The Forgotten Stone, page 19
Kilith spoke again, softer this time. “I want you to know what you’re capable of. Nothing more, nothing less. Sort out the logical from the illogical.”
“I have been, for the last four hours! I don’t know what happened to me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I panicked. I was terrified. Everything was dark; the water was evil, and I knew it wasn’t evil—it was just water—but I felt so strongly that it was the depths of hell that I couldn’t shake it. My breathing escalated and my brain went a thousand miles per hour. I just felt so anxious, and then I was anxious about being anxious, and I was angry with myself for being anxious, and for being anxious about being anxious, and there was nothing I could do but exhaust myself with my failure.”
Enouim blinked. It all stumbled out so fast. She hadn’t even been aware of exactly what the bottom of this sinkhole was. And there it lay, on a silver platter. Failure.
Kilith looked back at her with concern, but said nothing. What could he say? For a moment they locked gazes, still silent, each waiting for the other to speak. Or was he processing what she’d said? Maybe he already had, and found her hopeless. Enouim’s eyes pricked with tears, and she turned away, shoulders slumped in defeat. She tried to distract herself, watching the rest of the company as they searched the glade for some invisible entryway.
“I think I’ve got something!” Vadik’s excited voice rang out. “Mereámé? What do you think?”
“Well, if it feels like a wall, and you can’t see it that great, my guess is yes,” Oloren put in.
Mereámé picked her way carefully toward Vadik and put her hand timidly into the air in front of her. It flattened against a surface, and she knocked on it. “This is it.” She moved her hand along the wall for several feet until she found open air, then, leaning down, she took two handfuls of earth and sprinkled them over the area in front of her. The dirt seemed to float in midair, its resting place revealing steps that had been quite invisible before. Baird stood on the other side of the stairs, eyes widening. He walked forward, hit his head on something, and reeled backward.
“Ow! Didn’t you say this wasn’t really invisible? How can I see through it?”
“Okay, so the entrances generally are essentially invisible. In just the right light you may see a shimmer, but the Malak have gifted the Nazir with cloaking … well, I’m not sure with what, but with something able to hide the entrances.”
“Wouldn’t that be called magic?” Vadik asked.
“I don’t think the Nazir would call it magic, but I suppose the rest of us might, lacking the knowledge to know better,” Mereámé answered thoughtfully. “Once beyond the cloaking barrier, we’ll be able to see more clearly. The Nazir have their own power, and their constructions are generally a mix of mirroring and semi-translucence.”
“I’ve heard it’s rather difficult to describe, and it sounds so,” Ruakh said. “Why don’t we see for ourselves?”
“Are there any cultural considerations for us to be aware of when we talk to them?” Enouim asked.
“The Nazir are the keepers of the sky. I met them once, as a child, with my father. They speak in beautiful and sometimes complex imagery, and are less versed in the common, casual language we use. Be gentle, be genuine, and pick it up as you go. Do your best, and when in doubt, say nothing. They are forgiving, but observant.”
Canukke, now standing at the edge of the stair, watched Mereámé intensely. Searching, Enouim thought. She wondered for what. Canukke seemed somewhat satisfied by the explanation, and much to Oloren’s relief, held out his hand in a gesture toward the stair for Mereámé to lead the way.
“Shouldn’t we tie the horses?” Gabor asked.
Oloren shook her head. “They’re exhausted. Let them rest. Besides, this brush is so thick we couldn’t ask for better fencing. There are only a couple spots thin enough for them to get through, and the only tempting grass is here in the glade.”
Baird nodded. “We shouldn’t be gone longer than they would normally be turned out to pasture anyway.”
“Okay, then,” Mereámé said. “Here we go.”
Mereámé started up the stair and Canukke followed close behind. Enouim wondered if he was letting a guinea pig go first to make sure the stairs were where he thought they should be.
“Watch your step,” Mereámé warned. “It’s slippery.”
“Zegrath’s teeth!” Gabor exclaimed. “How can I watch my step when I can’t see it?”
