The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 33
“Here where Seneschal Fratali slept, and this is where they hid it. In a servant’s room, by the Ocean Gods.”
“Who? And what did they hide? Make sense.”
“That fool Solicci and his runt. But they failed.” He opened the box and she leaned in.
Argeon sat on a velvet cushion.
***
Ain whispered into the cool of the Shrine. “Let the passing of feet go quiet now, your paths are at an end.” Had those before him uttered the same words? If the roar of the path wasn’t so strong, he’d have sensed the hiss of a Pathfinder’s last path. “Not only are we not the first,” he said, dragging his feet toward the Shrine, “we’re going to die here, just as so many who failed before us.”
Schan hefted a bag that ripped as he stood. A jumble of tools and scrolls, exactly like those Ibranu had carried, clattered to the ground, tinkling. A cog rolled across the floor. “There are others too.”
Ain counted four more bags visible in the light, the darkest corners hidden from him. How many tools had been forged, how many charts copied? How many years had the Elders been sending Pathfinders and their Engineers to die here, trapped once they failed? For surely, that is what happened. Each had failed to unlock the secrets of the Shrine, and had been unable to leave.
He would never see Silaj again. “Sands Below! How could the Elders betray us all?”
Schan shook his head, face dark. “Perhaps they do not know why no-one returns.”
Ain unclenched his fists. When had he made them? Schan had a point. “I don’t know.” He took the key from his pack and tossed it to Schan, who caught it, an eyebrow twitching. “We might as well see if the door can be opened from the inside.”
Schan hurried down the stair. Ain placed the pack on the floor, adding the egg to the pile and approaching the altar. “I haven’t forgotten you,” he told it. The fountains were deep and dry. Caked with dust and flakes of stone, the spouts were arranged in a pattern that echoed the sun entering water, its rays shooting forth.
Not even the whisper of water’s scent.
The paths beneath his feet were confused, broken. Turning. Moving nowhere. Making slumbering circles. They flowed up and down the stairs, pulsed in a desperate attempt to escape. The traces of older paths led down and beyond the door, but up here in the shrine there were no paths leading to anywhere.
Just the altar.
He climbed the steps and stopped before the quartz. Light that poured through the windows, themselves quartz by the fractured rays, struck the altar. He ran a hand through the glow, the cool surface appearing to ripple as his fingers passed.
In the centre of the altar were a group of quartz squares, their edges smooth. They did not move when he gripped one. He tried several more, but none would lift. Giving the last one a push, Ain jumped when a panel of wall behind the altar slid open with a rasp.
An opening twice as tall as a man, and many times wider, had concealed a giant bell. Polished to a sheen and covered in swirling patterns that evoked the sea, their deep lines tinged with blue, it would have crushed him like a scorpion if it were to fall. The bottom of the bell was marked with the same runes found outside and on the bones in the desert.
“Unreadable.” He could check the scrolls, but what promise were they? Every other Pathfinder and Engineer had possessed the same materials.
Or had they?
Each Pathfinder might have known something different or less than the last. Maybe something more. He leapt down the steps and ran to the first pack, the one Schan had ripped, sorting the tools from the scrolls. They were fragile. He tore one and cursed as the edges of another crumbled. Several of the canisters were still intact, those he lay in a row.
Schan’s footfalls approached. “What’s all this?”
“Help me, can you? We need to collect all the Engineers’ packs.”
Pausing only once to drink and cram a few mouthfuls of travel rations down, Ain, with Schan’s help, collected and ordered everything. In less than an hour he had the materials lined up from least to most deteriorated. The oldest scrolls had flaked away to nothing as he carried them in cupped hands, arms scooped, whereas the newer ones were usable.
“Now we look for difference,” he said.
“What about the tools?”
“Let’s organise them too. Though I see nothing as to where they might go.”
“I’ll check that great bell you found.”
“Be careful.” He didn’t look up from where he crouched. “Anything could happen here.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Schan chuckled.
