Leading into Stone
“S o you put your hands against it like this.” Alton demonstrated placing his palms against the granite facade of Tower of the Heavens to see if the wall guardians would allow his brother inside.
It was the only way to enter for the select few who could since the towers lacked doors.
“And then you just sort of sink in. The sensation is like—”
Marc, who had not seemed to be paying attention, simply walked forward and the wall swallowed him.
“Hey!” Alton cried. The young idiot.
“At least you now know he can enter,” Estral said in her hoarse voice.
It was important to know. Green Riders and Eletians could enter the towers, and one very special minstrel, as well, but no others he knew of except his late cousin Pendric.
Until about two hundred years ago, Clan D’yer stationed wall keepers in the towers, so Alton figured there had to be descendants of the keepers among his folk who could enter.
More people like Pendric and his little brother.
He’d actually tried a number of clan and close family members, but so far, he’d no success.
“Guess so,” he muttered. “Better get in there before he finds trouble. Shall we?”
Estral nodded and he passed through the granite wall. It was a bit like floating in the dark and lasted less time than it took to draw a breath, but in the back of his mind he feared being lost, lost forever in stone, or whatever this magical space was that he traveled through.
Despite his fears, he emerged on the other side into a large round chamber with Estral right behind him. It didn’t smell too bad. The gryphlings had learned to do their business and eat their meals outside. Still, a slightly catty smell lingered.
Estral left his side to join Dale seated at the big table with Mister Whiskers in his orange tabby housecat form sprawled over her lap.
Marc sat on the floor petting lanky adolescent gryphlings also in their house cat forms, although the four black gryphlings somewhat resembled panther cubs, taking after their mother, Midnight.
Alton glanced upward to where the gryphon nest was, but Midnight appeared to be absent, probably out hunting for her lazy mate, Mister Whiskers, and their brood.
“Hey,” Alton said to Dale.
“Pick a cat,” she said. “It’s very relaxing.”
“Allergic,” he replied. His eyes were already watering.
“Oops, I forgot.”
Estral, from her place at the table, reached over to pet Mister Whiskers. “Well, I’m not allergic.”
Whiskers purred loudly.
A peaceful expression suffused Estral’s face.
She’d been a little pensive of late. When he asked if anything was wrong, she’d told him no, that she was just thinking but wouldn’t tell him what she was thinking about.
Perhaps she was depressed about the loss of her ability to understand music preventing her from helping solve the problems of the wall.
He certainly could understand as he had times like that.
Whatever was on her mind, she’d reveal it when she was ready.
“Where’s Merdigen and Duncan?” Alton asked.
“I dunno,” Dale said. “They weren’t here when I came in.”
They were probably just resting in their tempes stones—the lumps of tourmaline that held their essence—taking a break from one another. They were father and son, and constantly bickered. He could envision both of them retreating to their individual stones in a huff.
Estral attracted one of the gryphlings to her by scratching the tabletop. The one orange kitten who took after his father, named Junior, leaped onto the table and head-bumped her hand.
Alton sneezed. Both Estral and Dale gazed at him in pity.
“So,” he said to his brother, “you had no trouble getting through the wall?”
Marc shrugged. Soot climbed his arm to settle on his shoulder and he grinned.
Alton reined in his aggravation. Had he been like this at Marc’s age? He’d seen little of his brother the last few years and his change from happy youngster to moody preteenager was disconcerting. And he was growing so fast. It was almost like he was a stranger.
“Would you like to see the rest of the tower, or are you going to play with kittens all day?”
Marc gazed at the kittens as if pondering a very important and difficult decision, then asked, “What else is there to see?”
Alton understood Marc’s lack of enthusiasm. The tower looked underwhelming for it was basically a big round room.
“C’mon now, Alton,” Dale said. “He misses his cats in Woodhaven.”
“Marc,” Estral said, “there is more to this tower than meets the eye.”
“Besides,” Dale added, “the gryphlings aren’t going anywhere. They’ll be right here waiting for you.”
Marc nodded and reluctantly rose to his feet. Soot leaped from his shoulder and onto a chair, and twitched his tail. The way Marc looked at Dale, Alton wondered if he had developed a crush on her.
He showed Marc the kitchen and hearth area. Marc fidgeted.
