mountain, emerging at last onto a metal platform hundreds of feet above the desert. Once into the open he pointed up the mountain. On the high peak above them something was moving. At first it appeared to be a thick column of gold, rising from the mountain. Then the tip of the column began to swell, and then to open, like a giant flower. Vestava stated there were originally twenty-one petals, but they shimmered and merged together, creating a perfectly round metal mirror resting on the mountaintop. Absyll had called it the Mirror of Heaven.

If the priests on the platform had been amazed at the sight of the golden shield, then the others inside the mountain were equally astonished. Lights blazed from chamber walls throughout the ancient structure. Machines began to hum. Men scrambled from the buildings, running out onto open ground.

Many of the priests had written their memories of that day, and Landis had studied them all. Excitement had been high, and a sense of destiny had touched all of them. In the years that followed many more discoveries were made, but only one matched the opening of the golden shield. Abbess Hewla, before her fall into evil, had become fascinated by a shimmering mirror in one of the higher antechambers. Strange markings flickered on its surface, changing and flowing. Hewla copied many of the markings and became convinced they represented the lost writing of the elder races. After eighteen years of patient study Hewla finally deciphered them. It brought her to a knowledge of the use of the machines. Landis had read and studied Hewla’s writings. Her work had led to a renaming of the temple, and a new direction for the priests who labored there. It became the Temple of the Resurrection, and use of the machines initially gave the priests extended life and energy. More than this, however, it eventually allowed the priests to conquer death itself; to be reborn.

By the time Landis came to serve the temple Hewla was long gone, though stories of her, and the dark deeds of her life, had become legend. Landis had taken the bones of the long-dead queen to Vestava and suggested—humbly—that it would “enhance our understanding of the past if we were to restore her life.”

Vestava had smiled. “There would be little advantage in such a process, Landis. Her soul would long ago have left the Void. One day you will understand it. When you are ready I will teach you myself.”

That
one day
had been twenty-six years, four months, and six days away. During that time he returned to Naashan and had the head of the statue removed, and brought back to his rooms at the temple. At nights he would sit and stare at it, and even at times talk to it. His passion for the long-dead queen did not fade. In fact it grew stronger. He began to dream of her.

When Vestava at last chose to share the Mysteries with his student, Landis learned that the key to successful resurrection lay in an ancient ritual Hewla had called the migration of souls. In order to accomplish the transfer it usually had to be made within a day of death. On rare occasions it could be longer, if there was a mystic with power who could enter the Void and guide a soul back to the haven of his new body. But the longest time recorded was eight days. The queen of Naashan had been dead for five hundred years.

The disappointment felt by Landis Khan was intense. That first night he lay in his chamber and wept.

Three years passed, and then came the most glorious moment of his life so far. He showed the statue head to a young priest training in the mystic arts. The man’s skill lay in touching objects and seeing visions of their past. He and Landis had been joking about the young man’s gift. “Tell me of the statue,” said Landis. The young man had placed his hands on the cold, white stone, then taken a long, deep breath. “It was crafted by a one-eyed man. It took him five years of his life.” The young priest had smiled. “He was helped by his son, who was, perhaps, even more gifted than the father. The queen came to their workshop and sat with them. They sketched and drew her, and laughed and joked with her. Her name was Jianna.”

“You would know that from my reports,” said Landis, trying not to be skeptical.

“I have not read them, Brother, I assure you. The statue was placed by a lake.” He suddenly jerked. “Blood was shed there by assassins seeking to kill the queen. They failed. She did not seek to flee. She fought them. There was a man with her, his head shaved, though not on the top of his head. Odd. It looks like a horse’s mane.” Suddenly the young man screamed and threw himself backward, falling onto a couch.

“What is wrong?” asked Landis, shocked.

The young man shivered. “I don’t know. I felt . . . Oh, Landis I feel ill.”

“What did you feel?”

“She touched me. The queen touched me. She haunts this statue.”

