Voice Of The Demon (Book 2) (12 page)

She folded her hands in her lap. ‘The point is, Finn, I don’t know how much I can help. I don’t know why Robert told you to trust me.’ If Robert trusted her, why wouldn’t he answer her calls? How could just mindspeaking with her over a great distance be dangerous?

Finnlay shrugged, but didn’t give her the first answer he thought of – she could see that much. ‘Perhaps he thinks that you can give the questions a fresh look.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Jenn replied with a laugh, only slightly bitter. ‘You are getting much better at this. Well, since you’re doing so well, perhaps you could answer a few important questions for me. For example, why would focusing in on the properties of the Key help Robert find that silver rod? Are the Key and the Calyx connected in some way? Were they made by the same person – at the same time?’

‘They are connected, but I’m not sure how. The Key is supposed to know where the Calyx is, so I guess Robert assumed there had to be some similar properties. The Key was made shortly before the founding of the Enclave. The Calyx has been around for many centuries prior to that.’

‘How do you know?’

‘There are two books which describe it. One is the
Flail an Feer
, a compendium which dates back almost a thousand years. There were several copies made originally, but I’ve only seen the two in our library here. The other book is a kind of mystical examination of why sorcerers have powers in the first place. It’s called
The Homily of Karastican
, which some believe is older than the
Flail
. Most of it is sentimental rubbish, but there are a few interesting themes. Neither, however, really tell us what the Calyx looks like, nor how we’re supposed to find it. It’s only in later books that there is mention that the Key will reveal where the Calyx is.’

‘But they do tell you it’s important?’

‘Absolutely. In the
Flail
it says “the Calyx holds all we would hold powerful”. The
Homily
terms it differently, referring instead to our sacred right to its wealth and treasure. Most of all, they both state without ambiguity that
within lies the way we can live with normal people and leave this mountain prison.’

‘But. . .’ Jenn’s voice trailed off as she frowned, pointing a single finger in Finnlay’s direction. ‘If both books pre-date the Enclave – how can the Calyx tell you to be free of a prison that hadn’t existed yet?’

‘Well, that’s simp—’ Finnlay came to a complete stop. He shook his head, crossed his ankles and leaned back on his elbows. ‘I have no idea.’

‘Unless it referred to a different kind of prison. I can’t see that it matters. After all, the Key’s prophecy hasn’t even mentioned the Calyx. What I want to know is why it would conceive a prophecy in the first place? Isn’t there supposed to be some purpose behind prophecy?’

‘Not necessarily,’ Finnlay smiled. ‘Prophecy is supposed to be a blind statement of faith that something will happen. If it’s going to happen anyway, we wouldn’t necessarily need to be warned.’

‘Except that we have been, haven’t we?’ As the smile left Finn’s face, Jenn nodded slowly. ‘Look, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Where can I get some decent food around here?’

‘Well, that’s easy. You can’t. However, I can tell you where to get some reasonable food. After that, I suggest you get some more sleep.’

‘Why? Do I look so bad?’

‘No, not at all. It’s just that I think exhaustion is wearing down your defences. You’ve started being nice to me.’

Jenn swung her arm and punched his shoulder. With a mock cry of pain he scrambled to his feet and held out his hand to help her up. She looked up at him, at the resemblance between him and Robert. In some ways, talking to Finnlay was like talking to Robert – except Finnlay didn’t avoid all the difficult questions. But there was still one she had to ask him.

She took his hand and stood, brushing her skirt down. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t ask, but is there something going on between you and Fiona I should know about?’

His eyes went wide – and he actually blushed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You didn’t have to include her last night. You could have waited until she’d gone to her rooms before telling me the whole story. But no, you wanted her to be there, to be a part of it. Your first questions to me were about her. What’s going on, Finnlay? Come on, tell me.’

‘Nothing’s going on. Absolutely nothing. You’ve got it all wrong. Fiona’s been in love with Robert for years. Oh, he never knew, really. You know how he is – he treats everyone equally. But Fiona absolutely hates me. She’s always blamed me for scaring Robert away from the Enclave. Then Robert married Berenice. It didn’t seem to matter to Fiona that the marriage had been arranged when they were just children. Now I’m sure Fiona blames me for getting Robert banished. Trust me, she would never even look at me. She just thinks I’m a pale copy of my glorious brother.’