At the stone sink, Alton said, “Here, touch the bird on the spout.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Marc cast him a suspicious look before reaching for the bird. At his touch, water streamed out of its beak. He jumped back in startlement. After a moment the water stopped. Then hesitantly, he touched the bird faucet again and water gushed out.
“How does it do that?” he asked.
“Magic. Winthorpe, who is the mage in Tower of the Summits, created it. The water is very good, too.”
In the background, he could hear Estral and Dale speaking in hushed tones about the Feast of Vendane massacre at the king and queen’s ball.
He heard Karigan’s name. It was not clear what had happened to her that night and after, and how she returned, or from where she returned.
What was clear was the king’s warning that a powerful wraith was at large, and although he’d his best trackers looking for it, the forces guarding the breach needed to be ready should the wraith make its way to the wall.
Once Marc tired of the faucet, Alton led him toward the center of the chamber which was encircled by fluted columns, though one still lay broken on its side on the floor.
In the center, a pedestal held two tempes stones.
He had placed thick blankets around its base in case the gryphlings succeeded in knocking the stones off, a very dangerous situation for Merdigen and Duncan.
Above the pedestal hovered a small cloud that contained the green of grass and blue of sky.
The columns marked an area that looked like the rest of the tower chamber until one stepped into the circle, which turned into a vast grassland. Alton indicated to Marc to enter the circle, and when he did, he shrieked and hopped back into the normal chamber. Alton chuckled.
“What the hells?” Marc cried.
“Language,” Alton reminded him.
“You curse all the time.”
“I’m allowed.”
Marc glowered at him. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
“It was much more fun to see your reaction.” Alton stepped into the circle. Wind rippled across winter-withered grasses and his breath steamed in the air. A round area of floor remained within the circle, as well as the pedestal with the tempes stones.
Marc tentatively followed him, peering here and there. “Where are we? What is this place?”
“I don’t know, but it’s a lot like the Wanda Plains, though I’m not sure if it’s even in our world, or located in another.”
“Another world?”
“Like another layer to ours. We’ve forgotten so much and it’s like we’re reawakening to the presence of magic.”
He was just guessing. He’d never received a satisfactory answer about the grasslands from Merdigen.
Merdigen could travel through it, so perhaps like Merdigen himself, it was a projection.
But when Alton bent to snap off some blades of grass growing between the cracks of the flagstone floor, it was all very real. The wind and cold also felt real.
“You haven’t explored it?” Marc said.
“I can’t. If I try to walk beyond the circle, I am back in the tower.”
Marc did what everyone else did when first introduced to the circle—he jumped back and forth between worlds.
“Strange!” he said.
Pleased his brother was taking more of an interest, Alton said, “I have something else to show you.”
He steered Marc away from the circle to the west arch, which led down a short passage to where the D’Yer Wall intersected with the tower.
Here he could communicate with the wall guardians as far west as the breach.
The guardians were the souls of those who had been sacrificed to remain part of the fabric of the stone and mortar of the wall for all time and gave it its magical strength.
Across the chamber from the west arch was the east arch, which likewise allowed him to communicate with the guardians to the east.
He could, of course, lay his hands on any part of the wall outside and receive a reading, but at the intersection he could dive more deeply within and hear their voices more clearly.
He could send his consciousness into rock and mortar and alter the song of the guardians if needed, the song that gave the guardians unity and the wall its strength.
The first time he had engaged with the guardians, Mornhavon had tricked him into changing the song, its rhythm, so it caused discord and accelerated the deterioration to either side of the breach.
The guardians hadn’t liked him much after that, or trusted him, but he’d worked long and hard trying to set things right.
They loved Estral, but then she lost her ability to sing and make the music that seemed to enrapture them and promote the healing of cracks and fissures.
Might Marc be the one whom the guardians needed to repair and strengthen the wall? Marc could hear their song without even touching it. Pendric had gone mad because of the voices in his head and he ended up giving his soul to the wall. He had then turned the guardians against Alton.
“You remember what I told you about the guardians,” Alton said, “and their song?”
Marc nodded.
“Right, well, this is where we communicate with them. We’ll send our minds in together. Stick with me, don’t try to do anything. Just observe. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Also, I told you how strange it is...”
“I know, I know.”
Marc was going to be a lot of fun to deal with in a year or two.
“All right then, just lay your hands against—”
Marc laid his hands on the granite before Alton could finish his sentence. Silvery runes erupted on the wall. Alton hastily did the same to lead his brother into stone.