"My thanks," she rumbled, still leaning heavily on the human.
Together, they shuffled down the passage, the wan light of the gipu shining before them. For a few moments, reflected light gleamed on the door, and then there was only stifling darkness.
By the time they had climbed the long stairs, Gretchen could taste the air freshening. Malakar's strength returned as well, and the gardener could make the last steps – the most worn, Anderssen thought, from the brittle concavity of the stone – under her own power. They passed through a vaulted doorway and Gretchen paused, running her hand across the door-frame. A deep, rectangular groove filled with cobwebs and dust ran down the center of the out thrust stone.
"Malakar – are all of the doorways like this one?"
The Jehanan turned, hooded eyes considering the opening. "In the lower levels. They are no longer cut so, above. There is no purpose – only old, traditional decoration."
"This…this isn't just decoration," Gretchen said softly, wiping away the grime. In the light of the gipu, something gleamed in the recess. Bending slightly closer, Anderssen jammed her hand into the opening and felt a cold, smooth surface under her fingers. Turning her palm over, she brushed grit from her fingertips into the cup of her hand. She whistled softly, seeing dark brown flakes against her pale skin. "This is rust."
"Hur hur!" The Jehanan trilled in amusement. "There is no – what are you about?"
Gretchen stepped around the side of the door and switched the frequency on her goggles. A UV wand clicked on in her hand and the human began running the light up and down the wall. Three steps along, she stopped and began knocking on the surface with her fist.
"There is nothing of use here," Malakar said, sounding irritated. "All of these passages are the lungs of a dead tomb. I should not have brought you here… You've told me nothing I didn't grasp before! Everything we were is lost, drowned in shadow. Hrrr…"
The knocking sound changed tone, ringing hollowly, and Anderssen tucked away the wand and brought out a wooden-handled chisel. Scraping the edge across the hollow section, she sketched a quick rectangle. A blow with the haft cracked the fragile surface, and then she picked away the rest with the tip.
The Jehanan stared in surprise as Gretchen, face intent, cleared away old paint and plaster from a recessed panel holding six indentations.
"This is just like the locking panel on the door down below," she declared, glancing sideways at Malakar, eyes shining gipu-blue. "All of the doors in the lower tunnels are like this. Mechanical locks – electrical locks – and pressure-tight portals. When they open, they slide up magnetic tracks into the ceiling… Every flooris perfectly even. Every wall curves so smoothly. No chisel and hammer ever touched these surfaces! The lower levels are filling with bad air because the air circulation system broke down thousands of years ago. Then the recyclers failed and no one knew how to fix them… The native bacteria ate away everything metallicit could find…"
Gretchen stood away from the wall, head tilted a little to one side. She stared at the Jehanan intently. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Malakar? Do you know where we are?" She paused, nodding to herself. "You do know. You remember, when all else have forgotten. Are you the only one who does?"
"Hoooo…" The Jehanan shuffled back warily. The head ducked down a little and turned, fixing the human with one gleaming eye. "Many things have been forgotten, some for the best! Your thoughts, this old one thinks, are too quick by far for your own good. A wonder your tribe has not cast you out! Abandoned you in the Cold Lands to starve and die…"
"You wanted answers," Gretchen said, alarmed by the creature's tone. "I've given you some. Now you'll give in return – trading like for like – this place, the 'hill of the mandire,' your 'house of reeds' – did it come from Mokuil? Are we standing in the bowels of one of the great ships which crossed the void? Was a Nem painted on that wall by the light of a green star?"
"Hrrrr!" Malakar lunged, catching Gretchen by surprise with long arms, throwing her to the ground. Enormous strength pinned the human down, crushing the breath from her lungs. Anderssen struggled, trying to break free. "What do you speak of?" Malakar bellowed. "How can an asuchau human know the sacred light, the star of our fathers, burns harivarpan – green as the first grass?"
"Ayyy!" Gretchen cried out in pain, feeling claws dig into her arm. "Mokuil has a hot green sun," she bit out, wrenching fruitlessly against the gardener's strength. Anger boiled up, casting discretion aside. "But your race-home is dead. A blasted wasteland tenanted by ghosts. A dead shell where nothing grows – no Nem, no hatchlings, no short-horns, nothing – only wind keening through endless ruins."
"Hurrrr…" Malakar slumped despondently and Anderssen pushed the creature away. The Jehanan swayed, clawed fingers scratching at the floor. "No, no, you are lying. A sly asuchau human, making stories, shadows dancing on a wall – deceiving me. You cannot have seen the lost world. You cannot!"
Gretchen felt her arm, and clucked worriedly when her fingers came away damp with blood.
"Say you did not see…" The gardener's voice trailed away into a dismal fluting.
"Ahh…that hurts." Anderssen pulled one arm out ofher jacket and winced to see three deep gashes shining red against her pale skin. Her medband had dispensed a coagulant, but Gretchen snaked out a bandage and slapped the self-disinfecting pad onto the injury. "I have not seen Mokuil with my own eyes. A vision on a distant world let me look with a Jehanan's eyes, walk with their steps. In that moment, I felt the warmth of that hot, young star on my shoulders." One arm done, she turned and bandaged the shallow gash on the other as well.
"Do you exist solely to torment?" the Jehanan groaned, huddling against the floor. "You question and pry and sneak, you offer to separate shell from sac, truth from legend – and everything you say is a needle-sharp claw digging into my heart. Hooo… I did not believe in demons ere now! I scoffed – I raised my voice against the short-sighted Masters – argued – connived – stole to keep the old tales alive…"
Gretchen shrugged her jacket back on and began picking up her fallen tools.
"I should have listened to them!" Malakar wailed, inching away. "They knew better than this old one! They knew…" The whistling voice faded into unintelligible hooting and fluting.
Rising, Anderssen walked quietly over to the gardener's side, then knelt, putting both arms around her shoulders. "Come, rise up. Do you have a room of your own? A place to sleep? You need to rest, to eat."
"No…I have no khus." The old Jehanan tried to rise, failed, and then – with Gretchen's help – managed to come to her knees. "I will not work at the tasks they set me – so they let me lie by the fire in the common hall with the other vagrants. I am" – a deep hur-hur boomed in the broad chest – "not to be trusted with the minds of the hatchlings or short-horns. Too many tales do I tell, of kingdoms lost and days gone by." Claws folded over the Jehanan's snout. "Ahhh… Our losthome, our paradise, a tomb…all gone…gone…"
Anderssen heaved the gardener up to her feet. "You will be in worse trouble if I'm found here. Can you show me the way back to the terrace? I can get out from there."
A clawed hand folded around Gretchen's wrist and the Jehanan's deep-set eyes fixed upon her. "Why did you come here, human? What were you looking for when I found you?"