Song of Ashes

50: Hall of Wisdom

Sarka stood on the precarious steps outside the door of the library for a moment, clutching the borrowed books beneath one arm and staring down at the ground so far below. She did not want to ascend to the top level of the tower, but her interest had at last been piqued. Could Warien tell her something that would reveal a path forward? Could she possess the secret to freeing Tayo and his brothers? Could she offer insight into how Sarka might obtain Kogoren's God-Song?

Atai's support was one thing, and the loyalty of the Beloved was another, but allies would not serve her if she had no plan.

Decided at last, Sarka took the winding stairway up around the tower, passing a few other doors on the way and giving them as wide a berth as she could on the narrow ledge. The domed top of the tower was ringed with engraved golden roundels and surmounted by a shining spire, so sharp and so tall that it seemed to pierce the sky. Where the stairs ended, there was a small landing and a recessed door studded with gold embellishments. There was no knob.

Sarka studied the symbols in the engravings, but she could not understand them; they were nothing more than squiggles and nonsense. She frowned and knocked at the door. She waited, but there was no response.

She knocked again, and again she was met with silence.

Uncertainly, Sarka pushed against the door. It was heavy, but it slowly opened to her. The chamber beyond was dark; it was round like the library, but with walls and a roof that followed the inside of the dome, curving up on all sides.

Sarka crept inside. "Hello?"

There was no answer.

Hesitant to let the door close behind her, Sarka bent down and placed the books she carried against the jamb to prevent the door from closing. As she stood up straight again, she noticed a faint illumination tempering the dimness of the chamber: a chalice-shaped brazier hanging on the wall near the door had come alight. As Sarka watched, a series of other braziers lit up, one by one, all along the rounded wall.

In the center of the room was another chalice-shaped object, this one very wide with a shallow bowl. As Sarka approached it, she peered down and saw that it was filled with water, creating a still, reflective surface.

It was one of the few times since her battle with the wildcat that Sarka had seen her own face. She looked down calmly at her scars, at her ruined eye, and wondered if she would ever grow used to the way she looked now.

As she stared at her reflection, a subtle disturbance in the surface of the water drew her attention. She looked up to see a woman standing on the other side of the mirror. She wore a glimmering gown with draped folds crossing her breast and a skirt that fell in an elegant column to the floor. Her waist was girdled with a golden chain. A heavy crown ornamented her dark hair, and wide, luminous eyes looked out from the youthful face of a maiden. She carried a staff in her hand, engraved with symbols, some of which echoed those emblazoned on the outside of the tower's dome.

Sarka said, "Lady Warien."

The goddess met her gaze impassively. "Sarka of Kogoren. Be welcome in the Hall of Wisdom."

"...Thank you."

Warien turned her head slightly, looking beyond Sarka to the door, which still stood open. As she did, Sarka glimpsed a lock of white in her dark hair. "You show little respect for the books my daughter Lara lent to you."

Sarka flushed.

"You came to my summons."

She opened her mouth to say that no one had given her much choice, but stopped herself; she was learning that it was not always the best course of action to give free reign to her tongue. "Well, I am in need of some wisdom, my lady, and I hear you are the goddess of it. Perhaps you have some to spare."

Warien's expression did not change. Without lowering her head, she looked down at the still surface of the water mirror, causing Sarka to follow her gaze, and touched the mirror with the tip of her staff. Ripples broke the surface. As they diminished and the water once again became smooth and reflective, dark shadows began to move in the pool. Gradually, they became clearer, until images were dancing across the surface.

In the mirror, Sarka saw a stony wasteland. It looked both familiar and foreign; it reminded Sarka of the ashlands in which she had grown up, but it seemed colder and somehow surreal. Fear crept over her, trickling down her spine.

Then, all at once, she found herself transported into the harrowing landscape; one moment she was standing in Lady Warien's Hall of Wisdom, and the next she was standing on the barren plain shown in the mirror. Above was a velvet expanse of darkness, sprinkled at the edges with faint points of light that might have been stars. Ashes swept over the ground and were whisked through the air by a cold wind, obscuring a distant horizon.

The experience was real. Sarka felt her bare toes touching the cold earth. She felt the fitful wind. She looked down and saw footprints-her own footprints-trailing across the ashes. But they were not stretching out behind her. They were stretching on before her...on to where a figure stood in the dark.

Tall and ethereal, wearing a diaphanous gown that floated around her, as fragile and tattered as cobwebs, this creature-this woman-was like no one Sarka had ever seen. She had a long, moon-white face, large, black eyes, and dark hair that fell down her back in a tangle until it became part of her bedraggled train.

Sarka looked across the distance to this woman, and she knew without any doubt that when she met her cold, black gaze, she was looking deep into the endless eyes of Kogoren, the Mother of Ashes. The goddess stared at Sarka, expressionless, and a strand of her inky hair snaked across her pallid cheek in some unfelt breeze.

Kogoren was holding something in her arms: a thick book. She cradled it to her wasted breast as if it were a babe. She lifted a hand to stroke the spine of the book and she smiled, her face a skull-like visage thrown into sharp relief in the pallid light of the stars. In that smile was a truth that cut Sarka to the bone: You will never best me, for I have that which you seek: my immortality.

The image shifted, spinning suddenly enough to give Sarka vertigo. She saw silver flash, and suddenly, bright red blossoms unfurled across her vision. She found herself once again in the Hall of Wisdom, looking down at the glassy pool, which had turned dark with what looked like blood. Unnerved, she reached out and touched the surface of the water, breaking the vision. The water began to clear.

"No-wait-" she protested, but as the ripples calmed, the bowl of the mirror once again contained nothing but clear water.

"You are overhasty," Warien said.

"I don't understand. Bring it back. I need to see more."

The goddess shook her head. "You have received that for which you are ready; your impatience has interrupted the path. Take this and no more."

"My lady, please," Sarka said, taking two steps around the side of the mirror, but as she reached out to the goddess, Warien turned away from her, and suddenly she was not a maiden but a crone: she looked at Sarka from dark, gleaming eyes set into the weathered face of an old woman, framed with two long, white braids that fell over her shoulders.

Sarka snatched back her hand and stumbled back a few paces in fear. Warien walked away, gazing calmly backward at Sarka from her second face. It was a chilling sight. "I don't understand!" she cried. "I don't understand how this is to help me!"

"I did not tell you the meaning would be clear, child," said Warien in an old woman's voice, the voice of a being that had weathered a thousand years. "Walk in wisdom."

And then the goddess was gone.