Threshold (6 page)

Then I mustered every last piece of courage I had, lifted my head, and looked about me.

The Infinity Chamber itself was shaped as a pyramid. Four walls angled from the floor to a central shaft that led, I realised, to the peak of Threshold where the capstone would eventually rest. So that is what Yaqob meant when he said the chamber had no ceiling. The floor was perhaps fifteen paces square, and from its centre to the apex of the walls another fifteen. I studied the floor more closely. It was one sheet of massive, solid clear plate glass, and I could see that there was a space underneath it for the golden and caged glass to eventually slide under – for one could not walk directly on fragile, caged work.

I looked across the walls. About a fifth of the area had been covered with Orteas and Zeldon’s work, and now I could see how the small pieces they (and, more recently, we) had been working on fitted into an intricate
pattern of calculations in numbers, words and geometric symbols.

A sickness bloomed in my belly, and I think I must have paled, for Yaqob took a concerned step in my direction.

“Yaqob!” the Magus barked, and I waved Yaqob away.

“It was just the climb…breathless…”

He could see the lie in my face, but he turned back to Kofte, taking out his measuring tape. Yaqob was one of the most skilled glass cutters on the site, and I saw that Kofte needed him to measure for some fine connecting panels of uncaged golden glass that would form bridges between the main areas of caged work.

As they measured, I stepped closer to one of the completed panels. I raised my hand, then, my fingers trembling so badly I thought they might actually break the glass, I touched the panel.

Instantly I felt the wrongness of Threshold flood into my body in one crushing wave. The glass was screaming, pleading, weeping, trapped in an existence that was not life but which was worse than death.

Help us! Help us! Help us!

I took a shuddering, despairing breath, and gratefully fainted.

I
CAME
to with my head in Yaqob’s lap, listening to his voice as he thought of every possible excuse to explain my faint to the Magus.

“She is young, and still recovering from a harsh journey to Gesholme, Excellency. The climb into the chamber taxes the fittest of men, and has proved too much for her. The excitement, perhaps. She has wanted to see the Infinity Chamber for many weeks, and has been overawed. Perhaps the time of her moon flux is upon her, and…”

The excuses were sounding increasingly thin, so I opened my eyes before he moved even further into the intimate details of womanly weakness.

“Ah, Tirzah. What happened?”

But his eyes pleaded into mine, and I knew he wanted me to say anything
but
what really happened.

I sat up slightly. Yaqob had dragged me into the passageway outside the Infinity Chamber, for which I was thankful. Nevertheless, the despair of the glass still reached me in palpable waves of grief. Kofte stood to one side, his face a mask of irritation that was rapidly darkening to anger.

“The climb,” I stumbled, “and the excitement…the beauty…” I hoped it would do.

Kofte opened his mouth to say something, but Yaqob hurried to speak. “I have the measurements I need, Excellency, and if I hurry Tirzah outside now I can send Zeldon or Orteas up to oversee the placement of the glass.”

Kofte’s face twitched, and I could see the power rippling beneath his skin. Terrified he was about to unleash the fury of the One upon me, I groaned, and closed my eyes.

“Excellency!” Yaqob pleaded. “She is too valuable to lose, too skilled at the caging!”

Now I could hear the fear in his voice, and that terrified me even more. I screwed my eyes shut, and prepared to die.

But Yaqob had managed to deflect Kofte’s anger. “Then take her!” the Magus snapped. “And send Zeldon. But
fast
! I have not the entire day to waste.”

Muttering profuse thanks, Yaqob gathered me into his arms and hurried me away from those dreadful screams.

He held me close, trotting as fast as he dared down the incline, and with every step he took I could feel and hear the screams wane. I relaxed, my horror fading with that of the glass, and let Yaqob’s closeness warm and comfort me.

He stopped eventually, and cradled me closer as he spoke. “Tirzah. We approach the busier sections of Threshold. It would be better if you walked by yourself now. Can you do it?”

I nodded, reluctantly, and he saw the reason for my reluctance and a grin tugged the corners of his mouth. “You
are
feeling better. Come now, stand.” And his arms loosened about me.

I stood, straightened my wrap, and pushed my hair into some kind of order. Yaqob nodded, then walked forward, making sure I managed to follow.

We reached the mouth of Threshold without incident. Guards watched us curiously, but we hung our heads and
shuffled past, and eventually their eyes wandered beyond us, looking for slaves more likely to be in the midst of subversive activities.

At its foot we met two of the craftsmen from our workshop. Yaqob took one of them aside, spoke quickly, and the man hurried back the way he’d come.

“I’ve sent him for Zeldon,” Yaqob said quietly. “We dare not cross Kofte more than we have already.”

“Yaqob, I’m sorry. I –”

“No. Don’t speak now. Not here.”

