Heartwood (63 page)

Chonrad hefted his sword in his hand, taking a few moments to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He did not have a torch with him, as he did not want to attract attention, just in case there were any Darkwater Lords lurking around. After a while, he began to make his way along the corridor, feeling for the door to the Domus once he realised it didn't matter how long he waited; he wasn't going to be able to see any better in the inky blackness.

When his hand finally rested on the handle, he listened at the wooden planks and then, hearing nothing, quietly opened the door.

The Domus was empty, the moonlight that peered from behind the clouds shining bright on the puddles lying on the grass square in the centre. He moved silently along the colonnade, watching carefully for any signs of movement, but there was nothing. He was completely alone.

He made his way around the loop of the colonnade to the Armorium and paused in the doorway. Seeing no sign of movement inside, he walked into the Armorium. A lamp burned over near the steps leading down to the Cavus, and he guessed Fionnghuala and Bearrach had left it on for whoever came next.

Picking the lamp up, he quietly descended the stairs, his leather boots treading carefully on the uneven steps. His heart was thumping so loud he thought anyone hiding nearby would easily be able to hear it.

At the bottom he found himself in the Cavus, which was also empty, save for the piles of books and parchments that were scattered over the floor. He saw the hole in the floor immediately, though, and went over and bent down, shining the lamplight onto the steps. There was no sign of movement. He began to descend once again, the steps spiralling deep underground.

His boots made no noise on the steps. Everywhere was silent.

It was only when he reached the bottom he realised he had been holding his breath, and he let it out with a rush. He was in a small room, with nothing in it except a door on the opposite side. He went over, seeing as he approached the words Bearrach had described: You Need the Key.

He stood before the door. There was no handle. He stared at the letters, wondering how he was to open it. He put his hand onto the door.

The moment his fingers touched the wood, a glow emanated around the edges. He snatched his hand back, and the glow faded. Cursing, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he put his hand back.

The glow appeared immediately. It deepened, the door seeming to vibrate under his hand, as if it were humming gently. Then, slowly, the door swung towards him.

He stepped back, removing his hand and letting the door fall completely open. He waited for a moment, heart pounding, then went forward and looked through the door.

In front of him was a corridor leading to the left and right, disappearing into darkness. He listened, but could not hear a thing.

Where was Nitesco, he wondered? Had he been down this way? If that was the case, if he, Chonrad, was supposed to be the key, how had Nitesco got the door to open? Lifting the lantern high in his left hand and holding his sword in his right, he stepped into the corridor.

Left or right? Right, he thought. He walked down the corridor, making sure the door remained open behind him.

He walked twenty yards or so, the corridor bending to the left around the corner. In front of him was a fork in the corridor. He took the right again and went down another twenty yards. He came to another fork. Here he stopped, holding the lamp aloft and peering down the corridor. Was he going to find another fork twenty yards down here?

A rope, he thought. He should tie a rope to the door and then he wouldn't lose his way.

He turned and went back up the corridor. He kept to the left, then left again. He turned into the tunnel where the door was.

Except the door wasn't there. He ran up the tunnel and stood in front of the wall. Definitely no door. He looked up and down the corridor. Had he come the wrong way?

But he knew he hadn't. He turned to look back down the corridor. He forced himself to stay calm. If this was indeed the fifth Node, then from what he had heard from the others who had activated the Nodes, there would be some sort of trial he would have to undergo. And no doubt this was part of it – a conquering of his fear of being lost underground in a giant maze. There was no point in panicking. The door had disappeared, and giving in to his fear would not open it again.

He turned and sighed. Left or right? He decided he would pick right again and keep choosing the right path. As he began walking, he wondered whether Nitesco was lost somewhere in the labyrinth. Would he be able to find the young Libraris? He sincerely hoped so; he didn't like the thought of him being left in such a dark and lonely place.

As he walked, he began to think about what he might find at the end of the maze, presuming he did eventually find his way to the middle, or the end, whichever came first. If the fifth Node was down here somewhere, what would it look like? The others had said the spirit, or whatever it was in the Node, had appeared as members of their family, or figures from their past. Who would appear to him?

He did not think he had any terrible issues with people that needed resolving. He had had a good-enough relationship with his parents and got on well with his children. He supposed it could be his dead wife, Minna, who would come to talk to him, but he didn't think they had unresolved issues. Their marriage had been pleasant enough, and he did not think she had been disappointed; he had never been unfaithful to her, had been kind and gentle, and although he had never fallen in love with her, he knew she hadn't with him, either. Theirs had been a marriage of convenience that had suited them both at the time, and he could not imagine she would reappear now to accuse him of anything.

The corridor forked again and he continued right. Logically, he thought, this should mean he was following the outside of the maze which, if it didn't eventually lead him back to the beginning, should take him further in. Of course, that would not work if this wasn't a logical puzzle, which of course it wasn't, because the door had disappeared when he had gone back to find it. He sighed. Presumably, then, it didn't matter which way he went.

Still, at the next fork he continued to go right.

He walked for about fifteen minutes. The corridor continued to bend around to the left, and he took the right fork each time. The maze showed no sign of ending, and he had no idea how far he was from the beginning, or if indeed he was just circling and had passed the hidden doorway several times.

Eventually, he stopped. He checked the lamp, making sure it wasn't going to go out on him. There were still a few hours of burning time left, he calculated. He walked until he came to a fork. He sighed. There seemed no point in continuing to try to be logical. Logic was clearly not the way to the centre of this maze.

He chose the left fork, and started walking.

