Chapter XXV
XXV
THE SHINING, CUTTING POLISHED BLACK OF DUAT SPEARS the sky as we approach. I watch it through Duodecim’s eyes. Willing it closer. Its growing presence the only reason I can still force myself to stillness, to continue the facade. Even the threat of death seems faint next to the pain.
We near, our height never deviating, though the swarm of body-laden figures starts to gradually bunch together as we arrow for a specific spot in the pyramid.
I am near the middle of the group, surrounded on all sides by mute, shadowy Gleaners, whatever was lighting their blades having gradually faded to nothing during the journey.
Their eyes are fixed straight ahead, never once glancing to the side, let alone in my direction.
As we approach the glaring dark mirror, something shifts ahead. A section begins folding away, revealing a triangular-shaped hole almost ten feet high. Eerily familiar in form, though I didn’t hear “Scintres Exunus’” or any other verbal commands.
The glare from the moon’s reflection is blinding, but Duodecim never blinks, never glances away. I have to stop watching through his eyes for a few seconds. Let myself go blind, and only give the command again when I sense us passing into darkness.
My twisted stomach lurches as we descend.
Duodecim’s eyes are adjusting. We are plummeting. Not falling, though close to that speed. Inside some sort of shaft. Smooth obsidian walls refracting an ever-dimming light as we get farther from the moonlit sky. Deeper. Deeper.
Then Duodecim is slowing. Then he is walking, as are the other Gleaners, moving in stiff unison through a long, low triangular tunnel—made of the same reflective mirrorlike black stone as outside—and lit by green lines along the apex and the two lower corners.
The same eerie hue as from the ruins near the Academy, or the entrance to the garden at Qabr.
It’s seemingly etched in, nothing protruding to indicate that it’s emanating from something other than the stone itself.
No suggestion of any purpose other than to illuminate, though.
We march. The unnaturally straight way ahead, the dizzying, almost perfect reflections of it broken only by the mechanical movement of the Gleaners as they advance soundlessly.
After an age, openings appear to the sides and Gleaners begin branching off; as soon as they are through, the pyramidal holes fold shut to conceal them. A few in front of us are still open as we pass, but Duodecim’s gaze never drifts, so I cannot see what lies within.
Finally, the Gleaner slows and turns into a gap on our left. Steps through. Places me on the floor.
With a smooth, quick motion, he slides the granite blade from my chest.
I can’t help the agonised moan that escapes my lips, muted and from between desperately gritted teeth though it is.
I force myself to silence and stillness again, tears leaking from my eyes.
The worst of the pain fading with merciful speed as my Vitaeria do their work, even if the suffocating dread and need to move, to scramble away and cower in the corner, remains.
There’s nothing, though. No suggestion of other Gleaners approaching to investigate. Duodecim just stands there, looking down at me.
Finally, cautiously, I instruct him to turn around. Confirm that the door is closed.
Then I roll up into a ball and gasp some desperate, sobbing breaths.
An hour, at least, of pain and panic assaulting the knowledge that if I reacted to either in any way, I would die.
I know I should still be quiet, should be moving, should be figuring out exactly how to get out of this place and into Duat itself. But I can’t. Not yet.
I need to let my tightly bounded terror loose, for a while.
Duodecim just stands there, back to me. Unmoving.
Eventually, my rasping breaths ease into something approaching normalcy.
The pain is still there, but nothing like it was with the blade embedded.
My trembling limbs still, and I suck in a few more deep lungfuls, steadying as my thoughts begin to clear.
I pick myself up, touch my chest wound. It’s clean.
Blood barely stains my fingers. The two scarab medallions around my thigh are keeping me mobile, keeping it contained.
It will hurt for weeks—longer, maybe—but as long as I find some way to stitch myself up, it should heal.
I’m still connected to the humanlike monstrosity in front of me, and as much as I want to release it, I know I can’t. Not yet.
“Lead me into the city without anyone else noticing.” I rasp it.
Duodecim doesn’t even twitch.
I wait, forcing down a fresh wave of panic as I process his lack of response.
I don’t think this is a refusal; if his usual instructions had somehow taken precedence again, I would be dead.
But it could be an indication that what I’ve asked of him is impossible.
