Into the Second World Read online

  Niklot laughed weakly. “You mean our lives were at the mercy of a children’s game?”

  “It is more than a game,” Bessarion said with dignity. “I said before: t is an Ancient Wisdom.”

  “Oh gods above and below, save me from the wisdom of dwarves,” Nik said.

  “Professor Queller,” I began, but he interrupted.

  “My dear,” he said, “given what we have all been through, do you think you might address me simply as Henrik?”

  “Henrik,” I said. Nik had said to use first names, but this was the first time I said it out loud. It felt awkward, but I pressed on with my question. “Why did you take so terrible a risk?”

  “Why? For knowledge, of course,” he replied. “There was little risk, despite the actions of my anxious ogre. I was on the verge of breaking the thing loose.”

  Cosmas made a short, deep sound that served as his comment.

  “What knowledge, though? The man was dead.”

  “For this. My only gamble was whether I would find what I guessed I might.” He held up the broken staff as a prize, and smiled. “I did.”

  Niklot got to his feet. “May I see?”

  Henrik—for now I may use the informal in my narrative—handed the shattered stick. Nik examined it and after a moment exclaimed, “Fournier!”

  I gasped. “That body?”

  “No, or I doubt so,” Henrik said. “One of his party, the poor wretch.”

  “Étienne, that vain dog, puts his mark on every piece of equipment in an expedition.” Nik held out the unbroken end for me to inspect. “You see?”

  The letters ETF were burned into the wood.

  “Same as on the pick.”

  “The knowledge I sought, Gabrielle,” the professor said, “was to confirm that we are still on Fournier’s trail.”

  I told him he should call me Gabi. I did not tell him I still thought the risk he ran was madness. But Henrik Queller was the sort of man who believed death cannot touch him, that he could run such risks because he served a cause even greater than death. I imagine that poor wretch in the maze thought the same way.

  We went farther, all of us instinctively wanting to put some distance between ourselves and that awful place. When at last we camped, we exchanged only a few words. When the last lantern was extinguished, I nearly asked for it to be lit again, for what little comfort it might afford me. After all, were we not all within a larger Tangle? The walls did not move, but the maze was just as mysterious and just as dangerous.

  I reflected that I had all but lost the sense of myself as a journalist. The journey was slowly but steadily reducing me to my own self. Not Gabrielle who is this, or Gabrielle who is that, but simply Gabrielle, face to face with the uncaring universe. Oddly, I did not despair. The thought made me angry, determined to fight back, though there truly was nothing to fight. The deep earth did not care about me or any of us. All that remained was to keep going, and that would have be victory enough—to win, at the end of each day, another day.

  My philosophy was as exhausted as my body. I slept.

  We were two days beyond the Tangle when we came to a large passageway, wide enough we five could have walked shoulder to shoulder, and tall enough even for Cosmas. The ceiling showed the first signs of tool work, then the walls, and then we saw the buildings.

  I had envisioned we would encounter a city sooner or later, or at least a town, but this was more of a dwarf village. The buildings were carved into the walls, with a plaza-like common area between. Each side was two stories tall, with exterior stairs connecting the levels and catwalks running the perimeter. The warmth of the yellow stone was here replaced by the familiar dark gray basalt, relieved by decorative touches of lighter-colored stone. Our view of the far side was hidden by a massive central pillar, so thick as to accommodate more dwellings within it, though the pillar appeared to be solid. The buildings were empty, pierced by openings without doors. Beso called them storerooms; they could just as well have been homes or barracks or shops, for all stood utterly empty.

  “Well, professor,” I said, “it appears your monk got this far, doesn’t it?”

  “Indeed!” Henrik replied, obviously delighted. “What he described was rather grander than this, but it’s a confirmation, nonetheless.”

  We all wandered a bit, looking into buildings, hoping to find some trace more than worked stone. With our lanterns we could see from one side of the settlement to the other, so there was no fear of getting lost. I took a bit longer than others, taking time to jot down a few notes and impressions. I was still at it when I heard Professor Queller call out.

  “Come here! Everyone!”

  He sounded like he’d found something more exciting than dangerous, but Henrik did not always reliably distinguish between the two. By the time I had rounded central the pillar, the others were already there.

  The far wall, which had been hidden by the central column, was an opening containing an entrance which contained a door. The largest frame was basalt, roughly cut but clearly not natural. This stretched the full width and height of the place.

  Within that gray framework was a lighter stone of greenish-gray with lines of striation running through it. Its smooth surface reflected our lights as if slick with moisture. It reminded me of the slate houses of Thuringia after a rain. This slate frame stood twenty feet high and just about as wide. It might have been the grand doors of some ancient chapterhouse, the kind that are only opened on a jubilee.

  This in turn held at its center an opening or doorway of such remarkable quality I knew it was this that had occasioned Henrik’s cry. Upon seeing it, Bessarion dashed forward and cast himself upon the ground a few feet in front. He was fumbling about with something, but my attention was held by the opening.

