Read Birthright (The Technomage Archive, Book 1) Page 55

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  Not long after Ceril began to follow the wall, the chamber narrowed into a hallway. His light-gloves began to reflect off of a second wall, but the corridor was hardly confining. There would have been plenty of room for his entire team to walk side-by-side if they weren’t all separated on separate ends of the Instance by now.

  He made a mental note to himself: once they were through this situation with the high priest, they would leave and find Swinton and Harlo. He had no idea where they were or what they were doing, but he hoped they were doing better than he was.

  Ceril followed the wall for a while and never noticed any deviation in it. If it were curved, it was imperceptible. There had been no corners or turns. He occasionally looked down to note the symbols beneath his feet. He had walked over far too many now to know if there was any repetition among them, but he still recognized none of them.

  It just didn't make sense to him. The writing on the broken tower had been Erlonian; he knew it. But beneath the tower, in whatever kind of subterranean building this was, the symbols were unrelated. That was absurd to Ceril—impossible, even.

  There was always a connection.

  Ceril was thinking about the languages when the hallway once again expanded into a chamber that opened around him. The wall he had been following disappeared when it cut a hard right. The wall to his left did the same thing, only in the opposite direction. The light from his hands no longer had walls to reflect on, and the darkness immediately became more oppressive. He froze in the doorway to a much larger chamber.

  Cautiously, he stepped forward. The Conjured light barely cut through the darkness. As he made his way further into the chamber, the ground rumbled, but only slightly. Not again, Ceril thought.

  He stopped and looked down. The tiles under his feet were still, but those around them looked different. He kept walking forward. When his feet touched the tiles in front of him, the tiles rose slightly.

  The chamber was building him a staircase.

  The increases in height were so small that he did not realize what was happening until he was already perhaps eight feet above where he started. His balance wavered, and he steadied himself before he fell. He doubted a fall from this height would hurt him—especially since his more recent tumble had been much worse—but he still preferred to remain standing for obvious reasons.

  He kept walking, and the staircase kept rising with every step he took. Eventually, he was so high that the light from his gloves could not illuminate the floor of the chamber. However, it did light the ceiling. He was not close enough to it to breach and get back to Chuckie and Saryn, but he could see that the same tiles lining the floor decorated it, too.

  Eventually, the subtle stair-stepping stopped, and Ceril found himself on a dais high above the ground. As he walked onto it, he heard another rumble and braced himself for a fall that never came. The floor that held him was solid. The rumble had actually been the lights coming online. One by one, the tiles in the ceiling began to illuminate. The silver symbols took on an unnatural glow that filled the chamber in soft, white light.

  Ceril gawked at his surroundings. The wall he had been using to guide himself eventually led to a standard holonet terminal. Just like the ones he had always used back on Erlon. The entire outer perimeter of the room was lined with tables, chairs, and what had to be data terminals. Even from this distance, he could see that they were not as advanced as the ones aboard the Inkwell Sigil—these still had physical input devices with buttons and knobs.

  How quaint.

  He turned his attention back to the dais he stood on. There was a desk here, too, and a chair. There was a single data terminal with a manual input device. And that was it. The rest of the platform was empty.

  Ceril edged closer, and a voice behind him said, “Welcome, Charon.”

  The young man whirled to face another man. He was older than Ceril, but not by much. “Who are you? Where did you come from?” Ceril asked. The man looked familiar, but Ceril didn’t know why.

  “I am a holographic projection,” the man said as he flickered. The effect verified his statement. “How may I serve you, Charon?”

  Ceril blinked. He thought rapidly, and said, “I, uhh…well…how do you know I'm a Charon?” Ceril wasn't technically a fully Rited Charon, but he saw no reason to make the distinction just now. Roman and the others had given them full discretion to act as full agents on this assignment.

  “I do not understand,” the hologram man said. “You are present in the Archive, a space that is reserved for Charonic use only. For you to have access, you are a Charon.”

  “Interesting logic,” said Ceril. He walked slowly around the desk. He had been walking for hours, which was bad considering that he was supposed to have had an audience with the Jaronya high priest shortly after he fell. His feet were killing him. He unstrapped his pack and sat behind the desk, resting. He hoped that Saryn and Chuckie had made the meeting, at least. All they needed was one more thing for the angels to hold them in contempt for. “What is this place?”

  “It is the Archive.”

  Ceril's brow crinkled. “What purpose does it serve?”

  “I am sorry, Charon. I must process your authentication license via retinal scan. Your questions are more basic than I would expect from a Charon with permission to access the Archive. I must verify your identity.”

  “And if I don't pass your verification process?”

  “You will be terminated and the authorities notified.”

  “Great,” Ceril said.

  The hologram moved closer to Ceril. The man placed his palms on the desk and bent over to look Ceril dead in the eye. Ceril had to admit it: the technology behind this guy was good. A bright purple flash came from the hologram’s left eye and a green one from its right. Ceril flinched at the bright colors. He snapped his eyes shut and covered them with his hands. If he wasn’t blinded by the flash, he would at least be seeing the world differently. That is, if he somehow passed the hologram’s test and had access to visit this Archive.

  Which he didn’t. He couldn’t.

  The hologram straightened and said, “Thank you. Your authorization has been verified. I am sorry to question your presence, Charon. How may I serve you?”