The Hand of Chaos

35

“Keeper,” said the kenkari, the Door’s assistant. “One of the weesham to see you. Count Tretar’s weesham, to be precise.”

“Tell him that we are not accepting—”

“Begging your pardon, Keeper, but I have told him just that. He is being very stubborn. He insists on speaking to you personally.”

Door sighed, took a sip of wine, dabbed his lips with a cloth and left his repast to go to deal with this most irritating weesham.

He was a long time in speech with him, and, when the conversation ended, Door pondered a moment, summoned his assistant, informed him that he would be in the chapel.

The Keepers of the Soul and of the Book were on their knees before the altar in the small chapel. The Door, seeing them in prayer, entered the room silently, shut the door behind him, and himself went down on his knees, clasped his hands, bowed his head.

The Keeper turned. “You have news?”

“Yes, but I feared—”

“No, you do quite right to interrupt us. Look.”

Door lifted his head, stared aghast at the Aviary. It was as if a storm were sweeping through the lush greenery; trees shook and shivered and moaned in a wind that was the clamorous breath of thousands of trapped souls. Leaves trembled in violent agitation, branches cracked and broke.

“What is happening?” Door whispered, forgetting in his fright that he was not supposed to speak unless the Keeper of the Soul had spoken first. Recalling this, he cringed, was about to ask forgiveness.

“Perhaps you can tell us.”

Door shook his head, perplexed. “A weesham was just here, the one who told us about the human child, Bane. He received our warning and sends us this news. His charge, Count Tretar, has captured the Lady Iridal and Hugh the Hand. The mysteriarch has been imprisoned in the dungeons of the Unseen. The weesham is not certain what has become of Hugh, but thinks that he and the child, Bane, are being taken away somewhere.”

The Keeper of the Soul rose to his feet.

“We must act and act swiftly.”

“But why do the dead clamor so?” Door faltered. “What has disturbed them?”

“I do not understand.” The Keeper of the Soul looked sorrowful, perplexed. “I have the feeling that we may never, in this life, understand. But they do.” He stared into the Aviary, his expression changing to one of awe and wistful longing. “They understand. And we must act. We must go forth.”

“Go forth!” The Door blanched. He had never, in the countless years he had opened his door to others, passed through it himself. “Go where?”

“Perhaps,” said the Keeper with a pale smile, listening to the silent cries of the dead inside the Aviary, “to join them.”

In the chill, dark hour before dawn, the Keeper of the Soul shut the door that led to the Aviary, placed a spell of sealing upon it—a thing that had never happened in all the history of the cathedral. Never once, in that time, had the Keeper of the Soul left his sacred post.

The Keeper of the Door and the Keeper of the Book exchanged solemn glances as the door swung shut, the words of the spell were pronounced. Awed and overwhelmed, they were more frightened by this sudden change in their lives than by the vague danger they felt threatening them. For they read in this small change a portent of far greater change that would affect, for good or evil, the lives of all the peoples of all the races of Arianus. The Keeper of the Soul left the Aviary, proceeded down the corridor. He was followed two paces behind—as was proper—by the Keeper of the Door on his left, the Keeper of the Book on his right. None of the three spoke, though Door nearly exclaimed aloud as they passed by the hallway that led to the outer doors, continued moving farther into the heart of the cathedral. He had assumed they must leave the cathedral to reach the Imperanon. But then, he had assumed that was their destination. Apparently, he’d assumed wrong. He dared not question, since the Keeper of the Soul did not speak. Door could only exchange glances of mute astonishment with Book as they accompanied their master down the stairs to the chambers of the weesham, past study rooms and storage rooms, and entered the great library of the Kenkari. The Keeper spoke a word. Glowlamps burst into light, illuminated the room with a soft radiance. Door guessed now that perhaps they had come in search of some volume of reference, some text that would provide explanation or instruction. Inside the library of the Kenkari was the entire history of the elves of Arianus and, to a lesser extent, the history of the other two races, as well. The material on the humans was largest; that on the dwarves extremely slim, for the elves considered the dwarves a mere footnote. Here, to this library, Book brought her work when it was complete, carried down each huge volume as it filled with names, and placed it in its correct order on the ever-expanding shelves that housed the Record of Souls. Here, too, were volumes left behind by the Sartan, though not quite as large a collection as could be found in the High Realm.

The elves could not read most of the works of the Sartan. Few could even be opened, for the mysteries of the rune-magic used by the Sartan, whom the elves had considered to be gods, could not be penetrated. The books were kept as sacred relics, however, and no Kenkari ever entered the library without performing a bow of reverence and remembrance in honor of those who had vanished long ago.

Door was not surprised, therefore, to see the Keeper of the Soul pause before the crystal case that held the various Sartan scrolls and leather-bound volumes. Neither was Book. She and Door emulated their master, made their obeisance to the Sartan, but then stared in astonishment to see the Keeper reach out his hand, rest his thin fingers on the crystal, and speak several words of magic. The crystal melted at his touch. He passed his hand through the crystal, took hold of a slim, rather nondescript-looking volume. It was covered with dust, having been relegated to the bottom of the case. The Keeper withdrew the book. The crystal re-formed, sealed shut. The Soul regarded the book with an air of wistful sadness and fear.

