Mirror Sight
Page 131
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Karigan nodded. She could not allow herself to get caught up in such thoughts and images, these questions of real and abstract. They would surely defeat her, submerge her in grief. No, she could not allow this to happen, she must go forward. Go forward to return to the past, so she could prevent Zachary’s death in battle and the rise of the empire. “I am fine,” she said at last. “Please go on.”
Chelsa did not appear entirely convinced, but she continued with her explanation of how the caretakers had been getting on. “As for the disciplines our people have been engaged in, history is, as you may guess, a natural. Others have taken on the black of the Weapons since we no longer receive them from the outside, though a Helper or two have joined their ranks through the years. They are trained from within, trained in the same exacting manner as taught to us by the Weapons who had been in the tombs with our people when Sacor City fell.”
It explained much, Karigan thought, about how they’d been able to carry on since the rise of the empire. “There are outsiders, archeologists,” she said, “who would like to find these tombs.”
“And so there are. But I suppose in its own way, the empire has helped keep our secret. Our history, the true history of Sacoridia, is denied. Few learn of it, and the empire restricts who has enough knowledge of it to do archeological work. We watch. We watch very closely, indeed. We, in fact, captured one archeologist who now lives among us. He was terribly excited and actually thanked us for allowing him in. A lifetime of discoveries, he said. A veritable treasure trove. It troubles him not that he can’t share it with anyone above. He’s too busy looking and discovering.” Chelsa chuckled.
“Will you induct Dr. Silk into your community?”
Chelsa’s smile faded. “Ezra Stirling Silk and his drill are a serious matter. One that must not be underestimated. But first things first, the matter which brought you here. On the day of my ascension to chief caretaker, just one week ago, I was given many objects in addition to my new responsibilities, among them documents, keys, tools, and secrets. It’s overwhelming even though I had apprenticed to my predecessor, Threllis, when I was only nine. She passed to me all her knowledge. She went to the heavens the day before my ascension.”
“I am sorry,” Karigan said.
“I do miss her, certainly I do, but she has the joy of dancing with the gods while the rest of us labor on in our daily toil.”
It was so lightly spoken that Karigan had to remind herself that Chelsa dealt with death constantly. Surrounded by its artifacts and iconography, as well as the husks of the dead, it was not surprising caretakers might have a different outlook on the passing of people important to them.
“Among the secrets revealed to me,” Chelsa continued, “was a message from—”
They were interrupted by the return of Serena with a companion darkly cloaked and hooded, a satchel across his shoulder. The death surgeon. The two swept through the chamber without pausing and headed down the entrance corridor.
“Good,” Chelsa said, watching after them. “Brunen will take good care of your friend.”
“The message,” Karigan urged.
“Of course.” Chelsa removed a piece of paper from her portfolio. It looked very much like the one Karigan had received—yellowed around the edges, folded the same way. “The instruction in this message read: To be given to Chelsa, upon her ascension. And so it, along with accompanying documents—one of which you received—was handed down the generations of chief caretakers and spoken of to no one else. They remained unopened until me. I am the first and only Chelsa to become chief. Since this was kept secret by the chiefs, there was no way my parents would have known that their daughter, whom they named Chelsa, would eventually become chief. It is . . . rather strange to be thought of long before your birth. Long before anyone else knows that you will ever exist.”
“I think I can sort of understand,” Karigan said.
Chelsa laughed. “And so you, of anyone, could.” She unfolded the message. “I was instructed within to send you the summons. It reads, Dear Chelsa, Please send this first message to summon Rider Sir Karigan G’ladheon to the Heroes Portal. The cat will find her. Expect Sir Karigan to arrive at midnight on the Hollow Moon.”
“The Hollow Moon?”
“We caretakers keep our own lunar calendar.” Chelsa smiled brightly and passed Karigan the paper. “I trust that is your captain’s signature?”
Karigan nodded as she looked the message over, a little thrill coursing through her. “Yes, this is her handwriting.”
“Good. My predecessors have vouched for its authenticity. Upon your arrival, the message instructs me to give you another. If not for the order to actually give you the message, I might have expected to be receiving your remains, considering the period of time that has elapsed since your disappearance. To tell the truth, we would be delighted to have them.”
Karigan was too disconcerted to know how to respond.
“That is not to say we are not very excited to have the living, breathing legend here with us, out of time as she is. It’s extraordinary. But do know, we would welcome your remains and care for them diligently.”
