Carnelian was disappointed. He had expected some wonder to lie behind the door but all he could see was a tunnel plainly cut through the rock. There were niches carved into the walls long enough for one of the Chosen to lie in. He became uneasy. He seemed to be standing in the entrance to a tomb.
'We shall meet again in the sky, my Lord,' said Cumulus.
'No doubt,' said Jaspar.
Carnelian watched the Lord Cumulus climb into his palanquin and slide its door closed. The box was lifted and slipped into the tunnel, pulling after it the Master's attendants.
Jaspar flourished his hand in front of Carnelian. 'After you, my Lord.'
Carnelian walked into the tunnel, Jaspar followed him, and the Imago guardsmen and the procession fed in behind. In the plain stone walls, narrow passages could be seen running off on either side. The scuffling seemed to make the air too thick to breathe. Their many-headed shadow stretched longer, moving away from them as if it were being sucked into the gloom ahead. The door closed behind them with a dull thunk, plunging them all into sudden night.
'How do we see?' blurted Carnelian among the mutter-ings of fear.
'We still have the Lord Cumulus' radiance to guide us,' said Jaspar.
Carnelian saw, some way off, lanterns hovering like fireflies around the dark cocoon of Cumulus' palanquin. They carried on, keeping them in sight. Carnelian could hear Jaspar's heavy footfalls, and behind him the clink and patter of his people. His own breathing seemed as loud as the wind.
'Is this then-?' He stopped, startled by how much his voice reverberated. 'Is this then the fabled Labyrinth?' he whispered.
Walking beside him, Jaspar made no reply. Carnelian dropped the matter and they continued in silence. On and on they went with nothing ever changing so that only the movement of his legs convinced Carnelian that they were going forward at all. A dusty odour floated round them that might have been ancient, faded myrrh. Jaspar's people were clearly terrified. Carnelian sensed their trembling in the air. He himself was fighting a growing conviction that they were all descending into the Underworld.
The lanterns up ahead gradually lulled him into a kind of stupor from which a vision only slowly released him. It was like a forest in a dream. The tunnel was coming out into a clearing among twilit trees. It was their appalling immensity that brought Carnelian fully aware. When he looked for it he saw Cumulus' palanquin among the mossy trunks, moving off up a hill accompanied by shadow men. With each step, the vision widened, brightening to a brooding gloom. As he reached the tunnel's end, Carnelian was able to see deeper in among the columned trees. He followed the trunks up and further up to find the canopy of their branches, but when he reached it his eyes could make no sense of what they saw. The branches joined the trees to each other with soaring arches through which he could not see even a glimpse of sky. Angling his head to one side, he found a hole, a scallop-edged disc of blue whose aching incandescence forced him to look away. Wandering high in the half-light, his gaze fell upon a face. Beneath the vaults of branches, one of the trees had a face. It was such a face as a god might have, serene, seeing past all horizons, with thoughts that were clouds in a sky of mind. Peering, Carnelian found that every tree had its face. Focusing on the nearest trunk, he saw it was jointed and that it rose in tiers. It was only then he realized they stood not at the edge of a forest but on the threshold of an endless hall of carved colossal stone.
An Ichorian melting out from the gloom seemed still to carry its stain of shadow all down his left side. There were other signs that this was not an Ichorian of the gates: his collar was of silver, he was armoured with bosses of green bronze like large coins and the cloak that fell about him could have been tar smoke. This was one of the God Emperor's own Sinistral Ichorians. Green and black together were the heraldry of the Gods.
'Where do the Seraphim wish to go?' the Sinistral said, lifting up his tattooed left arm and pointing upwards. To the sky?'
To the sky,' answered Jaspar. Then we shall bear you there, Seraph.' Jaspar turned to Carnelian. 'Is this fabulous enough, cousin?'
Carnelian turned to him in a trance. When he looked back, the Sinistral had disappeared. Only Jaspar's people were there, huddling together like lost children, looking to their feet as if ashamed.
