‘My mother could have done it,’ said Will. ‘She had a toughness … I can see it when I look back at what she did, at what she—’
‘You’re her son,’ said Violet, and Will drew in a shaky breath and curled his fingers around the scar on his palm. He nodded once.
They pushed up and saw that the room they had come to was old and broken-down, with a huge fallen column running through its centre, chunks of stone still lying near its shattered portion, even though it looked like the column had fallen centuries ago. The architecture here was different from that of the main citadel and reminded him of the ancient style of the rooms near the Tree Stone.
‘Which part of the Hall is this?’ Violet took a step out into the room.
‘I think we’re in the western wing.’ The for bidden part of the Hall, thought Will. ‘Do you think we’ll be in trouble for coming here?’
‘Not if they don’t find us.’
‘Be careful where you tread,’ said Will as he looked down at dust that hadn’t been disturbed in a long time.
It was dark, so he doubled back and returned with a torch from one of the wall sconces behind them, and they moved from room to room, looking at old carvings and frescoes. They saw a door made of stone too thick to push open. There was an inscription carved across it. Will found himself staring up at the words.
‘“Enter only those who can”，’ read Will with a shiver, only to find Violet looking at him with a strange expression.
‘You can read it?’
He nodded.
‘How?’
‘I don’t know. I just can.’ He remembered Farah’s reaction to hearing him speak the words. She had just stared at him, though she had never asked him about it. The truth was that speaking words in the old language made him feel strange in the same way the Hall’s familiarity made him feel strange. Like there was something he ought to remember and couldn’t, a phantom at the edges of his vision. ‘It’s like something I’ve always known.’
‘“Enter only those who can”，’ quoted Violet.
‘We can’t get in. It’s solid stone.’
‘So?’ said Violet. Shouldering him out of the way, she put her palms on the stone. Then she used her strength to push at the door.
To his amazement, the door opened, with a low, echoing sound. The torch he held allowed them to see in the blackness that there were steps that led downward.
Violet had a hint of smugness in her voice. ‘They think only Stewards are strong enough to get through this door.’
‘Where are we?’ said Will.
He lifted the torch as they descended the steps into a dark underground chamber. Moving forward, they were a small circle of light. Around them was illuminated a ghostly library, with shelves stretching three or four storeys high, disappearing up into the dark. The books were bound in leather but were so ancient that the leather had faded to white. Their spines were bleached like bones, so that the room looked half graveyard. Alicorni, read the black ink written on the spine of one; Prefecaris, said another. They walked through the vast chamber, which had the stillness of a tomb.
‘These were animals,’ said Violet in a soft, shocked voice as they entered a second room. Here they were surrounded by remnants of beasts: a handful of scales far too large to have come from any snake, a claw that shone like glass, an immense beak, a scattering of strange-looking teeth, hooves, bones, internal stones. Will saw a few fragments of hunting equipment, a spear tip, two hooks, part of a trident. On the wall above hung a horn meant to be brought to the lips to sound a single note. A horn, he thought, to summon animals that no longer exist.
Holding the torch aloft, he led the way into a third room. This one was filled with artefacts. There were stones mounted on the walls that showed pieces of carved inscriptions. He saw part of a bell. Half of a marble statue, its white arm outstretched. A disembodied arch that was not part of the room but had been brought in from somewhere else.
‘What is this place?’ said Violet, her voice hushed.
Will said, ‘This is what’s left.’
His skin prickled as he realised it, the eerie statues and pieces of architecture around him all that remained of a lost world.
There were fragments of weapons: a hilt with no blade; a knob of ivory; a halved helm; a gauntlet like the one he had seen wither leaves on the vine. What of the great armies who fought to protect the world? But he knew the answer. Gone. Gone like the traces of footsteps after a storm. There were more poignant items: a phial in shards; a drinking bowl; a child’s comb.