wish – only understand that it dwelt not in Greyson’s own heart, but in a place very far from him, where all truth is unequivocal, but unknown.
Anyway – after entering the chamber, Greyson sought for a possession, a personal article of Vaya Eleria’s, which could serve as the central implement of the raising ritual. He did not mean to use it, he told himself; but he thought that his long affection for Vaya’s wordless, unconscious, oil-based gaze upon a strip of old canvas was certainly enough to warrant him a little treasure of his own. So he went to the dusty dressing table by the bed, and looked all through its drawers, till he found one locked. To be locked, he thought, was to contain something worth finding – and so he forced the drawer. Inside it lay a single item, which he took up in his hand.
He found himself looking upon a fine gold chain, with a small and beautiful ring of the same metal hanging from it. Of course he did not know (but we do, so we shall tell you) that it was the very ring given Vaya by Krestyin the year of her death.
Greyson slipped the ring into his pocket, and then went to great pains to ensure that quite everything in the chamber was as it had been when he entered. Then he shifted away.
He stole that same evening into Byron Evigan’s personal library, where he searched the shelves for the rare and ancient book of lore which would tell him what he wished to know. When he had found it, and located the chapter which he desired, he assiduously copied all its contents onto several sheets of paper.
Now he sat alone in the crypt, with that same ring in the palm of his hand, and those same papers lying upon his knees. He stared for a little at these objects; and then looked to the coffin of Vaya Eleria. He felt almost as if he were slipping away from himself, and into a sort of trance. Had he been able to think clearly, surely he would not have gone through with the thing; but it seemed as if a low and silken voice were whispering into his ear, and instructing him as to how he ought to proceed. The part of him which was still conscious, and which spoke the voice of Greyson, was painfully curious. This part of him did not honestly think that anything would happen; and at most, he thought it would make an amusing subject for conversation with Anna, perhaps serving to bridge the gap that had recently formed between them. Why he would have thought that such a thing – the very thing over which she had separated herself from him in the first place – would assuage Anna’s ire, probably we shall never know. But in the end it matters little.
Halfheartedly, and with a hand heavy as lead, Greyson laid the ring upon the lid of the coffin. He then spent many minutes poring over his pages of handwriting. It was almost as if he had to force them from his sore and parched throat – though in a way they flowed easily as water – but finally he spoke those five secret words, which were written in large capital letters, in the very oldest form of the Lumarian tongue, at the very bottom of the last sheet of paper. So very dark, and so very dangerous are those words, that we shall not write them here. Be satisfied only with their effect.
Eerily silent were those long moments after Greyson spoke the words. With no sound arriving from without, his ears began to hum, louder and louder, till finally the vibration made him clap his hands to the sides of his head. When he lowered them, he registered a noise he had not heard before: the whistling of the winter wind through the tops of the great trees. Its song was soothing, at first; but soon it began to unnerve him, as would the cries of a score of whirling dervishes. Or perhaps it could have been likened to the spinning of a top, round and round, with the noise of its orbits growing louder as it spins faster – faster and faster, until it falls to the floor with a clatter.
The top was spinning; and Greyson was awaiting the clatter.
If he had been
Anyway – after entering the chamber, Greyson sought for a possession, a personal article of Vaya Eleria’s, which could serve as the central implement of the raising ritual. He did not mean to use it, he told himself; but he thought that his long affection for Vaya’s wordless, unconscious, oil-based gaze upon a strip of old canvas was certainly enough to warrant him a little treasure of his own. So he went to the dusty dressing table by the bed, and looked all through its drawers, till he found one locked. To be locked, he thought, was to contain something worth finding – and so he forced the drawer. Inside it lay a single item, which he took up in his hand.
He found himself looking upon a fine gold chain, with a small and beautiful ring of the same metal hanging from it. Of course he did not know (but we do, so we shall tell you) that it was the very ring given Vaya by Krestyin the year of her death.
Greyson slipped the ring into his pocket, and then went to great pains to ensure that quite everything in the chamber was as it had been when he entered. Then he shifted away.
He stole that same evening into Byron Evigan’s personal library, where he searched the shelves for the rare and ancient book of lore which would tell him what he wished to know. When he had found it, and located the chapter which he desired, he assiduously copied all its contents onto several sheets of paper.
Now he sat alone in the crypt, with that same ring in the palm of his hand, and those same papers lying upon his knees. He stared for a little at these objects; and then looked to the coffin of Vaya Eleria. He felt almost as if he were slipping away from himself, and into a sort of trance. Had he been able to think clearly, surely he would not have gone through with the thing; but it seemed as if a low and silken voice were whispering into his ear, and instructing him as to how he ought to proceed. The part of him which was still conscious, and which spoke the voice of Greyson, was painfully curious. This part of him did not honestly think that anything would happen; and at most, he thought it would make an amusing subject for conversation with Anna, perhaps serving to bridge the gap that had recently formed between them. Why he would have thought that such a thing – the very thing over which she had separated herself from him in the first place – would assuage Anna’s ire, probably we shall never know. But in the end it matters little.
Halfheartedly, and with a hand heavy as lead, Greyson laid the ring upon the lid of the coffin. He then spent many minutes poring over his pages of handwriting. It was almost as if he had to force them from his sore and parched throat – though in a way they flowed easily as water – but finally he spoke those five secret words, which were written in large capital letters, in the very oldest form of the Lumarian tongue, at the very bottom of the last sheet of paper. So very dark, and so very dangerous are those words, that we shall not write them here. Be satisfied only with their effect.
Eerily silent were those long moments after Greyson spoke the words. With no sound arriving from without, his ears began to hum, louder and louder, till finally the vibration made him clap his hands to the sides of his head. When he lowered them, he registered a noise he had not heard before: the whistling of the winter wind through the tops of the great trees. Its song was soothing, at first; but soon it began to unnerve him, as would the cries of a score of whirling dervishes. Or perhaps it could have been likened to the spinning of a top, round and round, with the noise of its orbits growing louder as it spins faster – faster and faster, until it falls to the floor with a clatter.
The top was spinning; and Greyson was awaiting the clatter.
If he had been
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