5
AFTER two weeks, the guards disappeared, and the workshop relaxed, but not entirely. I think it was because of the strangers present – my father and myself. And while all were friendly towards us, they showed a reserve that hid a watching. A careful considering.
I wondered at their secrets, but for the first few weeks I was just relieved to be working in an environment that I understood, and with people I liked. Orteas and Zeldon were far more skilled than I, and they showed me many new techniques and tools useful to the art of caging.
We worked from the plans the Magi sent us, carefully drawn and measured. None of their designs made sense to me, not only because I could not read or write, but because each piece we caged was only a small fraction of a whole panel, and it contained only fragments of the numbers, words or symbols it would eventually help to form. That cheered me, because I did not think fragments could harm me.
Orteas and Zeldon taught me, but they watched me, too, almost as closely as Isphet did. Once the guards left she spent long periods of each day in the high workroom where we caged. Sometimes she chatted, sometimes she questioned, sometimes she told me of the history of Gesholme and more of the Magi, but always she watched.
“You work well with the glass,” she said abruptly one day in the fifth week after my arrival, interrupting her tale of the day the Lhyl flooded and threatened to broach the walls surrounding Gesholme. “Almost as if you can communicate with it.”
I kept my head bowed, feeling the thrill of the glass beneath my fingers. Isphet made beautiful glass – extraordinary, in fact. I had never worked with the like before.
She was waiting for an answer, so finally I shrugged, pretending disinterest. If they would not yet tell me why they watched, then I would not tell them all my secrets, either. “I take pride in my work, Isphet. My father taught me that.”
She remained silent, and finally I could bear no more, and I lifted my eyes. Isphet was staring at me, her beautiful eyes veiled. “I was at Izzali’s workshop four or five days ago, Tirzah. I met Mayim, who came down the river with you. He was astounded by the skill you showed in caging that piece of glass before the Magi. He said he’d thought that no craftsman could have done what you did. He said it was almost as if you had magic within your fingers. ‘Magic’, Tirzah?”
I was silent, caught by her eyes.
“No-one can work such glass, persuade such glass to her will, unless she can –” Zeldon broke off at a sharp glance from Isphet.
“I have a good ear for the sounds of the tap of the chisel and the drill through the glass, Isphet,” I said. “Nothing else. You must know that anyone who works with glass develops an ear for the pure ‘singing’ as the drill bites. Sweet singing means the glass is being ground well, but if the glass screeches, or cries, then one must add more oil to soothe the passage of the drill. I used no magic other than a good ear, a sure sense of when I drew too close to a fracture, and years of patience. Perhaps Mayim was overly impressed by my skill.”
“Perhaps so,” Isphet said quietly, “but I wonder if your talent for the glass goes deeper than pure mechanics. Now,” she stood up, “no doubt the workshop below has ground to a halt without my presence to guide and encourage. I will look forward to continuing our conversation tonight, Tirzah.”
I was growing tired of the subterfuge, but I bit back a retort. I knew the workers in this shop were hiding something, yet I understood their need to make sure I could be trusted before they revealed it.
Just as Isphet left the room and I was bending my head back to my work, Yaqob entered.
Behind him came a Magus.
All three of us at the work table froze, tools half buried in the glass or half raised to our work. I stared at the Magus. I had not seen him before; his bulbous nose would have given him a comical air save for the power of the One that radiated from his eyes.
Yaqob’s manner was perfect. If I had not seen him display his hatred of the Magi on numerous occasions, I would have thought him their deepest admirer.
He bowed low as he spoke, his voice soft and respectful. “Excellency Kofte has requested that either Orteas or Zeldon accompany him and myself into the Infinity Chamber to oversee the laying of several more panels of caged glasswork.”
“You know the stresses such glass can take more than any other,” Kofte said lazily, wandering across to our table. “To break it now, as it is finally laid, would be such a pity.”
He had stopped behind my chair, and I could feel the soft breeze of his movement lift some loose hairs along my neck. Or was it the fleeting touch of his fingers?
I stared frantically at Yaqob, but there was nothing he could say or do. His pleasant expression did not waver, and he merely waited, head slightly bowed, hands folded, for the Magus’ will.
“You are new here,” Kofte said abruptly.
“Yes, Excellency,” I managed.
“Your name?”
I opened my mouth, but horror had so dried my throat and mouth I could say no more.
“Her name is Tirzah, Excellency,” Yaqob said, and I flashed him a grateful look.
Kofte leaned over my shoulder, his arm brushing my skin, and tilted the glass I was holding so he could see it the more clearly.
I was sure he could feel the tremble of my fingers through the glass, and I was sure he smiled as he felt it.
