Galen leaned on his stick. “So much for the Sekoi,” he snarled bitterly.
The creature rubbed its fur thoughtfully. “We may be looking for the wrong thing.”
“How?”
“Does not your Order have secrets, keeper? Signs, symbols? Things not known by outsiders?”
Galen straightened. “Raffi. Go with him. Search every inch of this wall. Girl, come with me.”
In the dimness they had to peer at the bricks, feel with fingertips. Halfway down Raffi stopped. “This is it,” he breathed.
The Sekoi stared curiously at the mess of scratches. “It means nothing.”
“Yes it does.” He turned. “Galen!”
The keeper came at a run, shoving him aside. “Good, Raffi! Good!”
On the wall was a broken inscription plaque, with the words “. . . memory of Anteus, who . . .” all that remained. But under that were new scratches, strange and meaningless. Galen’s fingers outlined them eagerly. A tiny bee, a circle of six dots and another inside, a group of enigmatic slashes and squiggles. Carys tried to get closer. “What does it say?” she hissed.
Galen glanced at her. Then he said to the Sekoi, “Where’s the place called the Pyramid?”
It looked surprised. “An hour’s walk south. Why?”
“That’s where we go.”
All the way there Galen said nothing else, but Raffi could feel the pain in him, the desperate rising hope. Some of the way they ran, as time was running out; even Carys felt eyes on her, the scurrying of shapes in the shadows. She constantly glanced behind her at the darkest corners. Once she laughed at herself—she was the Watch, after all—but in this place everything seemed full of doubt. She knew she was beginning to look like an outlaw, to think like one. She had almost forgotten herself, and the knowledge shook her.
Overhead the draxi flapped, looming out of fog; Raffi glanced up at them with a shudder.
Crouched under walls, against buildings, they ran deeper and deeper into Tasceron’s heart. Finally the Sekoi stopped by a smooth sloping wall. “Well, keeper,” it said, breathless. “Your Pyramid.”
The top was lost in gloom. They walked around it. Four walls, with no opening. It was blank and smooth.
“Now what?” Carys muttered.
Galen put both hands on the brickwork. He began to speak, words that not even Raffi knew—fierce, secret sounds—so that Carys stared and the Sekoi put its long hands together and chewed its nails nervously.
The spell ended. But nothing moved.
In a rage of fury, Galen slammed his hands against the wall, kicked it, beat at it. He moaned and cursed, his voice an agony in the silence. It chilled them all. For a moment Raffi wondered if Galen’s mind had gone. Then Galen turned. He looked over Raffi’s shoulder into the dark and there was a look on his haggard face that terrified them.
But all he said was, “We’re going to have to improve your sense-lines, boy.”
Carys spun around.
The Sekoi snarled.
Behind them, a row of armed men was waiting in the gloom.
20
There will be one who will return from the black pit.
And yet he will not be the one who went.
Apocalypse of Tamar
“MY NAME IS NOT FOR YOU YET,” the old man said. He nodded to the nearest swordsman. “Search the pack.”
They were inside the Pyramid, though Raffi still wasn’t sure how it had opened. The scuffle in the street had been brief; the men had dragged them in and flung them down there in a heap. The Sekoi had a torn ear, and Carys’s crossbow was in a swordsman’s hand.
Now Raffi watched in fury as the pack was tugged open; one by one their clothes were tossed out, the water flask, the tinderbox. Finally the relic bag. The swordsman tossed it to the old man, who held it a moment.
“What might be in here?”
Galen was silent. Raffi’s heart thumped.
The old man smiled. His face was small and narrow, his hair gray as ash, clipped short. He wore black gloves. Opening the bag, he took out the relics, laying them carefully on the table. “A device for far-seeing! I’ve heard of such a thing.”
He laid the Maker-gifts in a row, and Carys stared at them. She had no idea what most of them were: a green tube, a box with buttons on it, a flimsy see-through cube. The old man’s hand paused in the bag. Raffi felt a sharp tingle of emotion from him, a shock of surprise. Then the black glove came out; it held the glass ball they had found long ago on the island.
“What’s this?” The old man looked up intently. “Where did you get this?”
Galen’s voice was grim. “I’ve never seen it before.”
The old man stared at him for a moment, then he sat on a wooden bench. “Shean,” he said after a little while. “My name is Pieter Shean. I’m a Relic Master of the Order of keepers, as you are, Galen Harn.”
Galen’s face didn’t change. “Prove it.”
Shean shook his head. “What harm have they done us, my friend! But hear this.” He said nothing, but Galen’s eyes widened briefly; he sat upright and Raffi felt the sudden surge of joy in him.
“I have not heard a voice in my mind these three months,” Galen muttered hoarsely.
“I know it. I feel all the pain of it.” The old man nodded to the swordsmen. “All is well. Go back out.”
The men went. One of them grinned at Carys and handed back her crossbow with a flourish. Annoyed, she snatched it. He wouldn’t smile if he knew who she was. Then she squashed the thought. This Shean hadn’t lost his power. She’d have to be careful. And take a good look around.
The old man waved them to seats. “I’m sorry for your treatment. My men needed to be sure you weren’t Watchspies. Of you, keeper, I’m sure, and your boy, and the Sekoi have rarely harmed us. But who is this girl?”
“Carys Arrin.” Galen kept her quiet with a look. “We met her far from here, on the downs in our own country. The Watch took her father.”
Shean studied her carefully. “Did they? When?”
“Months ago,” she muttered. “I thought they might be bringing him here.”
“I know of no prisoners brought from so far. It would be more likely they would take him to Arnk, or the Pits at Maar.” He turned to Galen. “Are you sure of her? The Watch have so many spies.”
Galen was silent. Then he said, “I know her by now.”
“We trust her,” Raffi put in unexpectedly. “She wouldn’t betray us.”
Shean nodded slowly. “Is that so, girl?”
Carys looked at him, trying to keep her mind empty as she’d been taught. She felt strangely miserable. “Of course,” she murmured.
“I hope so.”
“Keeper,” Galen said urgently, “can you do anything for me?”
Shean looked uneasy. Finally he said, “I will try. It depends on how deep your hurt was. Eat first. Then you and I will meditate, and try the healing.” He looked at the others. “We will be some time, but there’s plenty of food here. In the room beyond are beds, and water for washing. Make yourselves comfortable. You have come home, keepers.”
The food was good. Raffi felt he hadn’t eaten properly since leaving Lerin’s village, and though Carys was quiet, she ate well too. The Sekoi picked delicately at fruit, spitting out pips and looking around the room curiously.
Later, when Shean and Galen were gone, they all slept, on small comfortable couches near the fire, and the Sekoi in a nest of cushions it had piled in one corner. Deep in the night, Raffi opened his eyes. Galen was standing in the warm darkness, looking into the fire.