Brave Story (87 page)

The city sat on top of Undoor Highland. It was bound by glaciers and shielded in a layer of snow. Two massive walls of stone formed concentric ovals around the city. Spires towered like trees, linked together by circular patterns and ramps that spun through the city like a spider’s web. Here and there, stone buildings sat with the stairs and terraces jutting out over empty space. The entirety of the frozen city shone like a cold labyrinth.

At first, Wataru thought the buildings were made out of pure crystal. But when he squinted his eyes, he saw that wasn’t the case at all. They were frozen. Every inch of stone was covered with ice. Wataru found himself thinking about a glass museum he had visited once with his parents. There had been a castle in the museum too, made entirely out of crystal. Even the flag flying from the highest tower had been made out of delicate glass.

“Look at the forest. Even the trees are frozen.”

Below them, vines stretched between frost-covered branches. The foliage was laden with strange fruit that sparkled coldly in the sunlight.

“It’s all covered with ice,” Meena breathed. “What kind of person lives in such a cold place?”

“Maybe no one,” Wataru said quietly. Everywhere they looked—the roads, the walkways, the towers—not a soul was to be seen.

Wataru’s ears felt numb in the cold. “Jozo,” he said, “are there any paths down from Undoor Highland that can be walked?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“It’s been covered with glaciers forever, I hear,” Kee Keema said.

“That’s true—but when I came here last time, the buildings in the forest weren’t frozen, I’m sure of it. I saw flowers blooming, and I even saw people walking around.”

Near the northeast section of the city stood a hall with a wide, flat roof. Jozo picked this as his landing spot. “Ooh! That’s frigid!” he snorted as he touched down and folded his wings. “I’m about ready to start sneezing myself. What will you do, Wataru? Try going inside?”

“I guess so,” Wataru said, sliding from Jozo’s back onto the roof. “Can you stay here? You won’t freeze, will you?”

“I can breathe every now and then to warm myself up, no problem. Still, I wouldn’t want to stay here any longer than I have to. Can’t imagine it would be all that good for you, either.”

“Right. We’ll come back as soon as we can.”

Getting from the roof of the hall to the ground proved an arduous task, and searching the city proved to be exhausting. The ground was so slick with ice it was difficult to walk straight. Still, they made slow progress, each taking turns slipping on the ice, catching each other, then falling themselves, over and over. In other circumstances, it might have been comical, but no one was laughing.

Everything was quiet and cold. Wataru found himself wondering whether anything could truly live in a place like this—it felt as though his very heart might freeze in his chest. Maybe during the time it’d taken for them to get here, the man who had asked for help through the mirror had already frozen to death.

“Is anyone there?”

“Oy! We’ve come to help!”

The city was silent, swallowing their voices whole. Or maybe it was that their words were freezing in the air as soon as they left their lips.

Several years before, Wataru’s mother had taken him to a children’s play based on Greek mythology. The main character was the son of Pegasus. The play itself hadn’t been terribly interesting to Wataru at the time, but he remembered being enchanted by the beautiful stage design. There had been a great temple of marble surrounded by a deep forest made of painted papier mâche.

The city of Dela Rubesi reminded Wataru of that set. Some of the buildings had gently sloping stairs that led up to tall doors carved with images of flowers, birds, and angelic figures. Great windows were hung with carved roses, and pillars stood by doors, topped with glaring guard dogs of stone.

Everywhere the scale was epic. Every house was a mansion, with large flat roofs and angled eaves, each carved with fantastic designs. There were sages and heroes, sorcerers and knights, and beautiful women standing in stone. There was even an amphitheater opened to the air with a half-dome arcing above it.

It was like a city from some Greek myth. A city of the gods.

Though it looked like a model reproduction of some fantasy city, it didn’t seem strange to Wataru at all. Was this the ideal city according to followers of the Old God? Wataru thought back on the towns and villages he had visited in Vision so far, where the Goddess reigned, and he realized that, for the most part, their buildings and layout were determined by the daily work of the people who lived there. That sense of daily life was completely lacking here. Maybe that was why it reminded him of a set for a play.

I wonder what that amphitheater is for? Who were the statues made to honor? Who wanted to build a city like this in the first place?

Wataru found himself wondering what the people here labored for, what made them laugh, what made them sad. Even if every surface in the city hadn’t been covered with ice, Wataru thought it would still feel cold and lifeless.

“Say, Kee Keema,” Wataru asked. “Have you ever seen another city like this in Vision?”

Kee Keema shivered in the cold. “Not me. I doubt any place is as cold as this.”

“I don’t mean the cold, I mean how the city is built. It seems like every building is some great temple or shrine.”

“Nothing I’ve seen comes close,” Meena said. “It’s strange—and more than just because it’s all frozen. I don’t see any stores or lodges or anything that suggests people might live here at all.”

The three arrived at a small park in the center of town. Immediately they noted a pedestal surrounded by planters filled with flowers. Atop the pedestal was an abstract sculpture shaped like a globe. Wataru thought it might represent a planet or the heavens, but when he approached he saw that its surface was smooth. It looked so cold Wataru didn’t dare touch it for fear that his finger might stick. On closer inspection, Wataru saw that there was a crack running through the center of the sphere. He decided that this must be a sculpture of a gemstone—it was, in fact, shaped exactly like the ones on his sword.

But that was odd. The gemstones were there to guide Travelers, and weren’t Travelers despised and hated by believers in the Old God? It didn’t make any sense.

“What should we do, Wataru? I can’t just keep walking around aimlessly like this much longer,” Meena said, hugging her arms to her chest and rubbing her shoulders. “I’m afraid Kee Keema is going to freeze solid. Waterkin aren’t very good in the cold, you know.”

