Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 01 (43 page)

Mychael
answered her. “The Saghred has remained hidden for nearly nine hundred years,
Primari Nuru.”

“How
long has it been here?”

“Only
the stone’s Guardian could answer that.”

“And
he died centuries ago.”

“Apparently
that’s come open for debate,” I said.

The
primari’s dark eyes widened. “But that would make him—”

“Very
old and very tired.”

The
prince spoke. “Sarad Nukpana knows the Saghred is in Mermeia, but I would give
much to see his face when he discovers that he has been meditating next to it
for over a year.”

“Meditating?”
I asked.

“According
to agents I have in my brother’s court, when the grand shaman is in Mermeia, he
sits here for hours at a time. He finds the surroundings relaxing.”

Sarad
Nukpana sits with dead bodies for fun. Why wasn’t I surprised?

“Raine?”
Mychael was looking at me expectantly.

I
took a deep breath. Right. It was my turn now. I relaxed as much as I could
considering where I was and who was with me—and what I was looking for. I
slowly walked around the mausoleum. It wasn’t large, so it didn’t take long.
The beacon’s vibration had increased in intensity when we’d come inside, but
the signal wasn’t getting any stronger, though if it didn’t stop soon, my shoes
were going to vibrate right off my feet.

I
stopped. My feet and the stone floor beneath them were the only things that
were vibrating. The mausoleum’s dead were in the walls around me. The
catacombs’ dead would be under the floor, beneath my feet.

Crap.

I
looked at Mychael and pointed down. “Guess what?”

He
looked almost as thrilled as I did.

“Time
grows short, Your Highness,” Mychael told Chigaru. “Would you please show us
the entrance to the catacombs?”

The
goblin prince’s expression was unreadable. “It would please me very much.”

“Do
you require more light?” Mychael asked.

Chigaru
shook his head. “This is more than sufficient.”

The
goblin prince walked slowly into the corner of the mausoleum farthest from the
house and ran a long-fingered hand along an upper vault until he came to what
appeared to be several flowers carved into the stone. He pressed at several
points, there was a faint click, and a panel below the flowers swung open into
inky darkness.

The
goblin turned to me and smiled as if from a private joke. “Your catacombs,
Mistress Benares.”

I
knew there was a reason why I still didn’t like him.

I had
expected the entrance to the catacombs to be in the floor. It had never
occurred to me that it would be hidden in the wall. The vaults in the mausoleum
were stacked four high, one on top of the other, and covered every wall. The
vaults concealing the entrance to the catacombs were fake. Where there should
be four bodies interred was an incredibly steep and narrow stair leading down
into the center of the hill.

Mychael
held out his hand and stared at his palm. A pinpoint of white light flickered
to life from the center of his hand, beneath the skin. It was no larger than a
firefly. It spun, weaving a trail of light until a globe, the size of his fist,
hung suspended above his open hand. It glowed steadily and seemed to solidify,
the interior crackling with something akin to lightning. It floated down the
stairs, then stopped, hovering, waiting for us.

Mychael
indicated that the goblin prince should precede us. “After you, Your Highness.”

Chigaru
raised one elegant brow.

“You
have been in these catacombs before,” Mychael explained. “We have not. Rest
assured, we’ll be right behind you.” He looked to Garadin. “Garadin, if you
could remain here with Primari Nuru? Piaras, stay with Vegard. We won’t be
long. Riston,” he said to the other Guardian with us, “you’re with me.”

“Sir?”
Vegard asked uncertainly. He didn’t glance at the prince. He didn’t need to.
Mychael understood.

“From
the looks of things, there’s not much room to maneuver down there,” the paladin
said. “Riston and his knives are a better fit. Just make sure there’s a hole
for us to come out of.”

The
blond Guardian grinned. “Count on it, sir.”

“I
am.” He again gestured to the prince. “Shall we?”

Prince
Chigaru descended the stairs. Mychael and I followed, with Riston at our backs.

The
walls glistened in the globe’s pale light, moisture trickling down the sides to
collect on the uneven floor, making footing uncertain at best. The air was cool
and damp. Somewhere ahead in the darkness, water dripped methodically into a
pool. I gathered my gown up as best as I could. Mychael was directly in front
of me. I aimed a dirty look at the center of his back. What I wouldn’t have
given for my old leathers and boots. Aside from our breathing, there was no
other sound. The damp wasn’t nearly as bad as the cloying smell of decay—or the
unexpected silence. Not from the residents—I didn’t expect any trouble from
them. I did expect to hear or sense something from the Saghred. I suddenly felt
faintly nauseous. Though that could be from being in such close quarters with
centuries of Ramsden dead and a Mal’Salin prince.

The globe’s
light illuminated a white crust that shone in lines at differing heights along
the rock walls. Salt. My subconscious knew what the lines meant, but my
conscious mind didn’t want to dwell on it. There were many ways we could die
tonight, and I didn’t want to add drowning to the list. The tide wouldn’t turn
for hours, and we certainly weren’t going to be here that long. Knowing that
didn’t help. Fear was irrational that way. If I survived all this, I wasn’t
going to have to look far for fresh nightmare inspiration.

The
catacombs couldn’t be very extensive, at least I hoped not. There was only one
tunnel with no branches that I could see in the dim light. Ledges had been
hollowed out of the walls on both sides of us. These were packed with the
yellowed bones of obviously more than one dearly departed, some to overflowing.
A name and date was engraved on each ledge. Some were worn smooth with age and
water.

“Thick
as thieves down here, aren’t they?” Riston remarked.

I
grinned. I couldn’t help it. It probably just meant I was on the verge of
getting hysterical. “Makes you hope they all got along,” I quipped.

The
Guardian called my grin and raised me a wink.

