Boreal

Chapter Seventeen

"The Undercity is a place few seldom few tread." The words dripped from her lips like a hushed warning. Ptarmigan couldn't help himself; he was leaning forwards, closer to the older woman. She was sat on a rickety stool, her fingers laced together atop the counter. Ptarmigan was sat on an equally wobbly chair, Shyam sat nestled in his lap. Grebe Black-hand licked her lips as she continued. "It's winding, pitch black tunnels – they stretch on for leagues and leagues. City streets buried by the hand of Amok, new cities built atop it. But if you go down deep enough, it was rumoured you could find the first."

"The first city?" Ptarmigan asked, and the older woman nodded.

"Back from Kyba's founding, aye. Many emergences ago, back when I was a young lass, the east had just started to reveal its findings into the truths they'd uncovered of our world. They claimed that the tales and gods we had built our lives around were nothing more than bedtime stories. Sefeara was just a star, Gadreele's blood nothing more than glowing dust burning where our world meets the Outwith. They urged the Academies to pull away from the Citadel and see what was in front of them; there were no gods, and there never had been. Some, like Hayd, chose to take what they said to heart."

Ptarmigan pursed his lips but held his tongue. He had always wondered why the grown-ups back home thought the Long-season little more than a childish holiday, why the citadel here was so much grander. He supposed he'd always just assumed they were too small, too insignificant.

"But Kyba had always been the Triumvirate's golden city. This was where Gadreele fell, where the Long Race began. The seat of the Citadel in the Boreal. They would not stand idly by while the Orient spat such poison. Now, back then you understand, exploration of the Undercity was not outlawed, merely frowned upon. Me and Murre Bale, we made a living scouring the depths for old jewels, coins – anything of worth. We weren't the only ones, but we were some of the best. So the Citadel comes to us, see, asking just how deep we'd been – if we could go any deeper? We was given a representative of the Citadel and the Academy to accompany us down and document anything we found."

"Show Master Cardinal?" Ptarmigan hazarded a guess, and the older woman gave a sombre nod. "And Pater Kagus?"

"Aye. Both young and bright eyed, so eager to please..." she trailed off, then sighed. "Over the course of many seasons we picked our way deeper and deeper, guided by the hands of those who had come before us, until the markings faded altogether. All that remained was that silence, and the dripping of water. Deeper and deeper we went, until one day we found ourselves stood before a staircase, and at its bottom, a set of feathered gates." Despite his attempt to keep a brave face, Ptarmigan couldn't help but shudder. Had they been as thrilled as he and Shyam had been, to find a way deeper still? Had they felt the rush of a new discovery? The adrenaline? Grebe's gaze had taken on a glassy tint, as though she were no longer in the room. As though in her head she was back there, staring down into that staircase into the abyss.

"We never saw it," she hushed, "save from its eyes. It spoke in our voices."

"It did the same for us, remember?" Shyam tittered, pressing herself closer to his chest. Ptarmigan wrapped the ends of his cloak around her, hugging her tight.

"It asked for nothing, to begin with. It answered our questions, told us of how the gods had sealed it deep beneath the ground for its crimes. It was happy to serve its penance, understood what it had done. It showed us it could not open the gates. The Citadel sent out a summons across the whole of Sefeara, for records of these so called angels, evidence to support its claims. They came back with a single book, bound in dragon skin.

It was a season or so before it gained anyone's trust. Murre, I think, was the first. It warned him not to go on a fishing trip him and his brother had been planning. He stayed behind, but that night a terrible storm set in. Took his brother and father, several close family friends – all on that boat. It was pleased to see him on our next trip, and Murre thanked it in earnest. He asked if there was anything the angel wanted. A rat, was its reply. We talked it over and thought it safe. Brought it a rat, but never saw what happened to it. Just slipped it through the gates, and the thing took it without so much as a whisper.