  The light from our lamps threw steep shadows up the face of the basalt. It reflected sparkling from the green-gray of the slate rock. But it fell upon the black opening at the center and did not return. I stared at it, but it seemed to play tricks with my sight. One moment it seemed like some kind of flat black stone; the next moment, it was an infinite hole into which the world itself might fall and be lost. I couldn’t tell if I was looking at something or looking through it. I turned away. The thing made me uneasy.

  Beso knelt only a few feet away from the dark thing and had set down his lamp. From some hidden pocket he brought forth a leather pouch and dumped its contents onto the ground. I restrained a gasp. Stepping over to Niklot and Henrik, I spoke in a whisper.

  “Those are real jewels, aren’t they?”

  “Reverence stones,” Niklot said. “I’ve heard about them. Never seen one. I don’t know anyone’s ever seen what, two dozen of them?”

  “Twenty-two,” Beso said. He was arranging the stones. They were of varying sizes and luster, but they were definitely gems and were indisputably beautiful. I recognized a large opal, sapphires, emeralds, two pale rubies plus a small one that burned like a crimson fire, a wonderful green stone with lines in it that looked like a cat’s eye, and a few I could not identify and can scarcely describe. Our dwarf carried with him a fortune.

  He stood. The stones were laid in a pattern that reminded me of a fortune-teller’s cards.

  “I will explain,” he said, “so you know the importance and”–he put emphasis on his words–“will let me finish.”

  I pointed at the black rectangle. “That,” I said, “is the work of the First Dwarves.”

  “It is,” Bessarion said. “It is the Long Door.”

  “I do not know it,” Professor Queller said.

  “You are not a dwarf,” Beso replied. “You do not hold the Old Reverence.”

  “Don’t interrupt, Uncle,” Nik admonished. Henrik harrumphed in reply, but he kept silent.

  “Twenty-two is a powerful number, for it is eleven repeated. Even humans know the significance of an eleven.”

  I have always scorned numerology, but I kept this to myself.

  “There is only one line in only one stanza
of only one song.” He spoke words I did not understand, but which must have been Old Dwarvish. The sounds of the words made me think of stone shifting underground. “It is impious to translate, but the stanza speaks of a door that connects distant rooms.”

  Talk of rooms and doors in connection with anything magical got too close to the Tangle for my taste. “Do you know where that goes?” I asked, pointing at the door that was a hole that was a curtain.

  “A far room,” Beso said. “But first I shall perform a reverence.” He pointed to the ground. “These stones have come to me from the Ancients themselves, from so far back no one can count the generations. This is a reverence of the Old Custom, a proper ceremony to revere the First Dwarves.

  “The First Dwarves built the world. They pulled stars from the sky and shaped the world with the first tools. They invented craft. They raised up the mountains, filled the seas, blessed the land, and made all fruitful. Some say they rested from these labors, but others say they left this world to go build others. They have left their truths behind, deep under the mountains. The path is open to those who recognize and reverence the First Dwarves. This means speaking in public and it means performing the reverences.

  “Most dwarves view our beliefs as nonsense or worse. Some are offended by the rituals as being disrespectful to known ancestors. They say our ceremonies to the First Ancestors are to the unknown and unnamed, whereas family reverence is always to known ancestors. But how can this be disrespect? All are descended from the First Dwarves. No one knows all the names of all their ancestors, so in truth the True Reverence shows a greater respect, for it encompasses all dwarves. The Ancients are first in esteem and at the same time are equal in reverence. It is the moderns who practice the lesser form.”

  “Bessarion, old fellow,” Henrik said, “I’m happy to learn more about your beliefs, and I hold them in highest respect, but we need to get on.”

  “Reverence first, professor,” Beso said. He planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “By all means, reverence first,” Henrik said. “But reverence without delay, eh? Come, let’s give our comrade some privacy.”

  We moved over by the central pillar. Even standing at a distance, we were able to hear his chants and to see that, from time to time, he knelt to rearrange the stones into a new pattern. We talked among ourselves, meanwhile.

  “What do you suppose it is?” I asked. “It looks like an opening, but it also looks like a sealed door.”

  “Perhaps it is both,” Henrik said, “but I’m certain of this much: it is a portal.”

  I sighed inwardly. The professor demanded the rest of us use logic and scientific reasoning, while he himself simply leaped from assumption to conclusion like some educated mountain goat.

  “Uncle,” Nik said, “are you going to bring out that old theory?” At least Niklot felt the same way as I, not that this would alter Henrik’s thinking one whit.

  “It’s not old,” Henrik said. He pointed. “And as we see, it is now a fact.”

  “That patch of blackness,” Nik said, “could just as easily be another dwarf trap.”

  “Nonsense,” Henrik said. I observed that this word seemed to be one of the professor’s favorites. “All the traps of the Troll Gates are modern.”

  By modern our dear professor meant anything less than four centuries old.

  “You recall,” he continued, “Bessarion performed no rituals before any of them. Furthermore, we have seen no sign of the Fournier Expedition, so that portal clearly goes somewhere.”

  “Maybe,” I suggested, “they all died in there.”

  “They lined up in ranks, each plunging into an abyss one after the other, like lemmings? I expect better of you, Miss Lauten.”