Enouim stepped gingerly onto what looked like floating dirt particles, and carefully transferred her weight onto something solid. She wondered if unwelcome guests had toppled off it before and doubted the floating staircase had invisible handrails. Baird soon proved her right. His footing slipped and his arm struck out into nothingness in a vain effort to catch himself. Kilith and Ruakh each threw a hand out to grab hold of him, and they tugged him back to safety.
Mereámé led them slowly and steadily up the stair. Gabor took up the rear and carefully wiped the dirt off the first few steps as he crossed them. Enouim knew it wasn’t good for her mind to watch the mindboggling reality of stepping onto what looked very much like air, but she could hardly take her eyes away. She looked down constantly, watching her feet in a sort of anxious fascination, and then looked up to make sure she was continuing in the right direction. She placed a hand on Oloren’s shoulder ahead of her for comfort.
About twenty feet in the air, with trees rising on either side of them, Enouim startled when those ahead of her vanished one after another as if they’d passed through a film or membrane of some kind. When Oloren disappeared, Enouim could still feel her shoulder. The next second she herself passed through it as if she’d walked through a bubble without it popping. What she saw next took her breath away.
Networks of footpaths and bridges connected larger, circular meeting grounds like a multi-layered web. She’d never seen artistry like this, strong, yet delicate. Semi-translucent material enclosed some of the circular spaces and formed columns and archways, like sculptures of ice—smooth, clear, and beautiful. Another mysterious substance made the stairs and flooring, its texture sleek and flawless, like the archways, but the look of it mirrored the sky.
Still, it wasn’t quite a mirror either. It seemed to mirror the sky but nothing else, and they left shadows on the floor but not reflections. She could see the sky, now clearing from the earlier rain, and several stubborn dark clouds returned to her in its surface. Enouim was grateful to be able to make out her footing again, as there was contrast between the forest falling below them and the azure steps.
Her gaze meandered from one transfixion to another. Figures with silhouettes like people walked as ethereally as their environment and seemed to be made of the same substance as that on which Enouim tread, their skin also reflecting the firmament—no wonder Enouim hadn’t seen them initially. Adding to the illusion, they wore ice-colored silky robes that looked like they should be sheer and yet revealed nothing but a general lightness or darkness beneath.
At the top of the stair, Enouim reached out to touch the side of the archway under which she passed and found it cool to the touch, like the marble in Levav. The network of platforms and pathways spanned numerous levels and frightening heights until the clouds covered them. At the higher levels, shapes moved to and fro, apparently taking off and landing. Were they flying, or was there some other structure she couldn’t see?
Two female figures approached them, suddenly startlingly close. Both dipped their heads in respect, their blue skin dotted with the remaining storm clouds in the sky.
“May the sun’s rays warm our introduction,” said one, in a low and lilting voice. “We see fog rolling into a private harbor, bringing news of a troubled sea.”
Mereámé dipped her head. “Let the fog lift. Humbly do beggars enter the house of the heavens. The sea may be troubled, but the guests ask only for directions to a seaworthy ship. Let the harbor remain in obscurity, forever to continue its admirable purpose.”
“The sun shines ever warmer,” said the first, smiling. “To whom do we owe the honor?”
“Mereámé Mandon is blessed to return, with Ruakh of Levav and companions from Kalka’an and Gorgenbrild.”
“Strange dealings down below. I am Poleia, and this is my sister, Yadara. The daughters of the sky greet you.”
Yadara nodded toward them, taking them in with interest, but remained silent.
Poleia spoke again. “Please, follow us.”
Poleia and Yadara led them across the circular platform, up a softly inclined path, and to another landing. The group crossed the landing and proceeded from platform to platform for several minutes. Enouim glanced around at her companions. Gabor looked more and more nervous as the group increased its altitude, and Kilith’s even-keel nature seemed to have a chink in it for the first time, but Vadik and Baird seemed charged up by the thrill. Ruakh and Mereámé appeared both comfortable and excited, and Canukke remained surprisingly mute. He seemed out of place for once, and Oloren’s eyes were wide as she took in everything around her.
