The Riddles of Epsilon (22 page)

Slowly he began to turn his back on us.

“Epsilon! Don't turn away! Help me!” I screamed.

But I had to shield my eyes. Because as he began to turn, it came again—that light coming from behind him. It flashed out, white, too bright to look upon. He continued turning, until his back came fully our way and the light was blocked out again. Only when he moved his head a fraction of an inch did a slim portion of that light gleam out again.

Then slowly he bent one knee and began to kneel. The light streamed out from behind him as his head bent lower.

And as he knelt before it, that light shot out. It lit up the entire chamber—it blinded us. Lower and lower he knelt, until the shape of someone stood behind him. Someone tall
and full of shine. Someone pure—someone made only
of
light. It dazzled me, and at the edge of my vision, the flame Yolandë had been holding appeared sickly and dull compared to it.

Then there was too much light, and I, too, fell to my knees.

And a voice rang out, clear and strong—a voice that made me go still inside.

“The Time of Dark Choices is upon us,” it said. “But the relic is not in the wrong hands. For I chose the very hands that now hold it. And my great plan is unfolding as it should.”

New music came, too—strong, magnificent music—it swirled all around me until I felt I would scream. This music was beautiful, too—infinitely more beautiful than Yolandë's had been. It was wilder, older, younger. It held ancient notes and words of creation. It held many things at once. Wrath and kindness—fury and compassion. It was a call to warfare and a call to rest, both at the same time. It was the music of all authority and magnificence. We trembled before it.

Then the Being raised his arms, and rays of gold shot out to every corner of the cave.

“Show them your flame now, Yolandë! Do not hide in lies in my presence. For I, Agapetos, hold a charge against you—you spoke four things to the child standing at your
side. And each of the four were lies!”

Agapetos!

He made me want to stand up and shout for wild, mad joy. He made me want to bow my head and weep. All I could do was shield my eyes with my hand and try to see him. Even though I was dazzled, I longed to see him, I could not drag my eyes away.

But from Yolandë, I felt a gathering of something primeval and ugly. It reached out for Mom. I felt it coil closer, and a cunning voice spoke. It was a voice of deep, deep avarice. It was so filled with malice and greed that it sickened me to hear it.

“But she is
mine
!” it said.

Instantly, Epsilon rose to his feet and went to stand by the side of Agapetos. He, too, had changed. His face was stern and noble. His clothes were a deep gold. Scarlet banners appeared at his wrists. A sash of gold covered his chest. Across his waist, a girdle, gold and red. And in his hand—a sword. A sharp two-edged sword.

Agapetos spoke again, and his voice was strong and terrifying.

“The first lie you spoke to this child was the word ‘welcome.' You welcomed her into this place when you meant it to be her tomb. The second lie you spoke was to call her your
child. For she is not your child—my mark is upon her head. The third lie you told was that you were here to protect her mother. Yet you sought only to destroy. But your fourth lie was the worst lie. For you called yourself Yolandë. Yet your name is not Yolandë. Your name is Cimul—the Lord of Inversion! Be seen before me, Cimul!”

At that, the gold light receded its brilliance a little. Now I could drag my eyes away. Mom, too, looked toward Yolandë. Her gaze lifted higher and higher as the being that had been Yolandë rose up, immensely tall and strong.

The soft gown it was wearing changed before my eyes, from light to dark. The Ouroborus snake in its hands flattened itself out on the outstretched palms, then seemed to melt into the skin. Scales appeared, starting at the hands. Pale scales, yellowing scales, and as they covered the monstrous body, inch by inch, that body grew in stature. The soft hair shortened and matted, and round its wrists, pale bracelets appeared and gleamed. But they were not bracelets at all—they were row upon row of snakes, all with their tails in their mouths. The Ouroborus, lining the arms and the legs.

Then the scales deepened and hardened.

Cimul was black and red, the color of old blood. His face was full of trickery and cunning. His mouth held mockery
and sneers and foul words. The skin of his face was the skin of a serpent, its scales peeling, shearing off, renewing themselves all the time. But his eyes were the worst.

They were filled with a deep malevolence. They were the most sickening, evil thing I had ever seen in my life.

Then Cimul opened his mouth and pointed a crimson finger at Mom.

“I am the Ouroborus, the cunning one, the great Inverter! I it was who beckoned you here. Give me the curses that are held in your hand!”

The voice of Agapetos rang out again.

“I am the One without beginning or end! I it was who chose your hands to receive the relic. And those hands will not fail me now.”

Mom bent down low, shivering. But she slowly reached out her hand—held the relic toward Agapetos, whose brilliant light shone out at once.

Cimul threw back his head and gave a monstrous cry.

“Then I call you to me now—my faithful ones! Rise up in these places of the deep, for I would have you fight for me.”

With a deafening cry, all the swans replied—the swans on the lake and the swans leaning down above us. All round the cavern it echoed on and on—a shriek, the scream of hundreds of birds. Into the air those voices came again, the
voices of the ancient followers of Cimul:

 

“If we possess the tooth, we, too, can curse.

