The mirror chronicles th.., p.53
The Mirror Chronicles: The Last Night, page 53
Ash reeled and staggered backwards, drawing her with him. For a moment he looked at her blankly, searchingly, as though struggling to remember. Then he seized hold of her shoulders and tried to push her away. But Simia was not for letting go. She buried her head in his chest and slid her arms even further round him.
And then Sylas noticed something. As she fought to hold on, Simia’s hands were fumbling, reaching round Ash’s body, searching for something. Suddenly she plunged her fingers into the folds of Ash’s robes and withdrew a small, black, shiny object.
“The shell!” he hissed. “Yes, Simsi!”
Even as he spoke, Simia wheeled about and hurled the shell far out across the rocks. It bounced once, twice and then disappeared over a bluff.
For a moment everything was still. Simia, Ash and Sylas all stared at the spot where the tiny shell had vanished.
Then the entire mountaintop was smothered in darkness.
“Just how many myths and half-truths have come to us from the Other may never be known. Perhaps it is enough to understand that we must not trust all that is passed off as truth, even in scripture. And that where we can lay our trust, is in our Glimmer, in ourselves, in our humanity.”
THE DARKNESS THAT HAD settled upon the mountaintop had wings, and talons, and limbs, and teeth. The rock trembled as it settled to a crouch, plunging all below it into shadow and, when it raised its massive head, it split the air with its cry.
For the first time Sylas saw its features picked out in the moonlight. Like so many of Thoth’s creations, it was half human and half beast, but this one had no patches of skin and fur; it had only the noble, even beautiful face of a woman. And yet, when she let out that cry, her nose rumpled, her brow gathered and her sharp teeth were bared. She became the most ferocious and feral of all beasts: like the lion that had lent her its claws, her broad, powerful chest and her sinewy tail that lashed the dark.
The mighty Sphinx lowered her head, and her catlike eyes glowered at Sylas. He felt her breath, hot and dry, and he sensed her ancient, fathomless power. Looking into those pale eyes, he knew that, to her, he was a trifle – a fleeting thing that might be crushed at a whim.
He fought the urge to look away and returned her gaze.
Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment he thought he saw them smile, amused perhaps by the presumption of this tiny human child.
Then he saw a movement beside her. A lone, robed figure walked out from behind her flank: thin and stooped, limbs crooked, head bent. Pale hands went to the brim of the hood and pulled it back to reveal a white, hairless head and the familiar, empty, ever-shifting visage of Thoth.
The Dirgh stared at him now, as if struggling to make sense of something.
“You are alone now, after all?” said the voices of many, echoing out into the emptiness.
Sylas met his gaze. “Yes,” he said defiantly. “Just me.”
Thoth gave a wheezing laugh. “So at last you are one,” he cackled, glancing up at the Sphinx to share his amusement.
The Sphinx gazed at Sylas like a cat coveting a mouse.
“And this was the judgement of Ammut’s Pit? To set you on different paths?” Thoth waited for a reply, but when Sylas said nothing he continued. “Surely then you must now see that you were wrong? That you were never meant to be one?”
Sylas shook his head. “No. I’m more sure than ever. We are meant to be together.”
Thoth tilted his head. “So you left her and came all the way here … for what purpose? Because the One from the Waters came here? Because you hope that this place might reveal to you some great truth, as you suppose it did to him?”
Sylas glared at the Priest of Souls. He wanted to yell that he was wrong, that he was less alone than he had ever been, that he was here because he knew he had to be, and he and Naeo would still make everything different. But instead he said: “Yes, that’s why I’m here.”
Just then he felt his bonds give way. His feet shifted beneath him, free to move, and his arms too became loose at his sides. Near the haunches of the Sphinx, he saw Ash and Simia standing in the shadows. Simia was waving frantically and pointing first at the rock beneath her feet and then at Thoth and the beast. She repeated the action, pointing at the rock, then at Thoth, then the Sphinx.
At first Sylas did not understand but, when he looked down at the rocky surface of the mountain, his thoughts flew back to Ammut’s Pit and the moment he and Naeo had reached into the rock of the labyrinth and found a way through.
