The Stair Of Time (Book 2) (19 page)

Protracted Edifice

R
ather than the inside of a cozy little cottage, as Eli had every right to expect, the door opened into a round tunnel, roundish anyway, the surface of which was covered, from top to bottom, with cherrywood paneling.  Brass sconces provided a pale, smokeless light that bathed the paneling in a myriad of warm and welcoming hues.

As if unable to hold its breath any longer,
from the cherrywood throat there issued a sudden yet gentle exhalation.  It wafted past Eli, carrying with it the suggestion of carefully tended secrets, of a time long past but not quite forgotten—not by everyone, anyway.

Mingling amongst these secrets was the aroma of rich wood and musty parchment, of scrolls preserved in leather canisters, and of rare and ancient spices, cinnamon and clove
fragrant enough to make Eli’s head swim.

His smile was faint, a guttering candle flame compared to his past joviality, but it was genuine.  He had done it.  And now Mandie would be okay.  He thought this because surely a
woman such as Sarilla, the self-proclaimed greatest soothsayer to ever live, a woman with enough magic to create all that he had witnessed thus far, could cure his little girl.  Sarilla knew Mandie, and so
must
like her.

That was Mandie’s gift.  She was truly good, down to her marrow, pure and without guile.  Everyone who met her liked her, and in time loved her. 
At first it was difficult to believe, especially for those to whom life had been especially cruel, that she was genuine, that someone could be so utterly kind without pretense.  She was an angel in a world of crows, a light to brighten even the darkest of hearts.

Buoyed by a sense of clear purpose,
Eli turned and walked to the wagon.  After feeding Bo an extra large helping of oats, he scooped his beloved Mandie into his arms, whispered some final instructions into Bo’s twitching left ear, and walked back to the entrance. 

And so it was with a deep breath, and with considerably less hesitation than he would have normally shown in such a
situation, that Eli stepped boldly—as boldly as he could manage, anyway—into the tunnel.

When he had taken a total of ten steps across the highly polished cherrywood floor, the surface of which was straight and level, this being the reason for the roundish
description, the door slammed shut.  Eli tried to swallow his heart and just keep walking, but it was no good.  He
had
to know. 

Ten steps later, he was once agai
n standing before the infernal puzzle door, only this time, of course, on its other side.  He set Mandie down with an exasperated sigh and, even though he knew it would be locked, tried the handle.  To his dismay, it turned, but when he tugged on it, exerting what he deemed to be more than sufficient force, the door remained obstinately in place, as though permanently and indelibly affixed.

Spouting an expletive that would have registered about an eight on his mother’s
one to ten expletive scale, he tried again, this time really putting his back into it.  And again, nothing happened.

He was in the middle of spouting another curse, this one at least a nine, perhaps even a ten, when the bottom panel of the door, quick as a flash, spun about, trading places with its other side, so to speak, so that now the outside was
the inside, and vice versa. 

Eli
caught a glimpse of the porch, and then once again was sealed within, a prisoner of his own cleverness—or mayhap stubbornness.  His mother’s words came back to him, spoken with great feeling to him when he was a rough and tumble tike of about seven.  “
Don’t be too quick and curious, lest ya meet the devil with a grin on yer face.” 
Done stirring her watery potato soup, she had pulled out her tin spoon and, with an imperious cackle, pointed at their cat. 
“Unlike Whiskers over there, ye has but one life to spend.  Let her and her ilk confound the devil. The Watcher knows she was born to do it.  And leave the rest for us hardworkin’ folk!”

The inner panel of the door had been blank
, the outer covered with tiles.  Now, staring defiantly up at him, was an entirely
new
puzzle.  But instead of benevolent pictures of flowers and rainbows and such, this one had harsh characters carved into the tiles with angry, slashing strokes. 

Eli
had some vague impression that these might be what preacher Jon referred to as runes.  Beyond that, the only thing he knew about them was that they were utterly incomprehensible to him.  Surely when it came time to leave, Sarilla wasn’t going to make him try and solve this.  Not even a woman, a witch woman to boot, could be that cruel.

It’ll p
robably just open when the time comes,
he decided. 
Or mayhap Mandie will be up an’ around by then, and she can solve it.  Either way, best leave it alone for now.  Best not court trouble before trouble’s due.
 

