The Immortal Heights (21 page)

“And then I remembered that Icarus had said he'd borrowed the book from the library and had intended to return it later that afternoon. The present-day me jumped up from the bench and rushed into the library. Because the library is so vast, most patrons made their requests at the help desk. But since I was a former librarian, I knew where the catalogue room was and headed directly there.

“The cataloguing system we had was somewhat old-fashioned, but still enough to let me know that the book had been checked out for the entire academic term by Professor Pelion of the Grand Conservatory of Lucidias. I broke into the professor's office at the university last night but couldn't find the book. Tonight I went to his home and, well, found you.”

A kettle sang somewhere in the house. Mrs. Hancock disappeared for a minute, came back with a large tea tray, and poured for everyone.

“Well, we're here, against all odds—or as preordained,” said
Kashkari. “What do you advise, ma'am? What's the best way to get to the Commander's Palace?”

“You mean, the least terrible way? I have been thinking about it for years and I'm still not quite sure how.”

Mrs. Hancock handed the first cup of tea to Titus, out of deference to his position. Titus handed the cup to Fairfax, who in turn gave it to her guardian.

“So how did the Bane commute between the uplands and the capital city?” asked Kashkari, bringing the discussion back on topic.

“A griffin-drawn cavalcade.”

“No portals or other translocators?”

“Icarus never found any such thing at the Commander's Palace—any portal that could be the Bane's easy transport elsewhere could turn around and become someone else's easy way into the Commander's Palace. And the no-vaulting zone around the palace is said to extend a hundred miles in any direction.”

“How is that possible?” Amara exclaimed. “The amount of work necessary to create a no-vaulting zone a mile across is already an immense undertaking. How big is the no-vaulting zone around the Citadel?”

“Five miles in radius,” said Titus. “And it was a controversial undertaking, for how much time and treasury outlay it consumed.”

“This no-vaulting zone wasn't achieved in one year, one generation, or even one century,” said Mrs. Hancock. “Let's not forget how long the Bane has been around.

“Once Icarus's oracular abilities divulged the Bane's true age, I began piecing together his story. A great deal of the time, the founder of a new dynasty or regime presents a sanitized and glorified version of himself or herself, but the background of the mage who became known as our Lord High Commander seemed to need no cleaning up or embellishing.

“His family was highly respected—beloved even. They hailed from the west coast, on the far side of the massifs that harbor the Commander's Palace, a poorer, harsher part of what was already a poor, harsh realm. Unlike many landowning families who exploited their peons, members of the Zephyrus clan were celebrated for their humility and generosity.

“Young Delius Zephyrus wasn't exactly a child prodigy. Until he was fifteen, he was almost completely undistinguished, except for his youthful good looks. But then his beloved great-grandfather died, and it was commonly believed that his death propelled young Delius to make something of himself.

“From that point on, his ascent was remarkable. This was more than fifty years ago. Atlantis at the time was ruled by a collection of warlords, each controlling a parcel of the realm, each trying to expand his or her own territory at the expense of another warlord's. There was constant unrest. The harvests were terrible due to the displacement of the peasants, and the fisheries were close to being depleted again, because mages were struggling to feed themselves. Everyone feared we would tip over into another widespread famine,
and that was when young Delius took up his wand and organized his own people, who were probably better fed and better treated than any other group of peasants in the country, and persuaded them to follow him into battle, as no tribe could ever enjoy good fortune alone: if they, better-off mages who were surrounded by misery, did nothing except wallow in their own superior luck, sooner or later misery would penetrate whatever barriers they thought they had erected against it.

“‘I wish to help because I cannot bear not helping,' he'd said, in a speech before many eyewitnesses. ‘If that is how you feel, join me. If that is not how you feel, you should still join me. Because our destinies are not divided from our fellow Atlanteans, and in helping them, you help no one so much as yourself. And you would go to the end of your days knowing that you have been brave and wise, that you did not cower in your own little safe haven as chaos marched in, but fought for order, for justice, for a cause that is bigger than yourself.'

“I know it well, this speech. The first time I read it, I wept. I was so moved by his courage and so enormously proud to be an Atlantean under his stewardship. At school we reenacted the scene every year, and for years it used to touch me anew.

A wistful light came into Mrs. Hancock's eyes. All at once Titus could see her as a young girl, bursting with pride and joy at her homeland's remarkable rebirth.

“And so this young man who had nothing but pluck and the favor
of the Angels marched against the warlords with his ragtag band of supporters. And they won victory after victory, the oppressed everywhere swelling their ranks, because they saw hope for the very first time. And they were so hungry for a better life, for a society characterized by peace, prosperity, and fellowship, that they did not mind giving their lives to that noble goal.

“Soon he became unstoppable. When his forces took Lucidias, and he declared the realm rid of the warlords and the brutal old ways that kept the ordinary mage downtrodden, such jubilation there was, such euphoria.”

Mrs. Hancock sighed. “The thing about this story is that it's overwhelmingly true, at least the facts on the surface. For years, I worked under the librarian in charge of the historical archive at the grand library. And in that capacity, I visited many private collectors to arrange for the purchase or donation of primary sources to the archive. And while I went about my official duties, especially if I happened to be on the west coast, I collected documents and anecdotes that might help me piece together the puzzle of who the Bane really was.

“The more I learned about the Zephyrus clan, the more my attention came to focus on its founder, a man by the name of Palaemon Zephyrus, who lived until age ninety-one.”

Mages seldom lived to sixty-five, and almost never past seventy—it was something that for all the wonders of their powers, they could not change. Hesperia the Magnificent, who reached
eighty, was not only the longest-living of all the heirs of the House of Elberon by a large margin, but also the third-longest-lived mage in the entire recorded history of the Domain. Titus's grandfather, who had died at sixty-two, was considered to have been in full old age.

