Michael Foster - She Who Has No Name

It took them ten minutes to reach the next site but,when they did, they found it had been a building at one time, several storeys high in places, but now weathered away to almost nothing. Following that, they found another such ruin-little more than a mass of fallen pillars and dirt that had been blown in by the wind. These constructions seemed evenlyspaced and each one seemed slightly grander-or perhaps merely more intact-than the last. Some were vast, still standing five or six storeys high, but all were broken in some way; worn down by the Ages.

‘What are these buildings?’ Samuel asked their guide.

‘This is the Valley of the Ancients,’ Balten replied, but he would say no more and led them on in eerie silence.

It took them nearly an hour before they reached a point where the buildings looked less decrepit. They rose up like a series of towers that looked out over the canyon walls and into the desert. Samuel imagined that from the desert these constructions would appear to be only small piles of rock.

A number of black-skinned desert-men were ahead and seemed to be working on one of the structures. It was taller even than the rest and built up in layers, each layer smaller than the other and tapered together so that the top ended in a narrow point. Its design certainly seemed sturdier than the others, forming a square pyramid, with eachleveltaller than a man.

The top of the building bore a great carving of an eye, open and staring, looking to the centre of the valley and surrounding the building witha sphere of shimmering magic. Inside was something or someone immensely powerful,powerful enough to encase the entire structure in magic.

‘They are putting the finishing touches to this temple,’ Balten explained. ‘It has beenunderconstruction for over a hundred years. At times,there were tens of thousands of workerslabouringon it, and towns built all around to house and support them. Now, only these last few artisans are left, finishing their carvings, making the final adjustments.’

‘But why would anyone build such a thing out here?’ Eric asked, but again Balten was silent.

Some dark-skinned boys ran to the tall magician’s side, wearing sandals and short skirts,and they jabbered to Balten excitedly, and he replied to them in their own tongue. Thepartystopped under a canvas at the base of the temple and they all drank from gourds of water that were brought by the Paatin women.

‘Follow me,’ Balten said, after they had each drunk their fill, and he started up the stairs that had been cut directly into the side of the great stone slabs.

The othersfiledafter him, following him into a shadowed opening and into the side of the temple.

Their footsteps echoed in the stone halls. Every inch of wall space was carved with figures: gods and demons battling,people cowering from wild beasts,crops and rivers and symbols of harvest. Passages were written in Old Tongue, with letters hewn large and deep into the stone, but Samuel couldnotread more than a handful of words before Balten’s voice sounded back, hurrying him along.

‘Why do you think they call this the Valley of the Ancients?’ Eric whispered to Samuel.

‘I’m not sure,’ Samuel replied, somewhat louder, for he was trying to resist the strange temptation to whisper. ‘I think we are about to find out.’

They climbed a further set of square stairs that led up into the heart of the temple, passing the odd craftsmansittinghere and there in the dim light, chiselling or hammering at their work. Statues lined the chambers they passed, but the figures they represented were unknownto them. They passed several enormous rooms, several of which were filled with shelves of books and papers. They caught a glimpse of figures standing in the aisles: not the local desert-men, but fair-skinned westerners. Some of them were common folk, but others had the unmistakable aura of magicians.

Balten waited ahead at an open doorway and motioned for them to go in. ‘Please go in and everything will be explained.’

Samuel did as he was told and passed the man by. ‘Who is in there?’ he asked, for the magic that surrounded the pyramid seemed to emanate from within that room, flowing out the door in regular, rhythmical pulses that were immense and stifling.

‘Go in,’ said Balten, ‘and meet my teacher. Don’t worry. He will speak with you and then you will be free to leave.’

Samuel stepped wide-eyed into the room, for not only was it dense with magic, butalsowith precious artefacts: vases, jewels, paintings and sculptures of gold, piled and stacked against the walls and to the ceiling. A small space had been left bare at the centre of the room.Itconsistedof only acircleof padded chairs, crammed amongst the teetering treasures and each facing inwards.

The others had already sat themselves before their host, who had been waiting quietly in his seat. Samuel had to subdue his magician’s sight , for the aura around the man was blinding, as if the blazing sun had fallen across his shoulders andwasfused around his body. Whoever he was, their host had access to unspeakable power and Samuel was eager to see what such a man had to say.

He made his way to the last vacant chair and sat beside Sir Ferse. It was only at this point that he realised Master Celios was now missing, but looking to the rest of the group,he realisedthey had either not noticed or were unworried by the fact.

Their host waited patiently, smiling as they settled themselves. He wore robes of brown, tied with a simple white cord at his waist.Hisbarefeetwereflat on the floor and his hands restedlightly upon his thighs. He was a bald and bony man, brown of skin,although it looked like he had gained his colour from wandering under the sun, rather than from birth. His age was undefinable, for he was smooth and without wrinkles, but his nose was bulbous and his earlobes drooped almost to his shoulders. His bones were knobbly beneath his flesh, yet the knots of his musclesstood outlike clumps of iron.

Samuel knew he should feel worried, but there seemed to be an air of calm in the room that had everyone enthralled. Samuel, too, felt compelled to sit quietly and await the address from their host, although he could not explain the feeling. Only Horse looked unsettled; he had a bead of sweat on his brow and was holding onto his armrests tightly.

After a moment, the old man sitting before them spoke and his voice was composed and welcoming. He oozed compassion, but it was also an uncomfortable feeling, as if it was being impressed upon them without their consent.

‘Welcome to the Valley of the Ancients,’ said the host. ‘This is my home and you now find yourselves in the heart of my Temple of Shadows. I know your journey has been long and you all have much yet to do, but I am glad to see you finally here. I had instructed my student, Balten, to assist in this as required and,once again,he has not disappointed me. You may notice that Master Celios is not present. I have arranged for him to be taken to his room to rest. I will be requiring his unique skills almost immediately, so he will not be continuing with you on your quest.

‘I see before me two young magicians of great fame: Master Pot and Lord Samuel-the Saviour of Cintar, no less.’ Then he looked at the Koians sitting on his left. ‘And here we have some guests from the distant Koian Empire,a very mixed and intriguing group. I am pleased to finally meet one of the fabled Koian warriors. In all the Ages, few cultures have reached such a high order of physical and mental discipline. I am honoured.’ And he gave a small, yet humble,bow of his head, closing his eyes solemnly as he did so. ‘The denizens of Amandia call this language the Old Tongue, for lack of a better name, and it is only practised by magicians and those who wish to cultivate its power, but you have kept this language alive and in everyday use. You should be applauded, for your culture excels in preserving its traditions, while other people have perished altogether or given up their old ways many times over. The Old Tongue, as many of you are aware, is a language of great importance. It is the language of our history and of our forefathers and it has been inscribedupon the walls of this temple to preserve the fruits of our knowledge for future generations.’