Sometimes
Eli was grateful for his simple, straightforward way of thinking.  For instance, if not for his unfettered single-mindedness, he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to merely shrug off what could potentially be a life-threatening problem, bend down, pick up Mandie, and continue down the tunnel.  Presently, however, this is precisely what he did.

More than half an hour had passed, and still the tunnel stretched as far as he could see.  True to his nature, Eli wondered more about the exorbitant cost of constructing such a protracted edifice, than about how and why said edifice came into being.  The exterior of the cottage had been small and the tunnel had not descended, not by an inch.

Naturally, there was some trick to it.  But what did he care about the eccentricities of magical folk?  All things led somewhere, and so this must, too.  And so on he walked, once again blissfully insulated by his lack of imagination.

T
hree sea shanties and one lament later—the acoustics were excellent in here—Eli did, in fact, come to a halt.  Looming before him was a great iron door, ten feet tall if it was an inch, secured to the wall with thick, leaf-shaped hinges.

T
hat alone would have been enough to still the steps of this stalwart farmer from Fairhaven.  But there was more.  Standing in front of this door was a fellow who looked as if he should have been dead and buried a
long
time ago.  Outfitted in a suit of rusted chainmail atop boiled leather armor, gently creaking to and fro, was a skeleton that was nearly as tall and as broad as the tunnel itself, spine straight as a board, eye sockets empty and staring, bottomless black pits that could turn the bravest of men into blubbering cowards.  Fortunately, Eli was not the bravest of men.  He was merely a father trying to save his daughter’s life.

Room with a View

Perhaps the most disturbing thing about this skeletal creature, beyond the fact that it existed at all, was that it wasn’t, or rather hadn’t been, entirely human.  Indeed, even without its towering height, there remained a general thickness to its skull that wasn’t quite right, something undeniably alien.  Its forehead sloped out too far by half, approaching an angle that could only be described as unseemly, leaving little room for doubt.

This creature
’s ancestors must have hailed from shores too distant to reach by horse or boat, something for which the people of Eli’s sleepy little hamlet, had they known, would have been eternally grateful.  The thought of an entire race of these things lumbering across the earth, especially in a place like Fairhaven, was enough to freeze the blood and still the heart.

Eli
lowered Mandie carefully to the floor and, with a stern nod to his opponent, pulled his long-handled axe from the sling on his back.

The skeleton raised its halberd
and assumed a defensive stance, weapon perpendicular to its pelvis.

“I’ve no quarrel with you, whatever ya are!”
Eli bellowed, swinging the axe in a graceful arc, voice echoing down the passage with a ferocity that Mandie would not have recognized.  “I keep this axe for choppin’ wood, but if ya don’t let me and mine pass, I suppose it’ll do for choppin’ bone just as well!”

“There isss no need
for thisss,” the skeleton hissed without opening its mouth.  “My missstresss hasss sssaid you may passs, be you Eli Johansssen.”

Thoroughly s
tunned, Eli lowered his axe along with his jaw and waited to see what wonder would befall him next.

The skeleton bowed
low, leaned its halberd against the wall, threw the bolt on the iron lock, and pulled open the door, leaf-shaped hinges squealing in protest.

Inside was a room of which any
Nelvinian worth his or her salt would be proud.  Everything seemed to have been designed to elicit a feeling of comfort and well-being. 
Come in
, it seemed to coo. 
Sit down.  Be at your ease.  Everything is all right now.
 

Like the tunnel, the room was
roundish
,
and had cherrywood paneling.  Unlike the tunnel, it featured a plush leather couch and chair arranged
just so
in front of a large hearth with an arched top similar to those found in Fairhaven’s more well-to-do households.  Brass sconces bearing stained-glass globes provided additional light, filling in the shadows where the hearth left off—casting flickering, prismatic figures against the walls.  Some held hands, engaged in a lively dance, stepping and twirling to a melody only they could hear, their movements as unpredictable as they were mesmerizing.

Eli
picked up Mandie and, with a wary eye to the skeleton, walked inside.  After laying her on the couch, his gentleness belying his bulk, he continued to look about the room, fascinated by all the shelves and cubbies along the walls, by all the scrolls and books and jars and vials full of The Watcher knew what.

“My name isss S
ssholegath,” said the skeleton from behind.  “I am going to ssshut the door now, ssso asss to not let out the warmth.  But do not be alarmed.  If you require anything before my missstresss arrivesss, merely knock and I will sssee to it if I can.”

“How long do you think she’ll be?”
Eli asked.  “Mandie may not have much time.”