They came to a partially enclosed circular structure, which they could see was empty through the semi-transparent walls. Intricate archways, like fragile glass trees, danced up and over the entry to make a door. The beauty of it all enthralled Enouim, a welcome distraction from just how far she was from the ground, and just how flimsy her footing appeared to be now that it blended into its surroundings more completely. When she did remember, she could feel icy fingers of fear clawing to take hold of her, but she took deep breaths and steeled her mind to focus on the next step forward. After walking so long without railings, she was grateful this room had walls.
Poleia invited them to sit on seats, that looked to be carved of ice, set around a small circular table in the middle of the room. Canukke, Kilith, Vadik, Oloren, and Ruakh remained standing as there were not enough seats for all of them, and Baird, Enouim, Mereámé, and Gabor took their seats at Poleia’s request. She excused herself and bid them wait there, leaving Yadara standing quietly at the doorway.
Yadara shifted her weight restlessly as nine earth dwellers sat about, some openly staring, others awkwardly trying to avoid such rudeness. Enouim warred with herself between the two, not wanting to embarrass the girl. But her curiosity got the best of her and she snuck glances the girl’s way. Yadara’s smooth and soft-draping garments were like a filmy, partially opaque mirror of the sky set on cloth.
The clouds had scattered over the past ten minutes or so, and Yadara’s reflective countenance lightened with it. Long, wide sleeves fell at her sides, and silver hair flowed freely down her back. She was a young woman, appearing perhaps Enouim’s age, and Enouim wondered if time effected the Nazir the same as it did humans. When Yadara lifted her hand to brush her hair behind her shoulder, Enouim noticed silver marks on her wrists, like pools of molten silver. The marks were about an inch long and half-an-inch wide, apparent on both sides of the wrist as if piercing her flesh all the way through. Yadara’s blue-gray eyes met hers in an accidental moment that surprised them both—Yadara smiled uncomfortably and both averted their gaze. Enouim wasn’t the only curious one.
“So … daughter of the sky, huh?” Vadik ventured clumsily.
Yadara glanced up at him with surprise. “I am a daughter of the sky. You are a son of the earth. This is as crystal, is it not?”
Vadik stared back at her dumbly, mouth parted.
Just then, three Nazir entered, tall and slender, with long limbs, and fair features. A man and a woman came in side by side, with Poleia following several paces behind. Enouim thought they seemed to glide rather than walk, so smooth were their gaits. Young they looked, yet ancient in the eyes and soul. Wonder filled Enouim at the sight of them.
The pair stepped into the middle of the room, standing before their worldly guests, and Poleia rejoined Yadara at the doorway, one positioned on each side. An air of confidence and authority hung over them, and Enouim felt quite small in their presence.
“The sun shines,” said the man, opening his hands before him in a welcoming gesture.
The woman stood with her her hands folded neatly in front of her. “Let it bless our meeting.”
“Let it bless our meeting,” Mereámé agreed softly.
“I am Nyeur,” the man said, “the Supreme Golden Guardian of the First Layer. This is Laskallel, Supreme Golden Keeper of the same. Tell us of yourselves.”
“My name is Mereámé Mandon of Levav, and with me I have the administer of Akavah, Ruakh of Levav, and friends from Kalka’an and Gorgenbrild. We greet you as the birds greet the morning. Knowing your generosity, we seek only counsel from your expansive knowledge and wisdom.”
Laskallel nodded. “We received a vision of an eagle in the sky roaming over the earth, seeing many creatures moving to and fro upon it. From its height, the eagle sees a mystery. One creature has the head of a lion, the body of a wyvern, and the wings of a molting swan. This cryptic beast circled in the wilderness, searching, searching, and spied the eagle’s haunt upon the cliff. Seeing it, the beast wound its way toward the cliff, defying the laws of nature by ascending to a place it did not belong and had not been invited. The eagle sees its home is threatened and swoops down to protect it. What should be done to the invading creature?”
Mereámé’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked to Ruakh.
