Tal's first step had to be to get out of the Pit. He couldn't do anything from a hole in the ground. He looked at the triple scar on his wrist, where he had been marked by the Crone. Something of the Ice-carls must have gotten into him. Like the Icecarls, and the Selski they followed, Tal knew that if he stopped, he would die.
Having made the decision to escape, Tal put on the Sunstone ring, turning the stone inward so he could shield it with his hand. Then he called forth a very faint light and used it to search around the sides of the Pit. He had learned to climb well on the Mountain of Light. If there were any cracks in the wall he might be able to climb up, using them as toe- and fingerholds.
But the walls were smooth and seamless. By the time Tal had been halfway around he knew it was useless. The Pit hadn't been dug with normal tools, but cut through solid rock with Light, probably by Chosen using Sunstones. The walls were as smooth as glass, the rock actually fused.
He was about to give up when he noticed a small rough patch, right at eye level. Nothing that would help him climb, but Tal rushed over for a closer look anyway.
The roughness was not an accident. Someone had scratched letters and numbers into the rock. Several different people, Tal thought, from the variations in handwriting. Some scratches were faded, and clearly very old. Some were obviously fresher. There were fragments of names, and tally-marks that probably counted meals, for there would be no other way of keeping time. Unlike the Icecarls, Chosen did not care to count every breath, unconsciously or other-wise.
There had been prisoners who'd spent months here, or even years.
Was there any way to escape?
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
here were at least twenty names scratched into the stone. Tal held his Sunstone close, puzzling them out. None of the names were familiar to him, until he came to one of the most recent, down at the bottom.
When he saw it, he felt his skin go cold and his breath stop. He bent even closer, unable to believe it. Then he touched the stone, hoping the scratched letters might disappear under his fingertips.
But they didn't, and no matter how Tal looked, they still spelled out the same name. And he recognized the distinctive curve of the letters.
Rerem.
Tal's father. He had been here. In the Pit. That meant that he hadn't disappeared on a secret mission for the Empress, as Sushin had said. He had been kept here, until he had escaped… or something else had happened to him.
Tal shivered. He didn't want to think about anything but escape. His father was smarter and stronger than he was. He would have escaped. That was why he hadn't been able to come home. The enemies who had imprisoned him here would have been looking for him. He must be hiding somewhere, waiting for an opportunity to get word to the Empress or his friends.
That would be difficult, since some of the Imperial Guard were clearly involved with Rerem's enemies. A terrible plot was under way, though Tal couldn't imagine what that plot involved. Rerem must have discovered something, and that was why they wanted Tal imprisoned, too.
Tal felt certain that Shadowmaster Sushin was behind it all. Tal remembered how he'd enjoyed telling Tal that his father was dead, and then giving him the deluminents. Tal looked at his wrist and laughed. The crystal bracelets marking him for demotion were long gone, lost in the fall from the Red Tower. He'd probably be given even more for losing the first lot. Perhaps even a full seven, and an instant demo-tion to the Red Order. Or even fourteen, and a welcome to the ranks of the Underfolk.
Tal didn't care about deluminents anymore. Whoever his enemy was, Sushin or someone else, they didn't care about following the rules and laws of the Chosen. So Tal wouldn't, either.
Defiantly, he scratched his own name under his father's, using the same worn metal spoon that the others must have used. There was hardly any of it left; certainly it was of no use as a weapon.
Tal had just finished when he heard movement up above. Not the solid crash of the guards' boots, but a more slithery sound. Hastily, Tal dimmed his Sun-stone and put it back in his pocket. Then he lay down on the moldy mattress and pretended to be asleep.
Looking up at the pale opening of the Pit, Tal saw a Spiritshadow peering over the edge - a tall, horned creature that rested its clawed forelegs on the lip of the Pit as if it might jump down. Tal kept his eyes on it and very slowly reached into his pocket for the Sunstone, his heart racing. If it did jump, he would blast it.
Or try to.
