The Bell Between Worlds (55 page)

But one of these pictures, the one in the very centre of the ceiling, dominated all others. A vast, empty, skeletal face depicted in bland silvers and greys. The terrifying visage of Thoth glowered down at the entire chamber, giving the fugitives the sense that he was watching them even as they hesitated in the threshold, mocking their futile attempt at escape, daring them to pass.

“Follow me,” said Espen firmly.

He led them over the soft carpets and skins. They glanced in all directions, checking every opening, every corner, every hanging. All was eerily still except for thin, delicate drapes gathered at the sides of the openings, flowing and fluttering on a gentle breeze. They felt fresh, clean air blowing across the room, offering a tantalising taste of the open night beyond.

Yet escape still seemed far away, for between them and the world outside lay the trappings of luxury, privilege and power: thick incense on the air; couches of velvet and gold; pitchers and goblets studded with jewels; silver-clad volumes stacked neatly on shelves; ancient maps laid open on tables of polished wood; a beautiful, ornate cello laid on a golden stand... a stone table, decorated with intricate red engravings, golden chains and manacles...

“That’s where my father was!” hissed Naeo, instinctively moving towards it.

Espen took hold of her shoulders. “It could be a trap!”

“But I have to find him!” protested Naeo. “We can’t leave without him!”

“You
must
leave without him. We don’t know where he is, and soon this place will be swarming with guards.”

She struggled against him.

“Naeo! His only hope is that you escape!
Think!
He wouldn’t want you to be captured again. You can’t risk that! Not now that you’ve finally found Sylas!”

She hesitated, tears welling in her eyes. The Magruman drew her away as gently as he could, pulling her close, tenderly, caringly. His manner revealed a deep affection.

He began leading her across the chamber. The others followed, looking with horror at the place of Bowe’s torture, noticing traces of blood and signs of a long struggle.

They moved quickly, without pausing, trying to keep their eyes to the shadows and openings. As they skirted the pool, Sylas chanced a look down. The haunting face of Thoth glared up at him, mirrored on the smooth, glassy surface. He knew it was only the image on the ceiling, but he found it hard to look away. The large hollow eyes seemed darker and emptier than ever before and yet, at the same time, he felt that they were seeing into him, gathering his thoughts, mocking him. To his surprise, the primal face showed not an absence of humanity, but an abundance of it: an endless transition between amusement, anger, despair, hatred and malice.

He shuddered and turned his eyes away.

Where was Thoth? Surely he was somewhere nearby?

Onwards they rushed, half walking and half running, the dark window rising in front of them, the air becoming crisp and cool.

Naeo moved onward in a daze, trying not to think of her poor father, sobs rising in her chest. At last they were at the drapes, feeling the first traces of hope, lifting their heads, gathering pace. The carpets gave way to stone and suddenly they were taking the last ten paces… five… then out on to the threshold, into the open air, jumping down on to the first of the huge stone steps.

They gulped deep draughts of the chill night air.

Below them the city looked almost beautiful. It was a broad shimmering carpet of pinprick lights, its tangled, twisting streets occasionally picked out by the last flickers of lightning. There was no sign of Paiscion’s storm. The clouds had risen to expose broad horizons: the greyish shimmer of the winding river and the open sea; the endless blackness of the Barrens.

Suddenly a ghastly, appalling sound rose from the base of the Dirgheon.

A howl pierced the night and hung in the air. Far below them the base of the pyramid seemed to be moving, shifting, rippling in the dim moonlight. It was as though it was being consumed by some thick bubbling blackness, some foul surging growth rising up the sloping wall, moving ever more quickly towards them. And, as they watched, its smooth darkness began to gain shape and form. It took the appearance of a great swarm of dark bodies: an army of leaping, thrashing beasts.

“Ghorhund!” cried Ash.

Naeo put her hand to her mouth. “There are thousands…” she murmured, watching with horror as beasts crawled over beasts, hurling each other down the steep sides of the pyramid in the blind fury of their charge.

She turned to Espen. “What do we do?”

He too was peering down the side of the vast Dirgheon, shaking his head. But then something caught his eye. He looked past her and out across the side of the pyramid.

The trace of a smile formed on his lips. “It seems our friends are one step ahead.”