For a mage to live to his nineties was unheard of, a life span almost 50 percent greater than the expectancy of even the most privileged and well cared for.

“Did he live to ninety-one by natural means?” asked Fairfax.

“That question was very much on my mind. I also wanted to know whether that was his true age—or whether he had lied when he claimed to be a young man when he arrived on the west coast. But my biggest question was: ‘What evidence can I find that he actually died?'

“Since there was no strong central government at the time, documentation for life events was spotty. The Bane had actually donated his family's papers and letters to the historical archive at the grand library. Bit by bit—since I didn't want to appear to be too curious—I combed through those papers.

“A less suspicious researcher would have come away with the impression of a family that was completely above reproach—there were innumerable thank-you notes from mages they had helped over the years. And yet members of the family met with a slew of misfortunes, especially in the earlier years, as attested by the almost equally innumerable condolence notes.

“A flood of such letters came when Palaemon Zephyrus was in
his seventies, condolences on the loss of his son and daughter, his only two children. There were also a number of get-well-soon wishes for himself. I was able to locate a copy of a seigneury circular from that time. A seigneury circular was a paper published by a landholder for his tenants to inform them of the goings-on in the area, and sometimes in other parts of the realm and maybe even abroad. It was a common practice of the era, since the ordinary mage didn't have any other access to news. It was also used to announce significant events on the estate itself.

“According to that particular edition of the Zephyrus seigneury circular, Palaemon Zephyrus and his children had the grave misfortune of running into a giant serpent.”

Titus cocked a brow. “Do giant serpents truly still live on Atlantis?”

He had seen a replica of a giant serpent skeleton in the Hesperia the Magnificent Museum of Natural History. He did not doubt that they had slithered the earth at some point, but it was the general belief that giant serpents had long ago become extinct.

“Here on Atlantis we tend to give a little more credence to the reports of their existence. There are very few eyewitness accounts, because it is said that giant serpents are fiercely territorial and will kill without any other provocation. But sometimes hikers come across bone piles characteristic of those left behind by giant serpents—usually as territory markers—and they immediately turn back. The truly public-minded might file a report with the Department of
Interior Resources. Most don't, because such reports could lead to unwelcome questions. ‘What were you doing in that area?' ‘Why did you stray from the boundary of the nature reserve?' ‘Where else did you go besides the place where you claim to have seen the bone pile?'

“In any case, we believe in the existence of giant serpents enough that when my sister disappeared, everyone sincerely thought it was what had happened to her. She had been on an approved nature reserve with her classmates, but the place was said to have been infested with giant serpents at one point, and that was where all our minds went.

“So Palaemon Zephyrus's account was not questioned. He was a man respected and beloved, not to mention he'd lost half an arm in the incident himself. The clan mourned and life went on. Almost exactly ten years later, there came another flood of condolence notes, this time over the death of Palaemon Zephyrus's youngest granddaughter.

“He had married late. His children were in their thirties when they perished. And this granddaughter, born after the death of her father, was only nine at the time of her death. That month's edition of the seigneury circular said she was swept away by a sudden flash flood. No body was ever recovered. It also said that Palaemon Zephyrus lost an eye in the search for his granddaughter.”

Kashkari pinched the skin between his brows. “So you are saying, ma'am, that he sacrificed his own children and grandchild?”

“I have no direct evidence, but that is very much my conclusion.”

Aramia looked as if she might faint—or retch. Instead she gripped the edge of her chair and stared at the clock on the wall.

“After that,” Mrs. Hancock went on, “the next round of condolences were finally for Palaemon Zephyrus himself. The obituary published in the seigneury circular mentioned that he had been heartbroken after the death of his children and grandchild and had spent the last few years of his life in isolation in his mountain retreat—and passed away there, according to the circular.”

“So the retreat in the uplands existed even before Palaemon Zephyrus was officially dead,” mused Fairfax.

“It looks that way.”

“Was he put on a pyre?” asked Haywood.

In realms that fell under the banners of the Angelic Host, a deceased mage was burned on the pyre with just enough covering for modesty. The face was never concealed.

“In those years, Atlantis as a whole was so impoverished that even the well-to-do didn't have proper pyres for their funerals. We never had a great deal of woods on Atlantis, most of the original forest had already been cut down, and importing timber for pyres was beyond the means of all but a few. The bodies of the deceased were preserved for the day when they could be properly cremated, their ashes offered to the Angels. Until then, they remained underground, tightly wrapped, so that the Angels could not see their shame at having been buried.”

“Are these bodies wrapped even at the funeral?”

“Yes.”

“So no one ever actually saw Palaemon Zephyrus's dead body?”

“Except one person, a nephew on his late wife's side, who wrapped his body for the funeral. And he died very soon afterward, in his sleep. The cause given was sudden massive heart failure.”

Titus and Fairfax glanced at each other. The last time they had heard the term, it was in connection with Baron Wintervale, who had not suffered a heart attack after all, but had been felled by an execution curse.

“Killing off a witness who might know that Palaemon Zephyrus wasn't really dead,” said Amara.

“Please tell me the atrocities against his own family end with his ‘death,'” said Aramia, paler than pale.

“That was my hope. Alas, a few years later, a baby newly born to the family, a great-grandchild of his, was stolen. It was news even in Lucidias—I found letters from the era referring to the kidnapping. There were some exorbitant ransom demands, so it was believed bandits and other criminals must have been involved, perhaps with help from some of the servants. There was a huge search, ransom demands stopped coming after a few weeks, and the baby was never found, though his parents refused to give up for years and years.”

Aramia shook visibly.

“Is there such a thing as sacrificial magic being more powerful, if it is your own flesh and blood that you sacrifice?” asked Kashkari.