But the Spiritshadow turned away. It was replaced by a Chosen, a glittering figure wreathed in light by the many Sunstones on his rings, chain, and staff. The staff was one that belonged to a Deputy Lumenor, with the orange glow that marked him as of the Orange Order - Tal's own Order.
For a moment, Tal thought that everything was going to be set right. The Deputy Lumenor had come to release him. The guards and the other plotters would already be in the Old Court, facing up to their crimes.
Tal then realized that the Chosen above was not Neril, the Deputy Lumenor he knew, who had held the post for many, many years. It was someone else, someone taller and broader, lit so brightly that Tal couldn't see his or her face.
Then the Deputy Lumenor spoke, and Tal's hopes were destroyed. He knew that voice.
It was Shadowmaster Sushin. Somehow he had been promoted to Deputy Lumenor of the Orange Order. And to Brightblinder, judging from the new, larger chain of Sunstones he wore around his neck.
But that wasn't possible, or at least it wasn't according to what Tal had been taught. Brightstar was the highest rank in the Orange Order. To go higher you had to be in the Green Order at least. However he did it, Sushin seemed expert at getting promotions and titles, since he was a Shadowmaster, too, which was a title given directly by the Empress and usually went with a particular office or job. Sushin had never mentioned what that was.
"Young Tal," said Sushin, in the tone of voice a lector might use if he found his students somewhere they weren't supposed to be.
"What happened to Neril?" asked Tal, unable to keep the anger from his voice. "The proper Deputy Lumenor?"
"No, no," said Sushin. "That is no way to begin. Surely you have not forgotten all your manners, wherever you might have been."
"I haven't forgotten," replied Tal, but he made no move to get up and bow. "And even if I had a Sun-stone I wouldn't offer light to you."
"Really?" asked Sushin dryly. "You are a rude boy."
He held up a chain, and the light from his Sun-stones dimmed. Even so, it took Tal's eyes a moment to adjust and see what it was. His own chain, and the blackened remnant of his old Sunstone.
"What happened to your Sunstone?" asked Sushin. "None of your business," said Tal.
"But it is my business," Sushin explained. "You see, without a Sunstone, you are not a Chosen, Tal."
Not a Chosen.
The words went through Tal like a Merwin horn. He was caught now. If he admitted he had a new Sunstone, it would probably be taken away. If he didn't, Sushin could treat him like an Underfolk.
"As Deputy Lumenor of the Orange Order," the Shadowmaster continued, "I have to discover whether your loss was an accident, in which case the stone should be replaced, or whether it was deliberate destruction. In the latter case, your demotion to Underfolk would be immediate, as would other… punishments."
Tal didn't reply. He knew Sushin was just playing with him. The Shadowmaster was his enemy.
"I can replace your Sunstone," said Sushin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bright new chain of gold, with a large Sunstone set as the pendant. "A Primary Sunstone, Tal. Strong enough to take you and your family into Aenir on the Day of Ascension. The day when you become a full Chosen… or not. I understand that getting to Aenir is particularly important for your mother at the moment. Or so my dear friends Lallek and Korrek tell me. They are so concerned about your family."
Tal looked at the Sunstone. It dangled loosely in
Sushin's puffy fingers, as if he might drop it down at
any moment.
"What about Gref?" asked Tal. "What have you done to him?"
"He could be found," Sushin replied, not really answering the question.
"What… what would I have to do?" Tal asked, his voice cracking. If he got the Sunstone and was reinstated in the Orange Order, Gref would be brought home and together they could take care of their mother. Later he could try to help Milla, find out what was going on, and discover what had happened to his father.
But could he trust Sushin?
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
GC
You must answer my questions, to begin with," Sushin said. "You were climbing the outside of the Red Tower, and you fell. Yet here you are. How? Who helped you?"
"The Icecarls," Tal told him.
Sushin sighed, and his Spiritshadow loomed threateningly over the edge.
"I want the names of the Chosen," said the Shadowmaster. "Not stories, and not your senile great-uncle Ebbitt. Someone helped you escape the Red Tower, someone with real power. Someone hid you these last few weeks. Tell me their names."
