Brother Thief (Song of the Aura, Book One) (13 page)

  
Maybe they were giants.

  
In a minute or two he was standing next to the dome. It arched up above him at least fifty feet, and even though he stood atop the rest of the Shrine, just this part made him feel small and helpless.

  
There were designs carved in the dome’s unmarred white marble-sand. Warriors, horses, monsters and machines did battle in effigy, carved by the Shrine’s mysterious forgotten creators around four luminous, round windows set at the four corners of the compass.

  
It was the work of a moment for Gribly to climb up to the one that faced him. He didn’t want to waste time, and he was now acutely aware that the afternoon was wearing away. Not that night held any unnatural fear for him… but he didn’t like to be caught out after dark. No one in Ymeer did, whether it was instinct or superstition too deeply rooted to be removed.

  
He stood in front of the window, where it stretched up three times his height. He was in a shadowed, shallow windowsill of sorts that curved up around the window’s round edge in a perfect circle. The window itself was made of an infinitely thick, rough colored glass that seemed to emanate light without actually getting any brighter. Wrought iron held the pieces together and ran around its edge and across it two ways.

  
“How do I get in?” the thief wondered. The answer came to him unbidden, as if someone else had put it into his head.

  
Glass is sand.

  
“Oh,” he said. Putting his hand out, he tested the idea.

  
The pane of red glass in front of him bubbled and melted away from his touch. A hole formed in accordance with his unspoken wish, spreading outward in a bleeding wave of liquid, red glass.

  
It was the hardest thing he’d ever done with his gift, and by the time he had melted enough of the huge pane away to step through the hole, his brow was drenched in sweat and the sun was low in the sky behind him.

  
I bet all the snot-headed nobles would get their robes in a twist if they knew what I’m doing to their prized building!
That thought alone gave him the fortitude to change the glass. After gaining entry he turned and made sure the hole would stay open so he could escape the same way.

  
Without another thought he began the careful, dangerous climb down the inside of the Shrine walls.

~

  
Only when he reached the bottom was he able to really see what the inside of the Shrine looked like. He was stunned.

  
The enormous rectangle had a carved, arching roof supported by a veritable forest of marble-sand pillars. Alcoves in each wall housed giant statues of men and women with kind, thoughtful faces- and sometimes no statue at all, but a large, rounded, unshaped hunk of marble-sand that would one day be carved like the others.

  
In the open space between the walls sat rank upon rank of long, white benches that were one with the rest of the structure. Three separate rows stretched back into the soft shadows, leaving open two lanes that ran up to the circular, open space where Gribly now stood, unnoticed.

  
The Shrine’s round tower was as wide as the stone-gable roof behind it, slightly higher, and just as sparse in its furnishings. Gribly presumed the ancient builders had not bothered much with the useless fanciness and trappings of the modern nobles, and that suited him just fine. The vibrantly colored windows sent a cascade of heavenly light down on everything under them. And it was that
everything
that took Gribly by such surprise.

  
Smooth, empty iron chandeliers hung down from the high ceiling. Steps began at the edges of the circular space and proceeded higher and higher until they flattened out on a round space that was man-high and ten yards wide every way. An unfurnished, square altar was set there, adorned only with a small stone angel carved on each corner.

  
Ringing the steps and the altar, lit up in the glorious light from above, were a number of stone statues three times man-high. They depicted saints or spirits, human but elfin too, and each bore inscriptions at their feet. Most were male, but a few were female. Some were dressed as warriors and some as scribes, some as kings and some as beggars, but each looked divinely inspired.

  
Gribly was speechless with fear, but the fear felt good… holy.

  
What IS this place?
He wondered. His frantic, small mind felt smaller already: confused, but happy, too. It made no sense, and he gloried in the nonsensicalness of it all.

  
No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t what he was feeling. What was going on????

  
Then, as he cowered in the shadows, too happy to stay and too scared to approach the altar, he recognized one of the farthest statues as something he knew. Some
one
he knew.

  
“Traveller!” he gasped, and quickly sped around the round steps to the other side of the tower, where he fell to his knees in front of the statue. “It’s you! I mean, it’s not
you
, but…”

  
Turn around
, something inside told him.
And REMEMBER.

  
He turned, stood up, and took in the sight of the altar, statues, and Shrine again. And then Traveller’s words came back:

  
I am part of the Aura, and the Aura serves the Creator.

