The Third Scroll (27 page)

At least the narrow passageway did not have the dank stench of the moldy cabin. Incense wafted in the air, its sweet scent as soothing as a dream. Soon our path widened, and we came to another cavern with many openings.

Some of the tunnels were so narrow only a child would have fit, some wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Some seemed to go up, others sloped down. The Guardian held out the lamp and walked into one of the passageways without hesitation. Here, white walls reflected the light, so I could see better than before.

I gasped as I realized the lines on the rock were no random formations or play of the shadows but richly carved images of people and all manner of beasts and strange things I did not recognize.

“Are these the First People?”

He did not seem to hear me. He hurried forward, and the light from the lamp slid from picture to picture, showing just enough so I would know I wanted to see more.

I kept up. If I strayed, I might be lost in the stone labyrinth forever. Solemn silence filled the endless space, the only sound the echoes of our footsteps, the rhythm of their clatter matching the beating of my heart.

Another passageway, this one sloping down, crossed ours, and the Guardian turned left. More carvings here, people running and dying. A shiver ran up my spine, for the pain on the faces seemed eerily real, the dance of the flames making their lips appear to be moving with silent screams.

I gladly left that passageway behind when the Guardian turned into yet another sloping corridor carved from the rock. We descended. These walls depicted a barren land, a few stick figures hiding deep in caves. Forests overran the cities; wild animals prowled the streets.

We passed several passageways before the Guardian turned again into a new one, so low that I had to bend to keep from hitting my head on the ceiling.

As we weaved in and out of these tunnels, I recognized some of the stories on the walls from my mother’s tales of our people. Others I did not know. They might have been the stories of the Kadar and the Seela.

When the Guardian suddenly stopped in front of me, I nearly ran into him.

He turned, and more light flooded the walls. “How fare you with the Kadar?”

I blinked at him, wondering if he had only now thought of the fact that I had been brought to Karamur against my will.

“I have come to no harm since I have been in the palace.” My glance swept a large carving of a battle scene, warriors clashing swords with the enemy, while others in the back strung captives together with ropes.

“Uncivilized brigands.” The Guardian’s voice held loathing. “Murderers to the last of them. I would care not if the Kerghi came and swept the whole bloodthirsty lot away. And yet we must protect the Kadar, since they protect the island.”

His sudden outburst surprised me. “Some of them—” I began to say, then stopped, hardly able to believe that I was about to defend the Kadar. “They follow the path of their ancestors as we follow ours.”

“I find their customs distasteful.” He swung the lamp back, leaving me in semidarkness once again as he shuffled forward in the corridor. “Their superstitions know no bound.”

“But things are changing slowly in Karamur.”

Leena had told me some things during one of her exultations of Batumar. How he had ended the practice of slavery at the palace—she and all others served of their own free will. He encouraged the citizens of Karamur to do the same. Many followed his example, if not happily, then to gain the favor of the High Lord.

He was a warlord, chosen to lead his people in war. He did not rule over the Kadar as a king over his kingdom. He did not make the laws, although he had a role in enforcing them if needed, Leena had said.

We had argued, or rather I had argued with her, as she would not openly contradict me. I had told her I considered the keeping of concubines the same as slavery, for was I not kept captive in Pleasure Hall? She had wept in distress that I could not understand such honor.

For the moment, I was free of Pleasure Hall but not much happier for the freedom. The weight of the future pressed heavily upon my mind.

We forged ahead in silence until we arrived at another widening that led to a large chamber, the ceiling so high the light from our lamp did not reach all the way. Here the Guardian of the Scrolls stopped at last.

In the back of the chamber a ledge protruded from the rock, and on this ledge lay three scrolls, each as thick around as my arm, bound with leather cords in an intricate pattern of knots.

The scrolls looked ancient and fragile, and I feared they would turn to dust if even I touched them. Yet I had been called to read them, according to the Guardians.

Spirit, be strong. Heart, be brave.
I have come so far, I would not hesitate now. I stepped forward, then looked back at the Guardian. “May I?”

His shoulders up, his back as straight as he could manage, he looked younger, as if the presence of the scrolls invigorated him. He nodded.

I turned back to the three scrolls. “Which one should I read first?”

“Listen to their call.”

I listened in vain.

At last I drew a deep breath, then picked up the scroll closest to me with much care. How light it felt upon my palm, and right and comforting in a way that touched my heart, like holding my mother’s hand when I had been a child. For a fleeting moment, I felt her spirit once again, and tears filled my eyes. Then the moment passed, and I blinked away the tears.

I stared at the scroll, trying to make sense of the knots. Gentle tugging accomplished nothing, as the leather had dried and would not loosen. I could not simply slip the scroll from its binding; the leather strip was woven around the ends as well. I tugged this way and that; then, after all my attempts failed, I set the scroll aside and chose another.

I had no luck with that one, either. Worried now, I picked up the third. The leather binding looked just as old and dry, just as impossible to loosen, but as I tugged, the knots slipped undone with ease, some, it seemed, before I even touched them.

I breathed a sigh of relief and heard the soft hiss of the Guardian’s released breath behind me.

Then the long cord finally fell to the ground, and in my trembling hands lay the unbound scroll, holding the destiny of three nations, if not the world.

The scroll seemed to be made of some kind of pressed plant fiber I could not name, thin and smooth, obviously manufactured with great skill. I rolled the fragile material out a hand-width and looked at the strange letters, squiggly and mysterious like snake tracks in the sand. I rolled some more, but the same writing followed. The cold taste of failure filled my mouth.

“I cannot read this, Grandfather.” I hung my head as I whispered the words.

The Guardian stepped closer and peered at the writing. A look of disbelief came over his face, soon replaced by the grim mask of defeat. “You must. All depends on it.”