I knew he meant not only where so many guards huddled watchful, but also where Threshold’s shadow lay at its thickest. I shivered.

“I know a place where we can have a few quiet minutes without suspicion. We need to talk, you and I.”

We walked back through the gates of Threshold’s enclosure, then down the main thoroughfare leading from Gesholme. As we walked past an overhang Yaqob took my elbow and pulled me into a dark, shaded alcove. Thick canvas hung above us and dropped to the dirt at our feet; Threshold’s shadow was as trapped outside as was the sun.

We stood close, but not touching.

“Well?”

“I…the glass…”

“Tirzah, what happened when you touched the glass?”

I took a deep breath, sick of the secrets, and then the words came out in a flood. “It screamed to me, Yaqob. It was trapped, weeping, pleading. Its soul is sick, tarnished, but unable to die. It
wants
to die. It wants to escape.”

He stared at me, his eyes unreadable in this dim light. “You hear glass speak? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I…” I had mentioned this only once to my father, when I was about eight. He had smiled indulgently and dismissed my words as the imagination of a young girl. “The glass has spoken to me for a very long time, and I to it. This is the only way I know how to work it.”

“And what else speaks to you, Tirzah?”

“Pottery, sometimes, but not like the glass. Not wood. Not cloth.” I fingered the material of my own wrap, using it as an excuse to drop my eyes from his.

“And?”

“And metals, especially worked precious metals – a gold bracelet,” that had been Hadone’s bracelet, and it had made my time with him bearable, “and the silver, copper or jade rings on the hands of those I have held.”

I paused again, but not through any wish to dissemble. I needed the moment to try to put what I had felt throughout my life into words. “And sometimes I hear echoes within and among buildings or while walking surfaced roadways, but they are very faint.”

“Here?”

“No. Here there are no echoes. Gesholme is dead.”

He was staring at me. “And Threshold?”

I shuddered, and wished he would put his arm about me. “I have told you how the glass in the Infinity Chamber screams, and there were echoes elsewhere within Threshold.”

“Echoes of
what
?”

“Yaqob!” I pleaded, but he was relentless.

“Echoes of what?”

“Of pain and fear and entrapment.” And of loss, I also wanted to say, but did not. I wondered if it was Yaqob I would lose.

“And Isphet’s workshop?” Now his voice was very soft.

I began to cry. “Isphet’s workshop is alive and warm, Yaqob. I love it there. I want to go back. Please.”

He finally put his arm about me and held me close, soothing me. I never wanted him to let go.

“Please, Tirzah, let me ask just one or two more questions. I need to know these. What of Druse and Mayim?”

“Mayim? No. He is not even a particularly good craftsman, and he certainly does not listen for what the glass whispers to him. My father…no, also. He does not hear the glass, or anything else, I think.”

I felt Yaqob nod slightly against the top of my head. “Yes,” he said, almost as if to himself. “That is as we thought. Izzali says that Mayim has few skills, so I did not think he could be an…” He paused. “Druse is good, very good, but he does not feel the glass in the way,” one of his hands stroked my upper arm, “that you do.”

I leaned back. “You hear it, too, don’t you?”

A slow smile spread across his face, and his eyes were very gentle. “Yes. And Isphet, and Orteas and Zeldon and Raguel, poor, poor Raguel, do as well. As do numerous others within Isphet’s workshop and scattered throughout this sorry encampment.”

“But why can I? I come from a northern land.”

“The ability to hear the glass is not confined to race. It is only that our people developed the ability to a greater extent than others have. I think that perhaps a number of the finest craftsmen in the north have the ability – even if they do not quite realise what it is themselves.”

“Not my father.”

“Tirzah, can we trust your father?”

I remembered how my father had laughed at me when I had tried to explain what I heard. I hesitated in my answer, and it was that hesitation, I think, which told Yaqob what he needed to know.

“My father is a good man, and would not willingly betray your trust.”

“But he has weaknesses that might. He told me one night how his gambling enslaved you.”

It was sad to hear that put into words. “Yes. Yaqob, who are the Soulenai?”

I felt him jump.

“Where have you heard that name?”

“The first night I arrived when Raguel…Well, Isphet was upset and unwary. She told Raguel she should thank the Soulenai Ta’uz did not kill her as well as her child.”

Yaqob leaned his head back and laughed, but quietly, lest he attract attention. “Since you and your father arrived Isphet has been constantly warning us to be wary of you. Not to let slip any…well, to be wary. And now you tell me that Isphet herself revealed the name of the Soulenai to you. Well, well.”

“Yaqob?”

