“He is being helped to the surface,” she said. “He does not rise on his own power alone.”
Isaiah went very cold.
“The pyramid is aiding him, Isaiah. The pyramid is angry. Consumed with hate. It wants revenge for some slight in its past. It…it has cast down to…”
“His name is Kanubai,” Isaiah said softly.
“The pyramid has cast down to Kanubai a rope of knotted souls, souls of the pyramid’s victims. That being below, Kanubai, rises partly under his own power, but he is aided far more powerfully by the pyramid. Isaiah, can we leave here now? Please.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Palace of Aqhat, Isembaard
What have you done? Were you mad, to expose Ishbel like that?
Isaiah was not in the least surprised that Lister should contact him in such a fury. He was glad only that Lister had left it until Isaiah was back in his private quarters.
“She is the only one who can truly read the pyramid,” Isaiah said. “We needed to know what was happening. We needed to, damn it! Ishbel was strong. In the end she survived.”
“In the end she survived.” Oh, what arrogance. You put her at such risk!
“And you put us at risk by communicating in this manner!” Isaiah snapped. “Is that not why we had the pyramids, so that Kanubai would not know—”
You berate me over such a detail when you have just returned from taking Ishbel into DarkGlass Mountain? Besides, you’ve used this method before. Stop trying to distract the conversation from your stupidity, Isaiah.
There was a silence.
Tell me what you learned, then.
Isaiah gave a soft laugh. “Really, you want to hear? After all this posturing about what a bad boy I have been?”
Tell me, Isaiah.
“The pyramid is as dangerous, probably more so, than Kanubai. It aids him to the surface. Ishbel said it has cast down a rope of lost souls to Kanubai, who uses it to haul himself upward. I think it possible the pyramid means to use Kanubai. We are going to battle two enemies, my friend, and I think we may have been concentrating on the wrong one all this time.”
Lister made a formless sound which Isaiah interpreted as part curse, part cry of frustration.
What can we do? Lister said eventually.
“Nothing more than what we have been. The invasion must go ahead. You cannot stop the Skraelings, and I…well, I need to attain the north.”
How strong are they?
“They,” Isaiah noted with a great weariness. Until today there had been but “one.”
“Not so strong that they can strike yet. Kanubai needs to feed, and the pyramid…it is still waiting for something. Possibly Kanubai himself.”
Where is Ba’al’uz?
“In Coroleas, I suppose. The man is not here, and that is all that matters. I have men set to guard Ishbel. She is safe.”
We need to move soon, Isaiah. You are a laggard. I sense no great preparations for invasion.
“All is progressing smoothly.”
You will need to move within a few weeks.
“Don’t pester me, Lister! We dance a dangerous game here. One misstep—”
Such as today’s adventure.
“—and all is lost.”
Isaiah, you need to mobilize soon. I have heard reports that Maximilian has left Escator for Isembaard. He hunts his wife. Isaiah, he cannot get too close to DarkGlass Mountain—
“I will mobilize when I am good and ready, Lister! Autumn has barely set in, and surely the Skraelings will not move before winter.”
I think today’s adventure has shown that we need to move sooner than that. Isaiah—
“Leave me in peace, Lister. I am tired, and need to rest.”
Ishbel sat in her chamber, curiously calm. After what she’d been through within DarkGlass Mountain she assumed she would have been rendered agitated, scared, emotional.
But, no.
What she had seen and intuited about the pyramid was terrifying. She shuddered every time she thought about those desperate, angry, agonized faces pressed against the glass.
About how they had broken through, reached for her, chased her.
She knew she’d been exposed to a malignant power this day, a power that for some unknown reason knew her and loathed her. But there was something else she’d felt, heard, that she had not told Isaiah.
The golden glass had spoken to her. Just before it had turned black, just before the faces and hands had appeared, the glass had said to her:
The strength of the malignancy’s hatred of you is a direct reflection of your own strength, Ishbel. Use it.
Lister strode around in circles. Snow blew about him, ice crystals flew up from the impact of his boots, Skraelings drifted out of the mist to stare briefly at him, and then vanish.
