Chapter 7: Lamentation from Silent Sepulchral Depths

After the meeting with Darvino, I could hardly think straight, so I returned to my apartment, told Mala I needed to go out, changed into my leathers, collected my sword, my rope, and my skiff, and headed back to the campus.

 The sun was setting, but not all the staff or instructors had left for the day, so I was able to get onto the grounds before they locked the front gate. Tulonon had given me a spare key to his office and I waited there for about an hour before venturing out, leaving my skiff in a corner. 

 Before heading to the automaton I checked the side exit Mala and I had used. It was locked. I growled under my breath but considered my options. Well, I was the head astronomer’s personal assistant, I thought. Yes, that would be a nice pretense for leaving so late. Unless, of course, they noticed my clothes and my weapon. Oh, let the Emperor sort it out if I get arrested. 

 My mind made up, I set out to perform the evening’s business. 

 The campus was a silent sea of shadows as I crossed the quadrangle to reach the Celestial Lord and Lady. I worked quickly to hook my rope to the Lord’s thigh and climbed up. 

 As I repelled down the inner rim of the well beneath the automaton, images of Nebiat’s sad eyes stared into the dark spaces of my mind. Why had I gotten him so embroiled in this mess? I’d assumed mentioning his saving me from Bardrakeu would have simply made him a lead I could pursue in my investigations. I’d hardly wanted him to be kidnapped by the Emperor’s minions and handed over to Fodineo’s oily cousin. 

 When my boots alighted on the flagstones, I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Then I re-coiled my rope (I didn’t want the Giant’s people to find it), used a flint to light my torch, and set off into the catacombs. 

 Following the main path to Bardrakue’s family estate was of course out of the question, so I thought it best to finally explore the alternate branch Mala and I had discovered the night of the party. That second tunnel was also lined with festively painted skulls and went on for maybe half a mile before it too branched off into three different corridors. I wanted to groan, but the thought of my disillusioned voice echoing off subterranean stones (only to be heard by persons unknown) held me in check.

 It was when I approached the entrance to the middle tunnel that my torchlight illuminated a small stone obelisk between it and the right-hand tunnel. The stone was flat, shaped like an arrowhead, and came up to my shoulder. 

 I placed my torch up to its surface to make out additional details and discovered writing chiseled into the obelisk’s face. The text was in the phonetic writing system of the Empire. Its short lines indicated it was probably some form of verse.

 Looking about me to make sure no one was creeping up from behind, I sat down cross-legged and read the poem:

High sun and 

and low sun

and all the suns between.

Her father fished the sea with a wide net.

Her mother was strung on a string

and carried into the sky.

And the fisherman’s daughter danced

On the stones on the shore at high-tide.

Her jewelry was made of shells she’d string 

on an old fishing line.

High-tide.

Low-tide.

The tide rolls in

And the tide rolls out.

And there is the undertow.

And dancing on the rocks along the shore

at high-tide,

She could sometimes reach down 

and retrieve a peal-bearing friend from the waters. 

She never found an oyster with a perfect pearl, 

but she always loved 

her mother of pearl.

And the motherless daughter danced with

Mother of pearl

shifting on old fisherman’s line.

She danced strung on a string and shifted

Like a marionette. 

She was caught in the wide net 

and pulled from the sea.

Pulled through the burnt smoke smell

of village markets.

Pulled across the paved

stone highways that cut

through the hills,

Cut through pastureland,

Cut through child dreams.

Pulled through palatial valleys 

of marble and glass and gold

to be strung on a string

and dance for a Deified Despot--

cold masked cutthroat and king to kings.

And her dancing eyes 

played on a boy blighted with a malformed frame.

And she gifted the blighted boy pearls of kindness

and the soft sighs of the sea from 

shells collected in child days.

And she gifted the blighted boy 

wet tears of a kind heart

for the singed fingers that opened arcane scrolls

to read her epic poems of a past people.

And the Deified Despot 

(cold masked cutthroat and king to kings)

coveted her visionary form

and hungered for her soft-hewn limbs

and took her down deep in the undertow.

High-tide

Low-tide

and all the lifeless beauties that wash ashore.

She was strung on a string for all to see.

And the boy of malformed frame

wept with salty waters from the sea.

Wept and lamented the death of love and of dancing forms.

Wept and was carved and consumed in flame and cast aside

to die the spirit’s endless death.

High sun and 

and low sun

and all the suns between.

Between high sun and

low,

when crimson petals open

and frost melts to dew

and blood rises

the High Tide comes 

to drag down cold masked cutthroats

in the Endless Undertow.

 Finishing the final line of the poem I whistled gently through my teeth. Did this finally explain the Sepulchral Giant to me? Who was the young woman and was her murder the catalyst for his whole operation?

 I stood from my crouching position and looked to the two tunnel entrances on either side of the obelisk. It was like the Giant had left an open invitation to his lair, but which way was it? Or, I thought, maybe neither tunnel led to his hideout. Maybe both possibilities lead to traps and the correct path was the third option on the left.

 I placed a gloved hand on my face, closed my eyes, and gently moaned. Going this alone was proving to be a vast source of stress. I certainly didn’t like getting Mala too involved in this assignment, but I also didn’t feel comfortable working with Darvino.