She followed his gaze and saw Sylas, Simia and Ash running along the terrace, then leaping down to the next and the next. She looked ahead of them and gasped. There, lying across the stone terraces, were two gigantic structures of wood and canvas.

Their beautiful, broad wings caught the moonlight.

She stepped towards them, her mouth falling open. “Birds…” she said.

“Not birds,” said the Magruman, with a fascinated smile. “They are something from the Other.”

Espen turned, lowered his broad face to hers and smiled warmly. “You have much to learn from Sylas,” he said, brushing the hair from her face, “and he from you.”

Naeo turned away and her eyes found Sylas. He was beckoning them frantically, calling for them to follow. She watched him for a moment. She felt a strange kind of completeness, a peculiar certainty that her future lay with him.

“I know,” she said.

Espen and Naeo ran out along the terrace and began leaping down to where Sylas, Simia and Ash were hoisting the first of the two great birds off the stones. Sylas was explaining how each of the parts worked, pointing beneath to a single horizontal bar for steering and a broad sling of canvas.

“… So this is where you hold on, and this is where you rest once you’re in the…”

Simia put her hands on her hips. “We
know
, Sylas.”

“And you pull back to…”

“Sylas, if we don’t get moving, it won’t matter which bit we pull where,” said Ash, eyeing the throng of Ghorhund below.

“OK… yes,” said Sylas. “So it makes sense that Espen goes with you to keep it balanced…”

Espen reached over and placed a hand on Sylas’s shoulder. “We are the Suhl, Sylas. The winds are with us.”

Sylas looked at him doubtfully and drew a long breath. “Right. Yes. Of course…” He glanced from Espen to Ash and finally to Simia. “It’s just that I’ve never made these before… they’re much more complicated than kites....
please
be careful.”

Simia reached over and squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry, Sylas,” she said with a grin. “Birds of paper and string, remember...? It’s what you
do
.”

His eyes met hers and he smiled.

Suddenly a chorus of chilling howls erupted from the Ghorhund as they caught the scent of their prey. They charged up the final steps with a renewed bloodlust.

A single harrowing scream sounded from the opening behind them.

They all looked from the Ghorhund to the opening and saw, standing just outside the threshold, the lone figure of Scarpia. Her burned face was contorted with hatred and agony. Her blackened arms were raised aloft and there, suspended above her by some unseen force, was one of the giant urns, its orange flames dancing wildly in the breeze, trails of burning oil pouring down its sides and falling about her.

Espen launched himself forward, vaulting with remarkable speed up the steps of the Dirgheon.

“Go!” he cried. “Now!”

For a moment his companions were startled and simply watched him go, but then Sylas started to climb after him.

Naeo reached out and pulled him back. “No!” she screamed. “If we don’t get away, it’ll all be for nothing.”

He tried to pull away. “But we have to help!”

She grasped his tunic and turned him round, glaring into his eyes. “My father’s torture would be for
nothing
! All
Espen
’s done will be for nothing!”

He glanced back up at Espen’s figure, leaping from step to step, moving with impossible speed and energy, ignoring the pain. Sylas shook his head and looked imploringly at Simia, but found her standing still, her face full of emotion, but firm.

“She’s right…” she said. “We can’t—”

Her eyes were drawn away, up into the sky. A look of terror formed on her face. The urn of burning oil was hurtling high into the night, travelling in a wide arc, trailing fire in its wake. It was heading straight for them.

As it glided through the air, it was tipping, sending down a shower of flame that cascaded over the steps of the Dirgheon, streaming down the steps towards them. Then they saw Espen, standing directly in its path, his hands already turning and twisting in the air.

“For Isia’s sake, go!” he bellowed, never taking his eyes from the sky above.

They looked beyond his flailing arms and saw nothing but the approaching curtain of fire. It seemed hopeless. Sylas wanted to cry out, to do something – but it all seemed too late. And then they heard a new, unearthly sound. At first a low moan, rising to a wail, and then to an ear-splitting scream. It was coming from somewhere near Espen – somewhere directly above him. The urn was sailing over his head now, tipped almost horizontal, gallons of fiery oil plunging down towards him.

But it never reached him.

