“… all thoughts must turn from great to simple things: instead of glory, survival; instead of all that was promised, sanctuary.”

THE SHAFT WAS UTTERLY black – a thick, disorienting blackness that closed in on them as they left the passageway far below. Deprived of sight, Sylas’s other senses sharpened: the clanking of chains in some unseen part of the mill seemed unbearably loud, the smell of damp and oil in the air became overpowering and he felt as though the lurching motion of the platform would throw him off balance. But he was curiously calm as they climbed through the darkness, almost glad that his tired eyes would see no more wonders, at least for now.

As the clanking of the chains faded, a new and unexpected sound echoed down the dark shaft.

It was a solitary singing voice.

The tune was carefree and playful like a nursery rhyme, but the voice was old and dry. The more he listened, the more he began to hear distinct sounds and words. To his surprise, they were not joyful and childish as was the tune, but full of sorrow:

 

“And so we change as change we must,

When standards rot and sabres rust,

When the sun is set and night is come,

When all is lost, when naught is won.”

 

When the voice reached the end of this verse, it started again at the beginning, repeating the words exactly as before, but this time they seemed more poignant and simpler. The melody became more haunting, as if in sympathy with the words. As the platform rose through the darkness, it grew louder and the effect became more powerful, as though new sorrows were added to the heartache. Simia started to hum the simple tune, and the melody was soon echoing about them and resonating in the depths of the shaft below.

Sylas began to see a vision forming in his mind. To begin with it was a blur of meaningless shapes formed in shades of grey and brown, but in moments the bleak image became clear – it was a rotting purple flag bearing a single silver feather, fluttering limply over a misty battlefield. The image did not stay solid in his mind and soon the grey mist engulfed the standard, at the same time rolling back to reveal a long line of dishevelled, bloodied men staggering, limping and crawling towards a dark horizon. Near at hand and against the backdrop of a mighty sea, he saw women crying in despair, crying for their fallen fathers, brothers and sons.

As these imaginings became too real to bear – as he began to feel his spirits fall into a deep melancholy – there was a loud rattle above his head and the singing stopped.

An instant later he was bathed in sunshine.

Shielding his eyes, Sylas looked up and saw two doors sliding back to reveal a large perfectly circular opening that glowed with golden light. As his eyes adjusted, he found that they were ascending between the great doors and leaving the darkness behind.

The platform came to an abrupt stop, making him totter forward. He felt Simia’s steadying hand on his arm.

“This,” she whispered in his ear, “is where we hide.”

He rubbed his eyes and looked about him.

They were standing in the centre of a great round chamber that towered above them, soaring to an astonishing height. The platform upon which he and Simia had been standing formed a kind of stage, surrounded in all directions by row upon circular row of wooden seats, each higher than the last. It was like a theatre with the stage at the centre. All of the fittings – the chairs, the stage, the steps that ran up to the highest benches at the back – were constructed from a great confusion of driftwood: cracked planks, broken rudders, mildewed deck timbers, nameplates and gangplanks. The entire hall was heaving with detritus from the river. The air itself carried a pungent but pleasant scent of its waters, so that all in all it was as though they had once flowed through this ancient room and, over the years, deposited the river’s bounty of wrecks and maritime waste.

And amid these choice prizes there was one feature that truly stood out: each and every seat sported a quaint canopy of wood, tall enough so that someone could sit within it, but not so high that it would obscure the view from the row behind and, as Sylas looked more closely, he saw that these odd alcoves were in fact the upturned prows of small boats, pointing directly up towards the ceiling. The effect was to create – from a graveyard of simple wreckage – a theatre fit for kings.

But his eyes did not linger on the strange woodwork, or the high stone walls hung about with fishing nets, or the many ceilings far above; instead they dwelt upon the vast space in its middle, for it was criss-crossed by countless shafts of light. The beams bounced off large porthole-like mirrors mounted on the stone walls, each placed with precision to catch the light and pass it on to the next. The result was a latticework of sunlight that only became more and more beautiful and intricate as he raised his eyes. The chamber seemed to narrow above his head where it met a circular balcony supported on columns constructed from sawn-off masts: the first of a series of such structures built one above the other. All of them left a round space at the centre through which the beams could pass. Finally, at the very top of the mill house, there was a ring of blinding light, which seemed to be the source of all the light in the room. Sure enough it dimmed slightly as the sun passed behind a cloud and at the same moment all of the beams in the great round hall faded. A moment later it brightened again and the hall was once more bathed in wondrous golden sunshine.

