29. The purple stone

The alchemist’s house was not far from the border with the Cat Quarter, and it did not take me long to reach the Hostel. I pricked up my ears, but the door was so thick that nothing could be heard through it. I knocked and waited.

When the door opened, Aberyl appeared, his blue muffler on, and his light yellowish eyes smiled.

“By the starry sky, if it isn’t our crippled hero!”

I smiled.

“Ayo, Ab. Can I come in?”

“By all means, come in, come in. You’ve come for a little work, haven’t you? Korther told me about it. Right away he’s in the middle of a business meeting, but I’ll let him know anyway. I love to disturb him. Make yourself at home.”

As he walked away, through the back door and closed it behind him, I stepped into the room. On the table was a small pile of nails, and looking for a reason not to put them in my pocket, I said to myself, “they are not yours, Mor-eldal”. Besides, a Black Dagger did not steal from another Black Dagger. What an idea!

Averting my eyes, curiosity led me to approach Korther’s armchair. I touched the fabric and noticed that it was padded and all. After glancing at the door, I sat down and sighed, smiling. It wasn’t bad at all. It was even more comfortable than the ones at Miroki Fal’s house. I stood up, sat back down, and quickly examined my leg. My bandage was already several days old. I was thinking it was time to remove it when the door opened, and I jumped to my feet. Aberyl gave me a joking look.

“Getting ready to become the kap in a few years, huh?”

I blushed and huffed.

“No, no, that’s not it. I was just trying, that’s all.”

“Sure.” I could clearly see the glance he gave the pile of nails before adding, “Korther wants you to come by his office. The meeting is already over. Go ahead.”

I followed him, and we passed through two rooms before we went up some stairs and into the said office. The rest of the rooms were rather soulless, but the office was spacious and well-lit, with all sorts of luxurious furniture and a large carpet which seemed to be embroidered with gold thread. Korther was sitting in his chair, writing a letter with a huge black quill. He looked up, put down the quill, and smiled.

“Thanks, Ab. Welcome back, lad. Come here, come here. How’s your leg?”

“Healed,” I replied, coming closer.

The kap had a pile of sheets, inkwells, and impressive quills before him, and in his left hand, he was holding a small oval purple stone.

“I’m glad it healed. How did it go with the alchemist?”

I looked like I didn’t know what to say, and he smiled again at my expression. Obeying his gestures, I went around the desk, and he pushed a small sheet of paper full of signs towards me.

“Tell me, lad. Do you recognize these signs?”

I frowned and examined the writing.

“Not quite,” I said at last.

Korther arched an eyebrow.

“Not quite?” he repeated.

“I mean, they look like the ones I know, but they’re not the same,” I explained.

“I understand,” Korther murmured. “Out of curiosity, where did you learn them?”

I shrugged and said:

“With a very old man.”

Korther kept silent for a moment, and strangely enough, seeing that I said nothing else, he did not insist. He pushed aside the sheet of paper with the signs on it, and leaned back against the chair, saying:

“Look, the night you helped me steal the Wada, I heard you speak… a strange language. A language I’ve been trying to learn for a few moons now that’s more hellish than Owram. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

I nodded calmly.

“Caeldric.”

“Correct,” Korther smiled. “Caeldric, the language of earth, which, as a result of some of the killings perpetrated by the Halinasg, came to be known as Morelic, the language of the dead.” He gestured vaguely with his hand, taking on a storytelling air. “Such was the hysteria that entire libraries were burned down to destroy all books written in Morelic. Throughout the Great Republic, which then stretched from the Harpoon Mountains to the White Sea of the East, those suspected of complicity with the Halinasg were thrown to the stake. Today, only certain spiritualists who want to give themselves a macabre air learn Morelic. And the signs are still forbidden. However… in the Underground, it’s still in use. And in the western lands, it is considered simply a dead language, learned and forgotten. A language learned by scholars.”

He played with his purple stone for a few moments, thoughtfully, and then, bringing it before my eyes, he added:

“Do you know what this is?”

“A purple stone?” I suggested. And as I saw a mocking glint in his reptilian eyes, I corrected, “A diamond?”

“Nothing to do with a diamond: it’s a relic,” Korther replied. He placed it on the table and clasped his hands together, recounting with obvious pleasure, “Aberyl brought it to me last moon. Do you know where he found it? On a beach in the Lands of the Blind One. As incredible as it sounds, this relic can float. So it can’t be made of ordinary stone.” He paused. “It took me a good while to figure out how to activate the relic, but, now, when I do, I can sometimes hear whispers of voices. The other day, I recognized a word in Caeldric. Something like ilshuay. It means water, doesn’t it?”