That if he knows the execution of a command is unattainable, he simply won’t attempt it.
I tried that with Tash, a few times—things like telling him to fly—and his reaction, or lack thereof, was similar.
“Make sure you don’t look at me, but turn around.” He does. “Walk to the opposite wall.” He does. “Walk through the wall into the next room.” Duodecim doesn’t move.
“Vek.” I stare at the Gleaner, then level myself slowly to my feet and pace, eyes on the floor, letting the control over my own body calm me.
This isn’t a disaster. In fact, now I’ve been forcibly slowed, I realise that this is the time to get as much information as I can.
Similar to the iunctii who showed me the Labyrinth in Res, but now with the ability to force a genuine response.
“Answer my questions honestly by nodding for yes, shaking your head for no. Is there a path into the city from here?”
The worst of the tension leaks from my shoulders as Duodecim nods, though the mechanical motion somehow makes him even more unsettling. We’re not in some isolated area only for Gleaners, then.
“Can you lead me into the city without us being noticed?”
A shake of the head, again eerily perfunctory. Too wide and regular, like a child carefully but emphatically trying the motion for the first time. I shudder, though it’s what I expected. “Can you get me into the city without anyone realising I’m alive?”
My heart sinks at another shake of the head. I bite my lip. Pace again.
“Are there guards?” No, is the answer. “Is it the other Gleaners who will notice?” Yes. “Is there any way to fool them?” No. “Will they kill me if they realise something is wrong?” Yes. Of gods-damned course yes. I shouldn’t have asked. Stupid.
I issue more questions for clarity, but my initial impressions are only confirmed: there’s a way out, but only the one, and it’s not one that can possibly avoid raising alarms. Other Gleaners wait along the way and would inevitably see us.
There is no disguise, no ruse, that would allow for me to be walking that path.
“Alright,” I mutter, more to myself than Duodecim.
It’s been several minutes now and I’m more composed.
He’s indicated that we have time undisturbed in here.
An hour at least. “If there’s only one way out, and the other Gleaners will kill me if they see me going that way, then we need to move the Gleaners. ”
I look at Duodecim speculatively.
“If you were by yourself, would the other Gleaners react to you?” A shake of the head.
“Would you be able to kill them, or disable them so that I can get past unseen?” Another shake of the head.
Fair enough. I suppose once one Gleaner raised the alarm, all the others would know Duodecim was compromised and come running.
It doesn’t really matter. Getting into the city but leaving behind a trail of dead Gleaners isn’t exactly subtle.
I may not be able to avoid raising suspicions completely, but Caeror was clear about my chances if Ka becomes sure of my presence.
I think for another minute, chewing my lip.
“Is there anywhere in here where something violent might happen, without raising suspicion? A fight? An accidental injury?” Yes.
“Something violent enough that it would prevent you from being questioned afterward, if the injury was to you?” Yes again.
Good. “Can we reach there without being seen?” Yes.
Alright. I allow myself a sliver of rising hope.
“Could something happen there that would draw enough other Gleaners that I could get into the city unseen?”
No response, this time. I frown. “You can’t say for sure either way?”
An immediate nod. Vek.
I spend the next ten minutes workshopping other ways out.
None of them come close to being viable.
The following ten—time increasingly pressing on my shoulders—I spend clarifying things.
Through tortuous trial and error and careful memorisation, I determine the path I will have to take from wherever Duodecim intends to lead me.
I try to ask questions about that as well, but it’s too vague a concept for yes or no answers; I don’t get far and I don’t have the time or need to probe.
If I won’t be seen getting there, and I can potentially use Duodecim to cause a distraction—and have him “kill” himself in the process, to ensure the Concurrence can’t discover me, though the idea makes my stomach churn—then it’s the best I can hope for.
Risky, but as far as I can tell, my only chance.
“Duodecim,” I say eventually, steeling myself. “Lead me to where we can cause this distraction, on a path we won’t be seen.” I don’t know how important it is to emphasise the details again, but I do it anyway.
Duodecim walks to the triangular opening of the room and as he approaches, the black stone folds away. The mirrorlike hall beyond, its emerald lines of illumination stretching away, is utterly silent.
He strides to the left. I follow uncertainly.