“We take it for granted, but light can be so beautiful, don’t you think?”

It was the singing voice.

Sylas first saw her at the top of the steps behind the rear circle of seats, standing with her back to him and looking into a dark, glassy panel that circled the hall. She was slight of stature, standing little above Sylas’s own height, but she carried herself with an unmistakable authority: straight-backed in her long burgundy robe. It was decked with glittering insignia and the braiding shimmered around her cuffs, tracing a radiant line down one arm. But it was her bright silvery hair that was her most distinctive feature, for it fell in a long ponytail all the way down to her waist, and in it was a braid of the same colour as the gown.

“It’s very beautiful,” said Sylas. His voice echoed loudly around the hall, making him flinch.

The woman turned away from the panel and smiled. Her face was lined with age, but her pearly skin glowed in the golden light and her dark eyes sparkled.

“Yes, indeed,” she said with a slight nod of the head. “We may have to hide, but it will not be under a rock! Isn’t that right, Simia?”

Simia laughed lightly and nodded.

“You are from the bell?”

“Yes,” replied the girl, rocking on her ankle.

“And it was the Passing Bell? You’re sure?”

“Yes. It was just like you said it would be.”

The woman turned her eyes back to Sylas and looked him up and down with interest.

“And were you followed?”

“Chased, but not followed,” said Simia. “We came through the inn – Bowe helped us.”

The woman nodded, seeming satisfied. Her eyes moved back to Sylas and the hall fell silent.

He shifted nervously, glancing about the room. He looked at the dark, glassy panel into which the woman had been staring and for a moment he thought that it altered a little as he watched, as though something was moving inside.

Simia started fidgeting next to him as if she too found the silence more than she could bear and suddenly she spoke in a flurry of words.

“He says he isn’t a Bringer, but he’s wearing a bracelet that looks just like a Bringer’s and he seems to know absolutely nothing about anyth—”

The woman raised her hand and frowned.

“Simia! I’m sure our guest will speak for himself.”

Simia made a point of pursing her lips as though gluing them together.

The woman turned back to Sylas and smiled warmly.

“My name is Filimaya.”

He smiled nervously. “I’m Sylas – Sylas Tate.”

“Welcome, Sylas. I trust you’re well after your journey?”

“I’m fine, just tired.”

“But of course you are,” said the woman. “And that’s to say nothing of your knee.” She moved swiftly down the steps and motioned them towards the bench nearest to the platform. “Come and sit down at once!”

Sylas frowned. “How did you know about my knee?” he asked, sitting on the nearest of the seats.

Filimaya smiled enigmatically and sat down on the platform to face him.

For the first time he saw her face in detail. She had elegant, kindly features, with the fine bones and pretty, tapering eyes of a woman who, although handsome to this day, had once been a great beauty. Despite her amiable features and the kindness in her eyes, he also saw an unmistakable sadness: a sadness that blended so well with her smile that it seemed almost an illusion.

She raised her eyebrows. “So it seems that you’re not familiar with our ways.” She looked down and took hold of his ankle, then tugged at his trouser leg. Sylas drew a sharp breath as she pulled the material away from the dried blood around his wound and peered at a cut that ran all the way down the side of his knee. “That is rather strange for a Bringer.”

“But I’m not a Bringer. I don’t even know what a Bringer is. I keep telling Simia that all this is an accident – alI I really want to do is to find my mother!”

Filimaya looked at him quizzically. “Your mother?”

“Yes. That’s what I’d be doing if I wasn’t here,” he said, sounding more frustrated than he intended. “I should be trying to find her.”

“Well, we must speak about her. But all in good time.”

She pushed his muddy trouser leg further up to the knee exposing a large graze. He reached down instinctively to stop the pain, but she caught him by the arm.