“Alasss, it isss not for me to know s
ssuch thingsss,” Sholegath replied as he began to pull the door closed.  “It could be a moment, or an eternity, it isss all the sssame to me.”

Eli started to ask him what in the blue blazes he meant by that, but then the door shut and Sholegath was gone.  It seemed rude to insist upon opening it immediately back up, so he just stood there, staring.  Mayhap if Sarilla didn’t arrive within a reasonable amount of time, say an hour or two, then he would ask.  Hopefully, there’d be no need. 

“Well,” he said with a shake of his head, turning back to the couch, “he’s a cheery fellow, eh, Mandie?”  Of course, he didn’t expect an answer.  She only spoke at random, and never in direct response.

Eli sighed, continuing his perusal of the room.  There were two doors on the far wall, both of which he soon discovered were locked—without keyhole
or
puzzle.

Any that I can see,
he reminded himself. 
You never can tell when it comes to folk like Sarilla.

On his left was a short, dimly lit hallway which opened into another room.  From this room there came two things to tantalize the senses—bright, natural light, almost lik
e sunlight, and the delectable aroma of baking cookies, oatmeal cookies, unless his nose deceived him, just like dear old grandmamma used to make. 

Must be the kitchen,
he thought.

To the left of the left door and the right of the right door, were heavy-duty shutters with iron latches.  To the right of the right shutter was a narrow stairway leading up to a landing upon which one person could comfortably stand.  Tall and
stately at the conclusion of this landing was yet another door.  Further description is unnecessary, for all the doors, fore to aft, looked exactly alike.

Probably her bedroom,
he decided, both comforted and unnerved by how domestic it all seemed, unnerved because, like certain aspects of the exterior, it was as though it was trying
too
hard to be domestic.

“So Mandie, whad’ya think?  The kitchen, the stairs, or the shutters?”  When he was answered only by the crackling of the
fire and Mandie’s steady breathing, he decided to try the shutters, mainly because they were closest.  It never occurred to him to simply sit and wait.  It just wasn’t his nature.  If there was somethin’ he could do to expedite matters, well, by gum, he was gonna do it!

Since he expected to be surprised by what he found behind the shutters, he wasn’t.  After gingerly lifting the iron
hasp and pulling both halves wide, his grinning face was bathed in sunlight.  The window was made up of twenty-six little glass squares, on which, like the infernal puzzle door, were etched more of those angry looking runes, beyond which he could see a lush forest. 

In the center of his view, framed neatly behind the etching of the circle within a circle bisected by a vertical line, stood a covered pavilion with a checkerboard floor and painted wall.  To the left of the pavilion stood an old man, body bristling with enough weapons to start and finish the next war.  He brushed a tall brown gelding, perhaps fifteen or sixteen hands high, its saddle sitting off to the side, reminiscent of an empty tortoise shell, discarded and sad.

Eli banged his palm against the glass and yelled, “Hello!  Can you hear me?  Over here!”

Unhearing, uncaring, or both, the man merely continued his methodical brushing, demeanor bespeaking some deep melancholy just beneath the surface.

“Yesss, I can hear you, Mr. Johansssen,” Sholegath hissed through the door.  “Isss there anything you or yoursss requiresss?”

Startled,
Eli spun about, the childlike guilt on his face comical.  He hadn’t imagined, based on how thick the door looked, that sound would travel so easily, but then of course this was the house of a witch, and so he should take nothing for granted. 

Cursing himself for a fool, he replied, “No, that’s…all right.  I was just checking to see that you could hear me
in case…I needed something later.” 

“Oh yesss, naturally s
sso, Mr. Johansssen.  Ressst asssured, I hear
much.
No need to fret on that count.  Now, if you don’t mind, kindly clossse that ssshutter until my missstresss returnsss.  We ssshouldn’t want to let too much of the warmth out, now ssshould we?  Ssshe would not be bessst pleasssed.  No, not at all.”

“But how did you…uh…I mean to say…yes, I’ll close it.  Sorry.  Didn’t know it was a problem.”

“My thanksss, Mr. Johansssen.  And do not worry.  There isss no problem.  Jussst sssit down and be at your eassse.  My missstresss will be arriving ssshortly.  Word hasss been received.  Yesss it hasss.”

If
Eli had been born with a tail, it would have been tucked betwixt his legs as he shut the shutters, scampered to the sofa, and plopped down, expression the very model of meek.