If we can curse, we, too, can rule.

If we can rule, we, too, can misrule.

Long live the Inverter, Lord Cimul!”

 

At that, Cimul rose, his arms out wide. And as we watched, his outstretched arms became dark and feathered. He gave a mighty leap into the air. As his feet left the rocky beach, they turned black and webbed. The image before me in the air was no longer that of Cimul.

It was a swan.

A huge black swan with vile red eyes.

MY DIARY

It circled in a great arc over the lake, over the shrieking swans. Then it flew up and up, to the very top of the cavern. As it rose, the swans lining the stone steps started to peel off, to launch themselves into flight and follow. Then they turned as one and began to fly down, directly at Mom, curled up on the floor.

At that, Agapetos gave a great cry—a wild, sharp cry.

I turned his way. Only now Agapetos was not there at all, by Epsilon's side.

In the place of Agapetos stood an eagle.

A huge eagle. But still shining, pure white.

The white eagle opened his mighty wings and flew up. He, too, flew directly toward Mom. She screamed and held the relic out to him.

The eagle took it in his talons before the swans were
upon him.

He flew away from Mom and up toward the mouth of the Miradel, as swans all around slashed at him with their beaks. Blood appeared on his plumage as he tried to rise. The black swan was beating, beating at him. Feathers fell, feather after feather. As soon as he made some headway, they drove him back downward. Lower and lower they drove him, back toward the lake.

Blood dripped into the water as I pulled Mom to her feet. The eagle was floundering to stay in the air, struggling, surrounded by those savage beaks. Then the eagle lit up with a great light that shot out into the darkness. It stunned us all.

Instantly the swans veered away. They flew to the lake as one and landed there. In their midst, the black swan. Now there was just the eagle airborne. He hovered in the air, his mighty wings flapping. Then the voice of Agapetos roared.

“Take the relic with your own hand, Cimul! It is yours from this day forth!”

Total silence came then. It was as if every living thing in that place froze with shock.

Then up flew the black swan, its red eyes filled with greed.

As it rose higher and higher toward the relic in the eagle's talons, it changed back into Cimul. His foul red hands reached
out for the relic. Then I screamed as his fingers closed around it. But before he could even begin to draw it to himself, the voice of Agapetos called out again.

“I, Agapetos, revoke this ancient curse! From this day on, the relic will hold only blessings! I declare the words of Cimul broken!”

In the air, Cimul held the tooth up before his eyes and screamed. The relic began to shine with a bright silver light. It seemed to burn his hands, but still he would not let it go. Instead, his scream grew and grew in the cavern. It shook the rock walls. It reverberated all round—a scream of pure rage. Every swan on the lake raised its head and cried out. As the noise grew, a deep rumbling began, far above. A cracking sound—a splitting.

It was the sound of masonry beginning to crumble.

I looked up, aghast, just as a cloud of dust came pouring down.

An enormous crack grew from the base of the Miradel and slowly split up to the top of the tower. Then the huge stones holding the gargoyles dislodged—toppled inward—began to fall. The parapet crumbled and fell.

Huge stones dropped all around Agapetos and Cimul. The whole of the great tower was coming down upon them. The shining relic was knocked from Cimul's hands. It came
spinning down toward us, as if in slow motion.

Both Agapetos and Cimul were engulfed in the falling stones. The huge east gargoyle spun toward Cimul, its devil's face turning. It hit Cimul with a sickening thud. Cimul fell under its weight.

But the white eagle, too, was engulfed. As the very base of the tower came down, the huge foundation stones struck him and carried him down with them.

Appalled, I watched Agapetos fall into the lake.

Epsilon gave a terrible cry then—an angry, warlike battle cry. He drew his sword.

“Get out!” he shouted to me in a terrible voice.

I pushed Mom into the mouth of the tunnel, too frightened to look back.

“Run, Mom!” I screamed.

The rock under our feet shook and rumbled. I pulled Mom on, half carrying her along the tunnel.

We ran, crying and stumbling, on and on toward the peaceful seashore.

 

I pushed Mom out of the tiny gap in the cliff and held her hand as she slithered down onto the sand. Then she reached up for me, caught me as I fell. We lay there in a tangled heap, panting and weeping, our arms around each other. I couldn't
stop shaking, couldn't stop my teeth from chattering.

Mom suddenly seemed to notice this. She felt with her hands, all along my wet clothes.

“You're soaked. Come on—there's a fire still lit.”

She sounded like Mom again.

We helped each other over to the fire. The embers were still glowing. They threw out a strong, comforting heat. The sky near the horizon was a soft, deep red. The night was almost through. Sunrise couldn't be far away now.

Mom sank to her knees, covered her face with her hands. She knelt there, very still.

A gentle breeze came from the sea—fanned the embers into a small flame. I reached then for a bit of driftwood and threw it on the fire. Then another. More warmth—we had to have more warmth. Both of us were trembling from head to foot.

Mom raised her face. Stretched out her hands to the fire. I inched closer, took hold of one of her hands.

“Mom? It was
her
? Her face you were drawing all that time? Martha's? Not Yolandë's?”

