35
AFTER we’d broken our fast, Isphet took Zabrze, Yaqob, Boaz and me for a tour of the Abyss. At first Zabrze was inclined to grumble, for he wanted to see that all our people had been comfortably settled, and that their presence wasn’t going to disrupt the Abyss too much. But Isphet said they could wait for another two or three hours.
“I want to show you my home, Zabrze. This afternoon, while we go to the Graces, you will be free to question as you want. But for now you will follow me.”
Zabrze acquiesced.
The Abyss was so wondrous and so bountiful I could not understand why Isphet and Banwell had ever contemplated a life outside it. As we walked about, many people greeted Isphet warmly, some with barely controlled emotion. She had been greatly missed. Yet even to us, the people were open and friendly. They were curious at the influx of newcomers, but not particularly perturbed at the sheer numbers that had climbed down into their midst.
I soon understood why. The Abyss, not simply the chasm but the dwellings opening off it, was massive. There were, Isphet told us, one hundred and ten Steps which dropped a thousand paces and ranged almost half a league along the Abyss. In some places, the corridors and rooms stretched back into the rock for almost an hour’s walk.
“We have room for eight hundred thousand people, yet currently we are some ninety thousand only. The five thousand will not overly stretch space,” Isphet said. “Although they may have had to dust the quarters assigned them.”
“Was the population once much larger?” Zabrze asked. “This complex is so immense.”
“Not by much, perhaps some two or three thousand more several generations ago. We did not build this, Zabrze.” Isphet waved a hand at the magnificence above us. “About six hundred years ago our forebears discovered it, virtually in this condition. Abandoned. Even now there are areas of the Abyss, complexes deep within the rock, that we have hardly explored. Every year we lose adventuresome young children who try to map the unknown corridors. The Graces understand far more about the Abyss than do most of us. There are areas of the Abyss that only they visit.”
“Whoever created this must have been a magical people,” Boaz murmured. “Look, Tirzah. The balconies and carved dwellings down the sides of the chasm look like caged lacework.”
He was right. It was as if a giant had carved the outer lacework of the Abyss, and left it for tinier people to carve out the inner dwellings.
Isphet led us over one of the bridges across the Abyss and into a large domed hall on the other side. It had been beautifully carved and gilded, and enamelled and cut-glass panels had been inserted into the dome.
“You and Banwell were glassworkers,” I remarked to Isphet. “So there must be workshops here.”
“Yes. The people of the Abyss have a deep love of the crafts and most have proficiency in one or another. The glass workshops, as other workshops, are deeper into the rock. I will show them to you another day.”
As we walked I noticed that the complex was lit by light reflected along artfully yet often almost invisible mirrors in ceilings and walls.
“Were these crafted here?” Yaqob asked, pausing to admire one.
Isphet hesitated. “Yes, but not by us. They were part of the complex as it was discovered by our forebears. We have not learned the secret of their making.”
I imagined that the first thing children were taught was to avoid throwing balls at them. I wondered how many corridors and apartments had been abandoned because the lighting mirrors had been broken.
Over the next few hours Isphet slowly led us through parts of the Abyss. There were schools, libraries, homes, markets – all carved out of the rock. Food was provided by the river, principally fish but also a variety of shellfish and eels, and Isphet said that there were vegetable and grain fields above us, sheltered in the valleys to the east of the Abyss. “We do not spend our entire lives within this chasm.”
“Isphet,” I said, “I have noticed that many of your people are lighter skinned than most southerners, and with grey or blue eyes. How is that?”
“The people of the Abyss are not a race as such. Indeed, we consider ourselves a part of Ashdod. Although the Chads have completely ignored us.” She shot a mischievous glance at Zabrze. “We are a myriad of peoples who have gravitated here over many centuries. What connects us all is our devotion to the Elemental arts. Tirzah, you are proof enough that one does not have to be southern born and of dark visage to be an Elemental.”
