Till the Mountains Turn to Dust (The Chronicles of Eridia) Page 9

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  At quarter to noon the next morning Reynard sat on a bench on the south side of the pond in Estover Park, tossing bread crumbs to the ducks and smiling at the frenzied quacking and splashing that ensued. The ripples generated by the ducks’ greedy antics radiated out across the water and made the Black Cathedral’s inverted reflection waver and break.

  He glanced up and down the gravel paths. There was no sign of anyone anywhere, and he wasn’t at all surprised. It was a dreary day for park-going, the mid-autumn nip in the air exacerbated by a thin drizzle that had been falling intermittently all morning. Right now there was no rain, but the leaden clouds suggested that could change at any moment. He hoped the bleak weather didn’t keep Solace away. It was still a good fifteen minutes before he would know for sure, though, so rather than fret—always a waste of energy—he turned his eyes and thoughts once again to the dark, hulking structure that reared above the trees lining the pond’s far shore.

  Predating the Cataclysm, the Black Cathedral was an enigma, its builders unknown, its purpose unknown, its interior and contents a mystery because no one had ever gotten inside. In truth, no one was even sure it was a Cathedral. It simply resembled one in many ways, with its soaring black granite walls; its massive buttresses; its quartet of towers, one at each corner. And yet there were no other ornaments, no signs, no carvings, and most notably no doors or windows anywhere.

  Muddying matters further was the Cathedral’s best-known yet most perplexing feature: the weird gonging sound it emitted every day around noon. It had been doing this without fail since the Cataclysm, over three millennia earlier. No one had any idea why or how.

  The absence of entrances led some to speculate the Cathedral was the kind of place that was never meant to be entered—a tomb, perhaps, or a prison for some terrible being. More hopeful speculations made it the treasure vault of an ancient race of conquerors, its rooms packed wall to wall with gold, gems, fantastic weapons.

  Aware that speculations were so much bullshit, no more than projected hopes and fears, Reynard refused to hazard any guesses as to what might lie inside. For all he knew, the interior might consist of nothing more than a bunch of empty cobwebbed rooms. But there was no way he could leave town without finding out. It was a challenge he couldn’t resist.

  He was certain there was a way in, for during his initial research on the Cathedral a few months ago, he came across the curious, mostly forgotten case of the aeromage and thief Gidard Smyes, who in 1555 had used his inborn power of flight to investigate the Cathedral’s upper reaches. An associate on the ground had watched Smyes float up along the structure’s west side, probing the stone wall as he went, then disappear from view around the northwest corner to inspect the north side. No one ever saw him again.

  But Smyes had to have gone somewhere. And the only logical place was inside.

  Since then, Reynard had devoted most of his waking moments to finding the way in. While Kay was at work, slaving away in pursuit of an elaborate con Reynard had long since lost interest in, he took long walks around the Cathedral, pretending to be enjoying the spacious park the residents of Colbon had built as a verdant buffer between their homes and businesses and the square stone plaza in the midst of which the Cathedral sat. He strolled past its sheer walls, watched its towers from the various benches stationed around the park, and spent a week posing as an artist and painting the Cathedral at an easel he set up on the east side of the plaza.

  Alas, for all his efforts he hadn’t found a single chink in the Cathedral’s dark armor. Not even underground, as at one point a brainstorm had led him to hope: City records showed that no subterranean lines or tunnels of any kind were known to exist under the plaza. Everything circumvented it. The Cathedral sat alone, untouched, seemingly untouchable.

  Footsteps sounded on the gravel path. He looked around and saw Solace striding toward him, her face cool, cautious, the Census clipboard and a tangerine-colored umbrella tucked under one arm. He raised one hand in a wave. She lifted her chin in acknowledgement, her expression never changing. Despite her reserved demeanor, he felt a surge of pleasure and accomplishment. She had come after all. What’s more, this was the first time they had managed to have a second meeting. It was a momentous occasion.

  She came around the bench and stood next to him but made no move to sit down.

