The Stair Of Time (Book 2) (34 page)

W
ishing that he could take a deep breath to steady his nerves, he turned the belt until the sheath hung at a more serviceable angle.  Concerned that the leather was too old to be relied upon, he tugged and prodded where it was weakest.  It creaked in displeasure at his rude treatment, but overall appeared to be in remarkably good condition.

Okay, n
ow for the hard part,
he thought, reaching for the sword.  Grasping only the blade, one palm above, one below, he pulled, freeing even more dust, grimacing at the sick, papery sound of his own desiccation.  When he’d worked it all the way out, he wiped the blade on his pant leg and eased the sword into its sheath.

It
’s not like I’m stealing,
he reasoned. 
It is mine, after all.  I mean, it was I who dreamt of it back in the caves.  And I who awoke to find it and the amulet on the bed.  So what if that “I” is now dead, sitting in a pathetic heap of dusty old bones, it was still I, which means I have more claim to it than anyone else—certainly more than anyone other than another version of myself.  Question is, did my future self go mad or not?  Is there something inhabiting the sword or not?

H
e would soon find out the answer to this, as well as a whole host of other questions.  But not here.  Not now.  Not until, at the very least, he was safely back to the clockwork stair.  The ludicrous nature of this thought brought a wan smile to his face, and he was glad, for with it came courage.

He turn
ed to dash out the room, and then remembered the amulet.  He didn’t want to pull the thing from his future self’s moldered neck, yet knew he must.  It was important.  Obviously, there was some part it still had to play in all this.  Otherwise, why would it have appeared with the sword?

Finding no clasp, he raised the chain over the yellow bone of his grinning skull, pulled it past his luxurious mane of gray hair, and slipped it into the pouch on his newly acqui
red belt.  He didn’t know what effect breaking the chain might have—probably none, but why take the chance when he didn’t have to?

“Sorry,” he told his skeleton.  “And thanks for the warning.  I’ll try to make sure your effort wasn’t wasted.” 
Of course, his future self gave no reply, countenance frozen, as always, in a caricature of eternal agony.

And so without further ado, Andaris darted from the room into the hall, torch in his left hand, sword in his right—his mundane sword, that is.  Down the hall, up the stairs, and into—thank Rodan it was still there!—the ballroom with the dancing Lenoy.

He was extremely curious about the rooms his future self had
described.  Indeed, the urge to go exploring before he left was great.  Not nearly so great, however, as the urge to save Mandie and, to a lesser degree, himself.  Perhaps one day, if he were able to unravel how it all worked, he would return.  But first, he had to survive the trip back through the confounded clockwork stair.

Book of Illusions

The clocks have stopped,

All times unwound,

The words are writ,

The books are bound.

What’s
yet to come,

Must still be told,

As years and yarn,

And maps unfold.

No choice is made,

That has to be,

So now I beg,

And plead with me.

So much to you,

Remains unknown
,

L
ife and death,

N
ot in stone.

Reset the gears,

Temptations damned,

Refuse the power,

Gold and land.

You live your life
,

Both now and then
,

Until yourself
,

You meet again
.

The rites of birth,

Denied us all,

But offered here,

To guide
a fall.

Remember well,

Your goal to start,

Or let your mind,

Destroy your heart.

   
  
Book of Illusions:  12:18

Endollin

As Andaris stepped from the tapestry room onto the landing, a warm breeze caressed his skin, welcoming him back.  The circular stairs with their gleaming steps stretched into the distance, as far as the eye could see.

At present, the landing was not connected to anything.  It
extended three to four feet past the base of the green door, beyond which lay naught but open air.  He imagined what it might feel like to leap over the edge, and to fall and fall and fall for who knew how long before hitting bottom—if bottom there be.  He resisted said urge and, with considerable reluctance, turned around and looked back into the ballroom.  

As you might expect, he felt a mixture of r
elief and trepidation, fearing, as so often is the case, that the cure would prove worse than the disease.  He already missed the sunshine and firelight, preferring it greatly to the diffused glow of the clockwork stair.  He was both afraid to close the door, and afraid to leave it open.

What if, for instance,
the door locked and the platform remained disconnected?  He might not be able to get back in?  Where would he be then?  Trapped on a four-by-four square of grating, peering into the glowing abyss, waiting to starve to death?  He could try leaping to one of the other landings that protruded from one of the other doors, but didn’t think he would make it.

So
on the surface, without the benefit of thorough analysis, leaving the door ajar seemed to be the reasonable choice.  Should he peer deeper, however, which of course he must, the flaw in his logic would become apparent.  In other words, what if whatever had so compelled and befuddled his future self came for
him
while he slept, drawing him once more to the room where he would spend eternity.  He shivered.

