“What is the tatterdemalion like?” Erisha asked quietly, not looking at him as she worked diligently and seemingly single-mindedly on the caerwort.
Kirisin thought about it. “Ephemeral,” he said finally. “It seems that a strong wind could blow her away. You can see right through her much of the time, like she isn’t even there. She talks and acts like you and me, but I don’t feel there’s much of anything about her that is anything like us.” He paused. “There is something very sad about her.”
“She probably misses her home.” Erisha glanced over at him. “What about the Knight? She seems very young.”
“But tough,” he said at once. “Much stronger than she looks. I wouldn’t want to have to fight her. She looks like she’s just a girl, but she’s a lot more, too. That staff she carries is infused with the magic of the Word. Those runes. I’ve never seen anything like them.”
Erisha nodded. “Culph says the staffs are the symbol of the Knights’ order. No one knows where they come from, but all the Knights carry them until the day they die. I asked him how they worked, but he doesn’t know. He says a Knight of the Word is very powerful, and almost nothing can stand against it.”
“Maybe a demon can.” Kirisin looked at her. “Maybe some of the monsters they create.”
Erisha nodded solemnly. “Maybe. I hope we don’t have to find out.”
They resumed work, and little more was said. It was midday and they were eating when Culph appeared, beckoning them away from the others. Kirisin was aware that Biat was watching him closely as he rose and left. Biat watched him all the time now, suspecting from the suddenness of his apparent reconciliation with Erisha that something had happened that the two were keeping to themselves. Kirisin thought more than once to speak with his friend, but couldn’t think what he would say and so kept silent.
“I found what you’re looking for,” the old man told them when they were safely away from the others, hidden back in the screen of the forest trees. He looked tired and out of sorts, his hair and beard matted and his face a sheen of sweat. “Her maiden name was Gotrin. It’s an old family, goes back several thousand years in the genealogy tables, but they all died out long ago. At one time, they were more powerful than the Cruers; more of them were Kings and Queens in the time the families overlapped. Pancea left one child, but the tables make no mention of her after her mother’s death. That was the only immediate family member to survive her. There’s nothing to say what Pancea’s relationship was with her husband’s family, but she might have considered them beneath her and chosen to be buried with her own people.”
He was panting hard as he finished, rubbing at his beard and licking his lips. “Had to run. The King will be back any moment.” He screwed up his face. “What are you going to do?”
“Search again,” Erisha announced immediately. “Can you help?”
The old man shook his head. “I can’t do anything right now except what your father tells me to do. Don’t know when I can. Not for a day or two, at best.” He paused. “You’ll have to do this without me.”
Kirisin compressed his lips and breathed in sharply. “All right. We can get my sister to help.”
“The Knight of the Word and the tatterdemalion said they would help, too,” Erisha added quickly.
Culph looked uneasy. “That’s a lot of people. Easier for so many to be seen. If that happens, the Knight and the Faerie creature won’t be mistaken for anything but what they are. That will put an end to all your efforts.”
“We’ll do it at night,” she said. “One of us will keep watch while the others work.”
The old man shook his head. “If you do it at night, you will need a light to read the engravings on the markers. You might as well set the forest on fire and beat a drum!”
“We won’t need a light,” Kirisin declared, jumping in. “The moon is nearly full. Unless the sky clouds, we should have light enough. All we need to do is to find the Gotrin section of the burial ground, and then it’s just a matter of sorting through the Gotrin markers.”
“You make it sound easy, but it won’t be. You know that.”
Erisha’s face tightened. “I don’t see that we have much choice if we want to find the Elfstones.”
He made a dismissive sound. “Some of the Gotrins were magic wielders, powerful warlocks and witches. This was a long time ago, but it’s a fact. The Elven runic symbols next to their names in the tables designate the ones who had the power.” He locked eyes with her. “She was one. Pancea was one.”
Erisha hesitated, and then shrugged. “As you said, that was a long time ago. She’s dead now, and her magic with her.”
The sharp old eyes tightened. “Magic, little missy, doesn’t age. It doesn’t fade. It hides and waits.”
There was a long pause as Kirisin and Erisha stared at him. “Are you saying there might be something dangerous in the tombs?” Kirisin asked finally.
“Maybe. It bears thinking on. You need to keep watch, young Belloruus.”
Their eyes locked, and for a moment Kirisin had the distinct feeling that Culph was telling him something that had nothing to do with what they were talking about.
Then the old man’s eyes shifted away. “I have to leave. Remember what I said. Both of you. Be careful.”
“You’d better be careful yourself,” Erisha snapped back at him, taking hold of his arm to keep him from going. “Ailie says that there was a demon in the Council chambers last night. One of the Elves!”
Culph stared at her. Then he shook his head quickly. “That isn’t possible. A demon? She must be mistaken.”
“She says she isn’t. She says if she could separate everyone out, she would know which one it is.” She fixed her fierce gaze on him, then released his arm and stepped back. “It could be anyone. It could be my father.”
