Hoarfrost (Whyborne & Griffin Book 6) (12 page)

Whyborne

It was
done.

I tucked
my freezing fingers beneath my armpits and stared at the completed stele. Three
days of hard, backbreaking, miserable work, but the blasted thing was complete
at last.

“It’s a
city,” Christine breathed. “Do you see, Whyborne? A city!”

The
green stone monument stood a good eight feet tall, and half again as wide.
Thick bands of carving marked the top and bottom on both sides. Some of the
bands depicted geometrical shapes, repeated irregularly, while others held
curious groupings of dots and swirls. In between the bands on the south-facing
side was a relief carved in amazing detail, displaying mountains…and a city.

The
Eltdown Shards predated all previous guesses as to human colonization of the
British Isles. And this stele, buried beneath twelve feet of muck and gravel,
must surely be ancient. Assuming it to be contemporary to the Eltdown Shards,
it ought to far predate agriculture, let alone the very concept of a city.

And yet
there it was.

Some of
the terraced buildings shown in miniature reminded me of ziggurats or of the
pyramids in the South American jungles. Others were a mere conglomeration of
cones and cubes, connected here and there by thin aerial bridges. And yet none
of the angles of the buildings seemed to meet quite correctly, as if the artist
had somehow failed to depict the proper perspective even after adhering to it
faithfully when it came to the landscape. The entire city clung tight to the
steep mountainside, as if to suggest the visible buildings were merely the
outer shell of a much larger structure beneath the surface of the mountain.

The
artistic tradition seemed to belong to no known human culture. But I’d seen
something very much like it before.

The
great city of the dweller of the deeps, with its stepped pyramid and plaza, its
cyclopean architecture whose lines met at such bizarre angles, was clearly of a
close relation to this distant place.

What it meant,
I hadn’t the slightest idea. Nor could I say such a thing aloud in front of so
many witnesses, whose number now included Reverend Scarrow. So I only said, “Clearly
there is some kind of writing in the bands here, which resembles the writing
found on the Eltdown Shards.”

We moved
to the other side of the stele, which showed groupings of dots far more
recognizable in their arrangement. “And this side is some sort of astronomical
chart,” I said, tracing the familiar stars.

“But…no.
It can’t be.” Christine’s voice took on an air of excitement. “Whyborne, look!
If we assume the stars are meant to depict the view of the sky from this location,
the North Star isn’t Polaris. It’s Vega.”

I
gasped. Surely not. “Dear heavens.”

Griffin
cleared his throat. “Would either of you like to share what that means with the
rest of us?”

“Planetary
precession!” Christine clasped her hands together eagerly. “In essence, the
North Star changes over time. At the moment it’s Polaris, but in 3,000 BC it
was Thuban, in the constellation Drago. The last time Vega held the position of
the pole star was 12,000 BC. Almost 14,000 years ago.”

“And
40,000 years before that,” I murmured. But to even think such a thing was
surely insane. And yet…the image on the stele showed no glaciers, no ice and
snow on the mountain. How long ago had this part of the world last been so
warm?

“This
city is older than any other structures built by humankind.” Christine’s eyes
shone with excitement. “This could revolutionize the entire history of our
species. If any trace remains, we
must
find it!”

“Agreed!”
Turner exclaimed. “But where is it? These mountains are vast. We could look for
a year and still be no closer to uncovering it.”

Christine
rushed around to stare at the other side of the stele, as if the words written
in the odd clusters of dots would suddenly become clear, if she but stared at
them long enough. “You can decipher these, can’t you, Whyborne?” she asked.

“You
know philology doesn’t work in such a fashion,” I said, feeling a touch of
exasperation. “Without any cross-reference to a known language, there’s no way
of translating it. If this stele is truly 14,000 years old, it predates any
other known written language by almost nine millennia.”

Christine
ground her teeth together and glared at the image, as if it purposefully
withheld its secrets from her.

Griffin reached
out to trace the curve of one peak lightly with a finger. “Wait a minute. Look.”

“At
what?” Christine asked immediately.

Griffin
shook his head slowly. “I…just follow me.”

We
trooped outside, Christine in such haste she would have forgotten her gloves
had Iskander not retrieved them along with his own. The sun had vanished, but
the aurora raged across the sky, strong enough to throw sharp-edged shadows
within the camp. The mountains loomed up to the north, snow-clad peaks
reflecting the light so they appeared to have been dipped in blood.