Ain waved in response. Between one scroll and the next, little difference appeared. But as he walked across the floor, slight changes leapt from the musty pages. A phrase or a word here and there. Most passages described rituals that made no sense. ‘Washing the Stone’ or ‘The proper way to open the light’ and ‘Crossing the Eye.’ It was all very formal sounding, bound up in permissions and chants. Nothing like life in the Sands.
The few scraps of the oldest scroll were illegible. Not just due to their age, but the writing. It was in an old script, no longer in use. Maybe Ibranu could have read it. Ain returned to an earlier scroll. One of the few that had been preserved in a canister, it mentioned ‘Calling the Sea’ and several lines down, ‘the great bell in the Shrine.’
“Here.” He tapped the scroll. “Majid mentioned this.”
It was the answer. The scroll spoke of the sea and no other writing had alluded to the bell.
He opened his own scroll, the edges firm, unrolling to match the corresponding passage. There were few differences, mostly the forcefulness of the author’s warning, that calling the sea was a ‘final measure.’
“What better time?” he murmured. He read on, checking other scrolls often. The authors of the scrolls, or whoever the Medah scribes had originally copied from, described a simple process of striking the bell with a ‘sanctioned hammer.’
“But what does that do, what does it mean?” he growled.
Schan returned. “Find anything?”
“I’m not sure. You?”
“I’m no engineer, but the tools don’t look very useful. No-where to place them, and no way to squeeze behind the bell in any event. The altar is just a giant block and nothing in the stairwell seems of any use either.”
“The scrolls speak of ‘calling the sea’ and ‘striking the bell’ but we need a hammer.”
Schan snorted. “Don’t need no hammer.” He skipped up the steps, leapt over the altar and drew his knife to smash the pommel into the bell.
Silence.
He swung again, then twice more before turning back. None of his blows made a sound. “Something’s wrong with it.”
Ain had leapt after him. Who knew what ‘Calling the Sea’ meant, but it sounded dangerous. Was it relief or disappointment, that nothing happened? Majid and Ibranu had believed it the answer.
“We need a ‘sanctified hammer’ whatever that means.”
“I don’t see any of them here.”
“Nor I.” Ain rubbed his eyes. How long had he been reading? The Shrine was darker, the altar less vibrant. His knees were sore from crouching over the scrolls. He sat on the steps to the altar and put his head in his hands.
The spark of hope given by the bell was dark. The whole journey, every step was for nothing. He looked up. “So is this what happened to all these others? They came all this way, found the bell and read their scroll and then died because no-one told us to bring a Sand-Blasted hammer?”
Schan did not answer.
Chapter 41
She reached out to touch Argeon’s face but Tantos stopped her, gentle now.
“Somewhere quieter.”
He led her back to the passages and within moments they were moving through the cold fireplace to her rooms. Even before he’d turned the last corner, she’d known where he would take her. She leaned against her father’s desk.
“Don’t you want him to know you’re alive?” She tried to meet his eyes. Damn the mask. “What were you going to tell me?”
Tantos shook his head, then strode from the study.
It was her chance.
Even weakened and feverish, she might escape. Back into the passages, and lose herself in the shadows. If she could find her way back to the royal apartments... No. He would find her, he knew the ways better. And there was no way to hide from someone with a Greatmask. Besides, who knew what he would do next? He possessed two masks now. One of which belonged to another house! He would find a way to kill more people.
Someone had to stop him. “Gods, I will try.”
She followed him into their father’s bedroom. Weak as she was, there was no way to strike him directly. Wait and watch, Sofia.
Tantos sat on the bed, box in hand. Argeon glowed, the rise and fall of his intensity matched to that of Osani. “They’re speaking.” He nodded to the box. “Osani helped me find Argeon.”
“What?”
“All the Greatmasks know each other. It’s only we humans who try to keep them apart.”