“I begin to think we have made a terrible mistake. But”—he lifted his head to heaven—“we were afraid.” He lowered his head, sighed. “The humans and dwarves are different from us. So very different. Who knows? Perhaps this will help us all understand.”

Thrusting the book into the voluminous sleeves of his many-colored robes, the Keeper of the Soul led his mystified followers deeper into the library until they came to stand before a blank wall.

The Soul halted. The expression on his face altered, became grim and angry. He turned and, for the first time since they had started on their expedition, looked directly at the other two.

“Do you know why I have brought you here?”

“No, Keeper,” each murmured, quite truthfully, for neither of them had a clue as to why they should be standing staring at a blank wall when great and portentous events moved around them.

“This is the reason,” the Soul said, his usually gentle voice stern. He put forth his hand, placed it against a portion of the wall, and shoved. A section of the wall swung out, pivoting silently and smoothly on a central axis, opened on a crudely fashioned staircase, leading down into darkness. Both Book and Door spoke at once.

“How long has this been here... ?”

“Who could have done...”

“The Unseen,” answered the Soul grimly. “These stairs go to a tunnel that leads directly to their dungeons. I know, because I followed it.” The other two Kenkari stared at the Keeper in unhappy astonishment, unnerved by the discovery and fearfull of its portent.

“As to how long this has been here, I have no idea. I found it myself only a few cycles ago. I could not sleep one night, and sought to compose my mind with study. I came here at a late hour when no one would normally be about. At that, I did not catch them quite by surprise. I saw a flutter of movement out of the corner of my eye. I might have passed it off as nothing more than my eyes adjusting from dimness to bright light, except that it was accompanied by an odd sound that drew my attention to this wall. I saw the outline of the door just disappearing.

“For three nights I hid in the darkness, waited for them to return. They did not. Then, on the fourth, they came back. I saw them enter, watched them leave. I could feel the anger of Krenka-Anris at this sacrilege. Cloaked in her anger, I slipped after them, tracked them to their lair. The dungeons of the Unseen.”

“But why?” Book demanded. “Have they dared to spy on us?”

“Yes, I believe so,” the Keeper of the Soul responded, his expression grave.

“Spying and worse, perhaps. The two who entered the night I watched were searching among the books, appeared particularly interested in those of the Sartan. They sought to break into the crystal case, but our magic thwarted them. And there was something very strange about them.” The Keeper lowered his voice, glanced at the open wall. “They spoke a language I had never heard before in this world. I could not understand what they were saying.”

“Perhaps the Unseen have developed a secret language of their own,” offered Door. “Similar to thieves’ cant among the humans...”

“Perhaps.” The Soul appeared unconvinced. “It was terrible, whatever it was. I was almost paralyzed with fear, just listening to them talk. The souls of the dead trembled and cried out in horror.”

“And yet you followed them,” said Door, regarding the Keeper with admiration.

“It was my duty,” the Keeper replied simply. “Krenka-Anris commanded it. And now we are commanded to enter once again. And we are to walk their path and use their own dark secrets against them.”

The Keeper stood in the doorway, raised his arms. The chill, dank wind that flowed from the cavernous tunnel fluttered the silken folds of multicolored fabric, spread them, lifted them, lifted the slender body of the elf. He dwindled in size until he was no larger than the insect he emulated. With a graceful sweep of his wings, the Kenkari flew through the door and into the dark tunnel. His two companions took to the air, worked their magic, soared after him. Their robes glowed with a luminous brilliance that lit their way, a brilliance that died, changed to the softest black velvet when they reached their destination.

Unheard, the three entered the dungeons of the Unseen.

Once the Kenkari were inside, the elves resumed their normal shape and appearance, with the exception that their robes remained a velvet black, softer than the darkness that surrounded them.

The Keeper of the Soul paused, looked back at his companions, wondering if they felt what he felt.

By their expressions, they did.

“There is great evil at work here,” said the Keeper in a low voice. “I’ve never experienced the like on Arianus before.”

“And yet,” said the Book, timidly, “it seems ancient, as if it had always been here.”

“Older than we are,” agreed the Door. “Older than our people.”

“How can we fight it?” the Book asked helplessly.

“How can we not?” responded the Soul.

He advanced down the dark cell block, moving toward a pool of light. One of the Unseen, on night duty, had just departed. The day command was taking over the watch*. The guard lifted a ring of keys, prepared to make his rounds to check on the prisoners, see who had died in the night.

A figure stepped out of the shadowy darkness, blocked his path. The Unseen came up short, put his hand to his sword.

“What the—” He stared, fell back a pace before the advancing black-robed elf.

“Kenkari?”