“Look.” Griffin
pointed at two of the nearest peaks. “See the shape? How the one on the right
is so much taller, and has that distinctive bulge on the side? It matches the
mountains on the stele.”

Christine
let out a gasp. Iskander frowned a little, though. “So that would mean the city
is…there.”

Unlike
the distinctive peaks, the pass between them looked nothing like the stele. Then,
it had been exposed rock. Now, it was buried beneath the wide, white tongue of
the glacier.

Whyborne

“Do you
think there’s anything left of the city?” Turner asked.

We’d
retreated to the saloon for celebratory drinks. Jack and Griffin vanished
briefly, returning laden with dinner from the restaurant. We sat around one of
the gambling tables, dining on hot soup and generous pours of whiskey. I rather
wished Turner had brought out wine instead, as his signage claimed he stocked
it. Then again, given the remoteness of the location, its vintage was probably
rather suspect.

“Impossible
to say,” Christine replied. “Glaciers grind away everything in their paths, or
so I understand. If the city is indeed in the pass, there may be little left to
excavate.”

“But if
part of the city was underground, it might still be intact,” I suggested.

“Let us
hope so.” Christine took a swallow of her whiskey. “Even if only fragments
remain, they would be of immeasurable importance. But intact buildings…”

“Well,
there’s only one way to find out,” Turner said. “We can leave tomorrow,
establish a base camp, and search for any glacial caves or moulins, which might
let us get a look at beneath the ice.”

Christine
grinned and clinked her glass against his. “I like the way you think, Mr.
Turner.”

Scarrow
cleared his throat slightly. “I don’t wish to intrude, Dr. Putnam, but I would
like to be included on your expedition if at all possible.”

She
frowned. “I think you can pray for us just as well from here, Reverend.”

“Ah, but
I have more to offer than prayer, as powerful as it is,” Scarrow replied. “I
know a bit of mountaineering and the attendant dangers.”

Wonderful—even
the local man of the cloth had more experience when it came to surviving the
wilderness than me.

“If you
intend to scale the glacier looking for this wonderful city,” Scarrow went on, “having
someone on hand to set bones and stem bleeding could prove a matter of life and
death, should ill luck befall you.”

“The
reverend has a point,” Griffin said carefully.

“The
museum didn’t provide a stipend for a doctor,” Christine said.

“Nor do
I require one.” Scarrow smiled. “Lest you think me entirely motivated by
charity, allow me to remind you of my interest in archaeology. I have some
understanding what this discovery could mean. I’d like to be a part of such a
momentous occasion, even if my role is a small one.”

“And
your flock?”

“Can
surely fend for themselves a few days. If they descend into idolatry and mayhem
the moment my back is turned, clearly I’ve done a very poor job of shepherding
them.”

Christine
mulled it over for a long moment. “I’m in command of this expedition. As long
as you’re comfortable taking orders from a woman and promise not to try and
convert anyone, your skills will be welcome.”

“Of
course.” Scarrow glanced at Iskander. “I take it, sir, you are a follower of
Mohammed?”

“Church
of England, actually,” Iskander replied a bit stiffly.

Scarrow
laughed. “Ah, of course. Forgive me. I promise to do no more than
pray—quietly—for the success of our expedition.”

“Then we
have an accord.” Christine reached across the table and they shook hands on it.
“For now, we’d best find our cabins.” She rose to her feet, and we all hastily
followed suit. “There’s a great deal to do before we can depart tomorrow.”

“Indeed,”
Griffin said, a bit stiffly. I cast him a curious glance, but he didn’t meet my
gaze.

Griffin,
Iskander, and I followed Christine out of the saloon. As soon as we were
outside and away from prying ears, Griffin flung up his arms.

“You do
recall why we’re here, don’t you?” he demanded in a low voice. “What about
these seals and this umbra? We’re supposed to be saving the town, not haring
off to study a glacier only three days before the solstice!”

“There
didn’t seem to be anything magical about the stele,” I said. “I can look over
it again if you would like, but I imagine I would have sensed any enchantment
while I reconstructed the thing.”

“Perhaps
the umbra is in the city,” Iskander suggested. “Was there a city associated
with the Eltdown Shards, I wonder? And if so, had any trace been worn away, or
was the information suppressed?”

“If the
Endicotts were involved, probably the latter,” I said. “Which makes it all the
more imperative to find this one as soon as possible.”

