Chapter LXII
LXII
I AM WEARY THE NEXT MORNING IN THE DIM, FOGGY predawn chill, my skin oddly itchy as if I have been sleeping on nettles, but it does not matter next to the pulse echoing in the back of my mind. Perhaps a mile to the south, now. A faint but steady presence.
As we break camp, I feel better than I have in a long, long time.
“You seem in a good mood.” Lir makes the observation as we continue our journey eastward. The druid hasn’t given any indication he was aware of my absence last night. Nor, frustratingly, been willing to say a word about what I should expect today.
“I am looking forward to getting this done.”
“Hm. Do not be so eager to embrace this test.” A mildly worrying solemnity to his tone.
“Because it is dangerous?”
“Any test that matters is dangerous.” He hesitates. “And this one matters a lot, Deaglán.”
His lips thin abruptly, as if displeased at himself, and I can see he will say no more on the matter.
We walk for two hours. Dawn breaks ahead. The fog is burned away and the weak winter sun does its best to warm our faces. A small river wends its way beside us. The air is fresh and the moors ripple with the caress of an icy morning breeze.
Uncertain though I am about today, anxious about the war and desperate to rejoin my friends—I find myself taking a kind of peace from the journey.
In part it is my father’s pulse trailing us, always just within range, settling me.
And in part it is the journey itself. The beauty of these lands is different to the golden warmth of Suus.
Less joyful, perhaps, but calmer as a result.
Deeper. Just walking these paths seems to ease heart and mind and makes whatever I’m marching toward this morning just another obstacle to be overcome, not something to fear.
I could live here, I realise. Live here and call it home, and I would be happy.
Eventually we meet an overgrown road, centuries past disrepair, and begin to follow it. Around midday I spot a short column of stone rising by it, crumbling and covered in lichen. I frown as we approach, then pause and wipe some of the detritus from its surface.
“There are several along this way,” observes Lir disinterestedly.
“It’s a mile marker.” Caten has these along many of its outer roads. This one, though, is inscribed in Vetusian. “Seven miles from … Lapides Animarum?”
“You can read this language?” More interested now.
“A little.” I wipe away more accrued dirt, but there’s not much else remaining. “Lapides Animarum. Another name for Fornax?”
Lir thinks. “Seven miles,” he concurs, examining me thoughtfully.
We press on.
I see three more of the markers along the way—two of them little more than rubble—before we reach the top of yet another rise, and Lir stops. “We are here.”
I frown down at the valley sweeping away below us.
It’s wide and long, wooded in some areas but dominated by a massive lake in its centre.
Five miles across and at least double that to the far shore, dwarfing the one on which I’ve spent much of my time in this world.
There are no crannogs, no signs of civilisation.
Just glassy water reflecting the forests and hills surrounding.
“This is Fornax?”
Lir, as I’ve come to expect, doesn’t elaborate, instead descending toward the lake.
I follow. The remnants of the road lead straight down, but I see no other sign of human habitation, ruined or otherwise, as we enter the forest. The trees are tall and old, the way ahead dappled with constantly shifting shadow.
Leaves rustle and branches creak around us.
After days travelling the open moors, it feels suffocating.
When we finally emerge, the trees give way immediately to a short beach; the opposite shoreline is visible only thanks to the rising hills beyond. Water glimmers as it laps gently.
And a large stone archway sits about twenty feet out from the bank.
Tired and uneasy though I am now, curiosity bids me closer. Its apex has three whorls carved into it, connected at the centre. A familiar design for these lands, often painted on warriors’ bodies, though I do not know its significance.
Surrounding the symbol is Vetusian.
“A path to the … consideration of those … who would serve?” It’s rough, as it always is with this ancient dialect.
“‘Testing.’ Not consideration. It says ‘testing,’” corrects Lir from too close behind me. I flinch around to see him watching me with undisguised curiosity.
“What is it?” I look at the stone mistrustfully. The last gods-damned Vetusian test I went through cost me an arm.
“A remnant of another time.” Lir motions me back from the water. “You should eat, now. And rest.”
“Until when?”
“Until I say otherwise.” He has the decency to give me a half-apologetic shrug, this time.
I’m past the stage of irritable arguing in the hopes of wearing him down, and so take the druid’s advice. We make camp, early though it is. Eat. Neither of us talk. I gaze out over the lake contemplatively as afternoon wanes. Soon a deep orange is reflected in the water.
“The time between times approaches.” Lir finally stands, and I follow suit. Heart beating a little faster. I reach to retrieve my unmarked spear.
“No.” When I frown, he just shakes his head. “Only you.”