It cost her something to say that. Kirisin saw it in her face. Culph looked as if he might respond, his seamed forehead wrinkling. But instead he simply nodded and turned away. “Maybe, maybe not. The world is full of demons of all sorts. Better to worry about the ones you can see and let the others be.” He kept walking. “Let me know what you find.”
He disappeared back into the trees, leaving Kirisin and Erisha to ponder if what they had decided to do might turn out to be a mistake they would later regret.
MIDNIGHT CREPT out of the darkness like a wraith at haunt, a silent and stealthy creature, and the little company of conspirators followed in its wake. Simralin led the way, using her Tracker’s instincts to guide them, her strong figure reassuring to Kirisin as he stayed close. Erisha followed him, and Angel and Ailie brought up the rear. Moonlight, unfiltered by clouds or ground mist, brightened their way, and they were able to pass through Cintra’s forest and down Arborlon’s trails without need for artificial light, just as Kirisin had hoped.
They had met earlier at his house, the safest choice with his parents still absent. Angel and Ailie had come on their own, able to slip away easily from their quarters and their unseen guards without being detected. Erisha had encountered a few problems from the Home Guards on duty in and around the Belloruus royal grounds, but Culph had shown her another of the secret tunnels, one that exited through a trapdoor just outside an old storage shed at the back of the property. They had waited until just before midnight, when most of the city’s population was asleep, determined to reduce the chances of being spotted before they reached Ashenell.
“No talking until we get to where we are going,” Simralin had warned the others. And then she had added for his benefit alone, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Little K.”
He didn’t, of course. Not entirely. They would gain entry into Ashenell, locate the Gotrin family burial site, search through the markers for Pancea Rolt Gotrin, and then decide if they should dig up her remains immediately or wait for daylight. How they would determine this, he didn’t know. All he knew was that one way or the other, they would find out whether she had taken the Elfstones with her to her grave as the scri
be’s journal had recorded.
If they couldn’t find her marker, he didn’t know what they would do.
The night air was cool on his face. A breeze blew down out of the higher elevations of the mountains, gusting at times, chill with what remained of permafrost and scattered snow. There wasn’t much of either left now, most of it melted in the change of climate and the destruction of the environment. Once, there had been polar ice caps of enormous size at the top and bottom of the world. But these had been diminished and were shrinking still. The seas had risen, and the lowland countries and coastal areas had flooded years ago. The water had receded with the changes in climate, erosion carving new inlets and water tributaries that had re-formed much of the coastline. But thousands of species had been lost to starvation and an inability to adjust to the radical changes. His sister had said it best, returned from one of her expeditions.
The world is changed, Little K, and I am not sure it will ever change back again.
He hadn’t let this bother him before, secure in the haven of the Cintra, safely hidden away from humans and their follies in his own little part of the world. But thinking now of where the Elfstones could take him, once he found them, he wondered at what he might find. If he accepted that both the Ellcrys and Angel Perez spoke the truth and that Simralin’s assessment was accurate, then what must the world be like if it was on the verge of being destroyed?
“Stop dawdling!” Erisha hissed in his ear.
He realized that he was lagging behind. Wordlessly, he hurried to close the gap, flushing with the rebuke.
They reached Ashenell without encountering anyone, the moon gone lower in the sky, but not so low that they couldn’t see clearly. The burial ground was huge, an area of vast, sprawling forested heights that dipped and rose in a series of gently rolling hills. It was neither gated nor fenced, but the screen of trees and the lift of the terrain provided a natural barrier to those who might wander in by accident. Brush had been left in place, small trees allowed to fill out, and hillocks and humps remained undisturbed. Slender vine-covered alders trained to grow in leafy arches designated entrances from the west and east. Paths leading up to the grounds ended there.
They stood at the west entrance, where the shadows were deepest.
“One of us needs to stay here to keep watch,” Simralin said quietly, gathering them close. “Perhaps it should be me. Likely I will know the guards who might find us and can talk our way out of trouble.”
Ailie reached out and touched her arm with feathery fingers. “I would be a better choice. I can hide and not be seen by any Elf. If anything threatens, I can give warning more quickly and quietly.”
The other four glanced at one another, and then Angel said, “Ailie is right. She is the best choice.”
They took a last look around, making sure they were still alone, and then, leaving Ailie in the shadowy cover of the trees, moved forward into the dark cathedral of Ashenell. Kirisin glanced back once at Ailie, her child’s face a pale shimmer of brightness in the moonlight, then turned away for good.
Erisha took the lead now, winding through the clusters of stone markers, moving deeper into the grounds toward its older plots. Moonlight spilled through the limbs of the trees in narrow bands, piercing the shadows, spearing the dark earth. In places, the light disappeared completely, but for the most part they were able to make their way without difficulty. Night birds gave solitary calls in the near silence, and the shadows of owls passing overhead swept past them like wraiths. Kirisin fought back against the anticipation that was building inside in gathering waves. He wasn’t afraid—at least not yet. But his fear lurked just out of sight, a presence that could surface in an instant’s time. It kept him on edge, watchful both for himself and the others. They must be very careful, he told himself. There must be no mistakes.