Thoth was laughing, his voices swirling about the mountain. “But you are no prophet!” he mocked, the dark gash of his mouth twisted in derision. “I am the bringer of plagues!”
Almost imperceptibly Sylas took a step forward. He summoned all his courage and bellowed: “But still you’re not a prophet! A prophet brings the truth, not plagues! You haven’t given us the truth – you’ve ripped it away! You’ve made everyone – all of us – question the things we should know to be true! You’ve made us wonder about what we can’t do. Wonder about what we don’t know.” He paused, surprised at how his words came so easily. “Instead you’ve given us myths and half-truths. You’ve given us monsters and demons and ghosts. Folklore and legends and superstitions.” He walked forward now, his blood coursing. “You haven’t made the world better, you’ve broken it. That’s why I’ve come here. That’s why we’re both here!”
The Dirgh glanced around. “Both? You are both here after all?”
Sylas swallowed hard. “Yes, we are!”
For a moment Thoth seemed taken aback. He peered round the mountaintop and then became still, seeming to understand. He let out an animal growl and began to swell beneath his robes, the vaguenesses of his face gathering as he grew in stature.
Just then Sylas saw that Ash now had both hands aloft, his head bowed in concentration. Suddenly there was a crump deep within the mountain, followed by a succession of jolts in the rock, growing stronger and getting faster. Then a crack appeared a little way away on the summit, and it quickly zigzagged towards Thoth, sweeping beneath his feet, and then off between the Sphinx’s four legs. The Dirgh glanced down in surprise, but the crack was so narrow that he simply stepped away from it. The beast barely seemed to notice it at all.
But, in that moment of distraction, Sylas plunged his every thought and feeling down that narrow crevice. He reached into its depths just as he and Naeo had in Ammut’s Pit, seeking out the faults and fissures in the rock. Now, he held them before him in his mind’s eye, and he turned them quickly, as once he had turned his kites, checking the joins and alignments, the weaknesses and strengths. When he was sure, he called upon the full weight of the mountain, and heaved it down upon those thousand flaws and fractures.
He waited, expecting to hear something below, the beginning of some devastating collapse. But all he heard was Thoth’s cry echoing into silence, and all he felt was the hot wind of the Sphinx’s breath.
He opened his eyes and saw Thoth and the Sphinx still there, towering now, the Dirgh’s arm stretched towards him, beginning some new sorcery. Then Sylas felt something peculiar in his stomach. A sickening wrench and twist. Suddenly his body began to quiver, his arms to shake uncontrollably, his legs to tangle beneath him. And then, just as he expected to fall, he was lifted from his feet. As he drifted up into the air and began to sail helplessly towards a precipitous drop behind him, he saw the Sphinx’s tail lash out in the darkness. It was rapier-fast, and Ash and Simia did not stand a chance. It struck them full in the chest and sent them tumbling down the slope.
“Now, let us see if you are a worthy successor to the One from the Waters,” growled the voices of Thoth. “Let us see your miracle.” He snickered. “Yes, let us see the miracle of flight!”
And with that Sylas began to drift out, over the edge of the cliff, a drop of several hundred feet opening up below him.
“No!” he cried, desperately trying to shift his weight back over the clifftop.
Even as he yelled out, there was a sudden detonation somewhere deep in the mountain: a cannon boom so loud that it might have been thunder. Thoth’s gaze shifted, no longer directed at Sylas, but at the dust beneath his feet, which had become like a liquid, boiling and leaping from the vibrations. The Sphinx too was staring at her taloned feet and suddenly she shrieked, rearing on her hind legs and clawing the air as though trying to climb into the sky, her great wings unfurling behind her.
But it was too late. In that instant, the dust and rock beneath her feet simply disappeared, cascading into a dark abyss. And, as the beast reared her head, she began to fall, her half-furled wings suddenly confined within the opening. Thoth let out a yell – the cry of a thousand souls – and before he could lunge to safety he too began to slip away.
