The Keeper's Shadow (13 page)

Unfortunately, proximity to the rubble left by the explosion doesn't provide them with any answers. If there's a way in, no one can see it. Spotting a trickle of a stream, Roan turns to Lumpy. “We've been riding all day without a break. The horses need water. Let's take a rest.”

After leading his own horse to drink, Roan relaxes against a great boulder and closes his eyes. With a few quick breaths, he's left his body and is soaring, searching for an opening. Between the two hills, he glides through dense underbrush and finds a fissure in the stone. Speeding through it, he discovers a narrow grotto that reaches as far back as his eye can see.

He notices a slab of rock that's fallen from the cave wall. Reaching out from it is a skeletal human hand. Someone was once crushed underneath it. A booby trap. Are there more? Advancing carefully, he finds two more fallen slabs. Around both lie skeletal remains. Roan scrutinizes the walls for an unsprung trap but can find none. I'm looking in the wrong place, he thinks. Casting his eyes down to the floor, he finds it—a loose stone. As you walk along here, you have to watch your feet, a difficult task in darkness and shadow. Proceeding along the narrow grotto, he finds seven more unsprung traps and commits them to memory.

Just when he thinks he's detected them all, he spots a different snare. As the cave opens up, a high ceiling is revealed. A dried-up corpse hangs from it, snagged in a net. Clutched in its mummified hands is a huge gold-embossed book,
Dante's Divine Comedy.
He wouldn't be the first person in the world to die for a book, but it must have been a long, hard death, starving up there in the gloom.

Beyond the cavern-like area, the path splits into two. Venturing left, Roan discovers a steep drop-off cleverly hidden by a wafer-thin floor. Corpses are piled in the pit, scraps of blue cloth clumped among their bones. Clerics. Here on Darius's orders? Or in pursuit of someone? Questions without answer.

Backtracking to the fork, Roan explores the other passageway. It also comes to a dead end but, remembering the extraordinary stonework of Oasis, Roan searches for and locates a locking mechanism. He examines it for booby traps but finds none. Whoever set the snares must have believed this door undetectable. Passing through the stone, Roan stares up in wonder. As in the caverns of Oasis, dozens of polished mirrors are strategically placed over the entire expanse of the ceiling to capture and amplify any natural light from the surface. Enough to brighten this large room filled with tables and chairs, most burned and broken, relics of Darius's attack on the Academy some fifty years before.

Roan glides through classrooms and sleeping quarters, dining room and kitchen. Though all are littered with the shattered remains of the assault, the Clerics never bothered to tear down the walls or drag up the floors in search of documents or books. Why? Thinking back, Roan doubts that Clerics would have found, never mind known, how to open the cleverly crafted entrance. The Dirt Eaters must have left it ajar, giving the impression that the place had been abandoned. The Clerics must have assumed everything of value had been taken away. If there's a library here, Roan can't see any trace of it.

Having learned all that he can, Roan returns to his body with the speed of a thought, and opens his eyes.

The doctors and Lumpy are standing close, engaged in a tense, muted conversation.

“I know Dreamwalking when I see it,” Imin snaps irritably.

“He doesn't take Dirt. He's meditating,” Lumpy says, sounding his most reasonable.

“He is not. We meditate. You can see he is not present. Look,” Othard commands.

Lumpy barely suppresses a laugh as they both turn to see Roan smiling, open-eyed and Buddha-like. “This way,” he announces as he pops up. Striding to the underbrush that camouflages the entrance, he draws out his hook-sword. With a few strokes, he makes short work of the vines and branches tangled there, exposing the fissure.

“How did you know this was here?” Imin asks suspiciously.

“I meditated on the problem,” Roan says with a grin.

“We'll need torches,” Othard grumbles, distrustful but obviously not enough to lose sight of their goal.

While Lumpy takes the task of concealing their mounts, the others gather dry brush into bundles to make serviceable torches. After Roan has finished his, he carves a warning in an open area on the way to the path, where Kamyar's sure to see it. When he looks up from his labor, he realizes with dismay that someone's missing. Anxiously finding Lumpy, he whispers, “Othard's gone.”