  “So what’s on your mind?” she said, watching his face carefully.

  “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing at the stretch of empty bench beside him.

  She glanced at the bench, then at his face again, and then with a barely audible sigh she perched herself stiffly on the edge of the seat as though not intending to stay more than a moment.

  “I don’t really have a whole lot of time,” she said. “So what’s this big secretive thing you have to tell me about?”

  He drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long, deliberately shaky exhalation.

  “Look, it’s about yesterday. It’s…” He looked down at his hands, which were fiddling with the hem of his coat in an excellent imitation of nervousness. After a moment he swallowed and looked back up at Solace. “Things aren’t well between Kay and me.”

  Her expression softened a minute amount, though he couldn’t tell if it was genuine. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks. In fact, things have gotten particularly bad lately…” He trailed off and gazed at the pond as if he needed to pause a moment before continuing to discuss such a painful subject. The ducks were bobbing about in silence as they digested the bread, and the Black Cathedral’s reflection was whole once more upon the surface of the water. “Kay’s grown…cruel. Malicious. I don’t even know why. Sometimes I wonder if she’s got some kind of mental illness or something. But whatever the reason, the fact is, her invitation to dinner was not made without ulterior motives. I don’t know exactly what she has in mind, but given the way she’s been behaving lately, it won’t be anything good.”

  He glanced at Solace and was pleased to see that her face had grown a few notches more sympathetic. And more curious. Despite her reservations, he had managed to suck her into his story, to get her involved. Nobody could resist a good story.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I thought I detected some tension between the two of you.”

  He nodded. “I guess it’s kind of obvious. I just felt that I should let you know the truth. I’m really sorry you had to get caught up in the middle of this. I’ll understand if you decide not to come by for dinner after all. In fact it’d probably be best for you to avoid us altogether. This really isn’t the best time to get involved with me again.”

  She tutted. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

  “You don’t know Kay. You don’t know what she’s capable of. She can be…” He shook his head, his eyes dark with worry that was only half feigned. “She can be very, very nasty.”

  “Oh, please. I’m not intimidated one bit.” She waved a hand dismissively and settled back onto the bench, all her qualms and stiffness gone. He had done it again. Why was it that women invariably advanced with renewed vigor whenever you tried to push them away?

  “Maybe you should be intimidated,” he said.

  “Reynard, I’m over three thousand years old. However bad she is, I’m sure I’ve dealt with worse. Heck, I’ve probably done worse.”

  “I sincerely doubt that. You’re a nice person.”

  She tutted again. Reynard suppressed a smile. Most people hated being called nice. It made them feel bland and weak. It made them want to do naughty things to dispel any whiff of boring niceness.

  She gestured at the small cloth pouch in his lap.

  “What’s that there?”

  He held it up so she could see the bread crumbs inside.

  “For the ducks,” he said. “Care to try?”

  “Sure!” She took the bag, scooped out a handful of crumbs, and tossed them into the pond. There was a brief flurry of splashes and honks, and the Black Cathedral’s reflection di
ssolved into slivers.

  “Honestly,” she said, turning back to him, “what you’re going through sounds remarkably similar to what I went through with Joshua.”

  “Joshua?”

  She waved her hand back and forth as if to erase something. “No, I mean—you didn’t actually meet him, did you? That was my husband the last time we met, remember?”

  “Ah. Yeah. I don’t think you mentioned his name at the time.”

  “Didn’t I?” Her brow buckled into a small frown he couldn’t interpret. Then it was gone. “Well, at any rate, that was a total mistake. It was a complete disaster.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “I mean, it was wonderful for a while, but at some point he or I or both of us changed too much, and by the end we couldn’t even stand to be in the same room together. We were doing and saying all these ridiculously petty things to each other.” She shook her head and almost absentmindedly flung another handful of crumbs at the pond, glancing away from him just long enough to make sure she was aiming in the right direction. “The funny thing is, even then, I still loved him on some level. But it was just such a horrible, horrible mess.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  She shrugged. “It was a long time ago. It’s all way in the past.”