Eleanon, Inardle, and Bingaleal stood to one side. High above, several more of the Lealfast rode the icy air currents, watching.
Lister was angry.
More, he was furious.
“I can’t believe he put Ishbel in such danger,” he said.
“Still,” said Eleanon. “Now you have discovered that the pyramid—”
Lister swore, and Eleanon stopped speaking, his face assuming a martyred expression.
“He’s not moving, and he should be, he should!” Lister said. “Especially now, especially after what he discovered today. Damn him, why doesn’t he move?”
“Perhaps—” Inardle began, but Lister ignored her.
“I don’t know what he is playing at,” Lister continued. “What is he doing? What? Gods alone know where Ba’al’uz is, and I don’t like that. I need to get Isaiah moving, damn it. I need to get Ishbel out of Aqhat and further north!”
He stopped suddenly, turning on his heel and striding over to the group of Lealfast.
“And can you imagine what will happen if Maximilian arrives down there?” Lister said, hands flung wide apart in an extravagant gesture. “Gods…gods, what game is Isaiah playing?”
He paused. “My friends, I need one of you to go to Aqhat for me. A small, but pleasurable task.”
“Any of us,” said Inardle. “I will go.”
“Not you,” Lister, Eleanon, and Bingaleal said as one.
“I will go,” said Bingaleal. “I am stronger and more experienced.”
Lister gave a nod. “I don’t want to lose you, Bingaleal. Be careful.”
“Most certainly,” said Bingaleal. “What is it you wish me to do?”
“I need you to assassinate Isaiah.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Palace of Aqhat, Isembaard
Ishbel. Every evening I go to the River Lhyl to bathe. Will you join me on this occasion?” Isaiah gave a small smile. “I have a legend to relate to you.”
Ishbel looked at Isaiah standing in the door of her chamber, a bevy of servants and attendants standing behind him carrying towels and unguents and perfumes and whatever else it might be that a tyrant needed for his evening ablutions. He looked so calm, so normal, it was strange to think that earlier today they’d been standing amid the malevolent darkness of Dark-Glass Mountain.
Ishbel stood a moment, thinking, then decided that there was nothing to decide.
“Yes,” she said, “I’ll just fetch—”
“I have everything you need,” Isaiah said very quietly.
Ishbel went very still for a moment; then she simply nodded, and took Isaiah’s proffered arm.
Isaiah led her to a stone-paved area on the riverbank that was screened by reeds and a silken pavilion. The area was so enclosed that not only did it offer its occupants complete privacy, but also screened them from the outside world. Once Ishbel stepped into this area and Isaiah waved away all the attendants after they had deposited their loads, she felt as if she were enclosed in an entire world. She could see nothing of Aqhat, nor of DarkGlass Mountain (for which she was most grateful), and could hear only the gentle murmuring of the river, the breeze as it filtered through the reed banks, and th
e opening notes of the dusk chorus of the frogs. A lamp set to one side sent out muted scarves of light that wove their soft way about the reeds and water.
The stone platform sloped down to the water, where, just visible under the rippling water, it descended further in a series of broad steps.
“This is a special place to me,” Isaiah said, picking up some towels from a pile and scattering them on the dry stone just above the river’s edge. “The river is the land’s lifeblood, its very soul.”
“I know how special this must be to you, Isaiah,” she said. “It is beautiful. So serene.”
He gave her a soft smile at that. “Yes. Now, come, bathe.”
He stripped off his linen hipwrap, kicked off his sandals, and stepped into the water, sitting down on one of the submerged steps so that the water came to his waist. He had a floating jar of soap with him, and he tipped some out and lathered up his face, chest, and arms.
Ishbel hesitated, then discarded her own robe and sandals, shook out her long hair, and joined Isaiah on the submerged step. She did not mind her nakedness with him, but hated her distended body—feeling a wash of guilt for that dislike—and breathed a sigh of relief as she sank into the warm water. The stone step was very smooth and, as the water took much of her weight, Ishbel relaxed, feeling more comfortable than she had in many days.