I nodded. The Soulenai had passed through many lands in their quest to escape war and find peace, and I thought they must have left their blood scattered through most of the known world. I daydreamed a little, wondering which of the Soulenai had wandered Viland thousands of years ago. Was it my mother who had bequeathed me their blood? Druse had shown no sign of Elemental leanings. And Avaldamon. Avaldamon had been Geshardi…and the Book of the Soulenai was written in that language.
Finally we found ourselves at the base of the Abyss. The chasm was bathed in sunlight, for it was close to noon. We stood on one of the narrow rock ledges above the water, gazing silently into it.
There was a strong, deep current, although the upper layer of the water was almost still. I could see fish flashing in its depths, and I thought that fishing must be easy where all one had to do was string a net across this narrow waterway.
“The water comes from an underground river that surfaces through a fault in the rock beneath us,” Isphet explained. “It travels south through the Abyss, then swings east-north-east once past the chasm. From there I believe it meanders its way to the great sea far to the east.”
Suddenly Boaz laughed, and pointed. There, sunning herself on a slight outcrop, was Fetizza. She croaked companionably as Boaz called to her, but did not move.
“Are there any other frogs here?” Boaz asked.
“No,” Isphet said. “I don’t think so. Fetizza shall have to make do with the company of children splashing about her. Come, it is time to eat.”
Once the meal was over, Eldonor took Zabrze off to attend his people, and Isphet led us to the Water Hall.
“Ordinary folk only ever come here at the invitation of the Graces,” Isphet explained as she led us through long corridors and then down a series of stairs. “Many of our rites are conducted here, but mostly, so I have heard, the Graces sit here and dream.”
The Water Hall was situated deep in the complex. It was circular, and very large – perhaps some eighty paces in diameter. The hall was dominated by a pool in its centre; the water was very still, very green. Gilded columns surrounded the pool, rising to a vaulted ceiling which, like the walls and floor, was carved out of the deep pink rock.
As we entered, and Isphet closed the double doors behind us, four Graces walked out from the shadows. They were dressed in simple robes, but all wore such an aura of mystery and assurance that none could mistake their power.
One was Solvadale, and he greeted us softly, kissing each of us on both cheeks. “You are all well rested. Good. Please, step forward and meet my companions.”
There were two other male Graces, Gardar and Caerfom, and one female, Xhosm. They also took our hands and kissed us gently. There were other Graces, Solvadale explained, but many had sworn to total seclusion, and others were so engrossed in mysteries we would hardly see them.
“We are the four who shall be involved in your training,” he said, leading us to benches placed in a semicircle at the far end of the pool.
All four Graces had carefully accorded each of us the same degree of respect, but as we sat their eyes kept returning to Boaz.
Once we were still, Solvadale again took the lead. “It is so difficult to know where to begin, so perhaps I, on behalf of my companions who are with me today, will commence with an explanation. Yet even an explanation has no clear beginning. If you find questions that demand to be asked as I talk, then do not hesitate to ask them.”
He paused, sighed, then continued. “The Soulenai can at times be obtuse. Sometimes they can leave their explanations a little too long before the airing. It was only the night before last that they told us of your impending arrival, although we’d been aware of your existence for some time. I am sorry that the markers had misled you…had we known you were so close we would have sent help.”
“As it was,” Xhosm said, looking at Boaz, “you found enough help within you.”
“You altered the markers,” Isphet said to Solvadale. “Made them lie. Why?”
“We knew of the trouble at Threshold,” the Grace replied, “and we knew something of what trouble it was. No, wait, I shall talk of that soon enough. We altered the markers because we feared what might slither across the Lagamaal Plains towards us. Again, I apologise for the trouble that caused you.
“Now, it has been impossible for us to remain unaware of Threshold. We live in relative isolation here, but we do have communication with the lands beyond us. We have watched for the last two hundred years as Threshold rose. For the last eighty, we have known that something was terribly wrong with it. Something dark, yet we could not see what. It is only in recent months we learned from the Soulenai that Threshold was to gain its power by accessing the Vale.”