Mom looked at me for a long time, then gave a huge sigh.

“I saw both of them, Jess. That one, in there”—she gave a shudder—“and Martha. But I didn't know her name, didn't know who she was. I just knew she was lost and alone and was
looking for something. She was exhausted. I dreamed of her, that face, peering out, trapped. Poor thing. Who was she?”

I put one arm around her.

“Her name was Martha Wren. She was the last woman—before you—to be drawn toward Yolandë.”

Mom's eyes were wide in her tired face.

“And Yolandë? Who is Yolandë?”

She was shuddering with fear. I held her close. She rocked in my arms like a little child.

“Yolandë was just—a disguise, Mom. A beautiful form, beautiful enough to draw you and Martha into all this.”

Mom wiped her eyes and shuddered.

“She was the ONE LADY,” I went on. “But she was him all the time—Cimul, who wanted to
be
the One. He was the enemy of Agapetos.”

At the sound of his name, we fell still and silent. We sat there shivering, and the lines of red clouds over the sea grew golden. The top of the sun appeared out of the horizon. We both gazed at it, lost in our own thoughts.

Presently we heard it behind us—a terrible shrieking, but far inland. And the long, low sound of many wings. Mom and I clutched each other, turned to look out over the cliffs to where the Miradel had once stood. Now there was nothing. The top of the hill was just a dark gape, a wounded gap.

But swans were soaring out of the darkness. Hundreds of swans rose up as if flying out of the earth itself. They rose, wheeling and calling.

Around them, a strange flickering. An electric, rapid flashing. I knew what it was instantly. A camera.

“Dad's up there!” I said.

Mom and I leaped up, craned our necks to see. But we couldn't see Dad. We could see nothing but those swans. More and more of them rose and circled the hill. In the soft light of the rising sun, all the swans shone white. They gathered together in the air. Their wild cries reached us clearly as we stood, transfixed. Then they flew our way, wheeling toward Long Beach.

Nearer the swans flew, their rhythmic wings beating closer. As the sun rose halfway out of the sea, they arrived. Over our heads they flew, hundreds upon hundreds of swans. They circled the beach, their wings loud, heavy.

But white. White. All of them were white.

Then they turned as one and flew out over the sea. Farther and farther they flew, away from Lume, then flying in a great curve back toward the west.

 

Mom and I sank back down into the sand. All the swans had been white. The black swan had not been with them. Neither
had the eagle.

I stared up at the hill and thought of Agapetos, fallen into that vile water. I thought of how he alone had known that the relic was in the right hands. Mom's hands. Shivering in the sea breeze, I marveled at what he had done. He had enabled Mom to see Martha's face. He had allowed Yolandë to beckon Mom, to enchant her. But Mom's compassion for Martha had been his biggest weapon of all. Not even Epsilon had realized his wider plan. Agapetos alone knew.

Then—“Look, Mom!” I yelled, pointing toward the hill.

Another bird rose out of that dark gap. It flew up, a dark silhouette against the pearly sky. At first I thought it was the black swan. But as it rose higher and the sun shone on it, I saw its plumage—white. Pure white. And as it flew nearer, I saw that the shape was not the shape of a swan at all. The beak was hooked, the feet not webbed.

 

The eagle flew closer and closer.

When he was almost over our heads, we could see the relic shining in his talons.

His white plumage was dirty, smeared in red. Right over our very heads he flew, and as he did, a drop of something fell down and splashed onto my forehead.

As he soared over the tumbling surf, my hand reached up to touch my forehead. I stared down at the crimson on my fingertips.

Blood.

But Mom was on her feet, pointing out to sea.

“What's
that
?” said Mom. “Out there—in the bay?”

The sun rose higher over the sea, the lowest edge of it just clinging to the horizon. But its light caught the curved rising and falling of something leaping in the bay. Gleam after gleam of light, appearing, then submerging, then appearing again in the dark water.

Porpoises and dolphins, leaping and playing in enormous numbers.

The sun shone on their backs, glinted bright gold. Curve after curve of them, rising, falling, rising again. Then the sun separated from the horizon and there was gold—gold everywhere.

The white eagle flew toward those shining curving backs, his talons clutched tight. As he reached them, he dipped down. I watched as he dropped the relic from his talons. Gleaming in the sun, it fell spinning, down, down toward the churning surface. At the very last moment, a great porpoise leaped out and caught it in its jaws. I saw a joyous white splash as it fell back into the waves.

Finally their song came faintly to our ears. The ancient
songs of King L'Ume, the ones heard long ago, when Lume was a gentle place, inhabited only by seals and ermines and wild birds. Songs sung on these shores by an ancient king whose heart was pure and true. Tunes so enchanting that whales and porpoises and dolphins would swim closer to listen. Music of the sea sung by faithful voices at times when the sky was red.

Mom and I cried to hear it.

Then the porpoises and the dolphins turned in their huge schools and followed the eagle eastward, far out into the sunlit sea.

Farther and farther he flew into that dazzling golden circle, until we couldn't see him anymore . . . .