 Of course, I should write the poem down so I could show it to the Emperor. I didn’t have my notebook with me, but it would be easy to take a page from Tulonan’s notes and use it to transcribe this clue.

 I returned to the surface and retraced my steps to Tulonan’s office. 

 The night was long and lonely and laborious, but the quiet ride home in my boat gave me some solace.

 The next day I could barely pull myself out of  bed, yet Mala insisted I get up and go to the campus.

 In hindsight, I was grateful to her for goading me. It had been well over a week since my unfortunate encounter with Bardrakeu, and my leg still ached from the flaming torch he’d burnt me with, but I felt a greater pain in my chest over Nebiat’s capture. 

 I found the tall, lanky senator’s son sitting on the long bench near the automaton. He was surrounded by Garsa, Calendra, and Dusana. I weaved through his young friends to find him with his head in his hands. I sat down beside him and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. 

 “Bardrakeu, I…heard about Nebiat…I’m…I’m so sorry.”

 Bardrakeu folded his hands under his chin and looked at me. 

 He sighed. 

 “I feel it’s my fault, Syndeeka.”

 I couldn’t help but let a surprised gasp out. “Your fault? How? You did nothing wrong.”

 “I sent him into town to get more wine.” He placed a hand on his temple. “I thought I could hide what the thief had done in the wine cellar. Let my father know that some intruder had gotten into the house, but make him think nothing was damaged.”

 “But you certainly didn’t know what would happen.”

 Bardrakeu hissed through clenched teeth. “I sent poor Nebiat into harm’s way. And after I’d attacked the thief. I maimed him with a torch and he screamed like a woman.”

 A chill pricked my skin.

 “They wanted to punish me,” he continued. “The Giant’s people. They know my father and I are outspoken in our opposition to violent insurrection against the Emperor. My family have been servants of the people for well over three centuries. We know what disastrous things come out of civil wars.

 “That thief…he was dressed like one of them. Those filthy radical revolutionaries.”

 I could feel sweat soaking into my blouse. “Bardrakeu, you don’t know who is responsible. Maybe Nebiat wasn’t even kidnapped.”

 I felt a burning in my chest when I said those last words.

 “That’s true,” agreed Calendra, touching Bardrakeu’s shoulder. “We don’t know who’s responsible.”

 “But the thief’s outfit,” said Bardrakeu. “It was just like the costumes people always describe the Giant’s gang wearing.”

 “Anyone can wear a cloak and a mask. And Syndeeka’s right. Something else could have happened.”

 Bardrakeu eyed Calendra scornfully. “Like what? Like Nebiat wandered off the road, tripped and fell into a ravine and cracked his skull? Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

 “Have you sent out a search party to try and find him?” I asked.

 “My servants have been doing just that these past few days. They’ve been looking for him from sunup to sundown. Myself, I’ve been staying up late at night in the wine cellar waiting for somebody to come through the curtain. I just sit down there at the table with a loaded crossbow.”

 “I’ve been taking turns with Bardrakeu, Syndeeka,” said Garsa. “I relieve him and he goes up and sleeps a few hours before coming back down to resume his vigil.”

 “And I thank you for your help, Garsa,” replied Bardrakeu. “After that thief had broken in and wrecked half of my father’s wines, I had thought to ask Father if we might finally just replace the curtain with a brick wall.” He sighed heavily. “And then Nebiat. Now I’m just tempted to go down into the tunnels and deal with these vermin myself.”

 “That’s extremely dangerous, Bardrakeu,” I said. “These people, whoever they are, have drugs and powders. That’s why everyone always says they can perform magic.”

 Bardrakeu eyed me. “How would you know?”

My body tensed, my heartbeat pounding my ribs like an Ushe drum.
“Yes,” said Calendra, staring me in the face. “How would you know something like that?”

 It was like I’d stepped into another trap. This mission was certainly a smooth ride on a calm sea.

 After a long silence, I answered with a gentle chuckle.

 “There’s no proof for the existence of magic. My training as an astronomer has taught me this. And my friend Mala has studied to be an herbalist and she’s told me what different plants can do to a person.”

 “Do you believe in the gods?” asked Dusana.

 If I’m not cornered with swords, I thought, then I’m cornered with words.

 “Not your gods,” I continued.

 “Then the gods of your people, the Ushe,” said Bardrakeu.

 I shook my head. “No…those are just the sun, the moon, and planets in the sky. I believe in some sort of first cause. Whatever that might be I cannot say. Only a fool would presume to understand the intrinsic nature of the universe.”

 “So we Equoci are all a bunch of superstitious fools. Is that it?”

 If these were typical opponents I could have simply hacked them to pieces with my steel, but here was a harder obstacle to overcome. Diplomacy was never one of my strengths.

 I sighed, placing my face in my hand. “The city-state where I was born and raised was destroyed because my people believed in an ancient prophecy. With the exception of myself and Mala, every single person living there was slaughtered. There were no other survivors.”

 Everyone’s eyes widened.

 “What about the children?”

 I stared at Bardrakeu for a long minute before answering him.

 “All the children are dead now.”

 There was a collective gasp from the students.

 “I should be going,” I said, rising from the bench and threading through my friends. I quickly crossed the quadrangle, wiping my eyes.