Carnelian's eyes drifted up to roam the vast volumes between the branches where the stone trees had their faces. By moving his head he discovered that some had faces on two sides, one looking to the Plain of Thrones, the other in the direction of the Pillar of Heaven, into the south-west whence the Rains came. He knew that the Labyrinth was built over the birthplace of the Two Gods.
'Do these all represent the Twins?' he asked, keeping his voice low as if he feared he might wake the stone colossi.
'Rather, they are the sarcophagi of God Emperors a thousand years asleep, of their sons, of their Empresses.' Even Jaspar had lowered his voice and Carnelian could hear in it a tinge of awe. Jaspar opened his arms. This columned hall stretches from here to the Pillar, and on either side almost to the shores of the Skymere.'
Carnelian gazed off, hoping to see some distant glimmer of the lake. 'Where do we get this obsession with death?' he murmured.
'My Lord?'
Carnelian had difficulty focusing on something as close as the Master's mask. 'Let us go on, my Lord.'
Jaspar shook his head. 'If we were to go in there unguided we would certainly be lost for days, perhaps indeed for ever.'
Carnelian's eyes searched and found many paths winding off into the twilight. He could not begin to calculate the labour in the building of such a place. His imagination was not large enough to grasp the measure of it. It oppressed him. He felt he was trapped somewhere deep beneath the earth. He longed for a single ray of sun to reach him through the vaults.
He jumped. Their Sinistral guide had returned. The gloom between two towers was dewing more of his kind. Some were carrying chairs, one of which they settled on the floor beside Carnelian. He sat himself upon it and was lifted up beside Jaspar. Trailing the latter's people, they marched into the column forest.
Craning round, Carnelian soon lost sight of the tunnel mouth. For a while he could still catch snatches of the dark outer slope that walled off the Plain of Thrones. Then the chair leaned forward and he had to brace himself against its footboard. Past the two files of their left-tattooed heads he saw the steps his bearers were descending; the towers' roots formed buttresses on either side. Between their trunks he glimpsed meandering avenues, or he found himself looking up into valleys from which paths and stairs came tumbling like streams. Leaning his head back he saw a flock of birds flying their tiny crosses against the vaulting. The faces up there awed him with their disdain, causing his eyes to drop, forcing him back to his proper level at their feet. Their presence pressed down like the unbearable anticipation of thunder from a stormy sky. This was a place where mortals must creep or else be trampled underfoot. This was the Gods' sepulchre. The deathly stillness was making the air too heavy to breathe. Wherever he looked, constantly shifting perspectives ensnared his eyes. When he tried to escape by closing them, the rise and fall, the shifting angle of the chair, made him seem always on the edge of falling.
Deeper and deeper they wound their way into that forest of the night. It was an underworld meagrely lit by a rind of moon he searched for but could not find. They came into a region where the Gods were reflected in a black tarn. Once, he was sure he spied through a faraway edge of the forest the Yden: an alluring string of slivered emeralds hanging in the gloom. Lost in the terrible twilight, Carnelian found it harder and harder to believe that he had ever been anywhere else. Only the rasping rhythm of his bearers' breathing, and the sight of Jaspar's chair, reminded him of who and where he was. Then, for moments at a time, he was able to cling to the faith that one day they might find their way back into the living world above.
Miraculous light was seeping towards Carnelian through the trees. He could hardly believe that it might be the forest's end. As it grew brighter he looked around him as if he were coming awake. The trunks' grooved drapery folds reminded him that they were not trees but gods, and then only gods of carved stone. As they passed between the last of them into the clearing, the nightmare was already lifting.
His chair stopped, suddenly, shockingly. He had learned to know all its rhythms save stillness. Half-black faces looking back past him made him crane round. Stooping, Jaspar's people were stumbling out from the columns that faded away behind them into impenetrable darkness. 'Just a cave,' Carnelian said, but his shudder betrayed the lie.