Come to think of it, lizards were cold-blooded. Put them in a cold place, and their body temperature drops. They slow down. The two turned to see Kee Keema squatting near the entrance to the park, eyes closed. He wasn’t moving.

The two ran back to him as fast as they could. Wataru slipped, barreling into his friend, and Kee Keema’s eyes blinked open.

“You okay?”

“Sorry,” Kee Keema said, his eyes turning slowly. Wataru looked and saw frost forming in the spaces between his fingers. “I just got so sleepy all of a sudden.”

“Oh no! He’ll freeze to death!”

“Let’s go back to Jozo. Kee Keema, can you stand?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, his tongue moving sluggishly in his mouth. His entire body seemed incredibly heavy. Wataru and Meena each grabbed one of his arms and began walking him back.

“I’m fine…really…” Kee Keema said, practically talking in his sleep.

Everything around them was glazed frosty blue with ice. They left no footprints as they walked across ground slick enough to skate on. The roads were laid out like squares on a checkerboard, so Wataru thought it would be easy to retrace their steps. But that was not the case. Everything looked so similar the threesome soon found they were lost. Even Jozo, the crimson firewyrm, was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, Meena let go of Kee Keema’s arm and stopped. Wataru took two or three steps before he realized. “What’s wrong, Meena?” He looked back to see her eyes opened wide and her mouth hanging open. “What is it?”

“Look at that!”

To the left of where they had been walking was a small courtyard surrounded by low hedges. Everything was glazed over with a layer of white. It was like a schoolyard the day after a big snowfall.

“Look at what?”

“Don’t you see it?”

Wataru squinted. The cold wind made his eyes tear. “I don’t see anything…” Wataru began. And then he saw it. There, in the middle of the courtyard, was a pattern formed from interlacing lines of eyes.

It’s the pattern—the one that opens the Corridor of Light!

“I wonder if that means you can use the Mirror of Truth here?”

If that was the case, then Wataru was even more confused. All of this, the sculpture, the mirror, the pattern, was connected to the Travelers. They shouldn’t have anything to do with the Old God at all, yet here was irrefutable proof that they did.

“Let’s go take a closer look,” Kee Keema said slowly. “Might find some clues.”

“But…”

“It’s okay, I won’t freeze on you yet.”

The three cut across the frozen courtyard, nearing the pattern. On closer inspection, it was definitely the pattern they had seen twice before. Wataru stood in the center, kneeling down to trace the lines of ice with his finger.

“This part here is higher than the rest.”

“You’re right.”

Meena walked over to Wataru and squatted. They both touched the ice with their fingers. It made a cracking sound as they scraped at it.

“What could it be…” Wataru began to ask, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a gleam coming from Meena’s chest. She reached beneath her vest and pulled out the Mirror of Truth. Suddenly, the ground beneath them shuddered, and the three slipped and fell down at the same time.

“Whoa! What was that?!”

The hard frozen ground beneath them was vibrating. A crack formed around the edge of the pattern. Then, the crack widened, sending up a spray of fine ice particles. The sheet of ice covering the courtyard broke, and for a moment it seemed like the entire courtyard around the pattern lurched upward. No—it was the pattern that was sinking down, leaving the rest of the city behind it. Like a giant elevator it dropped beneath them, carrying the three down into the frozen earth.

Chapter 39
The Precept-King

When the pattern-elevator had gone down as far as it was going to go, it stopped, forming the floor of another patternshaped chamber.

It was just as cold down here as it had been outside. A fine dusting of ice particles blew through the air. But the walls here were the first ones they had seen in the city that weren’t frozen. A single corridor cut from stone opened in the wall before them.

“Down we go.”

With Kee Keema sandwiched in the middle, the three began to walk. There were no torches or candles in the corridor, yet all was suffused with a dim light. The light came from the slick stones making up the floor, ceiling, and walls, Wataru realized. They gave off a wan radiance like moonlight.

The corridor turned to the right, then to the left, continuing on for some time. In places, heavy-looking doors had been set into the walls on the right and left sides. Without exception, all of the doors were frozen shut, and no matter how hard they pushed and pulled, none would budge.

Here, too, there was no sign of life.

Wataru walked in silence, half from nerves and half from the cold. The corridor seemed to stretch on forever until an arch shaped like a candle flame came into view ahead of them.

The three passed through the arch onto a broad terrace that overlooked a larger, circular room. The ceiling here was very high, at least a hundred feet above them. Stairs curved up along the walls. Wataru stepped out on the terrace, moving over to the railing that ran along the terrace’s edge. The railing was elegant, exquisitely carved in the shape of a flowing vine. He looked over the edge and gasped.

In the center of the room was a large, round mirror—as wide across as Wataru was tall. He recognized it at a glance.
A—or maybe even
the—
Mirror of Truth.
Next to it a white-robed man sat slumped in a single chair, like a night watchman dozing off on the job. It was the man who had talked to them through the mirror. The hammer he had been holding lay on the ground by his feet.

Wataru ran down the staircase leading from the terrace to the floor below. Not knowing what to say, he ran up to the man and grabbed him by the arm. Wataru shook him, and the silver crown slipped from the man’s forehead. His hair was as white as it had looked in the mirror. Yet he seemed much younger than Wataru had thought.
He’s not even thirty years old. Is he dead?

The man’s head listed to one side, and his eyes opened. They peered into Wataru’s face, filling with a look of relief. “Ah, it is you! You heard my call!” The man blinked his sleepy eyes and attempted to sit up in his chair. A barely audible moan escaped from his lips.

“You are the Traveler.”

In person, his voice, too, sounded quite young. His eyes were clear, his skin smooth and free of wrinkles.
So why the white hair?