He was beginning to see that nodes held part of the secret to the great game, and the more of them he could study, the closer he would be to his goal. Especially such potent nodes as the one at Snizort.
Gilhaelith’s library was well organised and it did not take long to collect all the ancient records dealing with the Taltid region of Lauralin. There were not many and all were second-hand, since few original documents had survived for that period. Gyrull sat beside him while he worked, the truth-reader on his other side.
‘What, specifically, are you looking for?’ Gilhaelith asked.
‘Firstly,’ said Gyrull, ‘all documents from the period ten thousand to seven thousand years before the present day, which deal with Snizort, the tar pits or the people who dwelt in its vicinity. Secondly, reports of wonder-working or the Secret Art from that period. Third – no, that is enough.’
‘Here’s something,’ said Gilhaelith several hours later. He was turning the pages of a chronicle detailing the earliest Histories of the Gospett area. ‘It’s from nine thousand, three hundred years ago. It mentions the tar seeps, and ghost lights burning at night out in the middle.’
‘Ghost lights?’ said the Matriarch.
‘Like will-o’-the-wisps.’
‘Explain, if you please.’
‘Ghost lights are gases that catch fire by themselves.’
‘Ah, bog vapours.’
The same locality was mentioned several times in the Histories of the next thousand years, but all references related to the tar pits or to products obtained from them. None were of any interest to the Matriarch.
‘What does this say?’ She pointed to a paragraph on the page opposite the one he had been reading from.
‘It talks about yellow crystals – brimstones – found in cavities near some of the smaller seeps.’
‘Continue.’
He caught a gleam in her eye and made a mental note to be careful. It would appear Gyrull could read the ancient texts almost as well as he could. What a formidable intellect she must have.
He went through the chronicles, volume by volume. It took all day. Finally, in the year 7327 before the present one, he found something that made the Matriarch sit up.
‘The people of the village of Ric Rints, near the tar pits of Snizort, were ordered by the regent to cease their foul sorcery or be put to the sword.’
Gilhaelith explained, ‘At this time, mancing was tribal magic and forbidden under the Encial Edict of 7366.’
‘What kind of sorcery?’ asked the Matriarch.
‘A form of shape-changing magic, I’d say. It’s not clear what, although almost everyone in the village seems to have had a natural talent, which they focussed using woken brimstones. So close to such a powerful node, they might not have needed anything else. They would require a ready supply of brimstones, though, for such crystals are fragile.’
‘Go on.’
‘ The villagers promised to do no more shape-changing, but later built a floating causeway out to the middle of the lake of tar, where they constructed a village on a cloverleaf platform. Rumours began of sorcerous experiments, right over the Great Seep. One magical working caused the sky to change colour. Another time, a column of yellow light blasted straight up, brighter than the beam of a lighthouse. Another time, they caused the Great Seep to seethe until hot tar rained down on distant villages. Yet another time the sky opened and closed again, like an eye, and watchers saw stars in the daytime .’
The Matriarch was impassive, save for those gleaming eyes. ‘What do you think they were doing?’
‘Geomancy,’ said Gilhaelith. ‘Primitive but no less powerful. This was long before the Forbidding sealed the Way between the Worlds. It sounds as if they discovered how to open the Way. Perhaps they were the very first to do so.’ He bent his head to the parchment.
‘The regent, furious that they so flagrantly flouted his edict, placed a proscription on the village and began building floating paths out to it. Before he could attack, another great column of yellow light blasted upwards. The sky opened and many of the villagers vanished through it. Under the downblast, the platform broke apart. The village and its remaining inhabitants, more than three hundred children, women and men, were sucked under the tar and never seen again.’
The Matriarch looked to the truth-reader, letting out a great sigh. The truth-reader nodded.
‘That is what you are looking for?’ said Gilhaelith. ‘A village lost seven thousand years ago? Surely their brimstones, and their knowledge, will have been lost with them? It would be easier to –’
‘Can you find it?’ she said harshly.
‘It will not be easy. The tar moves slowly but seven thousand years is a long time.’
‘You will try,’ she said. ‘It must be found.’
He did not ask why. She was not going to tell him. ‘I will require a number of scrying and sensing devices,’ he said, praying that she would not call his bluff. It was not really a bluff, for all could be used for that purpose, though not all were necessary for it. There would be plenty to do in Snizort, and when all was done, his devices would permit him to break out again, if he could just keep charge of them.
Gyrull weighed him for a moment. ‘Of course. Indicate what you require and we will carry it.’
He marked a number of items, including his great globe. She frowned at that but did not refuse. The items were packed, the boxed globe secured in rope netting, and they prepared to go.
It was a wrench abandoning everything else, especially the carillon of bells and the great organ, but nothing could be done about it. Those secrets would be in the hands of Scrutator Klarm within days. Gilhaelith wondered what he would make of them.
He considered his options on the long trip back to Snizort. The Matriarch knew more than she was saying. Those villagers must have been better at their Art than anyone imagined. To discover what had been lost that day was going to be a prodigious labour, and it must be a powerful secret. Should he give them what they wanted?
On the other hand, something strange had happened out in the Great Seep that day, more than seven thousand years ago, and it had to do with geomancy. It may have been the very foundation of his Art. Gilhaelith’s curiosity had been aroused and he had to have it satisfied.
PART FIVE NODE-DRAINER
FORTY-EIGHT
Tiaan lay in the crashed walker, watching the lyrinx carry Gilhaelith away. Their wings churned the fog, it enveloped them and he was gone. Why had they taken him? And what had he been about to tell her about her back? She dared not hope for a cure, yet hope could not be restrained.
The walker had not fallen far, fortunately, or she would not have survived. It had slid down a few spans until the rubble stopped it. Tiaan was bruised but nothing seemed to be broken.
She felt for the controller hedron, which had fallen out of its socket. Pressing it into place, she attempted to move one mechanical leg without sending the walker further down the slope. Nothing happened. She tried the other legs, one at a time. They did not work either.
‘Help!’ The fog suffocated her cry.
‘Help, help!’ It sounded weak and lost. Gilhaelith’s servants were inside. They would not hear her, and if they did, who would care? She had to save herself. Tiaan took up the controller again.
Taking it apart, mindful that if she dropped any piece she would never recover it, Tiaan checked everything. The hedron was undamaged but one of the connecting stubs had bent out of place. She straightened it with her teeth. When she reassembled the device the lower leg moved suddenly, rotating the walker on the rubble. She caught her breath but it did not fall. Could she possibly get it upright on this slope? Or move it if she did? The walker was designed for level ground.