They stood in front of the entrance, gazing at a pitch-black interior. Kutch and Serrah took out small glamour orbs, and Caldason spent a few seconds patting pockets before producing one himself. Then they stepped inside.
A musty smell hit them. The dust of ages. Twenty or thirty paces in, they came to a set of broad stairs that swept down into deeper darkness. Clutching the hilts of their swords, they warily descended.
One hundred and thirty-five steps later, they arrived at a level, and ahead of them was a wall that didn’t quite reach the ceiling. There were two doorless entrances in the wall, to right and left.
‘Which one?’ Caldason wondered.
‘Give me a leg-up,’ Serrah told him. Boosted to the top of the wall, she peered in, holding out her glamoured orb. She saw more walls, and passageways that zigzagged. ‘It’s a labyrinth.’
‘How big is it?’ Caldason asked.
‘I can’t see its end. It’s too far, too dark. But in the distance…’
‘Yes?’
‘There’s a kind of glow. That’s all I can make out. Watch yourself, I’m coming down.’
‘How do we handle this?’ Caldason said. ‘If there are traps in there or-’
‘Excuse me,’ Kutch interrupted. ‘We’re assuming things again. It looks as though this was some kind of public place, a memorial or something, not a secret to be defended. You know what mazes are for? They’re a path to enlightenment, a map of higher states of consciousness. It’s a symbolic journey, not a trap or a barrier.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
‘I’m not saying we shouldn’t be ready for trouble, but let’s try walking it the way the Founders would have. As pilgrims or adepts, or however they thought of themselves when they came here.’
‘We just walk it?’ Serrah said. ‘Is there any special way of getting through?’
‘The tradition with labyrinths is to take left turns on the way in, right turns coming back.’
‘That sounds vaguely impossible.’
‘It’s as good a plan as any,’ Caldason decided. ‘So we go in by the…left door?’
‘The right,’ Kutch corrected. ‘Think about it.’
‘I’m trying not to,’ Serrah told them. ‘It makes my brain hurt.’
Caldason went first, but most of the paths were wide enough for them to walk abreast. The shimmer of their glamour orbs lit walls, floor and ceiling of a uniform whitish-grey and unwavering evenness.
‘It’s so smooth,’ Serrah muttered, skimming her fingers across a surface. ‘What is it?’
Caldason shook his head. ‘No idea, but for all its smoothness it has friction. Have you noticed how the floor slopes, yet we’re not sliding down it?’
‘I have,’ Kutch replied. ‘We’re going deeper. And it’s a lot warmer, too.’
‘How does the magic feel to you?’ Serrah asked him.
‘It’s…heady. Definitely building.’
They took yet another left turn.
‘Is it my imagination,’ Serrah said, ‘or is it getting lighter down here?’
Kutch wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. ‘We’re close now.’
‘Ssshh.’ Caldason had a finger to his lips. ‘Do you hear that?’
Serrah strained to hear. ‘There’s something.’
‘What do you think? Flowing water?’
‘No. It’s too…slithery.’
They carried on. The light grew brighter, the air hotter. They turned, turned, turned again.
The labyrinth abruptly ended.
They faced a wall. It had a single entryway carved into it, identical to the one they came in by. Beyond it was light, unidentifiable sound, and the weight of an awesome presence. Each of them felt it.
Caldason moved forward, drawing a sword. Serrah did the same and made to follow. She looked to Kutch, saw the expression on his face, and waited. Smiling, she pocketed her orb and offered him her hand. He took it, squeezing hard, and they joined Reeth.
For a second, the three of them hesitated at the threshold.
Then they went through.
23
The Bone Temple at Earth’s End. Gazall’s bridge over Teardrop Valley. The five remaining towers of Akhom-Behtz. The statues of Crae and Fornarr at Dragon Spine Mountain. All were chilling partly because they were colossal, and size is naturally intimidating.
However, it was mainly their great age that was disturbing. It had something to do with the eons they’d weathered, and the countless mortals they’d outlasted. As though, like vampires, they drew into themselves the life essences of short-lived things to prolong their own monolithic existence. It was as if they imbibed the detritus of the ages; every windblown particle of human skin, every stray hair, every speck of sweat or drop of shed blood, absorbed.
Kutch, Serrah and Caldason felt that dread. They knew the terror of vast antiquity, and of gigantism, a feeling compounded by the fact that what they were looking at was imbued with such a sense of otherness.
The maze had led them to a massive cavern. It was brightly lit by sorcery, though no glamoured orbs were apparent; the light seemed to bleed from the yellowish rock itself. The air was perfumed by a mingling of aromas, sulphur being the strongest by far.
Big as the cavern was, a single artefact utterly dominated the space. It was the size of a mountain peak, and seemed to be fashioned from the living rock, along with a commingling of other materials that might have included steel, quartz, zinc, ceramics, and even gold. The great broad face of the edifice was adorned with unknown symbols in vivid colours that kept their brilliance despite the passing of countless ages.
Much more striking was a dowel, wide as a mature tree, long as a street, suspended from the upper reaches. It was similar to a pendulum, but appeared to be stationary. Closer scrutiny showed that it must have moved, imperceptibly slowly, from a point on the far left towards a corresponding point on the far right. A green symbol marked its start and a red symbol its terminus, which the pendulum’s tip had almost reached. The whole contrivance was attended by a deep, rhythmic throb that massaged the soles of their feet.
‘I don’t know what I thought the Clepsydra would be,’ Serrah whispered, ‘but I never imagined it like this.’
Seen head on, the relic looked as though it sat on an islet. It gave that impression because a small river ran the length of its base, flowing between openings on opposite sides of the cavern. But it was no ordinary river. The liquid was quicksilver.
It didn’t run straight from one aperture to the other. On the way, the pewter stream fed itself to the Clepsydra, as water pours through a mill. Sluggish, glutinous, it made a pulpy sound as it slipped into artfully carved ducts.
‘No wonder it’s stood for so long,’ Kutch said, awestruck. ‘It draws directly from magic’s chariot. The amount of power involved-I wouldn’t go too near, Reeth. This level of energy’s really dangerous.’
Caldason didn’t reply. He looked distant.
‘Reeth?’
Serrah went to the Qalochian and grasped his arm. ‘Reeth!’
He came back into focus. ‘What?’
‘You were away there.’
He shook his head to clear it. ‘It’s hot down here, and the magic…’
‘It’s pretty overwhelming,’ Kutch agreed.
‘All I can feel is the heat,’ Serrah said. ‘Here.’ She handed Caldason her water pouch.
He took a long drink and seemed better for it. Then he turned to Kutch. ‘So what do you reckon? What is this thing?’
‘I think the scholars were right; it’s a timepiece.’
‘Measuring what?’ Serrah asked. ‘Hours? Days?’
‘You have to think on a much larger scale than that.’ He was gazing up at the thing. ‘Look at the symbols.’
‘You understand them?’
‘Mostly, no. But one or two are in remaining Founder fragments, and we think we know what they mean.’ He pointed. ‘See that one? At the beginning of the pendulum’s track?’