Suddenly the urn seemed to stop, turn, then twist ferociously in the air, spinning around, flipping over and over, spraying out yet more of the burning oil. But this too was caught by some dark force and hurled around in a wild, swirling vortex. As it spread, it lit up the sky, forming a colossal inverted cone that even at this distance scorched their faces. It was a gigantic, twisting, scalding whirlwind, dancing at Espen’s command.

“He’ll be all right! We have to go!” shouted Ash suddenly, pointing wildly down the side of the pyramid.

Sylas turned to see that the foremost of the Ghorhund were now just ten steps below them, their bared fangs clearly visible, their yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. Reluctantly he sprinted with Naeo to the other contraption and there he looked at its wings and checked the frame. All was as he hoped.

Without any instruction, Naeo went to the far wing and then, as one, they hoisted it into the air. There they paused, turning to watch Simia and Ash preparing to launch, swaying backwards and forwards, counting down.

The great canvas bird plunged forward. Sylas felt a thrill of excitement as he saw it sweep out into the darkness, the broad wings creaking as they took the strain. It hung for a moment in the air. They heard Simia shriek triumphantly as the wind carried them upwards, but then it tilted forward, slewed to one side and began to gather speed, racing down the side of the pyramid. It dropped out of the sky and pitched towards the stone steps. Sylas watched in horror as the line of approaching Ghorhund began leaping into the air, thrashing their limbs, gnashing their teeth.

“Up!” he cried. “Push on the bar!
Push on the bar!
”

But instead of climbing, the glider seemed to dip even lower, diving into the midst of the Ghorhund, the tip of a wing striking one of the beasts and sending it tumbling down the side of the pyramid. The collision righted it a little and then, as the great wings bowed and the nose lifted, it swooped upwards, slicing miraculously past the leaping Ghorhund and claiming its place in the sky. Ash whooped; his hand was no longer on the bar but in the air, conducting a great updraught of wind, which sent them far out over the city below.

Sylas and Naeo watched it drifting away until it was swallowed by the blackness, then they lowered their eyes to the baying horde, now just moments away. They turned to one another, catching each other’s eyes, and smiled.

“Three, two, one…” they said in unison.

They stepped backwards, took two quick steps and threw themselves into the void. For a moment all was silent as if they were floating in nothingness, but then, as they struggled to lift their feet into the sling, they began to fall. Their stomachs turned and the air rushed in their ears as they accelerated: down into the great sea of darkness; down over the ragged stone face, towards the Ghorhund.

One terrace passed below them and then a second and a third. Sylas gasped at the night air, closed his eyes and pushed with all his might against the bar. Suddenly he heard a whip-crack of canvas as it became taught, the creak of timbers as they took the strain. The nose began to lift and then, with a gut-wrenching jerk, they were heaved upwards, gathered by Ash’s great current of wind.

They swooped over the clamour of teeth and claws, over the swarming mass of dark, angular bodies, out into the night.

They let out a whoop of triumph as they shifted to one side, changing the balance of the glider and taking them in a long, banking turn. The Dirgheon came back into view, and above it the whirlwind of fire, snaking up into the dark clouds. In its midst they saw the tumbling, glistening urn, whipping around in wider and wider circles as it ascended towards the heavens. Below there was something else, something solid but on fire, long and thin, twisting and flailing as it whirled about in the wind.

It was a human figure, thrashing about as it burned, shrieking as it tried to break free.

“Scarpia,” said Naeo, turning her eyes away.

Sylas followed the wretched figure for a moment longer, then winced and drew his gaze back to the Dirgheon. He scoured its surface for Espen, but already it was a hopeless task. The steps where he had been standing were aflame, engulfed by burning oil. Between, above and below, the Ghorhund were now leaping and snarling, clawing at the air. They poured into the openings, charging into the chamber while others turned and swarmed on to the other sides of the pyramid, searching its every crevice, examining every stone. There was no escape.

They watched in silence, saying nothing, their eyes searching desperately, hopelessly. They turned the glider in another wide circle, scything around the Dirgheon one more time. They squinted into the torrents of flame, but could see no sign of him. They let the enchanted winds carry them upwards so they could peer into the openings, but they saw that the lavish chamber was now smothered in black bodies: its hangings torn, its tapestries ripped from the walls. They climbed still higher, spiralling up into the night sky until they were above the army of beasts, until the baying and howls faded far below and they were left only with the wind and stone.