“There’s nothing wrong with my knees, you insipid old fool. It’s your gangly bowlegs that are irregular.”
“Is there an accord for an average?”
There was an accord, and then a silence as arithmetic was applied to the situation.
“I make it two thousand three hundred and seventeen.”
“I concur.”
“I also agree.”
“Very well. Replace your original estimate with the agreed total and add that to the number of steps that have been taken since the estimate was last called into question.”
There were grunts of assent and another moment’s silence as this was done, and then they continued as before.
Daniel suddenly felt a lurching forward, like he was falling. His eyes snapped open and his legs locked. He had actually started to fall asleep while walking. He pinched the side of his thigh to wake himself up. He had to keep it together. “So where do you guys come from?”
“Where?” asked one of the yfelgópes walking next to him.
“Yeah, there are so many of you. What’s . . . uh, what’s the story?”
“Our kind enjoys debate and disagreement, but some of us came to realise that our courses of dispute ran in unique channels.
Approaches were made—at great cost—and then names were shared. More were—”
“No, I mean, where were you born? Where did you grow up? Why are there so stretching many of you?”
“We are born as you are—we live our lives in the blinding light, and thus it is that we cannot see until we come underground.”
“How does that make sense?” Daniel asked.
“The world—the universe is so big, no man can keep it all in his mind. Blinded by the light, blinded by fact. We seek a life in the dark under our own terms.”
“Better to stand up in the dark than lie down in the light,” said an yfelgóp on the other side of Daniel.
“One day we will emerge, once we have quantified the very foundation of the world, of knowledge.”
“But . . . really?” Daniel asked. “You want to know
everything
? Aren’t there some things you just can’t know?”
“Yes. Yes. Life is a mystery.”
“A mystery unknown, but not unknowable. Undefined, but not undefinable.”
“That is how the léafléas are different from our brothers. It is their contention that all that can be known is known—all the edges of life have been found and measured. Whereas we are doubtful.”
There were exclamations of pride and support following this declaration. “The Doubtful! The léafléas!”
“We doubt that the world is all that is seen. We doubt that all experience has been quantified. We doubt that all distances have been measured.”
“And we doubt even those doubts. But what is undoubted is that there is more.”
“More! Yes, more. And that is what defines us—the others, the
hopeless, the slaves to Gád, they believe that the walls of the world have been found, and they are angry. They have built a prison for their own senses and are angry at it.”
“They have killed their own spirits and are mortally jealous of anyone who still possess joy and wonder.”
The exposition continued, but Daniel’s attention was already drifting. He was having trouble following the words and found that his feet were starting to drag.
_____________________
II
_____________________
After much debate about distance and steps taken, they all negotiated a halt in order to rest and take stock. They hadn’t yet crossed the niðerplane yet, but the ceiling was getting closer to their heads. They couldn’t see it, exactly, but they could hear the difference in the echoes and feel it in the air.
“Oh dear. We must make our decision about which direction, exactly, to strike for,” a léafléas named Consistent Uncertainty said. “We must decide which direction is the most probable that Godmund and his forces lie in. I fear this will be most difficult.”
He brought out a map from his pack and Daniel joined the huddle around the rolled sheet of parchment. The lamps were placed around it and the shutters lifted. It was a map of the whole of the land beneath England. He noticed many similarities to the ones that Alex and Ecgbryt had shown him, but there were also differences. Either routes that the others didn’t know about, or else errors, Daniel didn’t know. The locations of knights’ chambers, or their suspected locations, were marked with a reddishbrown fingerprint. It might be worth keeping if he could get his hands on it.
“What makes you think that Godmund is still underground?” Daniel asked. “Why not go above?”
“It is possible that he is not underground.”
“But not probable. Probabilities suggest that he would stay beneath. It is what he knows. It is where his resources are. He would be lost aboveground.”
“Further, he has not made contact with you, an overworlder with knowledge of the lower realms.”
