“Sir Karigan, are you all right?” Chelsa asked.
Karigan nodded. She could not allow herself to get caught up in such thoughts and images, these questions of real and abstract. They would surely defeat her, submerge her in grief. No, she could not allow this to happen, she must go forward. Go forward to return to the past, so she could prevent Zachary’s death in battle and the rise of the empire. “I am fine,” she said at last. “Please go on.”
Chelsa did not appear entirely convinced, but she continued with her explanation of how the caretakers had been getting on. “As for the disciplines our people have been engaged in, history is, as you may guess, a natural. Others have taken on the black of the Weapons since we no longer receive them from the outside, though a Helper or two have joined their ranks through the years. They are trained from within, trained in the same exacting manner as taught to us by the Weapons who had been in the tombs with our people when Sacor City fell.”
It explained much, Karigan thought, about how they’d been able to carry on since the rise of the empire. “There are outsiders, archeologists,” she said, “who would like to find these tombs.”
“And so there are. But I suppose in its own way, the empire has helped keep our secret. Our history, the true history of Sacoridia, is denied. Few learn of it, and the empire restricts who has enough knowledge of it to do archeological work. We watch. We watch very closely, indeed. We, in fact, captured one archeologist who now lives among us. He was terribly excited and actually thanked us for allowing him in. A lifetime of discoveries, he said. A veritable treasure trove. It troubles him not that he can’t share it with anyone above. He’s too busy looking and discovering.” Chelsa chuckled.
“Will you induct Dr. Silk into your community?”
Chelsa’s smile faded. “Ezra Stirling Silk and his drill are a serious matter. One that must not be underestimated. But first things first, the matter which brought you here. On the day of my ascension to chief caretaker, just one week ago, I was given many objects in addition to my new responsibilities, among them documents, keys, tools, and secrets. It’s overwhelming even though I had apprenticed to my predecessor, Threllis, when I was only nine. She passed to me all her knowledge. She went to the heavens the day before my ascension.”
“I am sorry,” Karigan said.
“I do miss her, certainly I do, but she has the joy of dancing with the gods while the rest of us labor on in our daily toil.”
It was so lightly spoken that Karigan had to remind herself that Chelsa dealt with death constantly. Surrounded by its artifacts and iconography, as well as the husks of the dead, it was not surprising caretakers might have a different outlook on the passing of people important to them.
“Among the secrets revealed to me,” Chelsa continued, “was a message from—”
They were interrupted by the return of Serena with a companion darkly cloaked and hooded, a satchel across his shoulder. The death surgeon. The two swept through the chamber without pausing and headed down the entrance corridor.
“Good,” Chelsa said, watching after them. “Brunen will take good care of your friend.”
“The message,” Karigan urged.
“Of course.” Chelsa removed a piece of paper from her portfolio. It looked very much like the one Karigan had received—yellowed around the edges, folded the same way. “The instruction in this message read: To be given to Chelsa, upon her ascension. And so it, along with accompanying documents—one of which you received—was handed down the generations of chief caretakers and spoken of to no one else. They remained unopened until me. I am the first and only Chelsa to become chief. Since this was kept secret by the chiefs, there was no way my parents would have known that their daughter, whom they named Chelsa, would eventually become chief. It is . . . rather strange to be thought of long before your birth. Long before anyone else knows that you will ever exist.”
“I think I can sort of understand,” Karigan said.
Chelsa laughed. “And so you, of anyone, could.” She unfolded the message. “I was instructed within to send you the summons. It reads, Dear Chelsa, Please send this first message to summon Rider Sir Karigan G’ladheon to the Heroes Portal. The cat will find her. Expect Sir Karigan to arrive at midnight on the Hollow Moon.”
“The Hollow Moon?”
“We caretakers keep our own lunar calendar.” Chelsa smiled brightly and passed Karigan the paper. “I trust that is your captain’s signature?”
Karigan nodded as she looked the message over, a little thrill coursing through her. “Yes, this is her handwriting.”
“Good. My predecessors have vouched for its authenticity. Upon your arrival, the message instructs me to give you another. If not for the order to actually give you the message, I might have expected to be receiving your remains, considering the period of time that has elapsed since your disappearance. To tell the truth, we would be delighted to have them.”
Karigan was too disconcerted to know how to respond.
“That is not to say we are not very excited to have the living, breathing legend here with us, out of time as she is. It’s extraordinary. But do know, we would welcome your remains and care for them diligently.”
Karigan smiled weakly. “Er, thank you? I mean, wouldn’t that be for the king to decide?”
“Of course, and if he were here, I’m confident he’d want you on Heroes Avenue, at the very least.”
The very least?
While Karigan pondered that, Chelsa produced another folded piece of paper and silently offered it to her. It quavered in Karigan’s hand. Her name was written on it just like the other, in the captain’s style. This one was sealed with green wax imprinted by the winged horse. Just seeing it brought an onrush of emotion, a storm threatening to break. So homesick . . . She cleared her throat, forcing back tears, and broke the seal.
