Through Stone and Sea - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,146
came to where the plain figure narrowed into the dull, domed representation of its “head.” The raised shape of a riveted band was carved out of the stone, wrapping around at jaw level. Two like bands ran around its “body” at shoulder and thigh height. But he saw no seams along its sides.
It was carved whole from one solid piece. And between the two lower bands around its bulk was a vertical oblong shape of raised stone covered in engraved characters.
Chane peered around the chamber.
Seven basalt forms—trapped and bound in place—faced inward toward the floor’s central disk. But between two on the far side he spotted another opening in the chamber’s wall. He glanced up, barely making out the landing above. The opening was directly below it.
Then Shade rumbled.
Chane was not the only one who did not like the feel of this place. The dog paced around the chamber, remaining equally far away from the tombs and the floor disk.
“Wynn?” he said uncertainly.
When she did not answer, he turned back. Wynn was about to touch the oblong of engraved characters on a tomb.
“No!” he said. “The floor disk first.”
It was the only thing he could think of to stop her. She frowned at him and headed for the floor’s center.
Chane backed up, still eyeing the mute black shapes. When he spun about, Wynn had crouched at the disk’s edge, holding her crystal above it.
It was made of brass, though Chane saw no sign of tarnish. Someone must clean and polish it regularly. Not truly a circle, the octagon’s sides were slightly curved outward, causing that mistaken impression. Inside each edge was an emblem like a complex sigil. In the center was a depression, akin to a high-edged bowl sunken into and melded with the disk. One larger pattern rested in its bottom.
With each strange word, she pointed to a symbol around the outer circumference.
“These are vubrí for dwarven Eternals,” she added in puzzlement. “Eight of the Bäynæ.”
Chane knew little of dwarven saints beside Bedzâ’kenge—Feather-Tongue.
Wynn flattened her hands upon the disk and leaned out to look into the center depression. Before Chane could jerk her back, she lurched away.
“Lhärgnæ!” she whispered.
“What?”
Wynn scrambled to her feet, turning unsteadily as she looked to all of the basalt figures. She darted around the chamber, examining each oblong panel, finally stopping at one tomb.
“Sundaks!” she exclaimed.
“What are you reading?”
“Avarice . . . one of the Lhärgnæ,” she answered. “Oh, dead deities! They’ve locked us in with their Fallen Ones!”
“What does that mean?”
“Their devils, their demons . . . cursed ones! Those who represent vice—and worse—by dwarven culture.”
“So, religious representations?”
“No,” Wynn answered. “They were once real, at least as much as the Eternals, though their names were stripped away. They bear only titles, chosen for their singular disgrace.”
“These are not true tombs,” Chane countered. “They do not open. There are no bodies here.”
“Then why bother? Why the disk in the floor? Is that something of the magic discipline . . . conjury perhaps?”
Chane looked again at the great brass disk.
Mages did not call upon deities—or saints—in their arts. Formal religions were more widely spread in this part of the world than in his. Most peasants of the Farlands clung to superstitions of nature spirits and dark influences. Some practiced forms of ancestor worship.
He knew of priests—and others—who claimed to be gifted by higher powers. They had their grand ceremonies and contrivances to dazzle the ignorant.
“Some priest’s supposed ward against the damned,” he replied. “It is nothing more than trappings to appease the masses . . . to control them through their fears.”
He was about to expound further when Wynn rounded on him. “Do the Stonewalkers look like a pack of charlatans to you?”
“You are a scholar,” he answered. “Do not believe in this.”
“Then why did you hesitate when we first entered the temple of Bedzâ’kenge?”
Chane was struck mute.
“Yes, I figured it out,” she said. “You were afraid of entering a sacred space. We both know there are things beyond reason we never wanted to believe, and still . . .”
Chane looked about the chamber. She was alluding to theurgy, the supposed gain or use of power from higher spiritual forces. That was only more priestly aggrandizing—was it not?
His skin began to crawl, aggravating his nagging hunger. Had he finally stepped into a true sacred space? Was this a prison for a people who believed their ancestors, saintly or otherwise, resided in this world