That made sense, Daniel thought. Also, he knew that Godmund hadn’t contacted Ecgbryt or Alex. So he really must be down here, somewhere. But did the yfelgópes really not know where he was, or was it all part of the ruse?
“So where do you think he’ll be?” Daniel asked.
“We were hoping you might be able to direct us. All yfelgóp searches for him have turned up nothing.”
“As far as we know.”
“Yes. As far as we know. Those that have returned have returned empty-handed.”
“But there are some that did not return.”
“Yes. Those are still unknown factors. Those may be worth investigating.”
“That is predicated on the assumption that he stays only in one place.”
“To leave not one member of a hunting party alive to report back would indicate an ambush site. Which would indicate a fixed location.”
“Or more than one.”
“That is possible as well.”
“So, one location or several,” Daniel said, jumping into the flow of conversation once again. “Where is the, uh, area of greatest unknown . . . the area of the most unknown factors? Because that’s where he’d be, right?”
“Yes, that logic follows,” said Certain Doubt. “And that area would be here.” He pointed to the top of the map.
“Right, then. Let’s head for that . . . see? That junction right there? It’s not far from there to these two chambers, and then this one as well. We can check to see what the deal is there, at a stretch.”
“These places would already have been rendered . . . inert.”
“You mean that the knights sleeping there have been murdered already.”
“Yes,” said Consistent Uncertainty. “You should prepare yourself for a sight that might be unpleasant to you.”
Daniel just stared at him, wondering what he meant, then wondering why he couldn’t seem to make sense of his words. He shook his head to clear it.
“Are you well?” asked Judicious Speculation. Or Argument. Daniel was becoming unsure of all of their names. “Do you need to rest?”
“No. I’ll stick,” Daniel said. “I am all correct,” he said. “My systems are go. It’s good. It’s good.”
The léafléas squinted at him, trying to figure him out. Daniel was aware that other eyes were on him as well. He had to play it cool—not raise suspicion.
“Seriously, I’m folded down and good to go, my little captain. It’s good. It’s good. We need to cover ground anyway. When we get to the next chamber, then we’ll rest. I’ll hold till then. It’s good. It’s good.”
“That sounds like the best course,” Certain Doubt said. He rolled up the map and handed it off to be secured in its tube. “Let’s keep moving.”
The léafléas moved away and Daniel shuffled after them. He had to really concentrate on moving his legs, he was so tired. He could feel his heart—every beat a cold, weak thump. He had to keep it together, to stay normal. To help him in this he recited a short mantra that made him calmer, gave him a feeling of continuity, of comfort.
“It’s good. It’s good. It’s good,” he said under his breath. “It’s sticky, it’s sticky. Sticky. Stretch. Sticky. It’s good. It’s good. It’s in a pocket. It’s good.”
_____________________
III
_____________________
They reached a parting of paths. To their right was a carved tunnel, bored by the inhabitants of Niðergeard however many centuries ago, while the natural path they walked continued down a fissure.
“Let’s rest here,” Daniel said. He sat down on a rock and broke out his water, taking a mouthful and swirling it around in his mouth.
“We are still a ways from the first chamber,” said Certain Doubt. “That was where we agreed to make our first camp.”
“I know. I just—I just can’t move another step.” That much was completely true, Daniel thought. “I just . . . it’s . . .” He was about to use one of his lucky words, but he had to watch it with those. He would have plenty of opportunity to say whatever he liked soon enough.
Certain Doubt had pulled the map out. “We are here,” he said, pointing a finger at a spot Daniel could not see. “It would be better for us to be here.” His finger shifted. “This place is too open. Lookouts would have to be spread too far.”
Even better for me,
Daniel thought. “Look, I’ve been through a lot—a lot’s happened to me, not least of which was being hit by a troll. A troll. A troll. I’m very tired, and we’ve gone a long way, and I’m very tired. I could have asked to stop earlier. I could have. But I’m asking now. Please. My pocket . . . I’m about to collapse.”
“I believe he is,” Judicious Speculation said. “He gives every appearance of acute fatigue to me.”
