In those stories, Numenlaur was a rich, fertile land with olive and eucalyptus trees, a land that other ancients described as flowing with milk and honey, a paradise lost that held palaces, groves and temples more ancient than those found in Egypt and Greece. One, called the Temple of the Gods, supposedly housed statues of the seven Elder Races’ gods that stood several stories high, interspersed with heavy, massive pillars of white marble.
All in all, the place was going to have a pretty tough time living up to the hype.
They reached an area where the canyon floor was bottlenecked. The passage was so narrow they had to walk single file. She gestured for Quentin to go through first. He hadn’t revealed much reaction about their journey in, except for a quick flash of something that looked like real hunger before he managed to shutter his expression. He ought to be the first one to see what was a very important part of his cultural heritage.
Cultural heritage—it was another concept that fascinated her.
They passed around a curve. The passageway opened up, and so did the view.
The canyon ended in profuse greenery. She moved to walk at Quentin’s side. He nudged her and pointed, and that was when she looked at the canyon walls. Two massive, ancient pillars were carved into the bedrock on either side of the canyon’s opening. They rose four or five stories in height.
“They face inward,” said Quentin. “They were not meant for anyone on Earth. They were meant for the Numenlaurians.”
Not placed in an entryway, created to impress the newcomer, but at the exit.
She said, “It used to be important for them to travel out to the rest of the world. It must have cost them a great deal to close the passageway.”
“When I hiked through this area about thirty years ago, I couldn’t sense that anything was here. It was as if the passageway never existed. Somehow they cloaked it. I don’t know of any spell that could have done that, but whatever they did would have taken tremendous Power. If Amras Gaeleval was the guardian, did he maintain the cloaking so that people couldn’t enter? Or did he guard the way so that people couldn’t leave? Maybe he did both.”
Unease trickled down her spine. “That’s a creepy thought.”
The look on his face was cynical. “I’ve got a talent for them.”
They walked out of the passageway, into what was either a hot summer morning or evening. Sunshine slanted at an angle through the nearby trees. She studied the bushes and the long tough grass around the canyon’s entrance. The foliage was too rich for a desert climate, and none of it bore signs of any moisture from morning dew. It was evening, then.
Quentin squatted and ran his hand lightly over the grass as he studied the ground. “If the four Elves passed through here, they did it some time ago. There aren’t any footprints, and there’s no scent.”
She put her hands on her hips as she looked around. “What did Gaeleval do, live like a wild man in the trees? There isn’t anything here except for the pillars carved into the cliffs. Which makes sense since this place wouldn’t have been a priority for any Numenlaurian for … however long of a time has passed in here.”
In Other lands, the lands did not necessarily correspond with the geography that surrounded the passageways that led to them. The sun shone with a different light, and time moved at a different pace. The phenomenon was called time slippage.
Millennia had passed on Earth since Numenlaur closed itself off from the rest of the world. That did not mean that the same amount of time had passed in Numenlaur, although since the event had happened so long ago, the passing of time here had to have been significant in some way.
The length of time was certainly significant enough to leave the entrance to the canyon looking natural and overgrown. If there had been a road or a path through here once, it had disappeared long ago.
She spun backward in a circle, giving the area a second, closer look, and because she was who she was, that meant she looked up.
Set into the cliff beside one pillar, there appeared to be a long ledge. From the ground it was difficult to tell for sure, but the line looked too even to be a natural break in the granite. She tapped Quentin on the shoulder and when he straightened to his full height, she pointed to the ledge. “There. And I think that line that cuts to the left might be a narrow path. See how it goes down gradually?”
“Okay,” he said. He glanced at her. “I don’t suppose you can lift my weight into the air.”
She tapped her foot as she tried to decide how to answer him. Just how sort-of friendly and kind-of cooperative was she feeling toward him today? She was not one of those females who got all gushy just because she had a little fun and a guy gave her a climax. Especially if that guy was someone she had been determined to murder not that long ago.
Finally she admitted the truth. “If we were just going from here to there, I might be able to manage it. Want to give it a try, or do you want to follow the cliff along the ground to see if you can find where that path meets the ground?”
If he annoyed her on the way up, she could always drop him. The thought made her feel better about herself.
“You don’t need to strain yourself for something this unimportant. I’ll see you at the top.” He loped away, his head angled to study the cliff as he went.
She shapeshifted and flew up to the ledge. Once she had landed, she shifted back and looked around with satisfaction. The ledge was much larger than she would have guessed from below. It was wide and spacious, and cut into the cliff itself where there was a finished facade with a door and shuttered windows. The line she had noticed was indeed a narrow path that led up the side of the cliff.
She shrugged out of her pack, let it fall to the floor and tossed her jacket and sweater on top of it. She was tempted to go into the dwelling without waiting for Quentin to catch up, but as she turned her gaze to the view that was visible over the treetops, she lost the impulse and stared.
The landscape rolled out in a downward slope from the passageway area, and a large lake or a sea sparkled a silvery blue in the distance. The edge of land curved around to a promontory where a long, white-pillared building dominated the scene.
The building’s proportions were perfect. It was a monument of graceful simplicity. She shaded her eyes with one hand. Her avian eyesight was especially suited for long distances, and she clearly saw the outline of tall figures in between the pillars.
Other buildings of marble and limestone dotted the coastline, tall beautiful structures of classic design, not quite Greek or Roman—these had been built much earlier—but somehow they were evocative of both.
Along the visible part of the shore, slender piers held graceful Elven ships of ancient design. The sight of ships like these had all but disappeared from Earth itself, where the Elves, along with everybody else, had adopted ships with modern technology and design. On the horizon of the silvery blue water was a dark blue silhouette of land. She squinted, trying to discern details, but she couldn’t tell if the land was an island or another promontory. It was possible they were in the bowl of a very large bay.
Quentin came up the narrow path with sure-footed, confident grace, and he joined her to look out at the view. If he hadn’t come to stand right beside her, she would have missed his quick, quiet intake of breath.
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s stunning. When the Elves break away from hiding everything in the landscape, they really break away in style.”
After a long moment, he turned to glance at the face of the cliff. He gestured to the door. “You didn’t peek inside?”