“Will you explain the Vale?” I asked.
“Surely. You will have to know about the Vale, and one day you will see right into it, but that will come much later, after you have completed the major part of your training. The Vale was created at the same time as this physical universe in which we live; it exists alongside it, almost in a different dimension. It is a place that collects darkness into itself, much as the universe collects stars and light.”
“I was once a Magus,” Boaz said, “you know that.”
The Graces nodded, solemn.
“The Magi believed that the Vale contained the power of Creation. Were we wrong?”
“No, not really,” Solvadale said. “The Vale is a peculiar place. Although it was created at the same time as the universe, it remains much ‘newer’, far more vital. It is somehow smaller, more compact – I cannot explain it more than that – and its power remains close to that which caused the Creation. Creation power has diffused very thinly through our physical universe; in the Vale it is far more concentrated…more accessible. Does that answer your question, Boaz?”
He nodded, and Solvadale continued.
“Over the millennia since Creation, the Vale has continued to collect darkness unto itself. Life has formed within it. Dark life.”
“Nzame,” Yaqob whispered.
“Yes, Nzame is one manifestation of it. When we learned that Threshold would ultimately tap into the power of the Vale, then we understood the nature of the threat. We feared what eventually did happen. Something crossed over from the Vale into this world.”
“But that is neither here nor there for our present tale,” Xhosm put in. “Forty years ago we decided to do what could be done, even though we were not sure of the exact nature of the threat. We contacted Avaldamon.”
“Avaldamon was the last known Elemental Necromancer,” Solvadale said. “I will explain necromancy shortly, but for now just listen. He came to us here, noted our knowledge and heard our fears, and suggested a plan.”
“No,” Boaz whispered, and I took his hand. Oh no, surely not. Surely.
“Avaldamon,” Solvadale continued relentlessly, his eyes fierce, “said that Threshold was so powerful it would take one skilled in Elemental necromancy and the power of the One to destroy it. A Necromancer–Magus.”
“‘How will we achieve that?’ we asked,” Gardar said quietly, and his eyes were sympathetic.
Solvadale continued, his gaze riveted on Boaz. “And Avaldamon said, ‘I will breed a son with the blood of a Necromancer yet with the training of a Magus.’ Boaz, listen to me. That you were planned and bred to save us from Threshold does not lessen for one moment the fact that Avaldamon loved and treasured both your mother and you.”
“I was abandoned to the Magi?” Boaz asked. “Left for thirty years to live a lie? To live a life that caused so much suffering? I cannot believe this!”
Strangely, Boaz’s anger was supported by Yaqob. “He was as much a slave as Isphet or myself,” he said. “And yet, somehow, more betrayed even than us.”
“And Yaqob and Tirzah and myself,” Isphet said, “were we all part of this programme, too? Were we ‘bred’ and manipulated so we too could be ‘used’?”
“Not by us, nor by Avaldamon,” Caerfom replied. “But by the Soulenai, almost certainly.”
There was a very long silence after that. The four of us battled anger, resentment and bitterness. The Graces sat and watched us, gauging our reactions.
“You should know, Boaz,” Solvadale eventually said, “that Avaldamon’s death was not part of the plan. It was purely accidental. And catastrophic. It was meant that Avaldamon would stay at court, train you surreptitiously in the Elemental arts and necromancy. Instead you were left directionless. You have survived unscathed –”
“Hardly unscathed,” I said, but Solvadale ignored me.
“– which is a miracle, and gives us hope that eventually you will be able –”
“To do what I was bred for,” Boaz finished, his eyes very, very cold.
“Shetzah, Boaz!” Xhosm cried, shocking us all. “We are all placed into life for a reason! Whether a Grace or a Necromancer or a water-carrier. All for a reason, all reasons equally noble. Accept who and what you are. Have the sense for that, at least! Deny it, rage at it, and watch not only your own life crumble, but those of all about you!”