He began to lose track of time. He felt as if he had been walking for hours, but the candle did not seem to burn any lower. His legs began to ache, and he wished he had thought to bring a drink with him. His mind wandered, and he started to feel as if he was in a dream. It was quite stuffy in the passages, and he wondered if it was the lack of air that was making his head fuzzy.

After a while, he stopped and decided to sit down for a while. He had to think of another way to get through the maze, he told himself, but he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, and he couldn't seem to get his brain to function. Breathing seemed difficult, and he wondered if there were some sort of poison in the air.

He was going to die in the maze, he thought. He was going to die, and the knights who were probably engaged in battle above his head would all die, and that would be the end of that. He thought briefly of Procella, and wondered if he would ever see her again.

It was then he noticed the tiny pinpoint of light ahead of him. He stared, blinking, trying to get his brain to work. The light danced, moved away from him, then moved back. It seemed to want him to follow it, he thought.

He pushed himself to his feet. It was difficult to move, as if the air had grown thick and he was swimming through honey, but eventually he stood, and he began to shuffle down the corridor towards the light. As he neared, it danced away again, and he continued to follow it down the tunnels, no longer thinking about whether to go left or right, but just blindly hoping the light was not an attempt to lure him farther away from his goal but was in fact someone or something trying to help him.

After a while, the tunnels seemed to change. The slope of the ground began to lead downwards, taking him farther into the earth. They still twisted and turned, however, and he thought he was still going round in circles, just going deeper and deeper.

He turned a corner, and then stopped with a gasp.

He stood in a chamber. It was about as big as the Temple, although not quite as high. The ceiling and walls were made of earth and appeared to be reinforced with thick, uneven beams. He walked over to one and touched it, and gasped. It was a tree root. The whole cavern was thick with them. He looked up at the ceiling, suddenly realising where he was.

He was standing right underneath the Arbor.

The floor was also made of packed earth and was empty, apart from a figure lying right in the centre, motionless. He ran across to it and turned it over and realised it was Nitesco. He put his hand on the Libraris's chest. He was still alive. Chonrad shook him gently, but Nitesco did not rouse. Clearly, he was in some sort of induced slumber.

Chonrad turned and looked around him. The only other thing in the chamber apart from Nitesco was a wooden tablet set into one of the walls, about four feet square in size. He went over to it and touched it. It was highly polished and dust-free, although clearly nobody had been down there in years. The surface was empty of marks or carvings, and there was nothing on it to explain what it was doing there.

He looked up at the roots above his head, thinking about the fact that he appeared to be standing right under the holy tree. His fingers touched the tablet again. “Are you something to do with the Arbor?” he murmured to himself.

And then something happened that made him jump back as if he had been burned. One word appeared on the wooden tablet as if an invisible hand had etched the letters there with a chisel.

Yes.
 

 

V

Teague wasn't sure if he was dreaming or merely under some kind of spell. He could hear the sounds of battle echoing around him, but he could not turn around; his feet were rooted to the ground, his body limp and unresponsive.

His gaze was fixed on the Arbor. He could not take his eyes off it. He could still hear it crying, but the sound was now far off in the distance, like an echo. What was drawing his attention more was the soft whisperings of a conversation, audible even over the clashes of swords on shields and armour in the background.

He strained his ears to hear what the voices were saying but could not quite make them out. He frowned, concentrating. The more he concentrated, the more he began to make out individual voices.

“…for so long…”

“…they have forgotten…”

“…can hear us. Call for him…”

“…growing dark. Growing dark…”

He shivered. The voices sounded lost, forlorn, like figures at the bottom of a well, calling to be found. Part of him wanted to run to them, to try to help them, but the other part of him just wanted to flee and get as far away from the tree and Heartwood as he could.

“I do not want this,” he whispered, although he wasn't sure to whom he was talking. “Please, leave me alone.”

The voices continued to whisper: “…he has engaged Valens…”

“…the Militis will fall…”

“…she is hurt, she is hurt…”

The last words struck a chord within Teague, and he stirred and roused from his dream, the voices dying and the sounds of battle growing louder around him.

His vision cleared. To one side of him, Beata stumbled from a blow to her left shoulder. He had told her the wound might not have completely healed, and he had been right. She grimaced, her body twisting, dropping her guard.

Teague screamed, wrenching himself free of whatever force was holding him in place, and ran to her, but he was too late. The Darkwater warrior took advantage of her exposed left flank and thrust his sword, and it entered her right side just under her armpit, skewering her through her ribcage.

Behind her, Procella had turned at Teague's scream and now bellowed as she swung her sword, slicing the water warrior's head clean from his body. But Teague hardly even noticed. He caught Beata as she slowly collapsed, and he fell to the ground with her on top of him.

“No!” he sobbed, gathering her in his arms, trying to place his hands on the wound. They slipped on her armour, which was already thick with blood, and he cursed. He locked his fingers behind her back so she couldn't slip out and closed his eyes. He searched for the seed of light within her so he could link it to the ground and feed it energy.

But it wasn't there.

His heart swelled with horror. He searched again, and again, looking for some sign of life.

There was, however, none to find.

He sat there for a while, soaking in her blood, while Procella and Fionnghuala and Bearrach fought around him, protecting him from the Darkwater warriors who continued to fall through the holes in the roof. He could not believe she was dead. Beautiful, vibrant Beata, with her fiery temper and frighteningly accurate battle skills. She had travelled across the world to find him; she had cajoled and argued and bullied him all the way back, and got herself shot for the effort. All along he had fought her, and now she was gone and he could have his way and go home.

He remembered seeing her at Henton, elegant in her dress, like a real lady, quiet and so unlike a warrior, he would never have realised the truth. And then he remembered the day she had found him at the Harlton Forest, and the terror he had felt when he saw how she had changed, and realised what she was really like.