“Salt water,” I agreed.

“Even better,” Korther muttered, observing the stone with obvious interest. “My intuition tells me that this relic is of incalculable value.”

He picked up the stone again, looked as if concentrating, then looked up, and handed it to me:

“Take it.”

I hesitated, mainly because I didn’t know which hand to use to pick it up, whether with my left hand, whose sokwata skin had a kind of anti-energy shield, or with my skeletal hand, which was undetectable against magical alarms. I finally chose the latter and grabbed the stone. I felt a jolt and flinched, but I didn’t let go of the relic. The pattern on it was so complicated that I gave up trying to figure it out after a few seconds.

“It’s activated,” Korther said as he stood up. “Don’t let go of it. Sit down and wait to hear the voices. Then…” He placed a blank sheet of paper and a quill on the desk and with a gesture invited me to sit in front of it, in a chair no less comfortable than his own, concluding, “Translate whatever you can.”

I nodded, and thinking again of those ten nails per line that Yal had recommended I ask for, I inquired:

“And what do I get for it?”

Korther rolled his eyes.

“Listen to me, son. The first thing for a good sari is to get along with his kap. Think about it. Don’t you remember getting more than one award in the last few weeks?”

I paled. Darn.

“You mean the meals, the bandage, the house, and… and the gnome? Well,” I said with a clearing of my throat, as he nodded calmly. “Okay. All round. So, I translate.”

“You translate,” Korther approved, smiling. “Think that the more favors you do me, the more I will do you. And Mr. Wayam’s remedy is one of them.”

He was a bit quick to assert that the gnome would find a real cure, I thought. But I nodded nonetheless and turned my attention to the purple stone. For a long moment, we said nothing. I kept shuffling my feet and examining the relic; Korther was writing a letter with a large black quill. When he finished, he used a seal with black wax that represented a dagger. He got up, opened the door, and went down the stairs, calling:

“Ab!”

I heard murmurs downstairs, the sound of a door, and finally Korther came back. He seemed to be in a good mood.

“Still nothing, huh? Sometimes hours can go by. In the meantime, maybe you’d like to do some reading. Yal told me he taught you how to read Drionsan. Let’s see,” he said, rummaging through one of his shelves. He pulled out a green booklet with a small smile. “Maybe this one.”

He handed it to me, and I read the title out loud:

“Theo-ries on the… infernal creatures.”

I arched my eyebrows, looked up at Korther and, meeting his attentive violet reptilian eyes, I swallowed. I bet a fivenail he’d chosen that book on purpose. Nevertheless, I opened it and, curling up in my comfortable chair, began to read.

«In every age, in every civilization, there are legends and myths, stories invented or inspired by reality, by remote historical facts distorted by time. The abnormal is monstrous or divine, and in different peoples and races, over the centuries, events, traditions, and creatures that were once ordinary have become strange, and other beings and ways of life, conversely, have endured and become normalized.»

I continued to read without much excitement and was already turning to the second page when suddenly I felt a vibration and looked down at the stone. I heard a soft laugh and a:

“Good day!”

But I heard it so low that I could hardly understand it. More murmurs followed, and I managed to catch words: quiet, safe, path, yes, yes, work, sleepy, good, locate, clumsy, unimaginable, and… Korther suddenly grabbed me by the arm and put the quill in my left hand. I gasped.

“I can hardly hear them,” I protested.

“Well, at least you can hear them, that’s something,” the kap said. “Listen to them and write everything down, lad.”

I obeyed, and leaving aside the book on infernal creatures, I leaned on the table and began to transcribe in Drionsan one word in twenty of those I understood, if not less; that was because I not only had trouble hearing, but I had trouble remembering the signs. As Korther said, Yal had taught me to read… not so much to write. Besides, the frequency with which Korther got up and walked around the office to read over my shoulder didn’t help me concentrate.

Finally, the murmurs turned into inaudible whispers, and then I glanced at Korther with embarrassment, hesitated, and cleared my throat.

“I… I can’t hear anything anymore, Korther. It’s broken.”

The kap rolled his eyes and reached over the desk to retrieve the stone.

“It deactivated itself,” he explained. “It happens after a while. It’s normal.”