“Her soul is still connected to the world?”

“I believe so. I shall not touch the thing again.”

Landis had taken the news to Vestava. “We can bring her back,” said Landis. “Is that not so?”

“It is not that simple, student. And if she still haunts the world then that might be reason enough never to try. Don’t you see? She has not passed the Void. What evils must she have committed to be damned for so long in that hellish place?”

“But she could answer so many of the mysteries of that bygone era. We have mere fragments. Are we not here to pursue the path of knowledge, Master? This is what you have taught me all these years. She would know of the growth of empires that are lost to us, and the fall of civilizations. She might even have knowledge of the ancients.”

“I will think on it, Landis,” said Vestava. “Give me time.”

Landis knew better than to press the old man, who could be obdurate when he felt pressured. What followed was the longest year of Landis’s life. As the following winter approached, Vestava summoned him to the upper council chamber. The Five were assembled there, the most senior priests of the Resurrection. Vestava spoke: “It has been decided that this is an opportunity too promising to let pass. We will begin the process of Rebirth. Bring the bones to the lower chambers tomorrow.”

As Landis sat quietly, locked into memories of the past, a lantern guttered and went out. He shivered and forced his mind back to the present.

Leaving the library, he returned to his apartments in the western wing. It was growing dark; servants were in the corridors lighting lanterns. He found Gamal waiting for him in the main room.

“You did not deceive Unwallis, Landis,” he said, sadly. “The Black Wagon will be coming. You should leave this place and journey across the sea. Find a new life somewhere beyond her power to reach you.”

“You are wrong,” said Landis, seeking not to convince his friend, but to bolster his own failing confidence.

Gamal sighed. “You know I am not. To bring Skilgannon back was perilous—but the girl? This was madness. Oh Landis, how could you be so foolish?”

Landis sank into a chair. “I love her. Thoughts of her are always with me. Ever since I found the statue. I just wanted to be with her, to touch her skin, to hear her voice. I thought I could . . . I thought I could do it right this time.”

“She
knows
what you have done, Landis. She will never forgive you.”

“I will leave tomorrow. I’ll journey north. Perhaps Kydor.”

“Do not take the Reborn with you. She will be the death of you. They are already hunting her, and they will find her.”

Landis nodded. “Jianna was not always evil, you know. I am not fooling myself with this. I knew her, Gamal. She was warm and loving, and witty and . . . and . . .”

“And beautiful,” said Gamal. “I know. I do not think we were intended for immortality, Landis. I knew a man once who fashioned artificial flowers from silk. They were gorgeous to behold, but they had no scent. They lacked the ephemeral beauty of a real bloom. Jianna is like that. There is no humanity left in her. Do not wait for tomorrow, Landis. Leave now. Gather what you need and ride north.”

Gamal made his way slowly to the door, his hand reaching out ahead of him to steer him around the furniture. “I shall take you back to your rooms,” said Landis, stepping in to help the blind man.

“No. Do as I advised. Pack and leave. I can find my own way.”

“Gamal!”

“What is it, my friend?”

“You have always been dear to me. I thank you for your friendship. I will never forget it.”

“Nor I.”

The blind man moved out into the corridor. Landis walked out to watch him making his slow way toward the far stairwell.

Then he returned to his apartment and closed the door.

L
andis Khan sighed and moved out to the balcony. The sun was behind the mountains now, but still casting a golden glow in the sky above the peaks. He felt tired and drained. Gamal had urged him to ride out into the night, but Landis convinced himself his friend was merely panicking. Decado and Unwallis had left, and he had no wish to ride a horse in darkness, nor camp in some dreary cave, locked in thoughts of despair.

Dawn would be a good time. The sunlight would lift his spirits.

Landis returned to his rooms and filled a goblet with red wine. It tasted sour.

The lanterns flickered, as if a breeze were blowing through the room. Yet there was no breeze. One by one they went out. Landis stood very still, his mouth dry.