Scholars used to visit as part of their journeyman year, but as time passed and no answers were shared the reasons for visiting faded, and fewer came. He wondered why Torsion continued to visit. He also wondered if there were any answers which never made it out of the towers.
Jerrol crossed the courtyard and silently eased the gate open enough for Tagerill to slip inside before closing it behind him. They froze beside a parked wagon as two guards exited a tower and crossed the courtyard, oblivious to the two standing in front of the gate. The guards’ voices travelled clearly. “Well, he was a bit of fighter. It will take a while before he cracks, but they always do in the end.”
“If only he knew the keywords, eh? I’m sure he’d like to switch it off. To be at the mercy of someone else for the rest of your life, euch!” the other guard responded.
Jerrol exhaled as the guards entered the building opposite. “Keywords?” he murmured, fingering the black notebook in his pocket.
Tagerill entered the tower through the open archway. A wooden door made of heavy oak with iron fittings stood open. The deep grey stone walls were thick and smooth. A wide hallway opened before them with a spiral staircase dominating the centre and rising through the tower and curling down into velvety darkness beneath their feet. As they climbed, blind corridors and dead ends spun off at each level. Jerrol caught Tagerill’s sleeve and pulled him down a dimly lit corridor. The air was musty and dry.
Lifting a lantern off the wall, Jerrol entered one of the end rooms. He stopped abruptly at the sight of what looked like a corpse. An ancient man dressed in an out-of-date, black velvet suit lay in a reclining chair staring up at the ceiling. His skin was creased and wrinkled like old parchment.
Jerrol felt the man’s neck and the soft beat pulsed slowly beneath his fingers, though the man never stirred at his touch. He glanced around the empty room. Thick red curtains covered the windows and blocked out the light. The suffocating darkness was lifted only by the glow from the lantern.
He jumped when a muttering began behind him. Tagerill entered the room and shut the door.
“One hundred twenty-four degrees East, 31 degrees on the meridian. Veil thinning needs a patch... 125 degrees East, 31 degrees on the meridian. Veil thinning needs a patch...” The scratchy voice continued muttering a succession of numbers as Jerrol looked around the room in concern. There was nowhere to hide if anyone came.
“Boy, I know you’re there,” the voice growled. “Are you taking this down? We need to do a patch, the Veil is thinning.”
“Yessir,” Jerrol said, his voice echoing in the empty chamber, “only I don’t know how to do a patch.”
“Yes you do. I can feel your power. Leyandrii sent you, didn’t she? Come here where I can see you,” the man instructed.
Jerrol walked around in front of the Watcher. He met the man’s luminous eyes as he inspected Jerrol. “They get younger every day,” he complained to himself. “Don’t just stand there. Write down these numbers,” he said, indicating a notebook lying on his lap.
Jerrol reached for the pad. “Sir, I’m not supposed to be here. If the people running this place find me, they will harm me.”
“Rubbish, you honour the Lady, no one will harm you. Come, you must patch the Veil.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t how.”
“Are you stupid, boy? What is the Lady thinking of?” the Watcher muttered.
“Times have changed, sir, the people here do not revere the Lady. I’m not sure who they do follow, to be honest.”
“Really? That can’t be true.” The man stared at Jerrol, his eyes glowing. Jerrol flinched at the touch of such an ancient mind, though held firm as the man rifled through his recent memories, leaving an impression of distance and time passing. “No one has been collating the coordinates for centuries? For that long? Has it been that long?”
“Um, can you check if your previous coordinates have been repaired? I think they may have been using them to target the collapse, not repair it.”
“Where are my acolytes, my students? Have I been asleep for so long?” The man tried to move, but his body had atrophied. “Has it been so long?” His voice faded, and he closed his eyes, falling silent again.
Jerrol hesitated, pad in hand, but it appeared that the man had returned to his former state. He glanced down at the pad, which was half full of notations. He pocketed it, not knowing where else to hide it, and cautiously backed out of the room. He needed to find Birlerion and report back. There was much more going on than they realised.
Jerrol retreated, closely followed by Tagerill, and they descended the stairs, pausing at the foot of the adjacent tower as the sound of chanting drifted on the air. Someone was either up very early or very late.
Jerrol stepped through the doorway and peered up the stairs. He heard a cold voice which sent shivers down his spine. It was edged with spite and hatred and led the chant being repeated over and over:
“Justice, inheritance, for all to see.
Bound to these words forever be.
Support my cause,
Perform my will,
Blessed be your service to me.”
The words dripped like acid into his mind, and Tagerill cursed under his breath. “They are using Mentiserium. It is a mind-control technique.”
“Never heard of it,” Jerrol replied as they climbed the stairs.
“Hold the Lady in your mind, she will protect you,” Tagerill said as he paused outside the door.
Jerrol brought the image of the Lady to the forefront of his mind and relaxed as the pressure building in his head lessened; he listened intently as the chant died away.
“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Now,