Sofia blinked away the revelation, startling as it was. He needed to talk, but not about that. “Tantos. I want you to answer me now. Why?” She’d made a fist behind her back. There was no way to stop him. She ground her teeth. “Why, by the Gods? You’ve become everything we were raised to fight.”
“I know that.”
“And for what?”
“The tabella.”
“What?”
“I must know all its names. Argeon will tell me what you cannot, what father did not.”
“But why? You’ve killed hundreds of people for what, for the names in the tabella? For a list of Mascare?”
His voice wavered. “I’m close now, Sofia. Don’t attempt to dissuade me.”
“Will you stop, when you have the names?”
His head snapped up from Argeon. “You’ve had them all along? Father showed you?”
“No.” She stood tall. “I’m asking, will you stop, Tantos?”
“Sofia.” His voice was hard. “I’ve searched distant shores to try and stop. Help me now. Ask Argeon. He won’t share them with me.”
“Even if I wanted to help you, Father taught me so little.”
He pulled Osani off with a sigh, rubbing his face. He stood, moving to take both her hands. She couldn’t prevent a shiver at the race of his pulse, the heat beneath his skin. “Sofia, you must help me now.”
Could she bargain with him? Unlikely, but she could hardly overpower him and she had no weapon. “Then you will stop? And no lies this time.”
He drew a shuddering breath. His face lost some of its power, as if whatever fire burnt within had waned. He looked young, boyish with his wild hair. Vulnerable. He resembled her brother again. Tears built. Tantos had once helped her make a shelter for an injured bird. How could he be the same man who killed so many, who cared so little for life? Oceans, who was he now?
“I’ll stop.”
She wiped tears with her knuckles, growling. “How have you done this to me, Tantos? I shouldn’t cry.” She strode across the room, kicking at ashes in the hearth. “You’re a monster. That’s who you’ve become to me. A monster.”
“But still your brother too, I hope.”
“I can’t change that, can I?” Still the older brother who’d carried her through the streets of the Second Tier when her feet became sore, or who’d snuck sweets from their mother’s table, and giggled with her when they hid beneath his bed to eat them. “But you cannot think I love you now.”
“I know.”
She shook her head. What was he thinking? “Who do you seek? And why?”
“Derrani.” He straightened. “Derrani is the father of Gianna, whom I once loved. I must find her, they have taken her from me.”
Sofia stormed back to him. “This is all about a girl?” She swung her fist.
Tantos caught her arm. “Yes.” He held her. “Yes, damn you. Everything I’ve done has been for Gianna.”
“And she wanted you to kill for her?” Sofia’s voice rose. A sweet girl with Braonn ancestry, Gianna always had a smile for those around her.
He threw her hand aside. “Enough. Take Argeon. Ask him, he’ll respond to you where I have failed.”
She stared at him. Finally she spoke. “Just remember your promise. A promise you made to family, Tantos.”
“I will.” She accepted the Greatmask. A chance to stop him. She couldn’t make Argeon speak. She knew that. And yet... she placed the mask on her face. The room disappeared and only Argeon remained. His sockets were expectant, though his attention, the crushing force that it was, was split between her and another unfathomable force. Osani.
Father said wearing a mask was like communicating.
She would communicate. “Argeon, hear me.”
Nothing.
Sofia tried again. Still nothing. Only Tantos’ breathing across from her, beyond the void. Could she feel him because of the other Greatmask? There. He wore Osani, watching her. Bearing wary. If only Argeon would answer, she could ask him to stop Tantos.
“Argeon, I seek a man from the tabella. Derrani. Where is he?”
Did he even understand? She tried the Old Tongue.
More silence. What a fool she was. To think she could use the Greatmask to stop her brother. To think she could use Argeon at all. Untrained. Useless. Even if she did, somehow Tantos was able to use Osani. What happened when Greatmasks clashed?
Tantos’ robes shifted as he leaned closer. “Ask, Sofia.”
“I cannot make him speak.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, I told you. I haven’t been trained.”
“You have to choose the void, you know that much at least?”