“We will not apologise for what we have done,” Solvadale said, “and neither will the Soulenai. Accept that.”
It took us a further hour of grating, resentful silence. But eventually, one by one, we nodded. Boaz last of all.
These revelations may have been unwelcome, but they accomplished what nothing else had – they welded the four of us into a tight, intensely loyal group. Many of the grievances that still remained between us this morning had been blasted into oblivion by what the Graces had told us.
Maybe that unity was what they’d wanted to accomplish above all else.
“Very well,” Boaz said. “Explain what we are to do and who we are to become. The Soulenai said we were Necromancers.”
“Yes. We shall talk of the Necromancers now.” It was a safer topic than that which had preceded it, and Solvadale relaxed. “Caerfom will now speak,” he said.
“There are two higher levels of the Elemental art,” Caerfom said. “That of the Grace and that of the Necromancer. Graces are sages. We think, we study, we advise. Necromancers are ‘doers’. They rarely stay among the community of the Abyss, but travel the world. They are magicians in a manner that Graces are not. Necromancers can manipulate matter, create enchantments – Boaz, you are the best example of that.” His mouth twitched. “Fetizza the frog, indeed.”
“And the stone lock of hair,” I said quietly, and explained that to the Graces.
They all looked surprised, but Caerfom nodded. “Boaz is extraordinarily talented, it is the strong blood of his father. Even without teaching, much of his talent shines through. Tirzah, you also demonstrate this talent.”
“Oh, no. I? Why –”
“The Goblet of the Frogs,” Xhosm said. “That is a magical object such as only one with Necromancer blood could make, and only one with the special talent for creating. You can also read the Book of the Soulenai – until you were born, only Avaldamon had ever read that.”
“It is in the Geshardi tongue,” I said. “Anyone who can read Geshardi –”
“No,” Solvadale broke in. “Only Necromancers can read that book, and then only those gifted in special ways. Boaz, as Isphet and Yaqob, may never find the talent to do so. The book shall remain in your hands, Tirzah. It has picked you.”
“And Yaqob and myself?” Isphet asked.
“You both have Necromancer talent. Bred by long distant blood links to the Soulenai. It will require only very little training for both of you to demonstrate many of the necromantic skills Boaz and Tirzah have already displayed, although you may never achieve their depth and range.”
Boaz spoke next. “You said that Avaldamon was the last known Elemental Necromancer. Explain why there are no others. The four of us…are we the only ones you know of now?”
“Yes,” Solvadale said. “You are the only ones known to us. Necromancers are born, not made, and only born of the ancient blood lines of the Soulenai themselves.”
“You mean we all have Soulenai blood in us?” Isphet asked.
“Yes. You have yours from your father. Eldonor trained with us for some years. We thought for a while he would be a Necromancer, but his blood was too weak. In you, as in your three companions, the Soulenai influence runs thick. We do not know why it surfaces in one generation and not another.”
“Perhaps at the behest of the Soulenai themselves,” Caerfom said. “Even Avaldamon could not be entirely sure that the child he bred would have the blood. But he should have trusted to the Soulenai.”
“We have all spoken with the Soulenai over past months,” I said, “yet they have said none of this to us.”
“It was not ready to be said, Tirzah,” Gardar responded tartly. “Today you have found it hard. How would you have reacted while close to Threshold? How would Threshold have reacted?”
Threshold. I lowered my eyes.
“Enough,” Solvadale said. “We have wearied you. Come back tomorrow after the noon meal, and we will commence your training. We might not be Necromancers, but we do have the skills to make one.”
“Yes,” Boaz said, rising. “Good. I need to learn the Song of the Frogs. I need to understand that.”
“The Song of the Frogs?” Caerfom said. “We do not know that. Why is that important?”
Boaz and I just stared at them.