"No one," replied Tal. "I was taken by the wind, far from the Castle. The Icecarls found -"
"I said
I do not want stories!"
shouted Sushin. He raised his hand, and a bolt of concentrated light shot out, striking the corner of the mattress, setting it alight. Tal rolled away, covering his eyes with his forearm. His shadowguard scuttled after him, spreading itself wide to shield him from the attack.
As Tal rolled, he saw Sushin throw another bolt. His Spiritshadow was behind him, its claws striking at the air, its huge fanged mouth snapping as if it might already have Tal in its jaws.
Tal suddenly realized that Sushin's Spiritshadow shouldn't be a fanged claw-beast. Last time he'd seen Sushin, his Spiritshadow had a domed shell and a long flat head. Spiritshadows could stretch and spread, but they couldn't completely change shape!
So Sushin must have gotten a completely new Spiritshadow. He must have gone into Aenir before the Day of Ascension. That was totally forbidden.
For a very long minute, Sushin threw bolts of white-hot light down at Tal. The boy ducked and weaved, but in the narrow confines of the Pit he knew he would be hit soon. His shadowguard had already deflected one bolt, and now had a rip through its shadow-flesh that would take days to heal. Finally Sushin calmed down and the bolts stopped. Tal stopped running, though his body was still tensed to jump aside.
"Who is the girl who was captured with you?" Sushin demanded. "Where did she steal her weapon? Are there other Underfolk who helped you?"
"Her name is Milla," said Tal. He didn't know how to answer the other questions. Clearly Sushin thought that Tal had used Light magic to fly down the Red Tower and then had hidden with renegade
Underfolk in the lower levels.
"She's an Icecarl!" he shouted, jumping away from the expected bolt of light.
But Sushin didn't raise his hand. He said, "The
Pit is a good place to think, Tal. You should remember that the only way out is to give the right answers. To me."
He turned to leave. Tal sighed with relief and looked down. In that instant, Sushin turned back and fired a final bolt. It struck the ground at Tal's feet, sparks flying up to strafe his legs. He was knocked down, his shadowguard cushioning his fall.
On his back, with his shadowguard under him,
Tal could only look up as Sushin pointed his Sunstone-ring hand at him. He lay there, waiting for the killing bolt, but Sushin only laughed and turned away. This time, he did not come back.
Tal lay there for a long time, until his shadow-guard crept out from under him and started tugging at his foot. Wearily, the boy sat up and looked at his legs. The bolt had burned all the fur off his leggings, revealing the hide underneath. Sparks had burned through to scorch his skin in a few spots. But it wasn't serious.
Tal laughed. A month ago he would have gone straight to bed for a week with these tiny burns. Now he had grown closer to Icecarl standards. The burns were annoying, nothing more.
Getting to his feet, he went over to the water basin, stripped off his furs, and washed himself as best he could. He kept the clothes close, in case he heard Sushin returning.
Tal was just slipping his leggings back on when he heard footsteps again. Quickly he threw on his coat and retreated to the far side.
But it wasn't Sushin. Or at least it didn't sound like him. Whoever it was didn't slide his or her feet. Again it didn't sound like a guard's heavy boots.
Tal tensed as a shadow slid over the rim of the Pit. Then he relaxed. It was a natural shadow, and the person who cast it was close behind, in the white robe of an Underfolk.
An old woman, Tal saw, though she didn't meet his eyes. She knelt at the edge of the Pit and carefully lowered a basket down on a very thin rope, sufficient to support the basket but not Tal if he tried to grab it. When the basket hit the bottom, she kept lowering, till the hook on the rope swung clear and she hauled it back up again very quickly.
Stale bread, Tal thought gloomily. The Under-folk woman pointed at it and said something very quietly, then she quickly walked away.
It wasn't until she'd gone that Tal managed to work out that she'd said, "Compliments of your great-uncle."
Even with those words, Tal waited until he could no longer hear footsteps. Then he went over to the basket and lifted its lid.
Delightful aromas escaped, and Tal's mouth was suddenly no longer dry. There was half a fresh-baked pie, spiced with menahas sprigs, and two seed cakes. A stone bottle contained cold sweetwater.
