thought maybe I could see through the stone to some hidden spell, some clue.” He sighed. “And my vision pierces the stone but sees nothing beyond.”
He wrote a few Numinous sentences and thrust them into the mountainside. “And it seems that there’s nothing but rock before us.”
Nicodemus stepped back and looked at the hexagonal design on the bridge’s other side. “Magister, you said the Language Prime runes were hexagonal. Do they resemble that Chthonic pattern at all?” He pointed.
Shannon shook his head. “I’ve examined that carving a thousand times since I first arrived at Starhaven. But I can find no resemblance.”
Nicodemus glanced at his teacher. Was the old man still upset? “Magister, do you believe the stories about the Chthonics crossing this bridge to escape the Neosolar armies? Do you think they ran away to the Heaven Tree Valley?”
“No, the historians were correct: our ancestors slaughtered every last Chthonic.” He turned back toward Starhaven. “There’s nothing here. Let’s go.”
Nicodemus waited a moment before following the old wizard. “Then what are we going to do?”
“Research our enemy,” Shannon said. “We know the murderer’s made of flesh until we cut him; then he turns to clay. We need to find a mundane text about such creatures. Normally researching such an obscure topic would take the rest of the autumn. But you and I might modify the research we’re to complete this afternoon with Magister Smallwood.”
Nicodemus found himself looking back at the carvings. “I don’t understand.”
“We’re researching a powerful artifact called the Index. It allows one to quickly search through many texts. Nothing as powerful as what they have in Astrophell, but still impressive. Your task will be to distract Smallwood and the sentinels at the project’s end so that I might secretly peek into the Index.”
“But why don’t we simply tell them what we need to do?”
Shannon shook his head. “Neither Smallwood nor the sentinels wouldpermit it. You will see. After that we must sleep. This day has been like a bad dream.”
“Bad dream,” Nicodemus echoed. He stopped and turned to look again at the Chthonic carvings.
The wizard also stopped. “What’s the matter?”
Nicodemus opened his mouth, trying to articulate the images flashing through his mind.
“In my dream, the one when I napped,” he finally managed to say, “I was in an underground place and there was a white-robed body that held a green gem.” He looked at Shannon. “Magister, a green gem! And the murderer said he needed me to replenish an emerald!”
The old man frowned.
Nicodemus pointed to the mountain’s ivy carvings. “In the dream, the floor was covered with ivy. And out of the darkness came strange turtles. There were hundreds of them, hissing and dying horribly as their shells cracked.”
“I don’t understand. Turtles?”
“Look, that hexagonal pattern,” Nicodemus said, pointing to the other Chthonic carving, “is the pattern of a turtle shell.”
DEIRDRE SPRINTED THROUGH the dark hallway. On her left were dark Chthonic doorways; to her right, the barred windows.
Already she could hear frantic footfalls. The thing was after her again.
She raced around the tower and up the stairs on the other side. Suddenly the ceiling burst into a thousand flapping creatures.
Bats! They had been nesting on the ceiling. The floor was soft with their droppings.
She ran on. The sword wound on her ribs was shallow and mending fast, but still it sent agony lancing down her side with every breath. Her robe was wet with blood.
Behind her the creature shrieked.
Redoubling her efforts, she flew around the tower and charged up the next flight of stairs—only to come to a sliding halt.
Before her stood an opening to a tower bridge. The bright midday sun beat down on the gray stones. “No.” She couldn’t leave the tower; outside of Starhaven’s walls the creature could wield magic. “No!” Frantically she turned around.
Footsteps were echoing up from the stairwell.
She ran to one of the small black doors that lined the hallway’s inner wall. It was a thick, metal portal. On top sat a squat barred window.
She pulled, but the door would not budge. She heaved…and with a metallic scream the thing swung a quarter way through its arc.
Suddenly Deirdre’s head felt light. “Goddess, no!” she whispered, slipping into the dark chamber. “Not now!” Her hands began to tremble.
The room was rectangular; the black mass of an ancient stone bed crouched beside one wall. A chorus of terrified rats chattered in one corner. Deirdre yanked the door shut with another loud screech.
Her hands were shaking now. Her stomach felt distended. “No, no,” she whimpered, staggering