reason -- you by Magnus and I by my captors -- that we were the nonpareils of our blood and blueeyed race, that we were taller and more finely made than other men."
"Ooooh, you have to tell me all of it! You have to explain everything!" I said.
"I am explaining everything," he said. "But first, I think it is time for you to see something that will be very important as we go on."
He waited for a moment for the words to sink in.
Then he rose slowly in human fashion, assisting himself easily with his hands on the arms of the chair. He stood looking down at me and waiting.
"Those Who Must Be Kept?" I asked. My voice had gotten terribly small, terribly unsure of itself.
And I could see a little mischief again in his face, or rather a touch of the amusement that was never far away.
"Don't be afraid," he said soberly, trying to conceal the amusement. "It's very unlike you, you know."
I was burning to see them, to know what they were, and yet I didn't move. I'd really thought that I would see them. I'd never really thought what it would mean . . .
"Is it... is it something terrible to see?" I asked.
He smiled slowly and affectionately and placed his hand on my shoulder.
"Would it stop you if I said yes?"
"No," I said. But I was afraid.
"It's only terrible as time goes on," he said. "In the beginning, it's beautiful."
He waited, watching me, trying to be patient. Then he said softly:
"Come, let's go."
Part VII Ancient Magic, Ancient Mysteries Chapter 4
4
A stairway into the earth.
It was much older than the house, this stair way, though how I knew I couldn't say. Steps worn concave in the middle from the feet that have followed them. Winding deeper and deeper down into the rock.
Now and then a rough-cut portal to the sea, an opening too small for a man to climb through, and a shelf upon which birds have nested, or where the wild grass grew out of the cracks.
And then the chill, the inexplicable chill that you find sometimes in old monasteries, rained churches, haunted rooms.
I stopped and rubbed the backs of my arms with my hands. The chill was rising through the steps.
"They don't cause it," he said gently. He was waiting for me on the steps just below.
The semidarkness broke his face into kindly patterns of light and shadow, gave the illusion of mortal age that wasn't there.
"It was here long before I brought them," he said. "Many have come to worship on this island. Maybe it was there before they came, too."
He beckoned to me again with his characteristic patience. His eyes were compassionate.
"Don't be afraid," he said again as he started down.
I was ashamed not to follow. The steps went on and on.
We came on larger portals and the noise of the sea. I could feel the cool spray on my hands and face, see the gleam of the damp on the stones. But we went on down farther and farther, the echo of our shoes swelling against the rounded ceiling, the rudely finished walls. This was deeper than any dungeon, this was the pit you dig in childhood when you brag to your mother and father that you will make a tunnel to the very center of the earth.
Finally I saw a burst of light as we rounded another bend. And at last, two lamps burning before a pair of doors.
Deep vessels of oil fed the wicks of the lamps. And the doors themselves were bolted by an enormous beam of oak. It would have taken several men to lift it, possibly levers, ropes.
Marius lifted this beam and laid it aside easily, and then he stood back and looked at the doors. I heard the sound of another beam being moved on the inside. Then the doors opened slowly, and I felt my breathing come to a halt.
It wasn't only that he'd done it without touching them. I had seen that little trick before. It was that the room beyond was full of the same lovely flowers and lighted lamps that I had seen in the house above. Here deep underground were lilies, waxen and white, and sparkling with droplets of moisture, roses in rich hues of red and pink ready to fall from their vines. It was a chapel, this chamber with the soft flicker of votive candles and the perfume of a thousand bouquets.