  Gods but that man could make a person feel small. And the return to a formal address was little less than insult. I let it go, a thing I should never have done even a month previously. When he became excited by an idea, Henrik Queller turned into Herr Doktor Professor. In that personality, the world was populated only by people who could keep up with him, and those who could not. The latter did not deserve explanations they couldn’t fathom. In such a mode, I was no longer Gabi to him, but just another student in the lecture hall. I did not like this behavior and I did not excuse it, but I had at last come to understand it.

  Niklot wasn’t going to yield the point either.

  “Or,” he said grimly, “Fournier never made it out of the Tangle.”

  “You can reason that through for yourself, Niki.”

  His nephew started to object, then stopped. “Never mind. We have a portal. Let’s presume that.”

  “Proven,” Henrik muttered under his breath.

  “Where does the portal go?”

  “How the devil should I know? Honestly, boy, do gather up your wits. They seem to be scattered.”

  I figured it was now my turn to be mocked. I was going to ask how it was that the portal was built by the Ancients while the rest of the place was built much later. I thought it a sharp question; but I was still trying to formulate it in an effective manner when the professor spoke.

  “He’s done,” Henrik said.

  Bessarion had gathered his stones and now stood regarding the black rectangle, whether reverentially or uncertainly, I could not say.

  “Come on,” Nik said. We crossed the open space to stand next to the dwarf.

  Now all five of us stood before the thing. I held up my lantern and moved carefully closer. A score of sensations washed over me: I felt cold; I felt heat; the opening seemed to pull me forward, then again it gathered like a fist and resisted each step. I could not be sure any of it was real. It did seem to swallow sound as well as light. With the lantern, and my head, only inches away, the blackness yielded not one inch. It was impenetrable.

  I turned away. Henrik and Nik were looking at me with wide eyes.

  “That was daring,” Nik said.

  I shrugged, but I discovered my heart was pounding like a hammer.

  “Nonsense,” Henrik said, deflating even that small win. He marched forward, lantern casually at his side, and disappeared into the blackness.

  “Uncle!”

  “Professor!”

  “Augh!”

  That last one came from me. We all looked at each other, wild-eyed. For a moment I had the mad notion that Queller had awakened some sinister force that would any second reach out, grab the rest of us, and swallow us entire.

  Then Professor Queller returned.

  He stepped into our light as casually as he’d left. His face bore an impish smile that showed the little boy that never quite leaves even the most grown of men.

  “There’s a tunnel on the other side,” he said.

  The Long Dig

  “Cosmas, get out my instruments. Gabi, you shall assist.”

  We were all looking at one another in disbelief—at the professor’s act, at his return, at his casual demeanor.

  “Uncle, that was straight madness, what you did.”

  “Not at all,” Henrik said. He was barely paying attention as he arranged his instruments. “Gabi, your notebook?”

  I responded, but in a daze. The professor had entered an abyss and returned as casually as if he’d gone to the baker and returned with a loaf of bread.

  “You didn’t have any idea what was going to happen,” Nik said, unwilling to let his uncle off easily.

  Henrik shot him a sharp look. “I never go anywhere without an idea as to what will happen.”

  I did smile at that one. Pure Henrik Queller and purely crazy.

  Nik gave up; the professor and I set to work on the measurements. No sooner had we both entered the last measurement when Henrik declared we would now all pass through the portal.

  Cosmas stored the instruments, as well as my notebook. His magic bag felt safer than even my own pocket.

  “Now, follow me. Do not hesitate at the opening. There’s a sense of disorientation as you pass through; I should think if you lingered
over long, there might be after effects. Of uncertain duration.”

  And off he went. Walked into that utter blackness as if it weren’t there at all. Nik followed. I saw not the slightest hitch in his stride.

  I hitched, though.

  I approached the portal, then turned away, my nerve having failed me. Beso was looking right through me, eyes round. He was breathing hard. I’ve heard the phrase “religious terror” before. Here it was before me, embodied.

  “Don’t worry, Beso,” I told him with far more confidence than I felt. “That was just practice.”

  Beso gave no sign he heard, but just kept staring. His lips moved; I think he was chanting.

  “Here we go, then.”

  I spun back around and marched through without giving myself time to think. The dwarf had to follow. He was our guide.

  I did not so much pass through the portal as it passed through me. I felt something, difficult to describe, like a curtain or a wall of water, if such could pass through one’s body rather than the other way round. The sensation was warm and cloth-like, a blanket draped across the inside of my skin. At the same time it was infinitely cold, the temperature of the bottom of the sea or the space behind the moon. All sight vanished. Sound too. For a single, horrifying instant, no more than the space between heartbeats, it was as if I had been thrown into a grave.

  Then everything returned, and I walked into a spacious tunnel of nearly black stone. Nik was there, looking anxious. Henrik was there, looking impatient. I turned. The black of the portal made the surrounding rock look almost pale.

  “Are you all right?” Nik asked. He put one hand on my arm. I covered it with my own, grateful for the contact. I might have just returned from another world.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  He chuckled. “You’ll rival Cosmas for being terse.”

  “Where is that ogre?” Henrik demanded.