Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [87]
Eliza was not speaking only of her father. She was speaking for herself. In returning the sword to the Technomancers, was she making the right decision? Would the ripples from her action fade into the placid smoothness of time’s lake or build into a crushing tidal wave?
Eliza drew in a deep breath. She had made her decision.
“I am ready,” she said. She drew the blanket over the Darksword.
We opened the doors of the air car and climbed out, all except Mosiah, who hunkered down in the front seat. We left the Darksword on the floor in the back.
Scylla had brought with her a pair of infrared binoculars. With these, she scanned the strange forest, a forest which had remained inside boundaries that were supposedly no longer there. Ahead of us was the East Road Gate—at least that’s what I assumed it was. An invisible gate in an invisible wall is not easy to find.
“No one,” Scylla said, lowering the binoculars.
“I feel as if someone was watching me,” said Eliza, shivering, though the night wind was warm.
“Yes,” Scylla agreed. “So do I.” She kept her gaze forward, shifting, seeking, searching.
“What do we do?” Eliza demanded. Her voice cracked. The strain was starting to wear her down. “Why is no one here?”
“Patience,” counseled Scylla. “This is their game. We have to play by their rules. Remember—we must see for ourselves that the hostages are alive and well. Look inside the gate. Do you see anything?”
I recalled what I had read. In the past, anyone who entered the gate was immediately transformed into the likeness of one of the inmates of the Zoo—a daunting possibility. For if the Kan-Hanar, the gatekeepers, discovered that you had been erroneously admitted, you might become a permanent resident of the Zoo.
This edict maintained the integrity of the Zoo. The sight of fat tradesmen tramping through the hunting grounds of the fierce centaurs would spoil the effect. To say nothing of the fact that the centaurs—who were not illusion, but very real—might decide to feast on a fat tradesman. And so the tradesmen were transformed into images of centaurs and thus—if they kept to the path— passed through the Zoo swiftly and safely.
Of course, the elite magi who either lived in Zith-el or had business there entered that city by way of the Corridors, and so did not have to go through the demeaning process of entering the gate. This experience was reserved for peasants, students, peddlers, field magi, and the lower ranks of the catalysts.
“I see nothing inside the gate,” Eliza said. “Nothing at all. That’s very strange. It’s as if there were a huge hole cut out of the forest.”
I nodded, to indicate that my view was the same.
“And yet the magic is supposed to be gone,” Scylla murmured.
“Not according to your theory,” I signed.
I have no idea whether she understood me or not, it being difficult to read sign language in near darkness.
“Are we . . , are we supposed to meet them inside there?” Eliza asked, daunted at the prospect of entering the dark maw which gaped before us.
“No,” said Scylla reassuringly. “They said to meet outside the East Road Gate. If the Technomancers are in Zith-el, my guess is that they found some means of entering that did not involve passing through the Zoo.”
I could well believe that the Technomancers would be reluctant to enter. Standing before the gate was like standing in the mouth of a cave, feeling the chill air that comes from deep underground touch your skin with clammy fingers. A strange smell emanated from the Zoo, drifting only occasionally to the nostrils, then vanishing. It was the smell of living things, of excrement and rotten food, mingled with the odor of verdure and loam, and, underneath it, decay.
We stood waiting for perhaps fifteen minutes, our uneasiness growing. If the Technomancers meant to unnerve us, they succeeded, at least with Eliza and myself. I’m not sure what it would have taken to