The Unseen removed his hand from the sword hilt. He had recovered from his shock and surprise by now, remembered his duty.

“You Kenkari have no jurisdiction here,” he said gruffly, albeit with the respect he considered it expedient to show such powerful magi. “You agreed not to interfere. You should honor that agreement. In the name of the emperor, I ask you to leave.”

“The agreement we made with His Imperial Majesty has been broken, and not by us. We will leave when we have what we came for,” said the Keeper calmly. “Let us pass.”

The Unseen drew his sword, opened his mouth to shout for reinforcements. The Keeper of the Soul raised his hand in the air, and, with his motion, the Unseen’s motion was arrested. He stood immobile, silenced.

“Your body is a shell,” said the Kenkari, “which you will leave someday. I speak to your soul that lives eternally and that must answer to the ancestors for what it did in life. If you are not completely lost to hatred and dark ambition, aid us in our task.”

The Unseen began to shake violently, in the throes of some inner struggle. He dropped his sword, reached for the ring of keys. Wordlessly, he handed the keys to the Keeper.

“Which is the cell of the human wizardess?”

The Unseen’s living eyes shifted to a corridor that was dark and appeared unused and abandoned. “You mustn’t go down there,” he said in a hollow voice that was like an echo in a cavern. “They are coming down there. They are bringing in a prisoner.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know, Keeper. They came to us not long ago—they pretend to be elves, like us. But they are not. We all know, but we dare say nothing. Whatever they are, they are terrible.”

“Which cell?”

The Unseen trembled, whimpered. “I ... I can’t...”

“A powerful fear, to work on the soul,” murmured the Keeper. “No matter. We will find her. Whatever happens, your body will neither see nor hear anything until we are gone.”

The Keeper of the Soul lowered his hand. The Unseen blinked a little as if he’d just woken from a nap, sat down at the desk, picked up the night log, and began to study it with intense interest.

Taking the keys, the Keeper—his expression grave and stern—advanced down the dark corridor. His companions came after. Footsteps faltered, hearts beat rapidly, chill fear shook the body, its cold penetrating to the bone. The cell block had been ominously silent, but now, suddenly, the elves heard footsteps and a shuffling sound, as of a heavy weight being dragged across the floor.

Four figures stepped out of a wall at the opposite end of the corridor, appeared to take shape and form from the darkness. They dragged a fifth person, limp and lifeless, between them.

The four looked to all others to be elven soldiers. The Kenkari looked beyond what they could see with the mortal eye. Ignoring the outward facade of flesh, the Keepers searched for souls. They did not find any. And though they could not see the serpents in their true form, what the Kenkari did see they knew as Evil—hideous, nameless, old as time’s beginning, terrible as time’s end. The serpent-elves sensed the Kenkari’s presence—a radiant presence—and turned their attention from their prisoner. The serpent-elves appeared amused.

“What do you want, old twig?” said one. “Come to watch us kill this man?”

“Perhaps you’ve come for his soul,” said another.

“Don’t bother,” said a third, with a laugh. “He’s like us. He doesn’t have one.”

The Kenkari could not reply, terror had stolen their voices. They had lived long in the world, longer than almost any other elves, and they had never encountered such evil.

Or had they?

The Keeper of the Soul looked around him, looked at the dungeons. Sighing, he looked into his own heart. And he was no longer afraid. Only ashamed.

“Release the Patryn,” he said. “Then leave.”

“You know what he is.” The serpent-elves seemed surprised. “But perhaps you don’t realize how powerful he is? We alone can deal with his magic. It is you who should leave—while you are still able to do so.”

The Keeper of the Soul clasped his thin hands together, took a step forward.

“Release him,” the Keeper repeated calmly. “And leave.” The four serpent-elves dropped Haplo to the ground, but they did not depart. Abandoning their elven forms, they melted into shapeless shadows. Only their eyes were visible, glowing red. They advanced on the Kenkari.

“Long have you worked for us.” The darkness hissed like a thousand snakes.

“You have served us well. This is a matter that does not concern you. The woman is human, your bitter enemy. The Patryn plans to subjugate you and all your people. Turn away-Go back and live in peace.”

“I hear you now and see you for the first time,” said the Keeper of the Soul, his voice trembling, “and my shame is very great. Yes, I served you—out of fear, misunderstanding, hate. Having seen you for what you are, having seen myself, I denounce you. I serve you no longer.”

The black velvet of his robes began to shimmer, the multicolors flashed to radiant light. The Keeper lifted his arms and the silken material floated around his thin body. He advanced, summoning his magic, summoning the magic of the dead, calling on the name of Krenka-Anris to come to his aid. The darkness loomed over him, hideous, threatening.

The Kenkari stood his ground, faced it, unafraid.

The darkness hissed, writhed about him, and slid away.

Book and Door stared, gasped.

“You drove it off!”

“Because I was no longer afraid,” said the Soul.

He looked down at the unconscious, seemingly lifeless Patryn. “But I believe we are too late.”