I sighed with relief, for to have broken the relic when Korther seemed so excited would have been a blunder indeed. Fearing that he would activate it again and ask me to continue, I stood up.

“So that’s it, isn’t it? Damn, my left hand hurts like a toughsteeler ran over it—”

“It’s okay, lad,” Korther interrupted me, looking half-exasperated and half-amused. “I don’t think your sheet full of scribbles is of much use to me, but… you can go. Come back tomorrow at eight o’clock at night, and I’ll give you fifty nails if you do the same thing as today.”

I gave him an inquisitive expression. Fifty nails to ruin my hand and patience with a quill? I bit my tongue, barely concealing my smile.

“It runs, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Korther gave me a playful look, and I was already opening the door when he called out:

“Hey, lad! It’s good that you’re so cheerfully accepting my money but… be careful not to accept money from just anyone, huh? There are conmen everywhere: look at how the Black Hawk used his henchmen. No matter what the mercenaries say, the money is only as good as who gives it to you.” He smiled, “Get out of here, lad.”

I took one last curious look at him and went out, closing the door. I walked down the stairs, pondering on his words. I knew that the Black Daggers did not only do jobs offered by the kaps, but also made a living for themselves, and they engaged in grand theft, and smuggling, and all sorts of activities. And, of course, they had dealings with people who were total strangers to the brotherhood. Only the spirits knew why, at that moment, Korther had wished to give me such an obvious piece of advice. I shrugged and went into the front room, where I found Aberyl with his boots on the table and his chair balanced, drumming on his arm with one hand, looking absorbed. He was doing absolutely nothing. Except thinking, perhaps.

“I’m off, Ab,” I said.

“Ah! It took you long enough. I guess that means you know how to speak the infamous forbidden and evil language.” His blue eyes smiled, and I returned a comical grin. “Good night, boy.”

“Good night!”

I left the Hostel with the impression of leaving behind me two beings who, for normal sajits, would enter the category of infernal creatures. I was pretty sure that Korther was a demon. As for Aberyl… Well, if he had been a sajit, how would he have gotten in and out of the salbronix mine without even feeling the effects of the vampiric foam? I had never asked him that question… and I didn’t know if I wanted to know the answer.

It was a festive night, so the neighborhood was alive with instruments and singing. I agitated both hands energetically as I walked down an alleyway. My right hand still felt like it was being shaken by slight electric shocks, and the other was numb from the quill. I hadn’t gotten much out of what I’d heard through that purple stone, but what I did get left me wondering. Clearly, the relic had a sister relic somewhere, and through it, two people were attempting spells to locate the one Korther had. They had spoken of brejic energy, monoliths, auditory canals, and a purple orb, and the most incredible thing for me had been to hear the name of “Marevor Helith” mentioned several times. I knew the name: he was an old friend of my master’s, one of the few nakrus he knew in person. I still remembered what my master had said about him, something like:

‘As far as extravagance goes, he has no equal! That nakrus is a bold one: the last time I saw him, he was heading back to the West with the intention of becoming a professor at a sajit academy. He is a great magarist. Once, he gave me a flower that would not wilt. It lasted almost two hundred years. And do you know what I gave him? A horn full of water, to quench his thirst!’

And he had burst out laughing. It was nakrus humor. I must say, having been raised by one, I understood it more than well. I shook my head as I walked absentmindedly through the streets.

“Marevor Helith,” I whispered.

It intrigued me to know that on the other side of that purple stone there were two mysterious people who knew Marevor Helith. And it also filled me with emotion, because… well, it reminded me that my master was still in the mountains, waiting for maybe… maybe, a ferilompard bone that wasn’t coming.

I swallowed and said to myself: come on, Mor-eldal, do you still believe in this ferilompard quest? He said it to chase you away, so that you would go and see the world, there is no such thing as a ferilompard! Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. Maybe they didn’t exist now, but… what if they had existed once? Then, of course, there must still be some ferilompard skeleton somewhere and…

I shook my head, laughing at myself. Dependent as I was on the sokwata and with friends I wouldn’t give up even for a hundred thousand siatos… did I really want to go back to the mountains with my master now? No. I just missed him, that’s all.

I passed a noisy band of drunks, and when I had left them behind, I decided to take off my bandage. I found that the scar was hardly visible. That way, if anyone I knew saw me, they would ask fewer questions. I used the cloth as a belt, and, satisfied with my new attire, I walked straight into the Labyrinth.