effortlessly as if he were a child. ‘Now, stay very close,’ he said.
Tad and Zane did as instructed and were suddenly swept into darkness for an instant. The next second, they stood in a hall.
Zane almost fell over, so sudden was the change and following disorientation. Tad looked around, blinking like a barn owl blinded by a lantern.
The man McGrudder had called Magnus started walking down the hall, leaving the boys standing alone. They glanced at one another, each seeing a reflection of his own shocked, pale expression. Then Zane nodded and they were off, following after the man, for they had no desire to be left alone in this alien place.
Even carrying his brother, Magnus moved rapidly, and the boys had to hurry to catch up. Their surroundings were lost on them until they realized that they were in some sort of massive building, for all the hallways they passed through had granite or marble walls and floors, illuminated by torches bolted by iron fittings to the walls on either side of a series of heavy wooden doors. Each door had a small covered window, barely more than a peephole, in its centre.
‘This looks like a dungeon,’ muttered Zane.
‘And how would you know?’ asked Tad in a whisper. ‘You ever see one?’
‘No, but you know what I mean. This is what dungeons are supposed to look like – from stories.’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Zane as they turned a corner around which Magnus had just vanished.
The boys came to an abrupt halt. Before them a large corridor emptied into a vast hall. The vaulted ceiling could barely be seen, its surfaces darkened by the rising soot from at least a hundred torches ringing the expanse. Against the far wall rose a heroic statue of a woman, her arms outstretched as if bidding those standing below to come into her embrace. Behind her, on either side, smaller bas-relief figures had been carved into the wall.
‘Is that who I think it is?’ whispered Tad.
‘Must be, look at the net over her right arm,’ said Zane.
Both boys made every ward of protection sign they had ever seen a gambler, teamster, or porter make and then slowly followed the rapidly hurrying Magnus. They were in the temple of Lims-Kragma: the Drawer of Nets, the Death Goddess.
Several black-robed figures were emerging from a couple of doors to the left of the statue, and suddenly two men appeared behind the boys. One hurried past them, but the other paused and asked quietly, ‘What is your business here, boys?’
Tad pointed to Magnus, who was now laying his brother at the feet of the statute, and said, ‘We’re with him.’
‘Then come along,’ said the man.
They nodded and hurried after him.
Zane studied the man out of the corner of his eye, afraid to look directly at him. He had plain features and was almost bald, save for stubble around the back of his head to his ears. He was otherwise unremarkable. Except for one thing; he wore the robe of a priest of the Goddess of Death.
An elderly man entered the hall from a door to the right, walking slowly with the aid of a white staff taller than himself. His white hair flowed to his shoulders and it wasn’t until he was almost at Magnus’ side that the boys saw that his eyes were filmed over; he was blind.
‘Why do you disturb our slumber, Magnus?’
‘My brother lies dying,’ Magnus replied, standing to face the old man as the boys reached them. ‘You know my father, and you know what we do. We need my brother’s life spared.’
The old man stared into space, looking frail, but his voice was deep and strong. ‘Our mistress gathers us all to her when it is our time. I may do nothing to alter that.’
‘You can heal him!’ said Magnus. ‘I know what arts you are capable of, Bethanial.’
‘Why didn’t you take him to the temple of Killian or Sung? Healing is their domain.’
‘Because my family made a pact with your mistress years ago, and she can choose not to take my brother. He is needed. It is not time yet.’
‘When is it ever the time for those left behind?’ asked the old High Priest.
Magnus stepped closer to him and said, ‘It is not his time yet!’
‘When is his time?’ echoed a voice through the hall, and the boys instinctively clung to one another, for there was a cold note of hopelessness in it. Yet it also held a faint echo of reassurance, that left a feeling of certainty that all would be well in the end.
Magnus turned to look at the gigantic statue. ‘When this world is safe,’ he answered.
For a moment, all the torches flickered and dimmed.
Magnus found himself within a vast hall, with a ceiling so high it was lost in darkness above, while the walls were so distant he could only see the one to his right; the other boundaries had vanished in the distance.
He stood amidst a chessboard of stone biers. Men, women, and children rested upon them, though many were empty. As he watched, he saw a woman sit up and dismount her bier in the distance, and then start to weave her way through the maze of stone.
An empty bier next to Magnus was suddenly occupied by a baby, no more than a few hours old. Magnus paused to wonder how this infant, who obviously had not survived for long after its birth, would manage the feat of climbing down and walking to meet the Goddess. Then he reminded himself that none of this was real. Magnus knew that he was seeing an illusion of the gods – an image made so he could apply some reference and logic when dealing with a power far beyond his own. Magnus’ patience was thin at the best of times, now it was slighter than parchment. He waved his hand and said, ‘Enough!’
The hall vanished and he stood on top of a mountain, in another vast hall. It appeared to be fashioned from ivory and white marble. Columns supported a vast ceiling high above, but now Magnus could see the walls.
The hall opened on a vista of the distant mountain peaks, and the air was bitterly cold and thin. Magnus adjusted the air around his body so that he felt warm and could breathe easily. Outside, a sea of white clouds lingered just below the lower edge of the floor and he knew he stood in the Pavilion of the Gods, a place his parents had told him of. He smiled, for it was here they had first spoken together, and it seemed a reasonable choice for his meeting with the Goddess.
A figure in black robes sat alone on a simple marble bench. It was a young woman, and as Magnus approached, she pulled back her hood. Her skin was as white as the finest porcelain, yet her hair and eyes were black as onyx. Her lips were the colour of blood, and her voice was like an icy wind as she said, ‘Your powers are prodigious for a mortal’s, Magnus. You may someday eclipse your father and mother in your mastery of magic. You also have far more arrogance than either of them.’
‘I lack my father’s gift for patience and my mother’s acceptance of expediency,’ said Magnus, with a defiant note in his voice. ‘My brother is needed. You know that.’
‘I know no such thing,’ answered the woman. ‘Your father once came to me with his friend, the human who became Valheru,’ she said, standing.
Magnus was surprised to discover
