Carefully, in the sudden hush, Carys picked herself up. Raffi followed, one hand flat against the wall.
“Am I interrupting you?” a dry voice asked from the doorway.
None of them answered. The man gave a strange bark of laughter and stepped out, and Raffi forgot the pain in his head.
Because it wasn’t a man. It was a Sekoi.
It was a little taller than Galen, and thin, with the starved look they had. A long, seven-fingered hand held the lantern up. On its sharp face a tribe mark zigzagged under one eye; the short fur was a brindled gray. It wore old patched clothes of green and brown.
“Come inside,” it said. “Come inside.”
After a second Carys obeyed; the others came behind her and the Sekoi bolted the door.
Galen shook off his shock. “We should thank you,” he murmured.
“Indeed you should. You owe me your lives, keeper.” It pointed a thin finger at Galen’s chest and smiled.
Galen growled. “What makes you think . . .”
The Sekoi put its small mouth very close to Galen’s ear and whispered solemnly, “An owl told me.” Its eyes were bright; a strange purr of amusement came from its throat. Galen looked disgusted.
“What were those things?” Carys wiped the blood from her cheek.
“We call them draxi.” The creature looked at her closely. “Half bird, half beast. Hideous and dangerous—one of Kest’s mistakes. But they don’t like light.”
“Useful to know,” she muttered.
Swinging the lamp, the Sekoi turned. “Up now.”
They were in a tiny dim hall, with a spiral staircase in one corner. The creature ran up quickly and they hurried after it, the lantern light bouncing off the walls ahead. After five minutes they were breathless and their legs felt like lead; Galen was limping heavily. Finally, turning a corner, they found the Sekoi waiting for them, leaning against the wall biting its nails.
It smiled kindly. “Tired? A long way to go yet.”
“To where?” Carys demanded.
“Safety.” It picked up its lantern. “Careful now. There are holes.”
It led them through an arch to an uneven chamber, where wooden planking seemed to have been laid over a sloping, swelling floor. The roof above was so low they had to crawl. Raffi guessed that the floor itself was the roof of some vault or dome below; once he put his hand through a hole and felt nothing but emptiness. The dust was so thick that he made handprints in it, and the lantern, hanging around the Sekoi’s neck, threw wild, swinging shadows.
They crossed three vaults like this, each one more cramped. In the last the roof scraped their backs. Galen slithered to a halt. “Where are you taking us?” he growled.
Ahead, they caught the Sekoi’s grin in a swing of the lantern.
“Safety lies in secrecy, keeper. You know that.” It turned and crawled on. Galen gripped his stick and swore.
Finally the Sekoi came to a tiny door in the wall and opened it. “If you fear heights,” its voice said, rather muffled, “don’t look down.”
Coming through the door and straightening up with relief, Raffi found himself on a curved balcony; a rail was to his left, and to his right a wall that glinted here and there. He saw remnants of faces, giant hands, gold, scarlet, and blue. Galen caught the Sekoi’s arm roughly.
“What are these?” His voice echoed, hissing in far distances.
Impatiently the Sekoi glared at him, then held the lantern up. “Mosaics. Images. Of the Star-people. The ones you call the Makers. This, look, is Flain.”
Galen, astonished, made the gesture of peace; Raffi did the same. In the weak light the enormous face of a man gazed down sternly at them, pieced together from marble, porphyry, precious stones. Parts of it had been hacked out. Staring at the vast eyes, all at once Raffi sensed echoes; lost sense-lines. Turning, he caught hold of the rail and leaned over.
“Be careful!” the Sekoi hissed.
The darkness was immense. A gust of wind blew against him; he glimpsed appalling distances, the floor so far below that he gripped the rail tight with cold fingers, feeling the world swing away under him. Dizzy, he hung on.
They were above some vast empty place, once a temple. The wind howled through its shattered windows. In the darkness he made out glimpses of pillars, fallen altars, smashed statues. Awed, Raffi gazed down, feeling Galen beside him.
“One of ours.”
“Once.” The keeper was chilled; the destruction filled him with bitterness.
“Hurry now.” The Sekoi tapped their backs. “And keep away from the rail. It breaks.”
Tiny in the immense curve of the dome, they followed the star of the lantern, clinging flat to the wall in places where the rail had gone and only emptiness hung. Once, far down in that blackness, something small clattered. The Sekoi whipped its coat over the light; breathless, they waited in the pitch dark.
“Rats,” Carys breathed finally.
The Sekoi sniffed. “Maybe,” it said quietly.
They went on more carefully. Another endless set of stairs, this time between two tight walls. At the top, the Sekoi blew out the lantern.
“What are you doing!” Galen roared from the dark.
They heard a door unlocking. A slot opened in the wall, and to their immense astonishment, sunlight blinded them. With a yell of delight Carys jumped down into it, onto the broad expanse of a roof that spread far and flat into the sky. The sun shone; faint clouds drifted. It was about three o’clock in the afternoon, and one of the moons hung high and still like a smudge of chalk dust.
“We’re above the Darkness!” Raffi stepped down, awed.
The air was clean and cold. Far, far off, the mountains were green in the sun. All the colors exhilarated Raffi; he ran to the parapet and gazed down. Below him, he saw only the smoke and darkness of Tasceron; a black vapor, out of which rose spires and domes, high roofs, spindly towers, and joining them all, a fantastic rickety structure of ladders and bridges, walkways, ropes, high in the sky.
“What is this?” Galen asked.
“The way the Sekoi travel. None of us likes the Darkness, keeper, any more than you. So we live up here, when we come to the city. Which is not often.” It turned graciously. “My tribe built this. At the moment I’m the only one here.”
On the roof was a scatter of tents, patched and sewn, and some bigger huts, made from wood nailed inexpertly together. The Sekoi took them to the nearest, went in, and tossed out some cushions.
“Be comfortable,” it said, and disappeared inside.
Suddenly worn out, Raffi crumpled onto the silk and lay back in luxury, closing his eyes in the sun’s warmth. Galen sat beside him, easing his sore leg. Carys watched.
The keeper looked at her; she felt awkward and uneasy. At last she muttered, “You should have told me.”
Raffi opened his eyes. “Told you what?”
“Not you. Him.”
Galen’s eyes were black, like a bird’s; he eased the green and jet crystals from inside his coat and ran his fingers over them. “Nothing to do with you,” he said fiercely.
Raffi sat up. Anxious, he watched them both.
“Of course it is,” she snapped. “We’re in this together. If I’d known you’d lost all . . .”
His glare stopped her. Raffi looked away. “When did you find out?” Galen murmured.
“Down there. In the alley. Though I’d thought before that something was wrong.” She kept her eyes on Galen. “No wonder you want so much to find the Crow.”