Isaiah pushed the floating dish of soap toward her. “Tell me what happened when you were a child, Ishbel.”
Ishbel had reached for the dish of soap, but stilled as Isaiah spoke. “You said you knew what happened.”
“Yes, but I would like to hear what you think happened. Somehow, I think that my understanding and yours differ markedly.”
Ishbel soaped up her hands, then rubbed them slowly up and down her upper arms—not so much washing as forming a protective barrier between her and the outside world.
“When I was eight a plague came suddenly to my parents’ house,” she said, not looking at Isaiah, who had finished washing and was now leaning back on the steps, watching her. “Everyone within the house, the extended family and all servants, died within a day and a night. Everyone save me. Does that marry with your understanding, then?”
“Yes. That marries with my understanding. Go on.”
“The city folk would not allow me to escape, fearing that I might carry the plague out into their number, so they blocked all doors and windows and remained outside, waiting for me to die so they could burn down the house. Does that marry with your understanding, Isaiah of Isembaard?”
“Not quite. Here is where I think our tales might begin to diverge. But continue, Ishbel, please.”
“I wanted to die. You can hardly imagine what it was like in that house, Isaiah…or are you about to tell me that you can—”
“No,” he said, very quietly, “I cannot even begin to imagine what it was like for you. I can only try to understand. Ishbel, continue, please.”
Ishbel dashed a tear from her eye, wincing a little as the soap stung.
“I tried to die. I rolled in the pus draining from my mother’s body. I…” Ishbel had to stop and take a deep breath. “Then, one day…oh gods…my mother’s corpse began to speak to me, and then the corpses of everyone else in the—”
“Stop, Ishbel. This is where I cannot allow you to continue. You have lived with this horror all these years, and it has turned you in upon yourself as you shut out the world. But it is a lie. Their bodies did not—”
She rounded on him, distraught. “How can you say that! You were not there! You can have no idea what—”
“Ishbel—”
“—happened to me! How can you tell me that—”
“It was not the bodies of your parents and loved ones who spoke to you, Ishbel. It was their jewelry.”
She froze, staring at him.
“That is why,” he said, so softly, “you have spent your subsequent life avoiding jewelry of any kind and why, most particularly, you do not wear Maximilian Persimius’ ring.”
She remained silent, still staring at him, stricken.
Isaiah pushed himself over to her, ignoring her start as he put his hand on her shoulder. “Duck your head underwater a moment,” he said, “and wet your hair. Then, as I wash it for you, I shall tell you the tale of Elcho Falling, of DarkGlass Mountain, and how both of these connect with your family. Hold your breath a moment…ah, good, now push me that dish of soap.”
Ishbel could hardly breathe as his strong fingers began, very slowly, to massage soap into her scalp.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice soothing and rhythmical, “as I tell you the tale of Elcho Falling. It begins with a man named Avaldamon who lived in the Northern Kingdoms. Avaldamon was the younger brother of a man named Fledge. Fledge was an extraordinary man, a powerful mage, and he was also the Lord of Elcho Falling.”
Isaiah felt Ishbel tense a little, but he continued on, his voice calm and soothing.
“But this is the tale of Avaldamon, not of Fledge. Avaldamon was also a powerful mage, although he could not match the power of his brother. He, as Fledge, were Elementals. Elementals, my love, are those who can hear the elements that comprise glass and metals and gems.”
“Oh,” Ishbel murmured, and she felt Isaiah lean forward very slightly, just enough to kiss the top of her head.
“And, yes, Ishbel,” he said, “you are an Elemental, too. Elementals can not only hear the elements, they can often manipulate them. It was your family’s jewels that spoke to you, not their corpses.
“Anyway, Avaldamon, a powerful Elemental mage, traveled very far south into this land, then called Ashdod. He married a princess, but soon after their marriage he was killed by a great water lizard. The princess gave birth to a son, Boaz, also a powerful Elemental mage, although he denied it for many years. Boaz became one of the Magi who built Dark-Glass Mountain, and it was Boaz who opened it into Infinity and created the burgeoning disaster we have now: when Boaz opened DarkGlass Mountain to Infinity, then so was the crack opened to Kanubai, who you saw earlier.
