All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [136]
There were questions covering the development of alchemy, the rise and fall of the now-extinct gypsy shamans in Eastern Europe (which was a trick question because they hadn’t covered that yet in class—but Mitch knew anyway), the Battle of Ultima Thule, and the Treaty of the Under-Realms.36
As they entered the fifth room, however, Fiona noted it had but one exit—so they had to get the question on the brass plaque to proceed.
It was on the Angelic Alphabet.
Jezebel was the closest thing they had to an expert on the subject . . . but she puzzled a long time over the odd language which comprised lines, arcs, circles, and tiny squares.
Fiona had seen those letters before. Once in class—just a passing reference by Miss Westin, and also in that book Eliot had been so excited about this summer, Mythica Improbiba.
She also vaguely recalled some extra credit reading on John Dee, but she’d skipped the footnotes on all his variations of the invented languages of the angels.37
“Very close to Infernal dialects,” Jezebel murmured. Concentration furrowed her brow. “But their grammar . . . so many rules.”
Mitch peered over her shoulder but quickly moved back, shaking his head. “Way out of my league,” he whispered.
Eliot moved to her side and asked, “Do you mind?”
“If you think you can,” Jezebel snorted, “be my guest.”
Eliot set his palms over the raised symbols as if it were Braille, closed his eyes, and traced their edges.
“I have it,” he whispered to her. “I’ll need your hands.”
She looked at him and then her hands, confused. “I . . . I don’t know. . . .”
“Here.” Eliot gently took them and moved them over the letters.
She inhaled sharply—but before she could say anything, he was helping her move the scrambled letters like the pieces of a jigsaw.
Jezebel’s eyes widened. Her colorless cheeks tinged pink.
Fiona took a step back. It felt weird . . . almost intimate to see the two of them, hands atop one another.
Eliot finished. He quickly removed his hands and without a word took a step back.
The portcullis rose.
Jezebel looked at the deciphered passage—and then covered her eyes as if she’d just stared into a flashbulb.
The text, apart from looking like a geometry problem, didn’t look like anything legible to Fiona.
An English translation, however, emerged at the bottom of the brass plaque:
Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary, the Devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.38
“How did you do that?” Jezebel whispered to Eliot.
“You better go on,” Eliot told her. His eyes were darker than usual, the color of blue smoke. “I’ll need to get the next person through.”
Jezebel moved to the other side and watched intently as Eliot helped the rest of the team.
Fiona noted that Eliot didn’t touch anyone as he had Jezebel, rather just instructed them where to place the odd geometric letters.
Eliot went through last and told them, “I think there’s only one more question ahead.”
“About bloody time,” Jeremy replied. “Men weren’t meant to be underground like so many rats.”
“No worries,” Fiona said, trying to sound confident. “One more gate. We get through and we’re finished.”
“Come on.” Robert grabbed a torch off the wall and led the way.
The tunnel angled up, zigged and zagged, and then a light appeared far down the passage.
It was blurry and dim, but definitely the same fog-covered sunlight she’d seen earlier this morning. And there was no gate!
They broke into a trot.
Fiona’s heart raced. They’d done it. Made it through the entire maze—got every question right! They’d all get As and show the rest of the class what teamwork could accomplish.
The light brightened, and Fiona found herself blinking as she ran out onto grass.
She whooped and cheered and whirled around.
. . . but her victory dance spun to a stop.
They were inside the Ludus Magnus.
The jungle gym loomed before her. It was taller now, eighty feet high. She saw the balance beam she had crossed a few weeks ago had spiked weights that swung back and forth so you’d have to dodge. The chain-link fences had barbed wires woven