  “Your daughter,” he said. “Cara. Did she age normally?”

  “Yes. She did. I…” She stared down into the bag of crumbs. There was a long pause. Apparently not everything was way in the past.

  “You know,” she said, not looking up, her voice so soft he could barely hear her, “I loved her more than I’ve ever loved anyone else. And if I had a choice, painful as it was watching her speed through her little life, get old and sick and die so quickly, even then, I’d do it all over again, just for her, just so she would exist, because the world—my world—was a better place with her in it.”

  There was a sound like the crash of a giant gong but with the bass boosted and the whole thing somewhat muffled. The ducks took flight, quacking madly, drops of water trailing behind them. By the time the ducks had shrunk to dots in the sky, the noise had faded.

  “I’ve lived here six years,” Solace said, gesturing at the Cathedral, “and I’m still not used to that.”

  “Yeah, same here.”

  She looked at him with a thoughtful smile. “I have to admit, I’m surprised to run into you here, of all places.”

  “Why?”

  “Colbon just doesn’t strike me as your kind of place. Too…languid. I figured somewhere like Peridor or Shandar or even Quontoon would offer much better opportunities for someone in your line of work.”

  He shrugged. “Every place has its own unique opportunities.”

  Footsteps sounded once again on the gravel path, but this time the steps were much too loud for the average foot. It was as if someone were pounding the gravel with mallets: Chash chash chash. Reynard and Solace looked at each other, then twisted around to look up the path in the direction of the sounds.

  Round the bend came an old woman, hunched and thickset and clad in a frayed, shapeless gray overcoat draped with a grimy white shawl. On her feet was a pair of blocky wooden shoes. The narrow blue eyes in her wrinkled, scowling face were fixed on the path ahead of her, as if she expected to find traps or obstacles in her way.

  Reynard and Solace shared a baffled glance. Wooden shoes, never common to begin with, were unheard of these days. And the cut of the coat and shawl matched no fashion Reynard was familiar with.

  “Hello,” he said, his curiosity roused.

  The woman’s head jerked toward him, though she didn’t actually look at him. She made a grunting sound that might have been reciprocation.

  “Miserable day, isn’t it?” he said.

  The woman’s head returned to its previous position, and she continued stomping along in silence. As Reynard started to turn back around, feeling a little disappointed that she was ignoring him, the woman worked her mouth as if chewing something, then snapped, “Not if you’re young.”

  Surprised by the woman’s undisguised hostility, Reynard and Solace watched her vanish around the bend in the path.

  “Well,” Reynard said. “She sure showed us, didn’t she?”

  Solace continued staring at the bend in the path, silent, eyes distant and thoughtful.

  “You okay?” he asked. Something about her expression gave him a sinking feeling.

  “We’re not young,” she said. She shot him a pained look. “We’re older than she is.”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “We’ve lived hundreds of times longer than her.”

  “Uh-huh. We probably had sex with ancestors of hers.”

  She started to say something in continuation of her previous comment, but then his words sank in and she frowned.

  “What?”

  “Just saying.”

  “I’m being serious here.”

  “Sorry.” He gestured at her to proceed. “Be serious. I’m curious to hear where this is going.”

  “Where it’s going?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It simply means that I’m not sure what your point is.”

  She looked at him indignantly. “My point? My point is…” Her shoulders slumped. “I guess I don’t really have a point. Except, I don’t know, I think we should help her.”

  “What?” He couldn’t see a connection between being surprised the old woman had thought them young and helping her. “Why?”

  “Because she looks like she needs it. She was wearing rags!”

  “She looked healthy, though. Plump and healthy. She certainly wasn’t starving.”

  She clucked her tongue. “That’s a terrible thing to say!”

  “Sorry. It’s just, I’m not sure what you think we can or should do.”

  She studied his face as if searching for any hint of mockery, then looked away with a sigh.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I just think we should help her.”