They passed out of the smaller markers into a forest of sepulchers, crypts, and mausoleums, aboveground tombs that hunkered down in the darkness amid the towering old-growth trees. There were bold carvings of runic symbols and strange creatures on stone doors and lintels. These tombs were very old, so old that some of their dates designated times before the advent of the human race. Many were written in ancient Elfish, a few in languages that were unrecognizable. They had the look of stone giants, monsters that slept, waiting to be awakened.
Kirisin glanced at Simralin, but she seemed unbothered by the tombs, her face calm and her movements relaxed as she strode ahead of him. She had always been like that—so under control, so confident in herself—and he had always envied her for it.
Erisha had reached a section of Ashenell that was dominated by a huge stone mausoleum, the crypts and sepulchers surrounding it left diminished in its shadow. The names on all of the mausoleum’s lesser children were carved in the same heavy block letters: GOTRIN.
They spread out to cover as much ground as possible, working their way through the maze of markers, reading names and dates, searching for mention of Pancea Rolt Gotrin. It wasn’t until they had gone through all the markers once and were working their way back again that Kirisin, drawn to the intricacy of the carvings on the walls of the large mausoleum, noticed a strange symbol carved in an otherwise flat and unmarked surface on one side of the tomb. He stared at it a moment, wondering what it was, started away again when nothing suggested itself, and then stopped and turned back for another look, recognition flooding through him.
The symbol, if you looked carefully, was decipherable. It consisted of three letters in Elfish imposed one on top of the other. The letters were P, R, and G—the first letters of Pancea Rolt Gotrin’s names.
“Erisha!” he hissed.
She turned at the sound of her name and hurried over. He pointed at the symbol, mouthed the three letters, and traced them as he did so. She nodded at once in agreement.
“Why is it here?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Simralin and Angel Perez had joined them by now, and Kirisin revealed what he had found. Simralin understood and explained the nature of the symbol to Angel. The Knight of the Word brushed at her short-cropped hair and frowned. “Is this her tomb?”
“Doesn’t say so,” Simralin replied. “It is a family crèche with the remains of dozens and dozens of lesser Gotrins. A Queen would have her own tomb, separate from the others.”
They fanned out, rechecking every marker within twenty yards. They found no mention of Pancea. Reassembling next to the symbol, they spoke in low, cautious voices, the night their only witness as they deliberated the puzzle.
“It’s a symbol, but maybe it’s something else, too,” Kirisin suggested.
“What sort of something else?” His sister took a closer look. “It seems an ordinary carving.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” He touched the symbol with his fingers, tracing the letters, then pressed them to see if there was any give and felt around the ridges for anything he might have missed. He shook his head again. “It’s something else,” he repeated, the words a mumble that ended in a question mark.
“Could it have another meaning besides what the letters suggest?” Erisha asked suddenly. “Could they stand for something besides her name?”
Kirisin was looking all around now—at the other markers, the distant shadows, the leafy boughs of the trees surrounding them, and the ground, strewn with twigs and leaves and woodsy debris. Was he missing something?
Angel Perez stepped forward. “Wait a minute. You said Pancea had command of magic and that she was probably a witch. Maybe she provided for that. Maybe it takes magic to summon magic.”
She placed the tip of her staff against the Gotrin Elfish symbol, and her dark features tightened in concentration. The runes carved in her staff began to glow, turning bright with fiery light. Almost immediately the symbol responded; it, too, began to glow.
Then a deep grating sound broke the stillness of the night, the heavy rasp of stone moving across stone, and an entire section of the earth, not a dozen fee
t from where they stood, began to move. A huge slab, concealed beneath layers of dirt and debris, dropped slowly into the earth and out of sight, leaving a gaping hole.
The four stepped over to its edge and peered down. It was as black as pitch in the hole, but they could see that the slab formed a platform onto the steps of a stairway leading down.
“What do we do?” Simralin asked.
Angel Perez shook her head, the runes of her staff gone dark once more. Erisha started to say something, then stopped herself.
It was Kirisin who spoke the words that the rest of them couldn’t.
“We go down,” he said.
AT THE WEST ENTRANCE to the burial ground, hidden back in the shadow of the trees, Ailie caught a sudden whiff of demon scent. It was borne on the night breeze, coming out of the darkness north along the berm that designated the boundary to Ashenell. A second later, she saw a long, sinewy form leap out of the darkness, clear the earthen rise, and drop soundlessly inside the grounds. Ailie recognized it at once: it was the creature that had tracked them all the way from California, the creature that had twice done battle with Angel and twice been thwarted.
Now it was here.
Ailie wasn’t surprised that it had found them. It was a skilled hunter, a feral beast that could track anyone or anything. What surprised her was the timing. How had the creature happened to find them now, in the middle of the night?
Something about it didn’t feel right. Ailie watched the beast slouch through the markers, sniffing the ground, its big head turning this way and that, casting about for further scent. She wasn’t worried about being discovered. Tatterdemalions left no scent, and she was much faster and more elusive than the demon. She could fly from her hiding place anytime she wished. But she was curious to see what it would do. It would have a purpose in mind, but its wanderings amid the markers seemed so aimless.