No doubt s
ummoned by his goose flesh, a distant moaning was borne on the breeze.  It possessed, as such sounds so often do, an almost human quality, a forlorn lament that made him think of dark seas swelling with bodies, arms reaching skyward, eyes pleading for help.  He shivered again and, before he could talk himself out of it, slammed the door shut.

He couldn’t help but smile as he heard the internal click of a lock. 
But his faded as he realized that he stood face to face with the note that had been tacked so haphazardly to the door, the note that, until now, he had forgotten even existed.

He frowned, for though he recognized the symbols on the parchment as Lenoy runes, he
still
could not read them.  He had been able to read such letters while inside.  So, why not now?  Perhaps, whatever magic had been at work before was once again barred by the closed door.

That was a comforting thought, for that
hopefully meant the entity beyond the door could no longer reach
him.
  But it was also an annoying thought, since he had not remembered the note until the door was shut.  Could he have read it while it was open?  Against his better judgment, he tried the handle.  He couldn’t help himself, he was just too curious.  As expected, it was locked tight.

W
hat now?
he wondered, letters swimming with nauseating abandon before his eyes.  He concentrated harder, determined to make sense of it.  He’d done it inside.  If only he could remember and apply it here.  This might be important.  As a matter of fact, he felt certain it was.

Even if—
when, he corrected—a staircase comes, I won’t be able to leave without understanding what this says.
  He had considered untacking it, folding it up, and slipping it into his pouch.  Decipher it another day.  But what if something happened to it?  What if he lost it or, worse, it crumbled to dust?

It was then that Andaris remembered the sword.  He looked down at the silver hilt with
distrust.  According to his future self, the sword contained the soul of a Lenoy named Endollin.  Provided this was true, maybe
he
could read the note. 
Can he see?
he wondered. 
Yes, of course he can.  Through my eyes….

Slipping into a
quasi-catatonic state, Andaris reached across his body with his right hand and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the sword.  At first he felt nothing unusual.  The metal was smooth and cool, a thing of sleek, flowing beauty.  Then, just as he’d decided he’d been mistaken, both now
and
in the future, he felt a warm tingling course up his arm.

Who disturbs my rest?
asked a raspy, quavering voice.  Andaris realized it was speaking directly into his mind. 
The gray hawk flies at night, you know.  I’ve seen it.  Beneath a blood red moon it soars, the crimson eye winking with glee at the neverending depths of my sacrament.  Here I lay, eternity’s fool, a jester for all courts, immortality dangling before me, always just beyond reach.  Now answer me!  Who’s there?

Andaris jerked his hand away.  He thought he’d been ready for anything, but apparently was wrong.  The sword
did
talk!  Which meant, his future self hadn’t been mad, after all.  Well, at least when it came to this.  This was incredible!  Almost too much to believe.  He carried not just a sword on his hip—but a god!  The wind punctuated this thought with another soulful moan.

“Oh…be quiet!” he yelled.  And to his surprise, it did.
  When Andaris’ heart slowed to a steady gallop, he took several deep breaths and, once again, grasped the hilt.

Who’s there?
the voice demanded
.  I would know the name of my new master.

“It’s me,” Andaris answered meekly.  “Andaris Rocaren of Fairhaven
, third son of Edward Rocaren.  Umm…Endollin?”

Directions

Yes,
answered the sword,
I believe I was called that once, though by whom I do not…recall.  I’ve had so many names since the time of my becoming, since I was flesh and blood.  The centuries swirl into utter insignificance.  What’s in a name I ask?  What does it matter?  What does anything matter?  Ekthellin doth tol ray vu.  Nik tanith del enverin esh…aluthia!
 

“Do you mind if I call you Endollin?” Andaris asked.

Foolish boy!  If nothing matters, then why would I mind?

Andaris smiled.  He had a point.  “Okay then…Endollin.  Will you read this note to me?”

Read it yourself!  I’m not your slave, you know.  Just your sword.

“But I can’t,” Andaris had been about to say.  “It’s written in Lenoy
.” When suddenly he realized he
could.
  Apparently, as long as his hand remained upon Endollin’s hilt, he could read Lenoy just fine:

By now you’ve figured out, as I have, and had in your “now,” that time is in eternal flux, provided eternity can still be defined, that is.  I came back here again and again, until at last I found the sword and amulet still in the room.  That’s when I knew I had gotten here before I got here,—if ya catch my meaning.

I have spent many years unraveling the mysteries of the confounded clockwork stair.  On the back of this page, I have written directions to where you can find Gaven
—your Gaven.  Once you do, the two of you should make your way back to Gramps as soon as possible.  Mandie is waiting.