The captain had written:
Dear Karigan,
The scything moon is held captive in the prison of forgotten days. Seek it in the den of the three-faced reptile, for you are the blade of the shadow cast. Beware! The longer you linger, the faster we spin apart.
L. Mapstone, Capt., HMMS
Usually the captain was concise and to the point. But this . . . this was downright obscure. Even murky enough to make an Eletian proud. Karigan had hoped for some clear instruction to help her find her way home, but she’d gotten this instead. A riddle.
“Sir Karigan?” Chelsa said tentatively. “Is everything well? You’ve gone pale.”
Karigan wordlessly handed the message to Chelsa.
“Oh, my,” Chelsa murmured as she read it. “I take it this is not what you were expecting.”
Karigan gave a humorless laugh. “I was expecting explicit directions about how to get home. To my own time. But of course, nothing is ever that easy.”
Chelsa returned the message. “I am under the impression, from what I’ve read of her, your Captain Mapstone was never this cryptic.”
“No,” Karigan agreed. “This is not . . .” She struggled to find the right words. “This is not her voice.”
“But it is her handwriting, yes?”
Karigan nodded.
“In his log books, Agemon spoke of receiving the documents from the captain’s own hands. He described her as looking unhappy about it all as she instructed him to keep them secret until he was ready to pass his responsibilities on to his successor.”
The captain, Karigan thought, could have been unhappy about any number of things. It told her nothing about why the captain had written such a riddle.
“She obviously meant for you to find meaning in her words,” Chelsa said. “Somehow. I thought it remarkable that she knew you’d someday be here to read her words. I assume such precognition is one of the skills Riders are endowed with?”
“Perhaps, but it was not the captain’s. I’ve asked myself how sh
e knew, but have no answers.” Karigan was not surprised Chelsa knew of Rider abilities. She shook her head. “All I know is that I just want to go home.”
Chelsa reached over and placed her hand on Karigan’s arm. The warmth of that touch helped.
“I do not know what it is like to be sundered from home,” Chelsa said, “for I was born and raised in these tombs, but I fear I may see its destruction.” Her face was clouded with worry.
“What will you do?”
Chelsa shrugged. “We shall do as anyone would do when their home is threatened—defend it. The Weapons wish to stop Silk directly, but they are few and stand no chance against the numbers that can be deployed by the empire.”
Karigan gave Joff a sideways glance. He had not left his station by the wall, and gave no indication he had listened to a word of their conversation. A true Weapon.
“If only I knew why Silk has started drilling now, and with such fervor,” Chelsa said.
“Do you know of an object called the dragonfly device?” Karigan asked. If Chelsa did, not only would it help the opposition in this time, but if Karigan could solve Captain Mapstone’s riddle and get home, she could find the artifact and prevent Amberhill’s empire from rising in the first place.
“Dragonfly device? I have not heard of it.”
Karigan tried to remember what the professor had said about it. “It was supposedly some sort of magical device used by a forerunner of the Sealender line to run off the sea kings. It disappeared afterward. The professor, the man who shelters me, thinks it may have been interred here with the first Sealender king.”
If Chelsa was shocked that some professor knew of the tombs, she did not show it. She gazed thoughtfully into space.
“The professor thinks,” Karigan said, “that this device has the power to stop whatever great weapon the emperor has at his disposal. He says Silk would like to get his hands on it to give to the emperor, to gain his esteem. Once in the emperor’s own hands, it would no longer be a threat to him. The opposition would like to prevent this from happening and use the device to their own advantage if they could.”
“There are many objects down here that have been interred with the royals, with all the heroes,” Chelsa said. “Much of it is just the ephemera of lives lived, some of it priceless jewels and gold, some of it not. There are other relics that have been kept secret down here for their more arcane properties. I have to say, your dragonfly device is not one. Or, at least, it is not one I’ve ever heard of, which is entirely possible. It could even go by another name. The sheer number of objects we keep under our care is more than one person, even the chief caretaker, can know.”
Nothing, Karigan thought once again, was ever easy.
“It appears,” Chelsa said, “we have both been presented with riddles this night.”
OPENING THE DOOR
“Did your professor happen to say what manner of object this dragonfly device was?” Chelsa asked.
Karigan felt a subtle change of air currents circulating the cool chamber, which she attributed to the Heroes Portal opening and closing. “He seemed to think it was a sword or rod or something. Maybe a spear.” She thought back to the drawing she’d seen in his journal. “All he had to go on was an ancient etching on stone that is being worn away by the sea.”
“Well, that is something.” Chelsa, however, did not sound optimistic and the two sat in heavy silence for some moments.
Soon the rap of boots on stone preceded the return of Serena, who strode across the chamber to Joff and whispered in his ear. When she finished, Joff stepped forward.
“What is it?” Chelsa asked.
“If you and Sir Karigan have concluded your business, then we should take up the matter of her companion.”
“One moment,” she told him. “Sir Karigan? Is there anything more we need to discuss?”