“You cage with great skill, young Tirzah,” he said. “Do you understand the stresses of such glass?”
Gratefully I discovered my voice had returned. “Yes, Excellency.”
“Good.” Kofte’s tone was now brisk. “Have you seen Threshold’s interior, Tirzah?”
“No, Excellency.”
“Then you shall now. Orteas, Zeldon, you may stay with your work. Tirzah will accompany me into Threshold.”
I was torn between apprehension and excitement. I had not yet even been near Threshold, let alone inside it…but the last person I wanted to escort me was one of the Magi.
Still, Yaqob would be there, and his presence would make everything all right.
We left the workshop and followed the alley further north, Yaqob and I several steps behind Kofte’s languid stride. Yaqob risked throwing me a small smile and a wink, and I relaxed, determined to enjoy his company.
The alley led into a narrow street, bounded by the noise and stink of metal workshops, and that in turn led to the main thoroughfare into Threshold’s compound.
I glanced at the compound of the Magi as we passed its gates. Unlike the close humidity of Gesholme, the Magi’s compound was spacious, its palm-shaded avenues cooled by pools and canals fed from the river.
I hoped I never had reason to go in there again.
Above Gesholme, and to the east of the compound of the Magi, lay Threshold. Like the other two, Threshold’s compound was walled, but only lightly, and mainly to protect the tools and materials left there overnight.
No-one spent any more time than they had to in that compound after sunset.
Kofte led us along the avenue towards Threshold, then through the wide and open gates in the compound’s wall. Scores of other workers hurried to and fro: stonemasons; carpenters; surveyors; engineers; a large number of porters carrying sheets of glass – for the interior, I thought, for Yaqob had told me that the outer layer of glass would be the last applied – and two or three glassworkers, to whom Yaqob nodded silently. Every one of the workers, as Yaqob and myself, was dressed as briefly as possible to counter the heat of the sun and the sweat of work: body wraps for the women, hip wraps for the men.
Among the workers moved the Magi. They seemed to be everywhere. Some checked plans and calculations under shaded awnings. Others stood at corners or on balconies, adjusting their robes slowly, carefully, as they studied those who passed by. Some sat in chairs under the shade of broad palm leaves, making notes on papyri as they watched who went where, and why.
And, as we drew closer to Threshold itself, I saw several Magi silhouetted against the skyline as they stood motionless on the walls of the pyramid, staring at I knew not what.
Kofte stopped suddenly as we neared the entrance, and Yaqob and I almost bumped into him. We hastily took several steps backwards.
He spread his arms wide and tipped his head back as he took an exaggerated deep breath.
“Can you not feel it?” he asked, turning about, and I could see that his eyes glowed with fanaticism.
“It never ceases to amaze and inspire me, Excellency,” Yaqob murmured, and I muttered something similar.
Then I felt its shadow. That was strange, for we had been in Threshold’s shadow for some time. But at that precise moment I did indeed feel it. Yet it did not inspire me or amaze me; instead it terrified me, and I had a dreadful intuition of such loss I thought it would overwhelm me.
A whimper escaped my lips, and Yaqob grabbed at my arm as I swayed on my feet.
“It is her first time, Excellency,” he said, and I felt his fingers tighten about my elbow. “Courage, Tirzah!” he whispered.
I managed to straighten and somehow forced a smile to my face. “It is a wonder, Excellency,” I croaked.
Kofte stared at me, and I wondered if he knew exactly how I felt. But he turned, eventually, and continued…into Threshold.
Yaqob dropped his hand, but he whispered further encouragement, and my legs obeyed me and carried me forward.
The opening was cut into the southern face, about ten paces wide, five high, and some thirty paces from the base of the pyramid. A ramp led to its mouth (somehow I only ever thought of this opening as a mouth), and as we leaned into its incline, I bowed my head and tried not to let Threshold’s shadow overwhelm me again. It had caught me by surprise once, and I had let it see how afraid I was, but I was determined never to do so again.
There was a levelling out of the incline, a chilling of the light, and we were inside.
I looked up.
“Come, come,” Kofte said impatiently, standing waiting for us, and he led us down the main passageway of the pyramid. It was flat for some twenty paces, then it shifted up into a gentle incline that curved about like the spiral staircases I had seen on Viland’s whaling boats. The incline became steeper, and the curves tighter, and the breath came faster in my throat as the ache grew sharper in my legs.
Faint echoes sounded around the curved walls, but I closed my ears and heart to them. I thought if I listened too closely I would panic and run out. So I steeled myself against them, and they faded.
Shafts and corridors opened off this main passageway, but they became fewer the higher we climbed, and the number of workers, and Magi, we met likewise declined until there was only Kofte, Yaqob and I left to climb into the heart of Threshold.
