“I am the Crow! I have been buried too long in the dark,” he cried, and his voice was harsh, both Galen’s and yet changed. “Now I arise and look, Anara, I have summoned your Makers back to you; through the darkness and emptiness I call them! In ships of silver and crystal they’ll come, Flain and Tamar and Soren of the trees—even Kest will come—and they will dispel the darkness and scatter the towers of the Watch. This is the prophecy I make! This is the truth I speak! They have told me they will come, and no one will stand against them!”
He flung out his hands; the shadows jerked wide. All around him the walls were hissing and sprouting; Raffi saw that the trees were alive, growing, slithering out leaves and fruit. The Watchmen called out, some of them crumpled on the floor, terrified, and behind them the great doors thrummed with a strange electric hum, and the symbols on them glowed green and gold.
And then with a yell of delight, Galen made the seven moons, and they came to him with sparks of power out of the dark; Pyra and Agramon, Atterix, the pitted face of Cyrax, Lar, Karnos, the craters of Atelgar. And they moved in their right patterns—the Web, the Ring, the Arch—and Raffi laughed aloud to see them, and the Sekoi purred behind him, its hand clutching his shoulder tight.
As if he could never tire of it, Galen poured out his newfound power; he made sense-lines that snaked and tangled, brilliant flashes of scents, rivers and rainbows of energy that spurted and crackled and lit every one of the thousand candles with one enormous roar of flame.
And then suddenly he was still, and the room shimmered and glinted into silence. The lamps flickered, grew brighter. They saw they were in a room of leaves; millions of fresh green leaves that smelled like spring, and yet fruit hung there too, and great helios flowers.
The Watchmen were lying crumpled up against the door. Carys sat near them. She seemed too astonished to speak, but she was awake, and as Raffi came toward her, she staggered up unsteadily.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded, silent.
Galen followed them. He looked tired, the crow-black hair hung to his neck, but the very air about him still seemed to crackle.
“How did you know?” He gripped her hands. “How did you know, Carys?”
Her eyes widened, as if his touch burned. “I don’t . . . I’m not sure. I just . . . felt that you could.”
“But you went over to them—” Raffi began.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I had to do something. Did you think I meant it?”
“I don’t know.” He stared at her. “I don’t know what you are anymore.”
She glared back, furious. “Well, neither do I, Raffi! Everything was simple before I met you! Everything was clear! The Order were frauds and fanatics and the Watch were my family and I wanted Galen Harn, dead or alive!”
She stared down at her hands. “That’s all gone now. Nothing’s the same. If the Order’s powers are real, the Watch has lied to me, to all of us. I’ve got friends there, good friends. I won’t leave them to be made fools of.”
“If you go back,” Galen said quietly, “they may see your doubts. I think you should stay with us, Carys.”
She looked at him, a long, hard look. Then she hugged herself with her arms and said, “I can’t.”
“Keeper, you can’t let her go back,” the Sekoi put in, getting up from its corner. “Her or any of them. They’ve seen where your holy place is.”
“I have the power,” Galen said softly, “to wipe that from their minds.” Ignoring Raffi’s stare, he said, “And for the men I’ll do that. But for you . . .”
Stepping forward, he faced her. “Now it’s my turn to make an act of faith. Keep the knowledge. It will work inside you, Carys. It will draw you back to us. One day.”
Wanly, she smiled. “Always trying to convert the fallen, Galen.”
He nodded. “But come soon. The Makers will arrive, and I’d hate them to find you with the Watch.”
“The Watch are my father and mother.” She shook her head. “Or I thought so. But I can’t wipe that training out. I need to think about things, find out what’s true.”
“You never will. But ask your questions carefully. If they think—”
“I know.” She pulled a face. “I’ve seen people disappear. I know what happens to them, better than you.”
He looked at her for a moment with a look that was new to him, then turned away. Bending over the Watchmen, he said something, and to Raffi’s surprise they all stood up, but there was no consciousness in them, no memory.
“Lead them through the maze,” he said to the Sekoi. “They’ll follow you.
“Keeper . . . !”
“Don’t worry. They’re not dangerous.”
With a wry grimace at Raffi, the creature shrugged and turned. The doors opened and the Sekoi walked through, the Watchmen following in a cowed, obedient huddle. None of them looked back.
Galen glanced around. “No power is left here. But the House will be sealed, and the secret kept.” He glanced at Carys. “No one must know.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, picking a crossbow off the pile. “They’ll only get it out of me on the rack.”
“It might come to that,” Raffi muttered.
He followed Galen through the doors, with one look back at the room of leaves, and then trudged thoughtfully through the maze. At one corner he turned and waited for Carys.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” He felt awkward. “But I’m confused. Whose side are you really on, Carys?”
She caught his arm, swung him around, and pushed him ahead of her. “My side. And that’s where I stay till I’ve decided.” He felt her grin at his back. “You’ll have to be satisfied with that.”
He turned, blocking the way. “If you betray him, I’ll hunt you down myself. I’d never forgive you.”
Silent, she nodded. “I know,” she whispered.
He walked on, grim, wondering if it was true, or if she would go straight to the Watch and tell them everything. Galen thought not. Galen with all his powers back—and more. Galen, who had been the Crow, and had prophesied the future of the world.
“We’ll have to write this down,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Coming to the stairs he ran up in the dark, suddenly happy. “Nothing.”
Outside in the dim square the Sekoi sat impatiently on a low wall, chewing its nails. The Watchmen stood near, an eerily silent group.
It leaped up in relief. “What have you done to these men, Galen? Are they alive?”
Without answering, Galen faced the Watchmen.