“Riston,
take the point,” Mychael said softly.

“Sir.”
The Guardian slid his brace of throwing daggers around to his chest for quicker
access. He flexed his fingers to warm them.

We
hadn’t gone far before my nausea turned into a wave of dizziness. I felt the
Saghred’s presence before I heard it. My breath came shallow and quick, my skin
was clammy, my mouth dry. I tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

“Stop.
It’s here.”

A
soft humming echoed through the tunnels.

Mychael
looked sharply at me. He heard it, too.

“Raine?”

I
dimly realized his voice sounded farther away than it should. It didn’t bother
me, and I think it should have.

“Fine.”
I felt myself try to breathe. I stayed on my feet, so I think I succeeded. “I’m
fine.”

I
felt his arm slip around my waist. I don’t think he believed me. I steadied
myself, then stepped away.

“Down
there,” I said, forcing more air into my words than I had to spare. “Let’s go.”

The
tunnel ended abruptly in a room only ten feet or so square. A white stone panel
shone starkly in one wall on the edge of the globe’s light. It was a burial
vault in miniature. It was only about a foot square and oddly translucent, like
alabaster. It also bore a striking resemblance to the containment box Quentin
had found the beacon in—and the small box Mychael now held in his hands. The
frosted surface was smooth and unmarked except for a small, circular section
that had been carved out of the stone.

You
didn’t have to be too smart to know what was meant to go there.

Prince
Chigaru stepped around Riston for a closer look. “That was not here before,” he
insisted.

“When
was that?” Mychael asked.

“Three
years,” the goblin said.

Mychael
and I exchanged glances. Plenty of time for a certain Saghred Guardian to do a
little redecorating.

It
took a lot of squirming on my part, but I managed to remove the beacon from my
bodice. Prince Chigaru’s eyes were instantly on me, his lean body tense with
restraint.

I had
one word for him. “Stay.”

“Wait,”
Mychael told me. “Are you shielded?”

My
shoulders slumped. “Do you really think that’s going to do any good?” I sounded
the way I felt. Tired.

His
jaw tightened. “Probably not.”

I
knelt and put the beacon into the hollow. It grated against the accumulated
salt, and some of it fell on the floor. That was all. Nothing happened. That
didn’t mean something wasn’t different. It was, and it wasn’t at all what I
expected. I looked more closely at the white stone panel.

“What
is it?” Mychael asked.

“Does
it look more transparent to you?”

“No.”

I
looked again—then stared in wonder at what lay beyond.

“It
does to me,” I breathed. Then I became a part of it.

I was
surrounded in pulsating light and movement. Flowing forms emerged from shifting
colors, each separate and distinct. I realized with amazement turning to horror
that the forms were alive. Most were faceless wraiths, their bodies pale and
indistinct as they fled, terrified of me. Others didn’t flee, but passed just
out of arms reach, with faint cries and whispered pleas, held at bay as if by
some unseen hand. The remaining ones were more solid, though their bodies were
wasted as if from the ravages of disease. They didn’t whisper or beg. They
screamed in rage and frustration at not being able to reach me. Something
stopped them from touching me, but nothing blocked their raw need. I tried to
run, but the same force that held them at bay held me still.

I was
inside the Saghred. The wraiths around me were all that remained of those
sacrificed or absorbed over the ages. Not just goblins, but elves, humans and
dwarfs—though some were too far gone to be recognized as any race.

A
lone figure came toward me and stopped just beyond arm’s reach, silently
staring. His elegantly pointed ears marked him as an elf, a beautiful
pure-blooded high elf. His hair was silver, and his eyes were the gray of
gathering storm clouds. Eyes identical to my own. A slow smile curled the
corners of his lips. I could see why my mother hadn’t cared that he was nearly
nine hundred years old.

Eamaliel
Anguis knew me and had been expecting me—all this time, all of my life.

“Daughter.”

Like
most fatherless little girls, I’d always imagined what my father would look
like. What stood before me wasn’t it. For one, I could see through him.

I
couldn’t move. I didn’t even know if I was breathing.

“How?”
I whispered the word, but it echoed in my head, not my ears.

He
smiled. It was a kind smile, encouraging, patient. “How are you here or how am
I here?”

My
throat was too tight to speak. I just nodded.

“Because
I needed to speak with you. Don’t be afraid. You can see me and the others, but
your body remains outside the Saghred, in the arms of your Guardian. You are
safe.”

“Are
you alive?” I wasn’t sure if it was in poor taste to ask, but I had to.

“The
Saghred does not take life,” he explained. “It absorbs it. I am alive, but on a
different level than you are probably familiar with. Time is different on the
inside.”

I felt
myself try to grin. “A couple of my formerly incarcerated Benares relatives say
the same thing.”

My
father looked at me as if trying to fit a lifetime of seeing me into a few
seconds. His gaze was so intense that I wanted to look away, but looking away
meant seeing floating wraiths. So I kept my eyes exactly where they were.

“You’re
so beautiful,” he managed. “Just like your mother.”

Uncomfortable
under his scrutiny—and even more uncomfortable at the mention of my mother—I
brushed at one of the gown’s jewel-strewn velvet panels. “This isn’t how I
normally dress. The goblin king’s masked ball. We had to get on the grounds
somehow. You might say I’m undercover. The gown and going to the ball wasn’t
exactly my idea.” I stopped and tried to breathe. “I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

He
smiled. “Not at all. You found me, so it must be going well.”

“As
well as can be expected—at least for one of us.” I could look right through my
father and see the wraiths floating behind him. I winced. “You’re the Saghred’s
Guardian. Isn’t it supposed to like you, or at least not eat you?”

The
corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Being here wasn’t exactly my idea,
either.”