Lighting a torch, Roan looks down the entrance of the narrow passageway. When he glances back at his friend, his expression is grim. “Don't go past the third corpse. Walk carefully. Don't touch anything and stay behind me.”

Leaving Imin in Lumpy's capable hands, Roan rushes ahead. Othard is a few steps past the third sprung trap. He doesn't feel the loose stone beneath his foot, but Roan senses it instantly and dives forward. Pushing Othard out of the way, he's barely able to throw himself forward before the gigantic slab of rock slams against the floor.

Othard, shaken, mumbles almost inaudibly. “You have extraordinary reflexes.”

Trying not to sound too angry, Roan addresses the doctor firmly. “I know you're excited, but as we agreed at the beginning of this trip, it really would be better if you follow my lead.” Turning back to Lumpy, Roan cautions, “The triggers are on the ground, walk in my footsteps.”

Squeezing past the new obstruction, Lumpy and Imin cautiously follow, their torches animating the passage with flickering light. When the narrow crevice opens up into the larger cavern, Imin gasps and pushes forward, reaching toward one of the few books scattered there.

Roan whirls, grabbing the physician's cloak. “You don't want to do that,” he says, pointing at the ceiling.

The company follows his finger to the withered corpse swinging above them. “Pick up one of these books and it might be your last.”

Appraising the corpse and then Roan, Imin grimaces skeptically but does not, thankfully, reach again for the book.

By the time Roan exposes all the other traps and leads them to the concealed door, both doctors are openly expressing their discontent. Ignoring their indignant grumblings, Roan runs his fingers up and around the end of the cave, feeling for a small protrusion. As he pushes on it, the door slides open.

“That was a little too easy,” Imin comments testily.

“And don't say you came upon it meditating,” insists Othard.

Roan gives Lumpy a weary look, not at all pleased to be divulging his methods. “I project a part of myself outside my body, not into the Dreamfield, but here in the world.”

“Astral projection,” Imin asserts, obviously relieved.

Othard nods his shaggy head beside him. “Why didn't you say so before?”

“Nothing mysterious in that!”

Roan stares at the doctors. “Can
you
…astral project?”

“No,” says Imin. “Of course not.”

“But we know about it.”

“And, after all, you
are
Roan of Longlight...”

A bit taken aback, Roan looks at his friend, but Lumpy merely shrugs, obviously amused, as the physicians push their way into what must have once been an impressive foyer.

“We're looking for a clever hiding spot,” Roan says, studiously ignoring Lumpy's wide grin. “A concealed entrance, much like the door we just saw. When the clerics invaded this place, they missed it.”

“We won't,” Othard snaps.

“We know how the Dirt Eaters hide things...”

“…Their tricky little doors...”

“…False panels...”

“…Shifting walls.”

Lumpy joins Roan to search the perimeter, their hands tracing over every inch of the stone surface. “Walking through that cave, seeing those bones, took me back,” he shudders.

“The labyrinth at Oasis,” remembers Roan.

“Yeah. Making company into corpses seems like a Dirt Eater specialty.”

“Somehow I don't think the Dirt Eaters are responsible for these bones.”

“Oh? Why's that?”

“Asp said the Dirt Eaters who came here trying to find a way in were never seen again. They'd know how to avoid their own traps. Besides, I have a feeling.”

Lumpy snorts. “Well, then, say no more.”

After hours of fruitless searching, the group gathers in the first chamber, weary and frustrated.

“There's nothing here,” Imin laments.

“We were so sure,” Othard adds dejectedly.

“We must have missed something,” says Lumpy. “We'll just have to start again.”

“If there was a door in here, we would have found it,” Othard states emphatically.

Roan strides over to the entrance of the Academy, mumbling to himself. “The door was left open—not only so that it would appear nothing of value had been left…but also to divert the Clerics…from the real hiding place.”

Stepping out of the chamber, Roan studies the cave wall across the threshold. After a moment, he sees the barely discernible bulge in the granite. Reaching up, he locates the locking mechanism. Searching with his fingers, he remembers what he learned in the tunnels of Oasis, and gently trips the lock. With a satisfied grin, he watches as the wall glides open.

“You've found it,” gasps Imin.