There was much more, and nothing. Karigan carried many secrets, not least of all the existence of a royal heir, and as tempted as she might be to unburden herself, to entrust Chelsa with such secrets, honor prevented her. They were not her secrets to tell, just as she had not told the professor what she knew of the tombs.
It was clear Chelsa could not help her understand the captain’s riddle, or otherwise tell her how to reach home, so she just said, “I would like a little time to commit the captain’s message to memory. I do not wish to chance taking it with me into the outside world.”
“Very wise of you,” Chelsa said with approval.
So Karigan sat there, snuggled in Joff’s cloak, memorizing every word just as she had been trained to do as a messenger. Already her tired mind was trying to unlock the puzzle of the words. Surely the “scything moon” meant the crescent moon that represented Sacoridia and the god Aeryc. But for now, she must put aside meaning and concentrate solely on remembering the words. When she was sure she had it, she returned the written message to Chelsa’s keeping.
“I would now ask that you return to the outer world,” Chelsa said. “Serena will escort you, and after I hear what she and Joff have to say, we will come out.”
Karigan nodded and rose, taking a hard grip on the bonewood. She hoped she would not have to use it in Cade’s defense.
Serena proved a silent escort, and when they reached the portal, Karigan unwrapped the cloak from her shoulders and handed it to Serena. “With my thanks to Joff.”
Serena accepted it with a bow and pushed the portal open so Karigan could exit the tombs into the damp world outside. Would it be her last time through the Heroes Portal? She glanced over her shoulder. Serena had already disappeared back into the corridor. Dash closed the door. Karigan may not care for the tombs, but being within had felt like the closest to home she’d been since being ejected from Blackveil.
Raven nickered, and she went over to give him a pat on the nose. From the looks of it, he had managed to behave. Nothing looked destroyed, at any rate.
“Miss Goodgrave?”
It was Cade, sitting on a log. A Weapon stood nearby speaking quietly with the death surgeon. The other Weapons must be keeping sentry duty in the woods. Karigan strode over to the log and sat beside Cade. Scruffy purred on his lap.
“How are you?” she asked him.
“Head throbs,” he said. Tentatively he touched the back of his head and winced. “I’ve got a nice lump. The mender gave me medicine for the nausea. I’ll live.”
“You have to be careful with knocks to the head.”
“I know.”
“Why were you following me tonight?” she asked.
“The professor asked that I keep watch on you. He was afraid you’d go after the Eletian on your own.”
“As you can see, I did not.”
“No . . .” An expression of awe came over his face once again. “You’re full of surprises. There have been rumors of such an entrance to the tombs, but no one has ever found it. You told the professor you did not know of another entrance.”
“It was not my right to tell him otherwise.”
“Not even to help the opposition?”
“It is not my place to entrust such knowledge to outsiders.”
Cade digested that for a moment, then tried another tack. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me what it’s like in there?”
“No.”
He nodded, and to her surprise, did not press her further. Perhaps he knew there was a very good chance he’d be forced to live out the rest of his days within—for however long that may be. And with Silk’s excavation delving ever deeper. She shivered, both from the damp chill and the likelihood of Silk’s breaching the tombs. She could only imagine what he’d do with all that he found inside.
“The cat is warming your jacket,” Cade said. He tugged it out from beneath the dead weight of the purring Scruffy.
Karigan drew it on. It was not nearly as nice as Joff’s cloak, but it would do. “Scruf
fy has certainly taken a liking to you.”
“The others,” and he nodded at Dash, “seem to think it has some significance.”
Karigan gazed at the content feline. Were tomb cats discerning about the humans they chose to commune with? All cats were, she conceded, but were tomb cats extra particular? If so, what did it mean that Ghost Kitty kept company with her, except that she provided a soft bed and warm body for him to sleep with?
“What was it that brought you here at this hour?” Cade asked. “This night?”
“I was summoned.”
“Summoned?”
“By my captain. She knew—or someone knew—I’d be here in this future.” Karigan explained how Scruffy had brought her the message, and about the riddle—though not its content—that had awaited her in the tombs.
“You were hoping it would tell you how to return to your own time,” Cade guessed.
She nodded. “At least some hint. Instead I’ve a puzzle to unravel.” She had thought it sounded obscure, something like what an Eletian would say, and now it occurred to her that maybe the one person who could help her figure it out was Lhean. If so, that meant it was more important than ever for her to retrieve him from the hands of Dr. Silk.
“Thank you,” Cade said.
“What? What for?”
“I am told that while I was unconscious, you were willing to defend me.”
Now that Karigan thought of it, it had been rather rash, challenging virtually all those Weapons when she hadn’t even the bonewood to hand. “You can return the favor some day,” she said, trying to sound light.
“I will,” he replied with a fervor that surprised her. He leaned closer to her, their shoulders almost touching. “If you cannot find your way home, I will do my utmost to see you comfortably settled and safe. Not that you can’t protect yourself, but our ways here are different, harder for a woman. You understand that a woman here is not allowed to own property?”
Karigan nodded. She had gathered as much.
“That means not even her clothes or any wages she might earn. It all goes to her nearest male relative. Here, you are practically owned by your uncle.”