“Fateless,” Travis said, and stepped through the gate.
37.
It was like a garden.
Travis walked down a broad avenue, shaded from the sun by date palms arching overhead. Lindaravines, lush with yellow blooms, cascaded down walls and coiled above arched gates through which the music of falling water drifted. Beyond they glimpsed cool, dim, green spaces.
“This is impossible,” Grace said, gazing around. “This place has been buried for three thousand years. How can there be trees?”
Larad reached out, brushing an orange flower that grew from a niche in a wall. “I half expect the people to start coming out of their doors. It’s as if the city is just as they left it eons ago.”
“Just as they left it,” Farr repeated the words, casting back the hood of his robe. “You may be right, Runelord. This may indeed be how Morindu looked when it was abandoned.”
As Grace had said, that was impossible. All the same, Travis was certain Farr was right. He had expected to find a desolate ruin; instead, here was Morindu at the height of its power and splendor.
Except its people are gone. They turned to dust three thousand years ago, while these walls, even these flowers, remain.
A sleek black form moved past Travis, gold eyes seeking, hands at the ready. He was wrong; Morindu’s people weren’t gone. They had endured over the years in exile, their blood passing from father to daughter, from mother to son. And now, after all this time, they had returned.
“I will scout ahead,” Vani said to Avhir. “Watch behind us, but do not stray far. There is no telling what remains here.”
Travis studied Vani’s face, trying to see what she was feeling. All the Mournish were descended from the exiled people of Morindu the Dark. But she was a scion of the royal line of Morindu, heir to its ruling class of sorcerer‑priests. This was her city.
He touched her shoulder, meeting her eyes. “You’re home, Vani.”
For a moment, it seemed her gold eyes shone with wonder. Then they narrowed. “Be on your guard,” she said, and kept moving.
They came to a square where two broad avenues intersected. In the center of the square, water droplets sprayed up from a fountain, bright as jewels, and fell back into a pool green with water lilies.
“Water,” Larad said, hurrying forward and dipping his hands into the fountain. He looked up, surprise on his face. “It’s cool.”
“Be careful,” Vani said, circling around the fountain.
Grace opened her eyes. “No, this water is pure. It won’t harm us.”
Larad brought cupped hands to his mouth, drinking deeply, then splashed water on his face and neck. All of them followed suit. Travis had never tasted such sweet water before. It soothed his parched tongue and throat, and it seemed to cool the fire in his veins a few degrees. At last he lifted his head, pushed his dripping hair from his face.
“Where do we go now?” he said, looking at Vani.
She gazed at Farr. “If Nim truly is a nexus, they will be taking her to the throne room.”
Grace turned around. “But where is it? This city is huge. It would take us days to explore it. Weeks.”
Buildings rose in all directions around the square: low, rectangular dwellings, stair‑stepped ziggurats, spires, and burnished domes that called to mind the sheltered sanctuary of temples. All were fashioned of the same glassy black stone as the outer walls of the city.
“There,” Farr said, pointing toward a dome that soared above all others. Unlike any other building, it was gilded with intersecting lines and circles of gold filigree, shining as if molten in the sunlight. “Gold was a sign of power and royalty in ancient Morindu.”
That was good enough for Travis. “Let’s go.”
They followed a wide avenue into the heart of the city, toward the dome traced with gold. The buildings to either side grew grander the farther they went, and each plaza they traversed contained ever more elaborate statuary: gigantic stone lions with the wings of eagles, or obelisks inscribed with angular symbols. Above them, tall spires reached toward the sky. Which of them was the one the Scirathi had entered? Had they already reached the throne room?
No, Travis. If the sorcerers had discovered the blood of Orъ, you wouldn’t still be here, walking, breathing. There’s still time.
They reached a grand arch dripping with lindaravines. Beyond was a garden moister and more lush than anything they had passed so far. Water tumbled over stone, pooling in dim grottoes. Statues peered between green fronds with lapis eyes. The scent of flowers made the air thick and sweet.
“Beware,” Vani said as Larad bent his face toward a large, bloodred bloom. “There are flowers here that take their color from blood.”
The Runelord quickly backed away, giving any flower that was even the slightest bit red a wide berth.
“Vani,” Avhir said. “Look.”
The T’golknelt to one side of the lane, where a smaller side path intersected. Vani moved to him, and he brushed the plants growing in a stone urn.
“These stems are bent,” Avhir said. “All in the same direction. Several people came from this side path and turned onto the main way. They cut the corner tightly, which means they were moving quickly.”
Vani glanced at Travis.
“We’ve got to hurry,” he said.
They ran along the lane that led straight through the gardens, and each time the fronds parted overhead Travis saw that the black dome was closer. Although the T’golwere ready for an attack, they met no resistance as they went. There were no sounds save for the rasp of their breathing and the music of falling water. Not even the trilling of birds disturbed the silence of the gardens.
The path ended, and the garden gave way to a vast plaza. A row of thirteen obelisks dominated the center of the plaza, mirrored in a reflecting pool, while on the far side a massive bank of stairs swept up toward a rectangular structure that seemed proportioned for giants. Pyramids capped the wings to either side, while the center of the edifice was crowned by the great dome they had seen earlier, its black stone lined with gold.
Larad craned his neck. “Astonishing. Nothing created in the history of the north can compare to this.”
“You can study the architecture later, Runelord,” Farr said sharply. “Keep moving.”
They raced across the plaza, passed between the obelisks, and reached the base of the steps.
“They came this way,” Avhir said, kneeling and touching the lowest step. He rose and held out his hand; his fingers were stained red.
They started up the steps. Avhir went first, stretching his lean legs to take the steps three at a time. Vani swept her gaze from side to side as they ascended, hands raised before her.
However, no attack came. Breathing hard, they reached the top. A pair of columns framed doors five times as tall as Travis. The columns were decorated with bas‑relief figures, their long, delicate limbs intertwined with the shapes of enormous spiders. One of the massive doors stood ajar, leaving a gap just wide enough for a person to squeeze through.
Together, Vani and Avhir pushed against the door. It opened another inch, then stopped.
“That’s enough,” Vani said. “We can slip through one by–”
Travis touched the door and it swung silently inward. He looked at his hand. His knuckles were bleeding again.
Keeping close to one another, they entered a hall lined with titanic statues hewn of ruddy stone. On the right were figures of men with the hooked beaks of falcons, while on the left were women who gazed with the multifaceted eyes of spiders–eyes that seemed to follow Travis as he moved deeper into the hall. White light shafted down from circular windows high above, the beams weaving a glowing web on the dim air.