But, as he fell, so did Sylas. His limbs suddenly free, Sylas cartwheeled his arms in the air, frantically trying to shift his weight back towards the face of the cliff. He plummeted all too quickly, missing the clifftop and falling five feet, ten.
Suddenly his hand caught hold of an outcrop, wrenching his arm and slamming his body into the cliff. For a moment he was still, panting and numb, battling to come to his senses. Then he looked up.
He could see the top of the cliff clearly, trails of dust pouring from its cracks and crevices. With all his remaining strength, he heaved himself upwards and slid his free hand into a handhold. He scrambled with his feet and found a purchase, then pushed.
It took what felt like an hour to reach the top but, in truth, it could barely have been a minute. When he reached the cliff edge and hauled himself over, spitting out dust, he looked across the expanse of rock and saw Thoth half in and half out of the chasm. He too was struggling to cling on, his pale fingers raking the liquefied dust, trying to find a handhold. Then he spied Sylas. The shock of it can only have lasted an instant, but it was enough. His empty eyes still staring at Sylas, his hands scrabbled, slipped and then reared as he rocked backwards. Then he fell.
Sylas blinked and gasped. He swung his knees beneath him and, extending his hands, lost himself back in the mountain. He drew his hands together and, as they closed, so did the great planes of rock on either side of the chasm, rumbling and grinding towards one another until all that remained was a gash of darkness in the mountaintop, and a hot wind, and a distant echo.
And finally even that fell silent.
“Now rise, fear not where none have gone, For then, at last, we may be one.”
SYLAS SANK BACK ON his haunches, chest heaving, his mind still lost in the dark places of the mountain. Slowly he found his way back, drawing himself up and up out of the silence of ancient stone, and suddenly he was there, staring at the gash in the rock, and the folds of the mountaintop, and nearby Simia and Ash were drawing themselves slowly to their feet.
Simia wiped blood and dust from her face, shaking visibly, then she looked across at Sylas. When she saw him, her face widened into that irrepressible grin.
Sylas grinned back, and then he looked at Ash. The young Magruman met his gaze, but there was no smile. He looked pale, and haunted, and full of shame.
“Sorry, Sylas,” he mouthed. Slowly he raised his hand to his heart.
Despite all that had happened – everything that Ash had done – the sight of him looking so broken was too much for Sylas. He shook his head.
“It wasn’t you,” he mouthed. And he smiled.
He turned to look up at the summit. It was such a short distance away – barely twenty paces. He had been so close, and so nearly lost everything. He rose stiffly to his feet and was just resuming his climb when he stopped short. There was a sound, so indistinct that it could have been no more than a mountain breeze. But then it came again, louder, and this time it had shape and form. This time he heard voices. Whispered voices. Thousands of them.
He stopped breathing and turned to the dark gash in the mountain.
“Go!” yelled Ash, waving frantically and striding out towards the chasm.
His heart galloping, Sylas struggled with heavy, unruly limbs up the final stretch of the mountain. His climb felt painfully slow and his legs gave way just before he reached the summit, but still he kept on, hauling himself back to his feet and stumbling the final few paces. At last he stood upon the very pinnacle.
He sucked in a deep draught of air, steadied his stance and closed his eyes.
For a moment he struggled to calm himself – his breathing wild, his thoughts scattered – but, gradually, he came back to himself. He recovered his breath, relaxed his body and waited. Waited to feel what he knew he must.
Naeo.
He shifted nervously, fingers of sweat creeping down his back.
He frowned, but stayed still and quiet, desperate to believe, to hold his concentration.
Then, slowly, he opened his eyes.
She wasn’t there.
Naeo was lost in the cold and the dark. She felt as though she had fallen into the mountain itself, and its massive bulk was pressing in on her, leaving her no way out. But then she heard a familiar voice calling her name.
“It’s all right, Naeo,” it said. “I’m here!”
It was Paiscion’s voice, and it was close. She pushed back against the dark, heaving herself out of the void.
She blinked, and with bleary eyes she stared at an oblong of pale light. At its centre she saw the silhouette of a head and shoulders, and as it leaned towards her, she saw the familiar glint of Paiscion’s spectacles.