“And
what if it isn’t simple to seal away?” Griffin persisted. “What if it turns out
the entire site is best left untouched? Don’t you remember what Vanya said when
he attacked you, Whyborne? You would ‘break open the mountain and release the
great worm?’ What if he knew about the city on the mountain somehow?”

“How
would he know anything about it?” I asked. “We didn’t until just now.”

“Jack
said he was Russian creole. If the native side of his family came from one of
the tribes in this area, perhaps they had legends, or even knew something we
don’t.” Griffin frowned. “Blast, Jack’s original letter even said something
about the natives avoiding the area.”

“This is
the find of a lifetime!” Christine shouted. I gestured at her to keep her voice
down. She shot me an angry look, but complied. “If Nephren-ka ensured my place
in the annals of archaeological history, this…this would be an even greater
accomplishment. It would change our basic understanding of human history! I’m
not turning my back on it just because some maniac yelled at Whyborne about
mountains and worms.”

“And the
umbra?” Griffin pressed.

“What of
it? We don’t even know what it is, Griffin, or where it might be. What the
devil did you think I’d do, once you pointed out the similarity between the
stele and the peaks? Sit here on my hands until something comes lumbering down
off the mountain to eat us?”

Griffin
sighed, steam writhing about his face in the icy air. “No. But we can’t let
scientific zeal make us incautious.”

I
pressed my lips together…but it would do no good to withhold the information,
even if it would only add to the argument. “There’s something I should mention.
The city shown on the stele…it reminds me a great deal of the one I saw in
visions when the dweller in the deeps touched my mind.”

Griffin
cursed, and even Iskander seemed taken aback. “Are you certain, old chap?” he
asked. “That seems…rather unlikely.”

“I’m
certainly not disagreeing.” My mind raced. “I’d always assumed the ketoi
constructed the underwater city at the dweller’s direction. What if ancient
humans built it, and it sank beneath the waves?”

“Like
Atlantis?” Griffin asked sharply.

“Of
course not,” I snapped. “I’m no theosophist, searching for evidence of some
so-called root race. Perhaps this prior civilization, whatever it was, had
contact with the ketoi. For all we know, this arctic city might have been built
by some group of hybrids who fled inland for reasons of their own.”

“Do you
think there are any ketoi off the coast here?” Christine asked. “Around the
Aleutian Islands, perhaps?”

“It’s
possible,” I allowed. “And Ketoi—the island, that is—is part of the
Kuril chain. It isn’t terribly far from the Aleutians, certainly not for
creatures that can swim great distances underwater. Perhaps their name is in
fact derived from the island, not the Greek
ketus…”

Christine
cleared her throat. “But that’s for another time,” I said hastily. “We can’t
say anything for certain until—and unless—we find the city and get
a closer look.”

“There
you have it,” Christine said, as if I’d somehow made her point for her. “We can’t
know anything until we examine the site closer. Assuming there’s even a site
left after the action of the glacier.”

“I
suppose,” Griffin allowed at last. We’d reached our cabin, and clustered about
the door. “But let’s not lose sight of our original goal: to make certain this
umbra, if it even still exists as you say, remains sealed away.”

“I’m
honestly not entirely certain how we mean to do that,” Iskander said, looking
at me. “I know we’ve talked of strengthening these seals somehow, but I haven’t
heard the details.”

“The
seals will be bound to an object of some kind,” I said. “Which unfortunately
could be anything that would act as a container.”

“And you
mean to reinforce them somehow?”

“Not
precisely. That is, I could, if I knew either the exact spell cast originally,
or if the sorcerer physically traced the—the
shape
of the spell,
as it were, so I could see where to reinforce it. However, I’ve been studying
how to cast such magics myself, so I should be able to lay a second spell over
the first and strengthen it that way. Er, in theory.”

“Wonderful,”
Griffin muttered.

“It will
be fine,” Christine clapped Griffin encouragingly on the arm. “If it comes to
it, you and I are hardly helpless against the otherworldly. Iskander comes from
an entire line of monster hunters. And Whyborne is a monster himself.”

“Excuse
me!” I exclaimed. “I don’t appreciate these slurs against my ancestry.”

She
ignored me. “We’ll do whatever is necessary, Griffin. But the antiquity of this
find…this isn’t some primitive remnant built by ancient hunters who crossed the
land bridge from Asia. This is beyond anything dreamed of by science. And I
intend to excavate it even if I have to fight off a dozen monsters with my bare
hands.”