The heart. I wondered if it beat, like a warm human heart?
The moment that thought crossed my mind I cursed myself for a fool. What was I so scared of? This was a building like any other, was it not? Built to stand for eternity, it was hardly likely to come tumbling down the instant I stepped into its heart, was it?
Was it?
The echoes threatened to break my concentration, and I had to bite my lip to keep them at bay.
Yaqob had noted my increasing disquiet, and now he spoke again, giving me the comfort of a human voice to cling to.
“Excellency, Tirzah is curious about the light. Will you explain to her? I…I find it beyond my capacity.”
I almost smiled, loving him at that moment for his thoughtfulness and for his amusing flattery of the Magus. Surely the man could see Yaqob’s words for what they were?
Apparently not. Kofte took Yaqob’s statement at its face value, and spoke over his shoulder as he continued to climb.
“I will try to make my words understandable for you,” Kofte began, and Yaqob’s eyes twinkled merrily at me. I had to fight to keep my face straight.
I listened, fascinated, despite my amusement, for until now I had not realised that the interior of Threshold was lit with the soft radiance of the sun at dawn.
“Threshold appears as if solid stone from the outside, but that is false. It is more space than solid, and more light than darkness. Scores, if not hundreds of shafts run through it, not only from outer wall to inner chamber, but shafts that interconnect passageways such as this, and smaller shafts yet that connect other shafts. Eventually all will be glassed and mirrored…”
I looked at the masonry to my left as we passed. Yes, there were tiny spaces left in the mortar to hold the supports for glass.
“…as many of the smaller shafts are already. They transport the light from the outside to the interior. See?” His hand stabbed upwards, and my gaze followed. A tiny opening above was visible not as the mouth of a shaft, but as a glow of light.
“And there.” His hand indicated a similar glow in the upper wall to our right. Now that I knew what to look for, my eye caught several others. Their radiance was so soft that they were almost impossible to spot until pointed out.
“Then Threshold will throb with light when it is finished, Excellency,” I said incautiously, but still intrigued by the system that provided such light.
Kofte jerked to a halt and whipped about. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing, Excellency,” I said, my heart pounding. Why hadn’t I kept silent? “I just thought…with all the space…and the glass…”
He stared a moment longer, then reluctantly decided I had meant no harm. “We are almost there,” he said shortly. “Yaqob, I hope you remembered to bring your measuring tape with you.”
Yaqob patted the tool kit hanging from a belt about his hips. “Yes, Excellency.”
Kofte had already disappeared about the next curve, and Yaqob and I hurried after him. I kept my eyes low, not as scared as I had been earlier, but certainly more wary.
I had no time for further thought, for the Infinity Chamber opened before me, and my previous intuition of loss ripened into full-blown grief and despair.
Despite the intensity of the emotion, I was more controlled now, and refused to let it overwhelm me. I took several deep breaths, and concentrated on Yaqob’s back as we stepped into the central chamber.
Then I mustered every last piece of courage I had, lifted my head, and looked about me.
The Infinity Chamber itself was shaped as a pyramid. Four walls angled from the floor to a central shaft that led, I realised, to the peak of Threshold where the capstone would eventually rest. So that is what Yaqob meant when he said the chamber had no ceiling. The floor was perhaps fifteen paces square, and from its centre to the apex of the walls another fifteen. I studied the floor more closely. It was one sheet of massive, solid clear plate glass, and I could see that there was a space underneath it for the golden and caged glass to eventually slide under – for one could not walk directly on fragile, caged work.
I looked across the walls. About a fifth of the area had been covered with Orteas and Zeldon’s work, and now I could see how the small pieces they (and, more recently, we) had been working on fitted into an intricate pattern of calculations in numbers, words and geometric symbols.
A sickness bloomed in my belly, and I think I must have paled, for Yaqob took a concerned step in my direction.
“Yaqob!” the Magus barked, and I waved Yaqob away.
“It was just the climb…breathless…”
He could see the lie in my face, but he turned back to Kofte, taking out his measuring tape. Yaqob was one of the most skilled glass cutters on the site, and I saw that Kofte needed him to measure for some fine connecting panels of uncaged golden glass that would form bridges between the main areas of caged work.
As they measured, I stepped closer to one of the completed panels. I raised my hand, then, my fingers trembling so badly I thought they might actually break the glass, I touched the panel.
Instantly I felt the wrongness of Threshold flood into my body in one crushing wave. The glass was screaming, pleading, weeping, trapped in an existence that was not life but which was worse than death.
Help us! Help us! Help us!
I took a shuddering, despairing breath, and gratefully fainted.