“Go back to your tower. Remember nothing of what you’ve seen. Forget me, forget these others, forget the name of the Crow. Remember only that in your hearts you fear the Makers.”
They simply turned and walked away, the castellan among them; for a long while the echo of their footsteps rang in the empty alleys.
When they were gone Galen closed down the stone, and then he and Raffi threw every hiding-spell they knew around it, binding it tight, darkening it, until even Carys realized that when she looked at the stone she could no longer quite see it, as if some blind spot hovered behind her eyes.
Finally Raffi looked around. The ruins of Tasceron were dark with smoke. Streets away, an owl hooted. “I almost thought all this would be changed.”
“Not yet.” Galen dragged his hair back irritably. “But when they come, we can rebuild this. We can rebuild everything.”
The Sekoi stroked its fur. “You seem very sure of that, keeper.”
Galen stood a moment, as if looking deep inside himself. Then he said, “I am.”
They walked slowly over the broken stones to a splintered archway. The alley beyond was silent and black.
Carys turned suddenly. “I’ll go on from here alone.”
“Change your mind!” Raffi urged abruptly.
She grinned at him. “Look out for me. If the Makers do come, put in a good word.” Taking the small pack off her back,
she tugged something out and pushed it into his hands. “You’d better have this. You can keep it to remember me.”
And she was gone, a flicker in the shadows of the alley, and they could hear her feet running after the tread of the Watchmen.
Raffi looked down; it was a small blue book full of scrawled writing. “Good-bye, Carys,” he murmured, and then sent one long sense-line curling after her.
“I can’t help thinking,” the Sekoi said drily, “that she’s gone back there knowing everything she set out to know. I hope you’re sure of what you’re doing, Relic Master.”
Raffi was silent. It was Galen who answered. “Faith is a strange tree. Plant the seed and somewhere, sometime, in the right weather, it will grow. We also have done what we came for.” He turned to the creature. “We go back to the Pyramid. Then we need to get out of Tasceron. Can you help?”
The Sekoi’s sharp face smiled. “I’m sure it can be arranged.”
“Good.”
“And then what? Do you drag me kicking and squealing back to Alberic?”
Raffi looked up. “Alberic! He’s still got our blue box!”
Galen and the Sekoi gazed at each other with a strange glint in their eyes. Carelessly the Sekoi kicked a loose stone. “I suppose we could always steal it back.”
“I suppose we could,” the keeper said grimly. Then he grinned. “I think it’s our duty really, don’t you?”
THE SERIES CONTINUES IN
RELIC MASTER
Book 2: THE LOST HEIRESS
THE STRAIN ON HIS ARMS was agony. Clutching the rope, he hauled himself up, hand over hand, gripping with aching knees and ankles.
“Hurry up!” The Sekoi leaned precariously from the tower ledge above, its seven fingers stretching for him. Behind it the Maker-wall glimmered in the light of the moons.
Raffi gave one last desperate pull, flung his hand up, and grabbed. A hard grip clenched on his; he was dragged onto the ledge and clung there, gasping and soaked with sweat.
“Not bad,” the creature purred in his ear. “Now look down.”
Below them, the night was black. Somewhere at the tower’s smooth base Galen was waiting, a shadow with a hooked face of moonlight, staring up. Even from here Raffi could feel his tension.
“Now what?”
“The window.” Delicately, the Sekoi put its long hand out and wriggled it through the smashed, patched pane. A latch clicked. The casement creaked softly open.
The creature’s fur tickled Raffi as it whispered, “In you go.”
Raffi nodded. Silently he swung his feet in and slithered over the sill, standing in the still room.
In the moonlight he sent a sense-line out, feeling at once the tangled dreams of the man in the bed, the sleeping bodyguards outside the door, and then, as he groped for it, the bright mind-echo of the relic, the familiar blue box.
It was somewhere near the bed.
He pointed; the Sekoi nodded, its yellow eyes catching the light. Raffi began to cross the room. He knew there was no one else here, but if Alberic woke up and yelled, there soon would be. The tiny man seemed lost in the vast bed, its hangings purple and crimson damask, heavy and expensive. Beside the bed was a table, a dim shadow of smooth wood, and he could just see the gleam of a drawer-handle. The relic box was in there.
Galen’s box.
Inch by inch, Raffi’s hand moved toward the drawer.
Alberic snuffled, turned over. His face was close to Raffi now; a sly face, even in sleep. Soundlessly, Raffi opened the drawer, pushed his fingers in, and touched the box. Power jerked through him; his fingers clenched on it and he almost hissed with the shock. Then it was out, and shoved deep inside his jerkin.
Glancing back, he saw the Sekoi’s black shape breathless against the window; behind it the stars were bright. He backed, carefully.
But Alberic was restless, turning and tossing in his rich covers; with each step back Raffi felt the dwarf’s sharp mind bubbling up out of the dark, a growing unease. As he turned and grabbed the window he felt the moment of waking like a pain.
Alberic sat bolt upright. He stared across the dark room; in that instant he saw them both, and a strangled scream of fury broke out of him. In seconds Raffi was out, slithering down the rope after the Sekoi, so fast that the heat seared the gloves on his hands, and as he hit the bottom and crumpled to his knees he heard the dogs erupt into barking and the screeching of Alberic’s wrath.
Galen’s hand grabbed him. “Have you got it?”
“Yes!”
The dwarf’s head jutted from the high window. “Galen Harn!” he screamed, his voice raw. “And you, Sekoi! I’ll kill you both for this!”
He seemed to be demented with rage; someone had to haul him back inside. “I’ll kill you!” he shrieked.
But the night was dark. They were already long gone.
Catherine Fisher, The Dark City
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