‘Oh really?’ Jenn enquired, ‘and I suppose that’s why she never takes her eyes off you when you’re in the same room. Nor am I the only one who’s noticed. Still, I’m sure you’re right. Well, I’m going to eat. Bye, Finn.’

*

Finnlay liked the new library principally because it was nothing like the old one. Instead of being dark and musty, this room was long, light and airy. The ceiling of the cave sloped up sharply, like the arches of Saint Bastion’s Church in Ballochford. Ventilation shafts had been chipped out of the stone centuries before, wide enough for a man to crawl through and covered by gauze frames. Along the walls were dozens of tables, large and small, with a bewildering array of chairs and stools arranged around them. Running down the centre of the room were two enormous racks of books. There were three doors, one at either end and a third in the centre of the south wall. Beyond that door was the map room, Acelin’s private hobby. Not that there were too many maps in there at the moment, but he had hopes.

And as Finnlay suspected, Acelin was in attendance, perched on a ladder, changing the wick in one of the oil lamps which hung from the high ceiling on a long chain.
Finnlay came to a halt beneath the ladder and squinted up at the shadowed ceiling.

‘Why don’t you try that design Patric drew up for you? If you put the chain through a pulley you could bring the lamp down to the ground to do that kind of thing.’

Acelin barely glanced at him. ‘It works fine the way it is.’ With big hands already blackened with ancient ink stains, Acelin finished replacing the wick, lit it with the candle perched on top of the ladder and screwed the glass back down. He blew out the candle and slowly descended the ladder. His long wiry frame seemed to suit the equipment, his legs almost as long as the supports, like a tall, grey-haired spider.

‘What do you want, Finnlay – apart from trying to tell me how to do my job?’

Finnlay backed out of the way as Acelin folded up the ladder. ‘I. . .’ he began, but Acelin just hefted the ladder on to his shoulder and disappeared into the map room. Well, he had to come back. There was no other way out of the library.

With a shrug, Finnlay turned into the double row of bookshelves. He wandered along the silent passage until he reached the end. He was about to turn back when a movement caught his eye. He stopped, took a step back and looked again. It was Fiona, curled up on a big chair with three books laid out in front of her.

Finnlay glanced over his shoulder, but Acelin hadn’t reappeared yet. He cleared his throat and said, ‘What are you doing?’

Fiona didn’t even look up. ‘Reading.’

‘Oh?’ Finnlay came around the corner a bit more. ‘What?’

‘Books.’

Stupid question. He tried again. ‘Look, Fiona, I wanted to apologise for last night …’

Fiona snapped her book shut, collected the others together and dropped her feet to the floor. ‘By the mass! Finnlay Douglas apologizing? Well, I knew it was a good idea to come to the library at this time of day, when most good folk are busy at work. I thought it was just because I could get
some peace and quiet. Little did I know the honour that would befall me.’

She was already packed up and walking off before Finnlay could form a complete sentence. He took one step after her. ‘Fiona?’

She stopped. ‘Yes?’ He faltered, and she took the opportunity to speak, her voice level and completely without inflection. ‘Forget it, Finnlay. Jenn’s not here so you can stop pretending we’re friends.’

‘No, I . . .’ But she was already walking away and he could do nothing to stop her.

‘Well?’

Finnlay turned around to find Acelin standing behind him polishing his eyeglass with a grubby cloth.

‘What did you want? Or did you just come in here to scare my customers away?’

‘Patric has been at me to put my time to some use. He said something about you needing help to translate some of the older books because nobody can read them any more.’

Acelin eyed him derisively. ‘And you’ve come to volunteer?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘And how long will this last?’ Acelin turned away and began striding up the aisle. Finnlay almost had to run to keep up with him. ‘Do you really think I want to be giving you some of my most valuable manuscripts just so you can play with them until you get bored? You’ve never stuck with anything in your whole life. I know you.’

‘Look, just wait!’ Finnlay grabbed a sleeve and brought the tall man to a halt. ‘It’s up to you, but I would like you to give me some work. I will finish it, I promise.’