“Choose? I only ever see the void and Argeon.”
He sighed. “Once Argeon grows familiar with you, the void will only come if you wish to communicate directly with him. Over time, even that becomes unnecessary.” Some of his impatience eased. “You will see the world together.”
“But for now?”
“Try again but listen to me.”
What choice did she have? She had to placate Tantos. She replaced the mask and the dark returned.
Tantos spoke from beyond the ink.
“Try something for me. Try to show him, Sofia. In your mind, see the tabella. I believe Argeon will follow your intent.”
Sofia nodded. The tabella. Old, its cover worn at the edges and inside, names scrawled across its yellowed pages, the handwriting of so many different Protectors – Sofia gasped. Names poured into her mind, Adaggi, Agua, Ainotto... and on until they stopped at Derrani.
Marochi Derrani, ‘sleeping’ in the Second Tier as a tailor.
It worked! If she showed Argeon another image perhaps she could –
The room snapped into focus. Tantos’ expectant face waited before her. Argeon rested in his hands. He’d taken the mask, her mistake slow to register. Sofia smothered a sneer. How exactly would she have used Argeon to stop him anyway? She was a child, clutching at a bauble.
Tantos shook his head at her. “I think I will care for Argeon. Now, tell me.”
“And you will keep your word.”
“Yes. I swear it.”
“What does ‘sleeping’ mean?”
“When a Mascare no longer wears the mask and has gone into hiding for protection. Or because they’re too old or sick. Where is he sleeping, Sofia?”
“The Second Tier.” She swallowed a curse. “I’ll take you there.” What did she have left? She couldn’t overpower him and she had no mask, no weapon. Perhaps when he was distracted with Gianna, she could take the masks? A thin hope, but depriving him of them would be a start. Her leg was strong enough to flee. It had to be.
Tantos had them out of the palace quicker than she could have managed alone. He knew the passages so well. Part of her was coiled, waiting for Tantos to betray her again. If he did, she would kill him. Or try. She bit her lip as a cold knot formed in her stomach, counter to the sweat running down her back. Why couldn’t he be her brother once more? No more Lupo.
On the streets, wind cut through her clothing. Thunder boomed and grey clouds darkened the morning sky, the scent of coming rain was sharp but none fell as they walked, keeping close to the buildings. Instead, the air almost stung her face, a sense of anticipation heavy. Waves crashed beyond the walls.
“We turn here,” she said at a small square, where few people shopped. Most stores were closed. She glanced at her brother. Argeon possessed a faint glow, as if drawing life from the coming storm. “Why is it so quiet? What’s happening?”
“The explosions, the terror we created. The fear is meant to make it easier for...” he trailed off. “Maybe it has something to do with the strange green creatures.”
Sofia pursed her lips. He’d changed what he was going to say. She would learn the truth later, now she had to deliver him to the tailor. Maybe even end whatever madness possessed him. And if not, to stop him. To take the Greatmasks.
Deep in the tier, but a stone’s throw from the walls, a small shop with a tailor’s needle hanging from a sign nestled between bigger buildings. The windows showed no light. It must have been too early for the man.
“You first.”
She knocked on the door. There was no reply. At Tantos’ insistence she kept on until sounds came from within. They ceased at the door. “Who’s out there?” a voice rasped.
Again, at a wave from Tantos, who now wore Argeon, she took the lead. “Sofia Falco.”
“Falco?” A key turned. A short man with thinning white hair was revealed in the open doorway, a smile on his face. “Whatever is Danillo’s daughter doing on my doorstep at this hour?”
His smile vanished when Tantos pushed inside, dragging Sofia after.
“Shut the door Derrani.”
“You.” The old man gasped, hand still on the wood. Tantos turned and batted Derrani’s hand away, slamming the door. Argeon glowed again but Sofia stepped between him and the old man, who had stumbled back.
“Tantos! You swore.”
He pointed at her. “Don’t force my hand, little sister. I’m doing what I must.”
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