I regained consciousness. I looked up to see the statue, and I felt, for the first time in a long, long while, safe and secure and deeply, fervently at peace. The suspicion that had been awakened in my mind, the responsibility, the decisions I will be forced to make if that suspicion is true, overwhelmed me. I longed to escape, to disappear, and my hand moved of its own volition, without my prompting, and touched the statue’s robe in a certain place, in a certain way.
The base slid open, but then the enormity of my action must have been too much for me. I suppose I fainted again. The Geg came upon me and, seeking a haven from the melee raging outside, dragged me in here. The base closed automatically and it will stay closed. Only those who know the way in know the way out. Anyone stumbling across an entrance by mistake would never return to tell of it. Oh, they wouldn’t die. The magic, the machine, would care for them, and care for them very well. But they would be prisoners for the rest of their lives.
Fortunately, I know the way in, I know the way out. But how can I explain this to the Geg?
A terrible thought occurred to Alfred. By law, he should leave her here. It was her own fault, after all. She shouldn’t have entered the sacred statue. But then Alfred considered, with a pang of conscience, that perhaps she had endangered herself for him—trying to save his life. He couldn’t just abandon her. He knew he couldn’t, no matter what the law said. But right now it was all so confusing. If only he hadn’t given way to his weakness!
“Don’t stop!” Jarre clutched at him.
“Stop what?”
“Talking! It’s the quiet! I can’t stand listening to it! Why can’t we hear anything in here?”
“It was made that way purposely,” said Alfred with a sigh. “Designed to offer rest and sanctuary.” He had reached a decision. It probably wasn’t the right one, but then, he’d made few right decisions in his lifetime. “I am going to lead us out of here, Jarre.”
“You know the way?”
“Yes.”
“How?” She was deeply suspicious.
“I can’t explain it. In fact, you will see many things that you won’t understand and that I can’t explain. I can’t even ask you to trust me, because, of course, you don’t, and I can’t expect you to.” Pausing, Alfred considered his next words. “Let’s look at it like this: you can’t get out this way. You’ve tried. You can either stay here or you can come with me and I’ll show you the way out.”
Alfred heard the Geg draw breath to speak, but he forestalled her.
“There’s one more thing you should consider. I want to return to my people just as desperately as you want to go back to yours. The child you saw is in my care. And the dark man with him needs me, although he doesn’t know it.” Alfred was silent a moment, thinking of the other man, the one who called himself Haplo, and it occurred to him that the silence was loud in here, louder than he’d remembered.
“I’ll go with you,” said Jarre. “What you say makes sense.”
“Thank you,” answered Alfred gravely. “Now, hold still one moment. This stairway is steep and dangerous without light.”
Alfred reached out his hand and felt the wall behind him. It was made of stone, like the tunnels, and was smooth and even. Running his hand along the surface, he had nearly reached the juncture where the wall met the stairs when his fingers brushed over lines and whorls and notches carved in the stone. They formed a distinct pattern, one that he knew. Tracing his finger over the rough edges of the carving, following the lines of the pattern he could see clearly in his mind, he spoke the rune.
The sigil beneath his fingers began to glow with a soft, radiant blue light. Jarre, seeing it, caught her breath and sank backward, pressing herself against the wall. Alfred gave her a soothing, reassuring pat on the arm and repeated the rune. A sigil carved beside and touching the first caught the magical fire and began to glow. Soon, one after the other, a line of runes appeared out of the darkness, running the length of the steep staircase. At the bottom, they curved around a corner leading to the right.
“Now it’s safe for us to go down,” said Alfred, rising and brushing the dust of ages from his clothes. Keeping his words and actions purposefully brisk, his tone matter-of-fact, he held out his hand to Jarre. “If I might be of assistance?”
Jarre hesitated, gulped, and hugged her shawl closely around her. Then, pressing her lips together, her face grim, she rested her small work-worn hand in Alfred’s. The blue-glowing runes glittered brightly in her fearful eyes. They descended the stairs swiftly, the runes making it easy to see the way. Hugh would not have recognized the bumbling, stumble-footed chamberlain. Alfred’s movements were surefooted, his stance erect. He hurried ahead with an anticipation that was eager, yet wistful and tinged with melancholy. Reaching the bottom of the steep staircase, they found that it opened into a small narrow corridor; a veritable honeycomb of doorways and tunnels branched off it in countless directions. The blue runes led them out of the corridor and into a tunnel—third from their right. Alfred followed the sigla unhesitatingly, bringing with him a wide-eyed and awestruck Jarre. At first the Geg had doubted the man’s words. She had lived among the delvings and burrowings of the Kinsey-winsey all her life. Gegs have a keen eye for minute detail and excellent memories. What looks to be a blank wall to a human or an elf holds a myriad of individual characteristics—cracks, crevices, chipped paint—for a Geg, and once seen, is not soon forgotten. Consequently, Gegs do not easily lose themselves, either above ground or below. But Jarre was almost instantly lost in these tunnels. The walls were flawless, perfect and completely devoid of the life that a Geg can find, even in stone. And though the tunnels branched out in all directions, they did not turn and twist or ramble. There was no indication anywhere that a tunnel had been built just for the hell of it, out of a sense of adventure. The corridors ran straight and smooth and gave the impression that wherever you were going, they’d get you there the quickest route possible, and no nonsense. Jarre recognized in the design a sense of strong purpose, a calculated intent that frightened her by its sterility. Yet her strange companion seemed to find it comforting, and his confidence eased her fear.
The runes led them in a gentle curve that kept taking them to their right. Jarre had no idea how far they traveled, for there was no feeling of time down here. The blue sigla ran on before them, lighting their path, each flaming to life out of the darkness as they neared it. Jarre became mesmerized by them; it seemed as if she walked in a dream and might have kept walking forever as long as the runes led the way. The man’s voice added to this eerie impression, for—as she had asked—he talked the entire time.
Then, suddenly, they rounded a corner and Jarre saw the sigla climb into the air, form a glowing archway that burned and glistened in the darkness, inviting them to enter. Alfred paused.
“What is it?” Jarre asked, starting out of her trance, blinking, and tightening her grip on Alfred’s hand. “I don’t want to go in there!”
“We have no choice. It’s all right,” said Alfred, and there was that note of wistful melancholy in his voice. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I’m not stopping because I’m afraid. I know what’s in there, you see, and . . . and it only makes me sad, that’s all.”
“We’ll go back,” said Jarre suddenly, fiercely. She turned and took a step, but almost immediately the runes that had showed the way behind them flared a bright blue, then slowly began to fade. Soon the two were surrounded by darkness, the only light coming from flickering blue sigla outlining the archway.
“We can go in now,” said Alfred, drawing a deep breath. “I’m ready. Don’t be frightened, Jarre,” he added, patting her hand. “Don’t be frightened by anything you see. Nothing can harm you.”