“If the creature is truly a threat,” Ruakh began calmly, “then by all means, the eagle should protect its home however it sees fit. It is the eagle’s nest after all, and it is the responsibility of the eagle to fight for its dwelling as well as any young fledglings in its charge. If, however, it only appears a great beast, and is in fact a mouse escaping a great cat, the mouse is at the mercy of the eagle, requesting the covering of its wing, if only for a moment.”
“You speak well,” Nyeur said. “And tell me, what are you called?”
“I am Ruakh.”
“Ruakh. I am not familiar with you, nor the title your associate ascribed to you. What does it mean?”
All heads spun to Ruakh. Enouim had wondered what “administer of Akavah” meant for ages, and had kept meaning to ask him, but somehow never had.
“Akavah simply means ‘brotherhood.’ I provide and nurture it, and promote peace and healing among men.”
“Your presence is peace, your modesty refreshing, and your companions clearly hold you in high regard. And how do we know your brothers hold to your values?”
“Well, I can speak only for myself, and as there are nine of us, we certainly are not all the same. But I have faith in each of them, and believe in the cause we serve. Our common goal has brought us together, as odd a group as it may be.”
“I see you are a swan. And what of the lion?” asked Laskallel.
Canukke spoke, and Laskallel turned to him. “My purposes are pure, and my desire to protect a people defenseless and weak, losing hope and abandoned by Glintenon.”
Oloren held her breath.
“A man who presumes to be the lion, naming himself the strongest while in the company of his friends. Bold, to be sure.” Her voice was silk, but every thread disapproving. “A poisonous darkness billows from the earth, and the sky does not receive it. Tell me, when the eagle discerns a snake in its nest, does it not crush it with its talons and consume it?”
21
Canukke glared at Laskallel; his lip curled, but for once he sat silent. Enouim’s heart beat wildly, and she twirled the end of her braid with shaking fingers. A moment passed and the indignation vanished from their leader’s face.
“No leader can care for his men without traits of a lion.” Mereámé glanced between Canukke and Laskallel. “It is fitting, no? But a lion in his territory can be a cub in the eagle’s nest, and a snake may learn it is little more than a worm in the eagle’s home. We have much to learn from you.”
Canukke crossed his arms. Enouim knew he would feel Mereámé’s words painted him as weak. He would want to be seen as an equal. And yet, could he really feel equal to these beings?
“You and your friend”—Nyeur nodded at Ruakh—“are morning doves to us. Ruakh answered the test well when it was posed, and we are inclined to accept and hear you. But now you tell us … this man with the hate in his eyes is your leader.”
“We do not yet know one another,” Canukke said. “In dealings with men, even an enemy is given a chance to speak.”
“In dealings with men,” Nyeur said, “we have learned that words are often empty.”
“Hasty to make judgments, from up here in the clouds!” Canukke exclaimed. “What dealings with men have you had? So removed are you, you do not know with whom you speak. Indeed, if you had bothered with reality beneath you, perhaps you would have heard of Canukke Topothain of Gorgenbrild!”
Laskallel arched an eyebrow. “And who is this Canukke Topothain of Gorgenbrild?”
Enouim gulped and looked at Oloren. Oloren caught her eye and widened hers to silently share her concern. Letting others lead and speak on his behalf was beyond Canukke’s comfort zone.
“I am the greatest warrior to be found in the mountains, the most formidable foe to be faced in the east. My sword has hewn more enemies than could fit in your little sky pads here. Perhaps as we become better acquainted, your opinion will rise to match my reputation.”
Oloren spoke up: “He is well known in his circles, and his name travels from land to land in the surrounding areas, speaking of his accomplishments. He comes across harshly, but only because loved ones at home hang in the balance.”
Laskallel narrowed her eyes slightly. “A man whose temper is so easily triggered has reflected little on himself. He looks in a mirror and goes away, instantly forgetting what he looks like. What good is it to tell such a man anything? Who would advise a friend to disclose sensitive information to him?”
“I knew this was a bad idea,” Canukke scoffed. “How could these pretentious people expect to understand? Every person east of here, and even further in all directions, knows who I am and my litany of accomplishments. We are here on a humanitarian mission and were led to believe you were knowledgeable and wise. I see neither knowledge nor wisdom.”