“Come on, Naeo, you’re going to have to help me,” he was saying. “One big push and we’ll be there.”
She slid her hand into his. There was a strong grasp, a heave and then a spasm of pain through her leg. She cried out, but Paiscion kept pulling, and suddenly Naeo found herself rising through the oblong and into his arms.
He set her down on a dark, rocky surface. It was lit only by one of the helicopter’s lights, which blinked and flickered, as though it might soon go out. She felt another stab of pain in her leg and saw that her tunic was torn and bloodied. Instinctively Naeo looked away, not wanting to see any more. Instead she glanced around, trying to understand what had happened. Behind her, she saw the mangled hulk of the helicopter on its side, rotors gone altogether, its tail buckled.
“It’s a miracle we got out at all,” said the Magruman, shaking his head. “Though I fear that those young pilots …” He trailed off for a moment, then seemed to take hold of himself and pointed. “But look, Naeo.”
Her eyes followed his pointing finger along the blinking path cast by the searchlight, and she saw a procession of crude steps made from slabs of stone rising to a peak just a short distance away. There were two humble buildings near the top, one with an apex roof topped by a cross, the other square and blockish.
“A church and a mosque,” explained Paiscion. “Religious buildings. They’re here because of Moses. Because of what they believe once happened here.”
She stared. “This is it? Mount Sinai?”
“The very place.”
Ignoring the sharp pain in her leg, Naeo staggered to her feet and began limping away, along the path of light.
“What are you going to do?” called Paiscion.
“I’m going to join him!” she shouted, still walking.
“Join … who?”
She smiled. “Sylas!”
Sylas gazed helplessly from the summit as Ash stood by the chasm, his outstretched arms trembling, his face crumpled and glistening with sweat. Despite all his efforts, the chasm was growing, rocks and dust toppling into it as it began to split the mountain. And all the while, the voices from the chasm swirled about the peak.
“I am Thoth,” they said, “three times great, Priest of Souls and scribe to the gods. Now, I am A’an, Lord of Equilibrium, and I will never die!”
Sylas glanced across at Simia and saw her standing near the edge of the rift, gazing into it in horror, shouting something at Ash. There was a movement within, a little below its jagged edge. Something was climbing up, out of the dark, and with it the shadows themselves spilled out over the rocky surfaces, pooling round Simia’s feet. They writhed about her legs, creeping up, taking hold. She tried to retreat, but they moved with her, clinging to her.
She looked up at Sylas.
He could see her terror and confusion, and instinctively he took a step towards her. But before he could take another, she threw up her hand and shook her head.
“No!” she mouthed, a trace of fire in her eyes. “Stay there!”
Sylas was in agony. He was desperate to go to her, but he knew she was right. He could not. He must not. He couldn’t help Ash, and he couldn’t help her, not now. Their only hope was Naeo.
So he clenched his fists tight, closed his eyes and stepped back.
As he took that single step, he felt as though the mountain, and the desert, and even the rift between the worlds crumbled.
Because there she was.
He felt her more closely and more profoundly than ever before: closer than holding hands, than meeting minds, than sharing dreams, and thoughts, and feelings. Now, they shared all those things and more. Because now theirs was the very same place in the universe.
Now, they were one.
They were one like Isia and her Glimmer were one. But there was a difference too. Isia had been born whole, and divided. Sylas and Naeo had been born apart, and now they were together.
Isia was the beginning. They were the end.
They knew that this was the final step of their journey, and that it must end as they began.
It was time for the Passing Bell to ring again.
Together they turned to the southern sky and made the Glimmer Myth come true.
The first the worlds knew of the bell was a rumble in the desert and a quaking among the sands that made them ripple and flow, like liquid. Dunes collapsed, hillsides became cascades and rocks sank slowly down beneath the surface. Among these were the stones of the circle at the Academy of Souls, the circle that had been the beginning of it all. Now, finally, after standing sentinel for more than three thousand years, they slumped, toppled and disappeared into the hungry sands, along with the Ghor that guarded them.