He sobered. “Tirzah. The voices you hear, the echoes, are the voices of the elements. Some of the whispers might even be of the Soulenai themselves, reaching from the Place Beyond. No, wait. This is not the place. We need quiet and many hours. Tonight, I think, if Isphet is agreeable. And now,” he let go of me and stood back, “now I think we must hurry back to the workshop lest the guards discover us and wonder if we have, perhaps, been enjoying ourselves too greatly in this secretive overhang.”

When we reached the workshop Isphet took one look at us, and came over.

“I heard Tirzah fainted in the Infinity Chamber,” she said, and stared hard at Yaqob. “Zeldon has gone to placate Kofte.”

“She hears,” Yaqob said simply, and Isphet shifted her eyes to me. Abruptly she thrust a small glass goblet into my hands.

“What does it tell you, Tirzah?”

This was as much a test as Yaqob’s questioning had been, and I could feel many eyes within the workshop turned my way, although only Yaqob and I could have heard Isphet’s question. I turned the goblet over in my hands. It was a plain vessel, used as a means to quench our thirst when the heat of the furnaces grew too hot.

“It tells me that it lives, but that it would prefer to live elsewhere. There is a darkness here it does not like.”

Isphet stared, then jerked her head. “Very well. Yaqob, come to my quarters tonight. Will you be safe?”

“I am as nimble and invisible as a cat across those rooftops, Isphet. The guards will never see me.”

“Well, be careful anyway, Yaqob. None of us can afford to lose you now.”

Although the events of the daytime had twisted my world awry, the revelations of that night altered the very fabric of my life.

In the evening we dampened down the furnaces and I walked in companionable silence with the women of Isphet’s household through the dusk to our quarters. We left the doors and windows open for the cool of the evening air while we ate, but once the meal was done and the dishes cleaned and set aside, Isphet ordered that the windows be shuttered, and all the doors save the one to the inner courtyard were locked.

Then we waited. Saboa and I played listlessly at a game of tebente, taking it in turns to throw the marked sticks and move our clay figurines about the wooden board. But our hearts were not in it, and we jumped every time an insect frizzled in one of the two lamps Isphet had allowed to be lit.

Yaqob came an hour after it was fully dark, and he brought with him a fellow glassworker from our workshop, Yassar. They had come across the rooftops of the tenement buildings, crawling slowly and silently, waiting as sporadic patrols of guards passed beneath them, then moving on again. Once they reached the roof of our building, they had come down the stairs of the courtyard.

“Druse and Mayim?” Isphet asked as Yaqob and Yassar sat down.

“They will sleep well tonight, Isphet. No, Tirzah, it is all right. A sleeping draught in their evening meal is all I have done. Your father will wake refreshed in the morning and not realise he has been drugged.”

“We had to do it,” Yassar said.

“Yes,” I said, “I know it.”

“Good,” said Isphet. “Tirzah, I will now speak for some time. You will listen. If you have questions, you will wait until after I have spoken. First, I will speak a warning. If you betray us to the Magi, then you will eventually die, even if no-one in this room is left alive to take the revenge.
Do you understand?
”

I rocked back on my stool at the threat in her voice and her eyes. I risked a glance at Yaqob, but his eyes were as implacable as Isphet’s. “I understand, Isphet.”

“Good. We place our lives in your hands with what we are about to reveal.”

She breathed deep, relaxed, and spoke.

“Many generations ago, long before the building of Threshold, Ashdod was a land where the people lived their lives surrounded by the voices of the elements – particularly the elements within metals and gems. The Elemental arts and magic flourished, as did reverence for the Soulenai. The Soulenai are deeply learned and magical spirits who live in a region we know only as the Place Beyond. They speak to us through the elements – they have ever had an affinity for metals and gems – and lend us the power for our work and our arts. So in the glass, or the metals and gems you handle, Tirzah, you may hear the voices not only of the particular element you hold, but sometimes also of the Soulenai, echoing from the Place Beyond.”

I blinked. Very occasionally when I worked glass the voices were far stronger and more vivid than usual. Such was the case when I’d worked the glass for the two Magi in Setkoth. Had this then been the Soulenai speaking to me through the glass, rather than the glass itself?

Isphet watched my face, then continued. “Glass-workers – we in this room – are particularly attuned to the voices of the elements and Elemental magic because of the metals used in the making and colouring of glass. Any who hear the elements’ voices or who practise the Elemental arts are known simply as Elementals. Once there were great magicians – Necromancers – among us, many descended from the bloodlines of the Soulenai themselves. The Necromancers attained a level of power that left ordinary Elementals gasping; Necromancers were only one level below the Soulenai in understanding and skill. But they have vanished, and we lesser Elementals must make shift as we may.”

Isphet looked to Yaqob, her eyes tender. “Yaqob has great talent, and I hope that eventually he may master the arts of the Necromancers. I pray that he will, if one day we can find him the teachers…”