The Mazer Read Online Free PDF Page B

years old. She’d gone into the laboratory to see Father, and Bassan was sitting at one of the desks, the driftwood in front of him.
    “Wood from another land, this is, Silva,” he’d said.
    She’d asked him how he knew it wasn’t from the island. “Oh, I know the trees here, Silva, all of them. I’ve never seen anything like this,” and he’d stroked the rough, gray wood. It was full of holes, sand, and lichen. A large rusted nail bent into its core. It smelled, too, of stale salt water and rotten fish. That man found beauty in the strangest things. But she’d grown to love it. As a teenager, she’d examine it to see if she could find any clue of its homeland. She took it and held it to her nose. It smelled the same.
    She put it back and felt in her pocket for the box. “I’ve brought you some of your favorite golden rain seeds, Mother. Teardrops in a golden basket, you used to call them. These are from last year, see? I kept them just for you.” She carefully placed the delicate seed pods around the inscription on top of the vault:
     
    Eldis Leon
    Wife of Zossimo
    Born 1084 years after the Dark Days
    Died 1125
    and
    Child of Eldis and Zossimo
    Never born, forever loved.
     
    The lantern light danced briskly. Cool air brushed her face, and the papery pods rustled. Was Mother sighing? Just like Isleaf had said! But no, she was being silly. This was a draught from the shelf above. Maybe some root had grown through the back of the shelf, or perhaps a little creature had dug its way out from somewhere. Somewhere beneath the greenest tree? And she thought again of Isleaf’s words.
    “Now, Mother, remember Isleaf? He told me…oh, it doesn’t matter what, but I’m going to have to climb up here. Good job Winifred can’t see me!”
    She climbed onto the vault to get a better view. This shelf went back quite some way. In fact, it didn’t look like a shelf at all from this angle. She moved the driftwood to one side, and wriggled into the opening, holding the lantern in front of her. Even through her clothes, the stone chilled her stomach. She reached out with one hand. Nothing there but cold air. So she wriggled some more. She’d have to crawl backwards to get out, and if Winifred were here, all she’d see were Silva’s feet poking out from above the vault.
    She shuffled along. Then the tunnel roof opened up above, and she got up.
    She was in a cavern. The ceiling and walls were polished. The ground was flat. The wall at the far end was a huge square. She walked towards it, her steps echoing around her. In front of the wall stood a table, also square, with a circular indentation in the middle of it. Was it part of an ancient temple? Winifred had said the crypt was built before the Dark Days.
    She put the lantern down and looked back at the tunnel entrance. There was, indeed, a flow of fresh air through here. And—how unusual—the cavern was completely empty. Not a box, not a chair, no fireplace, no firewood. Only that peculiar table. So she turned again, looking carefully at the square wall, stepping around the table and towards the end of the cavern. Then she spotted an archway in the left corner where it seemed a door should be, and as she approached it, she could feel the breeze. Better not bring the lantern. This might take her outside. At least she wouldn’t have to squeeze through that tunnel again.
    Through the arch, and then a right turn. She must now be behind the square wall. In the last of the light that flickered through the archway, Silva stopped. In front of her loomed a large, black, twisting shape, crawling its way from the depths beyond. She moved closer. Her hand reached out, touching. Wood, old wood, surely? Her fingers trembled, and she let go in shock, as where she had touched, light shimmered, spreading outward, brighter and brighter, and she saw it at last, the giant bundle of roots, Yew roots of brilliant green, wending their way down the passageway ahead. And then, slowly, the light