  
So that was it. That was what the Shrine was: the house of the Creator. The other statues were the other parts of the Aura! If the thing the Creator had created was so powerful that it manifested itself as
multiple beings
, then how much more infinitely powerful was the Creator Himself!

  
I need time to think,
his tired mind told him.
This is too much. All of it- my gift, this place, these statues and this elusive Creator- all of it is too much to take in a day. Traveller can answer my questions if I see him again…

  
“Come on, Dunelord,” he grumbled under his breath, feeling exhilarated but exhausted. “I need to find you. Lauro needs to get at you. Where is the best place to
meet you
?”

  
“Right here,” rasped a voice behind him. “The Dunelord would
love
to meet you here…” Gribly jumped so high he landed on the marble-sand steps with a
whump
and lost his breath. A passage behind the statue had opened up and two men had come out without him noticing.

  
The one who had spoken was tall and thin, in white robes and long gray hair, with a yellow cinch at his waist and a small wax candle in his hand: the Shrine’s cleric. Gribly had heard he existed, but no one had ever seen him. The other man was Dunelord Ymorio, strong and muscled, wrapped in a silky cloak to hide the effects of his near-assassination. His face still bore scars and his hair was cut shorter to rid it of the parts that had been blackened and shriveled with fire. The Lord of Ymeer wore an expression of amused confidence.
He
was the supreme power here.

  
“Hello, little thief,” he smiled confidently. Without thinking, Gribly threw all his power into a flying leap off the marble-sand, using the potent substance to aid his gift and throw him higher. He intended to hit the wall and make an instant escape up the inside wall again.

  
He never made it. Dunelord Ymorio leaped up to meet him, striking him in the gut with enough force to make him throw up any food he might have eaten in the past week… which was next to nothing, of course.

  
The thief’s frail body slammed to the ground again, but instead of crumpling on the hard ground, the floor softened and sucked him into itself, wrapping around him like a living thing.

  
At first Gribly thought the floor itself was attacking him, until he saw the Dunelord’s pleased expression as he landed, molding the marble-sand with perfect skill and throwing it on his prey to encase him.

  
The Dunelord has sand gifts too!
The revelation woke him up just enough to open his mouth in awe.

  
“Wha…” mumbled the boy, but his body was on fire with pain, begging him to let unconsciousness take control. He tried feebly to fight the Dunelord’s power, but the older man was far too strong. It was if Gribly didn’t have a gift at all.

  
The sickening, soft-hard substance forced him into the ground and covered his face. Moaning weakly, Gribly stopped fighting and let himself black out.

  
One last thought pierced his mind.
Traveller, help me. Creator, if you’re as real as the things you create… save me.

Chapter Ten:
The Cleric of Ymeer

  
He hadn’t expected to wake up again, but he did. The realization wasn’t encouraging.

  
Darkness covered him almost absolutely. What little light he had came through a tiny, barred window in a heavy iron door some distance away. The pitiful illumination showed him that he was chained to the ceiling of a dry stone cell with no windows. His arms felt numb and his wrists were purple from lack of blood. His feet dangled a half-foot from the floor, so that he couldn’t touch it any more than he could climb the chains and touch the ceiling.

 
 
Slowly, the memory of his painful, sudden capture came back to him. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the pain in his arms as he remembered.

  
The Dunelord was like him- he knew that now. The man had the gift of sand, just like him, and was far better at using it. Though Gribly couldn’t think of a reason why the Dunelord had let him live, he thought he now knew why he was in this cell.
No sand
, he acknowledged, looking around the room in vain.
No way out… easily, anyway.
He realized that this room was probably built for the sole purpose of caging people like him- why else would it be here, when he’d never seen more than two stones together in the city?

  
And as he looked closer at the walls around him, another realization dawned that strengthened his assumption: there were no cracks or fissures in the walls. They weren’t stone and mortar- they were solid! The prison cell had been carved straight out of the rock!

  
I wonder if there really are more people out there like me
, Gribly thought.
They might all have been hunted down by Dunelord Ymorio, or maybe even other Dunelords before him! Maybe he has these powers like me- like us- and doesn’t want anyone else with them to challenge him!

  
The thought was frightening. He was still musing over it when the door to his cell screeched on protesting, rusted hinges and tediously inched open.

  
Four of the Dunelord’s silver-armored bodyguards marched through the portal, once it was open. Their strange, coal-black skin and red lips made Gribly more than a little nervous, but he was soon beyond caring. The loss of blood, the constant hanging, and his imprisonment of who-knows-how-long was finally taking a toll on him.