Stone of Tears

Warren looked to Richard. “I didn’t know if you would really come. Most people say they will, but they never do. I’m so pleased you did. Come this way. Pasha, I’m afraid you must wait here.”

“What!” She leaned forward, and Richard thought that maybe her breasts might spill out if she didn’t straighten up. “I’m going, too.”

Warren’s eyes widened. “But I must take him into one of the back rooms. You are a novice. Novices are not allowed.”

She smiled warmly as she did straighten up. “Mole, if a novice is not allowed, how could a new student be allowed?”

Warren’s eyes narrowed. “He is in the prophecies. If the prophets saw fit to write about him, they could hardly intend he not see it.”

Warren seemed considerably more confident down here in his element than he had been up in the palace. He stood his ground with confidence. Pasha rubbed his shoulder. He glanced down at the hand.

“Warren, you’re the Mole; you show others the way. I’m the one in charge of Richard; I show him the way. I would be neglecting my duty if I allowed him to go somewhere without me this soon. I’m sure you can make an exception for me. Can’t you, Warren? It’s to help Richard, to help understand the prophecy and how he is to serve the Creator. Isn’t that what’s important?”

Warren finally took his eyes from her and told them to wait. He went off to the two Sisters and spoke with them in hushed tones. He finally came back wearing a smile.

“Sister Becky said it would be permitted. I told her you understand a bit of High D’Haran. In case she asks, say you do.”

“What’s High D’Haran? Warren, you want me to lie to a Sister!”

“I’m sure she will not ask.” Warren turned his face away. “I told the lie for you, Pasha, so you would not have to.”

She leaned closer to him. “Warren, if you’re caught telling lies about such things, you know what they will do.”

He gave her a small, haunted smile. “I know.”

“What will they do?” Richard asked, suddenly suspicious.

Warren waved impatiently. “Never mind. You two come along.”

They had to hurry after him as he scurried off into the darkness. They went past rows of shelves placed tight together, coming at last to a solid wall of rock. Warren put his hand to a metal plate, and part of the wall moved away, revealing another chamber beyond. Inside the small room sat a table and maybe a dozen rows of shelves. Four lamps made it seem bright inside, by comparison.

Inside, Warren touched another plate and the section of wall slid closed, entombing them in stone and silence. He pulled out a chair for Pasha and had Richard sit to her right. Finally, he pulled a leatherbound book from the shelves and carefully placed it before Richard.

“Please don’t touch it,” Warren said. “It’s very old and fragile. Of late, it has been getting more use than usual. Let me turn the pages.”

“Who’s been using it?” Richard asked.

“The Prelate.” A smile twitched across Warren’s lips. “Whenever she is to come down here, her two big guards come first and make everyone leave. They clear the vaults, so the Prelate can have the place to herself, and people won’t know what she reads.”

“Her big guards?” Pasha asked. “You mean the two Sisters in her outer office?”

“Yes,” Warren said. “sister Ulicia, and Sister Finella.”

“We saw them today,” Richard said. They didn’t look that big to me.”

Warren lowered his voice meaningfully. “If you ever cross them, you will think otherwise. They will seem very big, indeed.”

Richard took pause at Warren’s expression. “If the place is cleared out, how do you know she has been reading this book?”

“I know.” He turned to the book on the table. “I know. She has been doing most of her reading in this room, of late. I live with these books. When someone touches them, I can tell. You see this smudge in the dust? It’s not mine. It’s the Prelate’s.”

Warren carefully lifted open the cover and, with both hands giving support, turned the yellowed pages. Richard didn’t recognize any of the words, or some of the letters for that matter. On one of the pages that Warren flipped, Richard thought he recognized something: a drawing. It sparked a deep memory. Warren flipped over more pages, finally stopping. He leaned over Richard’s shoulder, pointing.

“This is the prophecy you spoke of.” Warren moved around to the right side of the table. This is the original, in the prophet’s own hand. Few have ever seen it. Do you understand High D’Haran?”

“No. It just looks like scribbling to me.” Richard glanced over the meaningless writing. “You said there was argument over its meaning.”

Warren’s eyes had an intense gleam. There is. You see, this is a very old prophecy, perhaps as old as the palace, maybe older. This is the original prophecy. It’s in High D’Haran, as is everything in this room. Very few people understand High D’Haran.”

Richard nodded. “so people have only read the translations, and there is reason to believe that those translations may not be accurate.”