Karigan smiled weakly. “Er, thank you? I mean, wouldn’t that be for the king to decide?”
“Of course, and if he were here, I’m confident he’d want you on Heroes Avenue, at the very least.”
The very least?
Chelsa did not appear entirely convinced, but she continued with her explanation of how the caretakers had been getting on. “As for the disciplines our people have been engaged in, history is, as you may guess, a natural. Others have taken on the black of the Weapons since we no longer receive them from the outside, though a Helper or two have joined their ranks through the years. They are trained from within, trained in the same exacting manner as taught to us by the Weapons who had been in the tombs with our people when Sacor City fell.”
It explained much, Karigan thought, about how they’d been able to carry on since the rise of the empire. “There are outsiders, archeologists,” she said, “who would like to find these tombs.”
“And so there are. But I suppose in its own way, the empire has helped keep our secret. Our history, the true history of Sacoridia, is denied. Few learn of it, and the empire restricts who has enough knowledge of it to do archeological work. We watch. We watch very closely, indeed. We, in fact, captured one archeologist who now lives among us. He was terribly excited and actually thanked us for allowing him in. A lifetime of discoveries, he said. A veritable treasure trove. It troubles him not that he can’t share it with anyone above. He’s too busy looking and discovering.” Chelsa chuckled.
“Will you induct Dr. Silk into your community?”
Chelsa’s smile faded. “Ezra Stirling Silk and his drill are a serious matter. One that must not be underestimated. But first things first, the matter which brought you here. On the day of my ascension to chief caretaker, just one week ago, I was given many objects in addition to my new responsibilities, among them documents, keys, tools, and secrets. It’s overwhelming even though I had apprenticed to my predecessor, Threllis, when I was only nine. She passed to me all her knowledge. She went to the heavens the day before my ascension.”
“I am sorry,” Karigan said.
“I do miss her, certainly I do, but she has the joy of dancing with the gods while the rest of us labor on in our daily toil.”
It was so lightly spoken that Karigan had to remind herself that Chelsa dealt with death constantly. Surrounded by its artifacts and iconography, as well as the husks of the dead, it was not surprising caretakers might have a different outlook on the passing of people important to them.
“Among the secrets revealed to me,” Chelsa continued, “was a message from—”
They were interrupted by the return of Serena with a companion darkly cloaked and hooded, a satchel across his shoulder. The death surgeon. The two swept through the chamber without pausing and headed down the entrance corridor.
“Good,” Chelsa said, watching after them. “Brunen will take good care of your friend.”
“The message,” Karigan urged.
“Of course.” Chelsa removed a piece of paper from her portfolio. It looked very much like the one Karigan had received—yellowed around the edges, folded the same way. “The instruction in this message read: To be given to Chelsa, upon her ascension. And so it, along with accompanying documents—one of which you received—was handed down the generations of chief caretakers and spoken of to no one else. They remained unopened until me. I am the first and only Chelsa to become chief. Since this was kept secret by the chiefs, there was no way my parents would have known that their daughter, whom they named Chelsa, would eventually become chief. It is . . . rather strange to be thought of long before your birth. Long before anyone else knows that you will ever exist.”
“I think I can sort of understand,” Karigan said.
Chelsa laughed. “And so you, of anyone, could.” She unfolded the message. “I was instructed within to send you the summons. It reads, Dear Chelsa, Please send this first message to summon Rider Sir Karigan G’ladheon to the Heroes Portal. The cat will find her. Expect Sir Karigan to arrive at midnight on the Hollow Moon.”
“The Hollow Moon?”
“We caretakers keep our own lunar calendar.” Chelsa smiled brightly and passed Karigan the paper. “I trust that is your captain’s signature?”
Karigan nodded as she looked the message over, a little thrill coursing through her. “Yes, this is her handwriting.”
“Good. My predecessors have vouched for its authenticity. Upon your arrival, the message instructs me to give you another. If not for the order to actually give you the message, I might have expected to be receiving your remains, considering the period of time that has elapsed since your disappearance. To tell the truth, we would be delighted to have them.”
Karigan was too disconcerted to know how to respond.
“That is not to say we are not very excited to have the living, breathing legend here with us, out of time as she is. It’s extraordinary. But do know, we would welcome your remains and care for them diligently.”
Karigan smiled weakly. “Er, thank you? I mean, wouldn’t that be for the king to decide?”
“Of course, and if he were here, I’m confident he’d want you on Heroes Avenue, at the very least.”
The very least?