I scrolled another hand-width and another and stared at the flowing rows of nonsense letters, mostly black, but here and there a more ornate grouping in red.

“The writing is of the First People.” Heavy regret laced the Guardian’s words. “I know the sound of the letters, but the meaning of their words has been lost to us for generations.”

I sank to the stone floor, careful with the scroll. The Guardian set the lamp down and sat next to me, pointing at the beginning. “Eptah lorriem, fahl dan metrem, kalmata norga.”

“This is an account of the vision of the Prophet Eptah,” I said as the words he spoke gained meaning in my mind, like hopeful buds pushing through the snow in the spring.

He looked up, the deep lines of his face relaxing. “You understand, then?”

“My mother used to talk to me like this when I was a child. Ancient tales and nursery rhymes and— She spoke the language of many people. I have heard these words, but never have I seen them in writing.”

“A Elhar redala tarni…” He read on for me.

The light of morning follows the night, and it is darkness the light turns into at the end of the day. Such is the fate of every man and every people. For as there are darkness and light, so there are evil and good, as there have been from the beginning of time. When one triumphs, the other is exiled, but in its time, the exile shall return. I, Eptah, the last prophet of my people have seen the coming darkness and set forth here a true account of it.

I did not translate the words for the Guardian; he did not stop for me to do so but went on with Eptah’s prophecy.

Once we were a great people who ruled the lands. We were a good people, the keepers of life, but our time is now coming to an end. Many people will come after us and will build their cities on the ruins of ours and will forget us. And among these many nations will be some good and some bad, but never all good or all bad within any nation. And after a time, there will come a nation that will grow faster than any other, for its rulers will have a hungry heart that is never satisfied. It will feed on goodness and draw many men with dark hearts from far away. And the evil will increase until it gains much power, but it will want more still.

And there will come a time when the darkness spreads out over the land until it dims but the last of the light, and it will go up fighting against the people who hold that light in their hearts. And if it succeeds, darkness will rule for a hundred generations, and cruelty and misery with it.

But on Dahru, a child will be born, well-favored by the spirits, for she will have all three spirits of the people of Dahru and even the spirit of our forgotten people. And she will know all people, for she will have been all people. And they will raise their eyes to her with hope so that as she had cast out their pain, so she might cast out the darkness also.

I have seen this and spoken of it, and set it down as a true account for those to come, by my own hands, Eptah, the last prophet of my people.

When the Guardian finished reading, I told him all I had learned.

“The scroll says nothing more?”

“No, Grandfather.”

His shoulders sagged, a troubled expression settling on his lined face. “All that we already knew.”

I had not, but the scroll did not fully satisfy me, either. I had expected some kind of instruction, “do this, do that.” Some plan we could follow. What use were Eptah and his empty platitudes? A great enemy was coming indeed. Well, we had known that. For solutions did we search the scrolls, not to be told that which was already obvious.

“Eptah’s prophecy was handed down from generation to generation among our people, spoken around every fire. I expected more to be on the scrolls, not less,” the guardian murmured.

“Less?”

“Mayhap our storytellers embellished the prophecy as they passed it down. Or maybe Eptah told more of the vision to his followers than what he wrote. The scroll did not mention anything about you walking out of the mist at the top of the cliff.”

“But you knew?”

“Everybody did. We called the mist every time the stars were favorable. Only we did not know you would come that day or even in our lifetime. We waited every time the stars aligned the right way. Our fathers did the same before us, and our sons are already trained to continue on after.”

“It is not me you waited for, I think,” I said with some relief.

“You are. We sensed it in your mother. She too knew the truth of this.”

Yet she had given her spirit to Barmorid and died and left me to face my fate alone. For the first time, I felt a rush of anger and disappointment when I thought of her. But those emotions quickly disappeared, and then I just missed her again.

“Maybe the other scrolls.” I reached for them and tried to loosen the strips again, to no avail. I placed them back on the stone ledge with dismay.

“They will open when the time is here.” He picked up the lamp and groaned as he stood. I could feel the ache in his bones.

I rolled up the open scroll. “May I take this with me?”

He thought for some time, then nodded.

The way out seemed much faster than the way in, maybe because I had much to occupy my mind. The Guardian of the Cave waited for us at the opening, his face painted with questions. But he looked at our dejected expressions and did not ask any.

I wished I could help them. Part of me wished I had the power to save nations. Yet I feared great power with all my being, knowing my great-grandmother had it and she had been thoroughly corrupted by it.

The Guardian of the Cave sealed the gap in the rock behind us. “The Guardian of the Gate has not yet returned. He will be sorry he missed you. We do enjoy your company.”

They would have enjoyed results even more, no doubt, but he was too polite to say this.

“Come.” He gestured. “Warm yourself by the fire before you leave.”

I settled in, then gasped as my gaze fell on a bundle next to him. He smiled at me and drew a blue crystal the size of my head from a leather pouch on the ground. Such a crystal had value beyond measure and power even to turn away storms.

“Is that—” I began to ask, breathless suddenly.

He nodded. “A city father brought it as a gift. It was found in an old cellar.” He held the crystal over the flames, and the light of the fire shone through the great rock, revealing a myriad of fissures within.

The guardian tapped his treasure slightly to one of the stones that outlined the fire pit, and as I gave a startled cry, the great crystal disintegrated into shards.

“What a terrible waste,” I moaned.

He did not seem as perturbed as I. “Nothing is to be cried over. Everything is to be learned from.”

A lesson? I could barely think.

The Guardian of the Scrolls, who had been picking through the pile of mess next to his sleeping place, now straightened at last and brought me a small length of rough cloth. I had brought the leather cord from the inner cave with me. He helped me wrap the scroll, then watched with approval as I tied it to my waist with care. The way down the cliff face was not overly difficult, but we both wished to see the scroll safe.