The Dark City

14

What does the keeper know?

The secrets of the world.

To whom does the keeper speak?

God and the Makers.

What does the keeper fear?

Nothing but despair.

Litany of the Makers

“TASCERON!”

Lerin stared at them in amazement. “Galen, you can’t go there! It’s madness!”

He brooded across the firelit room. Outside, the cold rain fell heavily, splatting the pocked track into mud. Washed, full of food, and after the best night’s sleep he’d had for months, Raffi watched the keeper anxiously. Galen was gaunter these days, his hair long and ragged, his hawk-nose jutting, eyes dark with obsession. Now he turned the cup of ale on the table, tracing the pattern on the leather.

“Maybe it is. But there are reasons for it. The first is the girl’s father.”

Carys blinked. For a moment she had forgotten her own story.

Lerin looked at her and shook her head. “I’m sorry, but that’s . . . well, you have to face facts. He may well be dead already.”

“I don’t care,” Carys said. “I’m going to find out!” She glanced at Galen. “Tell her your other reasons.”

He drank, and set the cup down. Then he said, “I’m looking for a Sekoi. Brindled fur, with a zigzag under the eye. A man called Alberic wants him.”

“Why?”

“Alberic has a relic of ours. A crystal box that emits light. That can kill.”

Carys tried not to stare. She leaned back in the soft comfort of the chair, hoping he’d say more about it, but Lerin didn’t seem very surprised. “And he says he’ll give it back in return for the Sekoi?”

Galen shrugged. “So he says. I doubt it.”

“Then why bother looking for the creature at all!” She came and sat on the bench opposite him, her long red skirt trailing in the soot. “Keeper, you can trust me. Tell me your real reason. No one goes to the Wounded City for nothing.”

For a long moment he looked at her.

“I think you should,” Raffi blurted out.

“No one asked you, boy.”

“They never do. But I’m the one who’ll have to go with you!”

Galen was silent. Then he looked over. “Carys. This is not for you to hear. Wait outside.”

She glared. “I’m going to Tasceron too!”

“For your own reasons. This doesn’t concern you.”

She shrugged, and looked at Lerin. “It’s a bit wet to wait outside.”

The tall woman nodded. “Go in the other room. My mother is there.”

Reluctantly Carys got up. As she crossed the room and turned to close the door, Raffi had a glimpse of her face. To his astonishment, just for a moment, he saw that she was furious.

When the door closed, Lerin leaned forward. “Now,” she said. “What happened to you?”

Galen was silent; when he spoke his voice was strained. “Ten months ago the boy and I were called to a settlement in the forest, well east of here. They had come across a relic, a huge, strange thing, and had kept it hidden from the Watch. When I saw it, I was astonished. It was tall, tubular, and had once stood upright in the ground. Now it lay fallen. A great rusted mass.

“I knew at once that power was still in it and that it was dangerous. After the Makers had gone, many of their devices ran out of control. This one was evil. I told the boy to move the people away. I opened my mind to it, saw it, all the colors and lights about it, all the threads of power. Then I came closer. Carefully, I touched it.”

He sat back and laughed bleakly. “That’s all I remember.”

She glanced at Raffi, wide-eyed.

“It exploded,” he said quietly. “The noise! It was incredible. The forest burned; the villagers fled, most of them. I ran back, though my nose and ears were bleeding. Galen was lying there. For a moment I thought he was dead . . .”

“I was dead.” Galen’s voice was harsh. “I still am. It’s gone, keeper, all of it. I have only two eyes like other men, and see nothing more than they do. When the wind blows in the trees I hear only the wind. Nothing more. The traces of the Makers are lost. My mind is a great silence.”

“Nothing?”

“No bird-speech, no earth-lines, none of the world’s million voices. No mind-speech. No dreams.”

She watched him closely, full of horror; Raffi could feel it seeping from her like a musky scent. “How do you survive?” she whispered.

“Prayer,” he said bleakly. “And whatever the boy can do.”

She was silent, plaiting the folds of her red skirt with her fingers. “And you think in Tasceron there might be someone left to help you?”

“More than that.” He glanced at the door. “Where are the Watch?”

“Saddling up. They don’t suspect anything. They don’t know everyone here, and these two are too old for their Watchhouses.” She pulled a face. “I hope they’ll have forgotten you by next time.”

Galen nodded. He shuffled a little closer, the flames edging his face with shadow. “Twice,” he said quietly, “we’ve had word of something very strange. Both messages were the same—that the Crow is alive, and in the city.”

“The Crow! Impossible!”

His face darkened with anger. “Don’t call me a liar! Marcus Torna couldn’t have taught you that.”

“I’m sorry.” Lerin shook her head ruefully. “I’m sorry, keeper, I was wrong. Nothing is impossible to God. But the Crow! I thought . . . nothing of the Makers is left whole. Why should he be left?”