Acelin studied him for a second, then nodded. ‘Very well. How’s your Saelic?’

‘Well . . .’

*

Wilf wandered into his bedroom, pulled off the dull grey robe and let it drop to the floor. He didn’t even bother to remove his shirt. He just tore back the bed covers and sank on to the pillows, drained of all energy. He felt far older than
his sixty-five years; in every bone of his body he ached with defeat. After last night, he needed a nap. Sleep. Any rest at all.

It was too much for one man to have to deal with. Jaibir or not, the Key had chosen the wrong person for this responsibility. He’d handled it all wrong, charged at the poor girl like she was a proven criminal and in the end, he’d achieved absolutely nothing.

Would just asking her have made a difference? Would she have been prepared to take the oath?

Probably not. Not after Finnlay had spoken to her. Damn him. Damn them all!

Most especially, damn Robert Douglas.

For twenty years Robert had been lying to them. Every time he’d come within the caves, his very presence had been a lie. It didn’t matter whether the Key had forbidden him to speak about the original message. What mattered was that for twenty long years, Robert had insisted that the message was private. For him alone. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the Enclave.

And he was supposed to be a man of honour! That’s what everybody always said. Robert Douglas – couldn’t even bring himself to break his oath to the King. No, couldn’t go about saving his own beloved country because it would betray his sense of honour. But he certainly could go on lying to people who were supposed to be his friends, people who relied on and trusted in him. But Robert’s honour was nothing more than an abstract concept. When applied up close, he saw nothing wrong in breaking his own rules.

Wilf turned on the bed, trying to get comfortable, but there were lumps in the mattress and the pillows kept squeezing out from under his head. No matter which way he went he couldn’t even get close to that cool dark place where sleep dwelled. The only comfort he could feel was the abstract touch of the Key.

‘I did it wrong, didn’t I?’ he asked of the air, of the Key. He knew it wouldn’t hear him, but continued anyway. ‘I just wish I understood what you want from me. Am I supposed to lead these people or am I supposed to just stand by and
watch as those two fulfil some prophecy I can’t even comprehend?’

He lay there for a long time, simply not thinking. Then, his mind still wide awake even as his body craved rest, Wilf rose again and got dressed. He left his rooms and stepped out into the passage. He kept going until he reached the great cavern.

It wasn’t empty. Two of his fellow councillors sat on a bench in the far corner, quietly chatting. People walked along the balconies, down the steps, across the floor. There were also two boys playing near the door of the chamber. They shouldn’t be there, but Wilf said nothing to them. He just walked up to the Key and gazed at it for a long time. Then, his mind only half-focused, he spoke aloud.

‘Well? If you can’t give me what I want, what can you give me?’

The two in the corner stopped their conversation and looked at Wilf as though he were a madman. He paid them no attention. He just stood there, waiting. He would wait all afternoon – all night if he had to. Yes, that’s exactly what he would do. Give the Key no choice but to speak to him.

And then it happened.

Like the passage of a cloud across the moon, the entire cavern went dark. Not pitch black, but a half-dazed grey, close to sleep, like the dreaming of a child. Wilf felt a pressure on his back, on his shoulders. It wasn’t unbearable, but it did hurt. And there was a sound. No, lots of sounds. Something like voices chanting, but the words were meaningless, just noises out of the darkness.

Suddenly the grey was swept away by a searing light. Wilf fell to his knees, choking for air. It was too hot. Stifling, draining heat. Burning his throat, his eyes, the flesh from his bones. He gasped, unable to breathe. Then just as suddenly, it stopped.

He was looking down. On a room. Round, with walls so high the people standing there were tiny, like a circle of ants on a dirt floor. They were chanting. Wilf was stuck high above them, a hanging effigy. Then things began to move, slowly at first, but then faster and faster until he couldn’t
begin to take it in. Something appeared on the floor between the people. It was black and round, but before he could reach out and touch it, it was gone, the room with it. Once again he was beaten back by the heat and a sun so scorching it could incinerate him in seconds. Again images flashed by him too quickly to grasp and abruptly the darkness folded in on him again, cool now after the heat. Calm again like that other presence in his mind.