“Very well,” Certain Doubt said. “I shall arrange the watch. This is how it will be . . .”
It wasn’t exactly as he said it would be—there was much arguing over the exact times, placing, and identity of the watch, but it was all sorted out eventually. Daniel slumped against the boulder, hunching into himself. It was just a short time now—he would rest up, but he wouldn’t sleep. He had done the calculations while they argued. He rubbed his eyes, gave his leg three hard pinches, and then fixed his eyes on the luminous dial of his watch.
_____________________
IV
_____________________
Freya awoke and rolled away from the cold wall she was pressed against. Sitting up, she found Vivienne still sitting at the table, making notes and comparing Ealdstan’s and Freya’s texts.
“Did I miss anything?”
Leaning back in her chair, Vivienne took the glasses off her nose and rubbed her eyes. “Not unless I did as well. Do you want to have something to eat?” She pushed a power bar toward her.
“Thanks,” Freya said, opening it and taking a nibble.
“So. Are we going to talk about Gád now?”
“Sounds like it. What do you want to know?”
“Start with telling me what really occurred when you met him. In your own words. What happened?”
“What happened? Well, I was a little girl, and Gád was much more powerful than I was. When I first saw him, Swiðgar was with me, and he attacked him, on sight. I would have stopped him, but he just leapt forward. And Gád defended himself. Swiðgar died, but not right away, I think. But he was badly wounded. Gád started to talk to me, and I didn’t agree with everything he said, but then . . . I don’t agree with a lot that most people have told me over the years. But right then, there? He made the most sense. So . . .” Freya swallowed, which was difficult, around the lump in her throat. This was
harder than she’d thought it would be. “So he told me a way that I would be able to get home. He told me what to tell the others, about him and about Swiðgar, and I did, and . . . we escaped. Daniel and I. So say what you will about him; he got me home.”
“When you say ‘he made the most sense,’ what do you mean?”
“Well, he said things that I realised I already thought but hadn’t been able to articulate. He said that Niðergeard is an oppressive force on this island—they live and operate in secret, making wars in the shadows. And from what I’ve seen here, in these visions, could
you
disagree? What gives Ealdstan the authority to do what he’s doing?”
“Just because you do not like his methods doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”
“But if he’s right, why would he keep it a secret?”
“Getting back to Gád—what about his methods? He killed Swiðgar.”
“In self-defense. Swiðgar was going to kill him. That’s what the whole mission was about! If the four of us went on a mission to kill
you
, don’t you think you would be justified in defending yourself?”
“What about
your
methods, then? It seems to me that you have been just as secretive as Ealdstan. Why did you not tell the others the truth about Gád as soon as you rejoined them?”
“What if they’d kept me there?” Freya blurted. She realised that she’d been holding back tears, but now they were rolling down her face. Her voice was thick and full of emotion. It was all coming out. “What if they’d made me go back and try to kill him again? I never wanted to kill anyone. I never have! I only ever wanted to get out, to go home!”
Vivienne waited until Freya’s tears had mostly stopped before continuing.
“But surely, once you were here, once you saw the importance
of this place . . . surely you saw the vital need for it to be delivered from all threat?”
“No. No!” Freya felt the rage swell up inside her. “I never saw the point. Never! I didn’t ask to get sucked into this world—it never did anything for me. Why should I help it? For all I know, Gád was right. The only thing I know about this place is what I’ve been told, and that’s been precious little. If this place is worth saving”—she motioned around to the dark walls—“then why is the world perfectly happy to carry on without it?”
“Because it stands in the breach, Freya. It stands between the spiritual realm of this world and all others that press in on it.”
“Do you really know that? Or have you been
told
that?”
“Because I was told it doesn’t mean it’s false.”
“And it doesn’t mean it’s true either.”
Vivienne stared back at Freya impassively. “So what
is
true?” she asked.
Freya palmed away the tears on her cheeks. “I understand about the dragon. And someone or something made Stowe do what he did to me. But how do I know that Niðergeard isn’t responsible for that? Or in any case, more responsible than Gád?”