“Why not?” Galen got up abruptly, as if he couldn’t sit still any longer. He prowled to the window and stared out at the rain. “Why not? The Makers have gone, but they knew the future. They may have foreseen the destruction of the Order. They may have left us their messenger, buried deep under the ruins, for us to find him when we need him most!” He turned urgently. “It’s an omen, Lerin, I know it is! The Crow can cure me, maybe, but more than that, he can cure the world. He can rid us of the Watch!”

A tiny sound at the door made Raffi stiffen. But Galen hadn’t heard it and Lerin was thinking deeply and gave no sign. Raffi could feel Carys close. Perhaps she was listening. But he wasn’t bothered about that, the relief was so great. Now someone else knew. And surely Lerin would try to talk him out of it. She had to.

After a while she looked up.

“You think I’m on a fool’s errand,” Galen said drily.

She shrugged. “Perhaps I do. On the other hand I can see why you have to go. If it could be true . . .”

“It is! I’m sure of it.”

She frowned. “But keeper, think of the immensity of Tasceron! There are a million streets, whole warrens of ruined districts. Flames burst from the ground; the air is always black. It would take a lifetime to search, even to stay alive.”

“We’ll be told where to look.” Galen was obstinate. “There will be messages. We just need faith.”

She nodded, rather sadly. Perhaps she realized, as Raffi did, finally and hopelessly, that Galen had made up his mind and nothing would change it. Perhaps she knew he could only stay sane if he had some hope.

She stood up, the green and blue awen-beads slipping against her neck. “You’ll need a ship. We trade with a village on the coast—a day’s walk from here. There’s a harbor there; ships cross the Narrow Sea. We’ll get you on one.”

“The Watch.”

“Don’t worry. As I said, the people here are my family.”

“I’m grateful,” Galen said with a grim joy.

“One thing.” The woman faced him. “I have a feeling of foreboding on me, keeper. Dark dreams came to me all night, and I fear you may be walking to your death. So I give you this warning from the Makers. Your life is sacred. The knowledge you have is sacred. You have no right to throw it away in defiant risks. Above all, you have no right to risk the boy’s life. There have been enough martyrs. Hear this, Galen Harn.”

Her voice had changed and darkened. Raffi shivered. All at once she seemed full of some authority that made her face grave and beautiful, and yet was gone in an instant, as if someone else had been there.

“I hear.” Galen bowed his head, shaken and uneasy. “I hear you, lords.”

THEY STAYED IN the village for two days, eating well and sleeping late. The Watch had gone, taking three goats, some chickens, and the curses of the villagers. Now they nodded to the travelers with quiet respect. Raffi was used to this but it amused Carys.

“They really think you’re special.”

He looked at her, surprised. “So they should. Most people still have respect for the Order.”

Cursing herself, she nodded. “I know that.”

They walked on among the houses, the hens squawking away. She thought back to the mumbles of conversation she had heard through the door, once the wretched old woman had finally dozed off. The Crow again. But more, some things she’d missed.

“Raffi,” she said suddenly. “How did you know Arno’s name?”

He was watching three children play in a puddle. Their mother came out and smacked them. “Names are easy,” he said. “They lie on the surface, like a tiger-flower. Bright, with deep roots.”

“So why did Galen have to ask you?”

He glanced at her angrily. “You don’t know much about keepers, Carys. He’s always testing me. I’m his pupil.” He looked away. “Let’s climb the hill. I’ll race you to the top.” And he ran, clambering over the rocks, jamming his feet in the rabbit holes, not waiting to see if she followed, because he hated lying to her, and was ashamed of it.

The weather was sunny, with sudden autumnal crashes of rain. Galen spent much time meditating, and once Lerin took him and Raffi to her relic hoard, in a secret cave in the chalk-country.

In the evenings they talked around the fire, and the keepers took turns to tell stories of the Makers: the adventures of Flain in the Land of the Dead; Kest’s great fight with the Dragon of Maar, whose tail tore half the stars from the sky.

Half asleep, warm against the back of a cushioned chair, Raffi dreamed, seeing the scenes of the stories vaguely in the flames and flickering light—the caves and hollows of the underworld, the Sekoi ghosts, the passageways and treasure rooms. Once he watched Carys listening, and was caught by something in her face, some far-off look, till she saw him and frowned.

Part of him wanted to stay in the village forever, but on the third day Lerin told them everything was ready.

“You go tomorrow, with the trade goods. Fleeces, barley, honey, apples. Arno will go with you. The ship is called the Sigourna, and she’ll be waiting at Troen—that’s the harbor. She’s sailing to the Morna River—the nearest place to Tasceron we can get you.”

Galen nodded. “Good, Lerin! Excellent.”

She glanced at Raffi, who just shrugged. He knew that what he thought didn’t matter.