  He could tell she wouldn’t be satisfied until they had done some token something, so he said, “Well, why don’t we follow her and see where she lives. Then maybe we can figure something out.”

  It was a vague and pointless plan, but she seized it with glee.

  “Yes!” she said. “That’s a good idea. Let’s go.”

  Solace handed the cloth pouch back to Reynard, who cinched it tight and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. Then the two of them rose and set off along the path.

  The path ringed the pond, with side paths radiating from it at intervals like spokes. Trees ablaze with autumn colors lined and overarched the paths, an arrangement that on a sunny day would have lent the paths the appearance of fiery corridors. Today, however, the gloomy weather killed the effect.

  It took a few seconds of brisk walking to bring the old woman back into view. She was far ahead now, just a small dark shape in the distance. She must have picked up her pace after passing them.

  They bustled along. The old woman slowly grew larger, closer, clearer. By the time Reynard and Solace reached the north side of the pond, they had halved the distance between themselves and the woman. Suddenly the woman turned down a side path that led straight to the plaza in which the Black Cathedral sat. She slipped from sight behind the trees.

  “Hurry, we don’t want to lose her,” Solace said. She quickened her pace until she was almost running. Reynard did likewise.

  When they reached the side path, the old woman had already entered the plaza and was angling northwest across it toward the Cathedral. No one else was in sight.

  “That’s one fast old biddy,” Reynard muttered as they rushed down the side path. Before long, the clopping of the woman’s wooden shoes on the plaza’s flagstones became audible.

  When Reynard and Solace entered the plaza, the woman was already two-thirds of the way down the Cathedral’s east side and proceeding north at a rapid clip. She was so close to the structure that
her coat brushed the outer edges of the buttresses as she passed.

  “Come on,” Solace said. They hurried forward. The sound of the woman’s shoes was lost beneath the clacks of their own boots upon the stones.

  They had just entered the Cathedral’s shadow when the woman reached the building’s northeast corner and turned left, disappearing from view.

  Reynard and Solace broke into a trot. When they got to the corner less than ten seconds later, there was no sign of the woman anywhere, just a bare expanse of damp flagstones stretching from the Cathedral to the trees and bushes that lined the plaza’s north side. Given how fast Reynard and Solace had run, there was no way the woman could have made it across the plaza, even at a sprint.

  “Where’d she go?” Solace asked.

  Reynard shook his head.

  They strode down the length of the Cathedral’s north side to make sure the woman hadn’t hidden behind one of the massive buttresses. They found nothing.

  “Huh,” Solace said. “Maybe she was a mage, or a mutant. Maybe she teleported or something.”

  “Or she could’ve turned invisible and is standing here right now silently laughing at us.”

  She shot him a frown as if he had said something mean. Then she glanced around a little nervously.

  “Or,” he went on, “maybe she was a manitou, or a ghost, or a manifestation of one of the Twelve. In this crazy world, the possibilities are endless.”

  “Very true,” she said, and sighed. After a pause, she gave Reynard a vaguely guilty smile. He realized what was coming even before she said it.

  “I have to go,” she said. “I have two more blocks to do for the census before the end of the day.”

  “Are you going my way? I could walk you back.” He jerked his thumb to the west, in the direction he and Kay lived.

  “Thanks, but I’m not in that area anymore. Today I’m covering the Dandridge neighborhood.” She gestured north with her clipboard.

  “Ah. Okay. But before you go, I’d like to thank you for taking the time to meet with me and listen to me go on about my problems. It’s nice to know I have someone I can talk to.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  “Would you be interested in meeting again tomorrow? Same time, same place?”

  She hesitated a moment, eyes probing his, then nodded. “Sure. That would be nice. See you tomorrow, then.”

  “See you.”

  She turned, crossed the plaza, and strode down a path that led due north. He watched her for a minute, then turned to look at the Cathedral, his eyes roving over the building’s north side. The dark stones were blank and silent, as always.

  With a grunt, he ambled home.