Despite his firmness, my hand still hovers. Pádraig’s voice snaps at me that a true warrior and his weapon should never be parted. That he is incomplete without it.
Part of the test? Perhaps I’m meant to insist?
I exhale, then clench my hand into a fist and straighten, leaving the spear on the ground.
“Interesting.” The way Lir says it, he wasn’t expecting me to accede. Vek. Before I can try and renege, he turns, watching with his staff clasped in both hands as the last of the setting sun vanishes behind the hills, plunging us into the dusty half-light of dusk.
Then he steps into the water. The hem of his white cloak darkens. “Come.”
Shivering and reluctant, I remove my boots and step in after him. The icy lake pricks at my skin through my breeches. I clench my jaw to fight chattering teeth.
The druid goes deeper, past his knees. The base of his cloak spreads behind him atop the calm waters.
The lake is an undulating mirror, reflecting orange and purple clouds that are fast fading to night’s grey.
He reaches the archway and casts a glance back over his shoulder. Waits for me to reach him.
His eyes, I can see in the gathering gloom, are completely black.
Then he dips his staff in the water three times, reaches up, and touches the centre of the arch’s spiralling icon.
It glows. Abrupt and virulent. I take an instinctive step back.
“Steady.” Lir grips me by the shoulder. I watch as the white illumination travels along the engraved lines of the whorls, spreading outward through the design until the entire symbol is glimmering.
It winks out.
Silence. Not just the absence of most sound but true silence, a void, completely empty. No lapping of water. No distant rustle of leaves.
Then it all comes back. Like a popping of my ears. I hear my exhalation as I breathe out.
And the lake begins to froth.
Lir’s hand remains firm on my shoulder, resisting my urge to retreat.
Waves begin to chop around us, the whole lake trembling in the hazy illumination of dusk.
Bubbling, foaming in the grey and then, suddenly, motion.
The surface everywhere broken. Water thunders as it pours off steadily rising stone and swells batter us now, almost too much to stand against. Still, I brace myself and watch. Mesmerised.
Buildings begin to slowly, majestically emerge from the lake. Grinding, roaring, glistening into the half-light.
Hundreds upon hundreds of them.
I just stand there, damp and shivering and tensing at each new wave pushing against my waist. Watching miles upon miles of structures sprout into existence. Stone slick and shining. Not just buildings but towers, fountains, temples, statues. A great city, hidden beneath the glassy surface.
And it all feels unsettlingly familiar. I’m too shocked to register it at first, but as archways and columns and friezes burst into view it becomes impossible to miss.
It’s not Caten, but it gods-damned feels like it.
“How?” I whisper it, rhetorical, the words lost to water crashing on water for miles and miles.
It is deafening. Overpowering. The swells continue to shove at us but there are no great waves, as if the majority of the water’s displacement is somehow being contained.
Buildings rise for thirty seconds. A minute.
Streets emerge, water rushing off cobbled stone that sits a hair’s breadth above the level of the lake itself.
Stairs appear in front of us through the archway. Everything glimmers in the dying light.
And then it stops. Water still sloshes and pours and slurps, echoing everywhere, a dying cacophony across the valley.
“How?” Just loud enough for Lir to hear, this time. I don’t know what else to ask. Clearly this has been achieved through Will, but even in Caten I have never seen anything of its like.
“Your answers lie on the other side of Fornax, Deaglán.” Lir doesn’t take his eyes from the silhouetted stone marvel in front of us. “Travel to its centre. You will see a building there, much larger than the others. Enter it, and do as you are asked. Then proceed to the far shore.”
“What will be asked?”
“It is different for everyone. I can say no more than that,” he adds firmly. “But you must do it, and leave, before dawn.”
I nod slowly. “And if I’m too slow?”
“Then Fornax will take you when it sinks again.”
I stare at the short set of stairs through the archway, mostly submersed beneath the still-disquieted waters. Fornax’s streets are virtually level with the water line. “No weapons,” I reconfirm.
Lir nods, though I think I see a hint of amusement in the motion. “No weapons, Deaglán.”
“Fun.” I mutter the word beneath my breath, then look across at the druid. “I’ll see you on the other side, Lir.”
I step forward through the archway. Soaked, freezing, uneasy. Slowly climb.
As I take the final step and my bare feet touch the glistening, cobbled stones of the floating city, there is a faint pulse. The sense of a ripple of energy racing away through the stone ahead that makes me stop dead and glance around uncertainly.
Lir is still watching. Impassive. Around the white of his form, only the undulating lake and gathering murk of dusk greet my gaze.
I shiver, and head into Fornax.