There is much to divulge.  More depends on our success than you realize.  Unfortunately, I can
’t tell you without fear of polluting the timeline, and thus inadvertently affecting the future for the worse.  Suffice it to say, this is not just about us, Mandie, and Gaven. Far greater things are afoot.  More than you can now imagine.

As you might have surmised, it is I who left the markers to this place, as I must have done before I found them myself.  I hope this finds you before it
’s too late, and that I come here as I did the first time…before it’s too late.  Good luck!  You’re going to need it!

Directions to Gaven

Wait on landing for two hours.  When second staircase arrives, climb three hundred and twenty-seven steps.  Take stairway on left. Descend two hundred and twenty-six steps.  Wait on landing with sixteen stairways for two days.  Take stairway on right, second from the end.  It will have red paint on the railings.  Climb one thousand, three hundred, and thirty-four steps to a shiny metal door in a wall of doors. 

It will open into a
real world,—as real as they get anyway,—to a place called Adrianna, a rural paradise that will remind you strongly of home.

I know what you’
re thinking, but don’t worry. You are not king, and Adrianna is not at war. Even so, don’t let Gaven talk you into staying!  Provided the timing works as it should, you will find him in a tavern,—big surprise,—called The Roasting Pig.  It will be eleven o’clock at night, and Gaven will be deep into his cups,—also a big surprise, eh?  This tavern is located on the east side of Endwood, a town two miles southwest of the door. 

Th
e door opens into Eldorana Forest. After you locate Gaven, use the map to find your way back, as the door will become invisible once you go through.  The word to make it reappear is “Tilathia.”  You must stand directly before the door and say the word loud and clear, enunciating like a Lenoy.

After you are back to the confounded clockwork stair, the map will lead you topside.  Failure is not an option.  No matter what it takes, you must exit the way you came
in.  Good luck! Oh and by the way, the amulet opens the box.

***

Andaris folded the paper, put it reverently into his pack, and whistled. 
Well, what do ya know about that?
he thought.

I don’t know anything about it!
Endollin snapped, startling him. 
Why should I?  If you think I can predict the present, future, and past, merely because I am one of the ancients, then you are sadly mistaken.  I am but a whisper of my former self, a shadow without body or light.  True, I am still far superior to you.  But then that’s not saying much, is it?  I have forgotten more than you will ever know, my young friend.  Even as I speak I—

Andaris let go the hilt.  He wasn’t in the mood to be
patronized by a sword, especially his own. 
You and Ashel would get along famously,
he thought.  He had many questions for Endollin, but for the moment was more interested in the map. 
Hope I’m not supposed to leave the note tacked to the door for the next Andaris.
 
Don’t think I can remember all that, and I don’t have enough parchment to copy it.  Strange how much longer it was when I could read it.  Before it looked like a single line.  Two at the most.

He sat down with a sigh
, wincing at the disgruntled crackling of his joints.  From his pack he withdrew first the box and then the amulet, placing them before his bent knees with care.

It does look like it might fit,
he thought, running his forefinger over the silvery perfection of its outer and then inner circles, peering deep into its crimson eye.  The ruby was possessed of undeniable beauty, meticulously crafted eons ago by a singularly gifted artisan.  It was flawless.  Perfect in every way.

While peering
into the inscrutable, multifaceted heart of the thing, Andaris became aware of something, or of
someone,
peering back.  From the other side. 
It’s like a mirror,
he thought, the beginnings of a childlike grin on his face, wonder temporarily softening newly formed lines of hardship. 
And yet there’s more beyond the surface, much more.  It’s like…gazing into eternity.

At that
precise moment, from deep within the heart of the ruby, there came a soft pulse of light.  The amulet vibrated gently, almost cooing to him, seeming hungry for his attention. 
It longs to be held,
he realized, the tip of his finger growing pleasantly warm.  It pulsed again, this time more brightly, and then again, keeping a regular beat.  Andaris felt his heart pulse in time. 
It calls to me,
he thought. 
Yet it yearns for one thing above all else—to be reunited with the box.

And so it was with trembling hands that Andaris lifted the amulet and placed it delicately into the waiting lid.  There was a bright flash of light, first from the amulet, then from the newly defined seam.  Andaris raised his arms and averted his eyes.

When he looked back, he saw that amulet and box were now one, seeming indelibly affixed, reunited by the ubiquitous hand of fate.  The seam between lid and body, the one that had so inconveniently vanished upon entering this place, was once again distinct. 

I
n a brazen display of uncustomary carelessness, Andaris reached out, took hold of the hasp, and lifted.  He was almost disappointed when he found no dog-bird-dragon-monkey thing making ready to burst forth and fly into the air, ridiculous paws dangling in the whirlwind created by the furious flapping of underdeveloped wings.  He was heartened, however, to find the pages of the map intact and undamaged—just as he’d left them.