“But Boaz was also the one who eventually managed to quell the pyramid’s power, and to have it dismantled. Boaz loved a woman called Tirzah, once a slave who had aided in the construction of that beautiful golden chamber we stood in earlier. Like Boaz, Tirzah was a powerful Elemental. It was she who carved the Goblet of the Frogs, and it was she who persuaded Boaz to accept his Elemental heritage. DarkGlass Mountain hates Elementals, because it was two powerful Elementals, Boaz and Tirzah, who caused its destruction.”
“No wonder it hates me.”
“No wonder. Now, duck your head under, that I might rinse this lather from your hair.”
Ishbel held her breath as Isaiah pushed her under the water with gentle hands, using his fingers to rinse and comb out the soap from her long hair. When she emerged again, spluttering a little, he wrung out her hair, then put his arms around her shoulders, drawing her back against his body as he continued to speak.
Ishbel felt very much at peace, even though Isaiah related a tale that would normally have made her uncomfortable. This was due entirely to Isaiah’s presence, to his soothing touch, to the depth of compassion that shone from his eyes, and due to that instantaneous bond they’d formed that first time they’d communicated atop Serpent’s Nest. She felt very close to him, and at ease, and she could not, at any point previously in her life, have imagined feeling this close to anyone.
Not even with Maximilian, Ishbel?
“Oh no, Isaiah,” she murmured, hardly even aware of either question or answer. “He makes me too uncomfortable.”
I am not surprised.
“But where does my family fit into all of this?” Ishbel said.
“Boaz and Tirzah had three children. Their eldest was a girl, and in her adult life she traveled north, to what are the Outlands—but which then were called something entirely different—and she married a man called Imreen Brunelle.”
“Oh!”
“Aye, Ishbel, you are descended from t
he line of Boaz and Tirzah and, like them, you are an Elemental. You are also, through Avaldamon, Boaz’s father, of the line of the Lords of Elcho Falling, who are powerful mages, and powerful Elementals. DarkGlass Mountain hates you for two reasons, Ishbel. You are not only an Elemental, but you are directly descended from the two people who caused its dismantling thousands of years ago.”
“May I ask a question?” Ishbel said.
“Of course,” Isaiah said.
“Maximilian can also hear the elements. He talked to me about the rings.” She gave a soft laugh devoid of humor. “I didn’t want to listen.”
“Then he must also be an Elemental, Ishbel.” Gods, he thought privately, don’t you yet realize, Ishbel? How can you be so blind? “The ability to hear the elements was not confined to one family, nor even to one race. It appears in many families of this continent.”
“You are an Elemental, besides being a river god?”
He laughed. “Yes. I am truly multitalented.”
She smiled, and Isaiah almost cursed Ishbel for her easy manner in moving so smoothly past Maximilian in their conversation.
“Why do I sense such foreboding and loss whenever I think of the Lord of Elcho Falling?” Ishbel asked. “I dream of him constantly, and my dreams always terrify me. I had thought that he was a lord of despair, but from what you say…not?”
“Most definitely not, Ishbel. He is a mage of such power that the very stars themselves would bend knees before him, if they met. He is a man who, once he assumes his full power, shall command me, and even your Great Serpent. DarkGlass Mountain loathes him because he is the most powerful Elemental in existence, and thus is capable of destroying it. Kanubai hates him…well, because a very long time ago the Lord of Elcho Falling was partly responsible for his imprisonment. As to your vision of foreboding and loss…well, it is not for me to explain that.”
“I have also had a vision of handing to the Lord of Elcho Falling the Goblet of the Frogs. Is that because he is such a powerful Elemental mage?”
“Yes. It truly belongs with him. In the right hands it might become a weapon.” And sometimes, Ishbel, you need to open your eyes, and your ears, and your damn heart, and just accept.