Even though he was suddenly hungry, it was not the food and drink that most attracted Tal's attention. In one corner of the basket, there was a clump of pages. Judging from the torn stitching and absence of binding, it had been ripped from the middle of a book. Tal picked it up and saw that he only held a few chapters. It started at page 173 and ended in midsentence on page 215.
The first line was, "On Making a Stairway of Light."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Milla woke on the deck of an iceship. For a moment she was disoriented, then she felt the familiar bone under her feet and the wind in her hair. She heard the screech of the ship's runners on the ice.
But something was not quite right. She looked down at herself, and saw that she was not dressed in the full furs she should be wearing on deck. And her Merwin-horn sword was gone, as was her knife and throwing crescent. How could she have been so careless as to come on deck unclothed and unarmed?
The color of the Sunstone on the mast was wrong. It had an unpleasant greenish tint that made the Ice look sickly. And there was no one else on deck. Which was impossible. There was always a watch on deck…
Milla looked around. There was no obvious sign of an enemy, but she felt an unwelcome presence. She slowly went to lower her mask. But it wasn't there, either. Puzzled, Milla ran her hands over her hair, which was strangely long. No mask, no weapons, no outer furs, long hair.
The wind was howling through the rigging. The sails were full, the ship speeding across the ice. But Milla did not feel cold.
- Milla knew there could only be one explanation for this. She must be dreaming.
There was no point trying to wake up from inside a dream. When her time came, she would wake. She took a deep, slow breath and sat down, drawing her legs up underneath her. Then she bent forward and laid her forehead on the deck, between her spread palms. She began to breathe in the Fourth Rovkir Pattern, which would send her into an even deeper level of consciousness, deeper and further down than dreams.
She didn't hear the creatures that came swarming over the sides of the ship, or feel their jaws and claws upon her. She didn't notice them disappear, or see the ship hit a huge rock and go into a cartwheeling explosion. She didn't see the Spiritshadows that rushed at her, intent on ripping her dream-self apart.
Milla had already left that dream-body. She had gone further, so far that she had lost her identity. She was a tiny g
lowing spark in a great void of nothingness that would hide until she was found by someone with the power to return her to her dream-body and then to her physical form.
Two different people were alerted by what Milla had done. One was close to her physically, and was puzzled - perhaps a little afraid. The other one was physically far away, and merely curious.
The first was Fashnek, master of the Hall of Nightmares. He had gone into Milla's dream and seen the iceship. That had been Milla's dreaming. But when Fashnek began to change it, sending monsters to attack, Milla's dream-shape had not responded as an Underfolk or a Chosen would. She should have run screaming and crying, trying to wake up. But she had stayed completely still and uncaring, and the monsters could not touch her.
Fashnek had put a great rock in the ship's path, and destroyed the vessel in the crash. But still Milla's dream-shape had not been touched. The piece of deck she lay on had simply sailed through the air and landed perfectly on the Ice.
Fashnek had called on his own and other Spirit-shadows then, bringing them directly into her dream. Even they could not touch her. Their shadow-claws and teeth simply passed through the dream-girl. She did not respond in any way.
Fashnek became angry. He retreated back into his damaged flesh, to change the settings of the Sun-stones, to focus more power on the prisoner in the crystal globe. He sent a message, too, advising his own master that he had found someone whose dreams resisted his power.
While he was out of Milla's dream, another person entered it. She came skating across the ice, though her boots had no skates, and with each sliding footstep she moved farther than any real skater could. She wore no furs, just a plain black robe. Her eyes shone like stars and her long hair was as white as the ice. Tal would have recognized her as the Crone of the Far Raiders. Here in Milla's dream she was younger and taller by half a stretch.
She looked at the wreckage and sniffed at the ice around Milla's bent-over dream-body. Whatever she smelled made her nose wrinkle. She did not touch Milla, but turned away and shouted out into the darkness. The shout shattered the ice in front of her and sent pieces of bone debris flying into the air.