Roan walks onto a platform overlooking a massive room forged out of rock. Transparent green tourmaline covers the walls, causing an unearthly light to be cast over the entire chamber. The doctors and Lumpy crowd behind him on the landing, gaping at the majesty of this gigantic atrium: its graceful pillars, wide marble tables, long couches. Hundreds of people must have studied and read and meditated here.

“Where are the books?” Othard moans, despairing.

“Let's have a look around,” replies Roan, and with an encouraging glance at the physician, he steps down the narrow stairs. But when he reaches the bottom, he stops short and, raising an arm, captures the group's attention. Putting a finger to his lips, he motions them closer. “There's someone here.”

Eyes darting everywhere, the doctors tiptoe alongside Roan and Lumpy as they proceed toward an archway on the opposite side of the atrium. There are gasps all around when they see that it opens onto another chamber containing a well-tended hydroponic garden.

“People are
living
here,” whispers Imin.

“What did they do with all the books?” asks Othard, noticeably piqued.

Moving through the chamber, Roan pauses at a large wooden door, sword raised. Inhaling deeply, he opens it, sighs, then gestures the physician forward. “Othard, we've found the books.”

The library is beyond anything Roan could have imagined. It dwarfs the huge collection at Oasis and the holdings of the Gunthers. Chamber reaches back onto chamber, and each, from ceiling to floor, is crammed with books. All saved from the burnings ordered by Darius.

Running along the stacks, Othard shouts, “Agriculture! Physiology! Astronomy! Psychology! Physics! Chemistry…”

Placing a hand none too gently over the physician's mouth, Lumpy whispers, “Shh.”

Grabbing a fistful of each physician's cloak, Roan shepherds Othard and Imin amid the stacks. “Stay here and be quiet,” he whispers. Chastened, the doctors remain perfectly still. Shaking his head wearily, Roan mutters, “You can
look
at the books, just don't get too rambunctious.”

As one room opens onto another and then another in a seemingly endless collection of knowledge, Roan glances at Lumpy, awestruck. “There must be tens of thousands of books here. Maybe hundreds of thousands.”

Lumpy nods, his face filled with the wonder and joy of discovering hidden treasure. “Before I met you, I'd never even seen a book. Now I'm surrounded by more books than I could ever read. It's—what?”

“He's over there,” Roan says quietly. “Around that tower of books.” The two friends cautiously round the stack, only to find yet another wooden door.

Roan shifts his hook-sword from hand to hand nervously. “Whoever's on the other side of that door must already know we're here.”

Lumpy shrugs. “So I guess we storm in and hope for the best.”

At Roan's signal, they burst through the doors. Books and papers lie scattered everywhere in the already cluttered room. Plates of half-eaten food sit moldering on the floor, clothes are flung over the chairs. And in the farthest corner, huddled over a desk, is an old man with scraggly white hair and beard. He scribbles something onto a scroll, then goes on reading the worn and tattered notebook he's hunched over. Roan approaches the old man slowly. As he moves closer, he sees that the man's face is wet with tears.

“Have you come to finish what was once started?” Though the old man's voice creaks and croaks as if rusty from disuse, it manages to convey a great sadness.

“No,” Roan says gently. “We've come to read. To learn.”

Blinking up at him, the old man asks, “Where did you learn to read?”

“Longlight,” answers Roan.

The old man smiles, then squints curiously at Roan's companion. “Come forward, come.” As Lumpy edges toward him, he laughs. “One of the Shunned!” Ignoring Lumpy's consternation, he turns back to Roan and shakes his head. “And you. You must be Roan of Longlight.”

“How do you know this?” asks Roan a little coldly, upset at the insult to his friend.

“I've only deciphered the first chapter, but it's all here,” the old man says, patting the notebook.

As Roan scans the arcane code, his heartbeat quickens, his breath becomes shallow, he feels lightheaded. The room seems transparent, as if the present were a shimmering pliable substance he might grasp and remold with different possibilities, undamaged by war and greed, free of despair and pain. What he's feeling, he realizes, is the essence of this book. The hope of it. Eyes glued to its mysterious ciphers, he asks the old man, “What is this?”