“You are not a Bringer,” she said, glancing at his wrist, “and yet you are wearing the Merisi Band.”

Her fine fingers ran over the smooth metal surface, first on the silver half, and then on the gold.

“But I don’t even know what that is – it was given to me.”

Filimaya looked astonished.

“Strange, isn’t it?” exclaimed Simia eagerly, taking the opportunity to join the conversation. “But that isn’t the best bit – tell her what’s in the…”

“Simsi, I shan’t tell you again,” said Filimaya sternly. “I want to hear what Sylas has to tell me.”

Simia flinched and snapped her mouth shut, looking a little wounded.

“Who gave it to you, Sylas?” asked Filimaya.

“A man called Espen – the man who helped me to reach the bell. I was being chased by a dog or – or something like a dog.”

“A Ghorhund?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“And it came to find you?”

He shrugged. “I think so – it was just waiting for me when the bell started to ring.”

She put her hand over his knee. He expected her hand to hurt, but it felt soft and soothing. “You heard the bell ringing?” she asked, pulling something from a pocket in her robe.

“Yes – from my room.”

“And you were the only one? The only person to hear it?” She raised a small bottle and began pouring a green fluid between her fingers.

“Yes,” he replied. The ointment felt pleasantly cool as it trickled over his wound. “But other people seemed to know about it – like Espen, and Herr Veeglum, and I think that Mr Zhi must have known…”

He stopped mid-sentence. Filimaya was looking at him in utter consternation.

“I told you it was all very strange,” said Simia, clearly enjoying her reaction.

“You know him, Sylas?” asked Filimaya. “Mr Zhi?”

Sylas looked up from his knee and lifted his chin. “Yes, I do,” he said.

A smile curled the corners of her mouth. “Then we have a great deal to talk about,” she said, “but not here – we must go upstairs.”

She pulled her long train of silver hair over her shoulder and then rose briskly to her feet and held out a hand to him. He took it, but continued to stare in bewilderment at his knee.

It was healed.

There was no blood, no wound, no graze – not even any of the green fluid that she had poured between her fingers.

Filimaya simply smiled and drew him forward.

They walked briskly up the aisle towards the outside of the hall and then turned sharply behind the great sweeping row of upturned boats, following a curving walkway covered with a thick green carpet. It seemed to run round the entire circumference of the hall, bordered on one side by the jutting prows of launches and rowing boats and on the other by the dark, glassy panel that rose from the floor to a point high above Sylas’s head. He found himself leaning as far as he could from this strange surface, for on more than one occasion shadows seemed to gather, change and move somewhere within. When he turned his head towards it, he could see nothing but a greenish blackness and his own dishevelled image staring back.

However, soon he saw an area where the zigzagging beams of light fell directly on to the glassy panel, illuminating the murky greenness. As they approached the patch of light, there was a sudden rush of movement. He blinked and peered hard into the gloom, but it had disappeared. Seconds later he saw it again – by Filimaya’s shoulder – a rapid swirl of silvers, oranges and reds, and then again in another halo of light at her waist.

The colours had shape and form. It was a shoal of fish, gliding silently behind a panel of glass.

He turned to Simia with wide eyes. She grinned back.

“Filimaya,” she said, tugging the old woman’s sleeve. “Can we show Sylas the Aquium before we go up?”

Filimaya slowed her step and smiled. “You’re quite right, Simia, we’re forgetting our manners.” She turned to Sylas. “You really haven’t seen Meander Mill until you’ve seen the Aquium.”

She raised one hand to the centre of the great hall and, very slowly, dropped her arm. As it fell, so the great lattice of light above them moved and stretched as each and every beam shifted in unison – not greatly, but subtly so that Sylas wondered if he was seeing things. As he lowered his eyes back down to the panel, he saw that all of the beams were now moving towards it, bathing it in pools of light. Soon a great arc of light was moving over the glass, making it glow a deep, rich green.

Simia squeezed his arm. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she whispered.

He was looking at something of astonishing beauty. Behind the panel, which he could see now was made entirely of glass, was an expanse of green water that in places churned and shimmered with the silvery shapes of hundreds of fish. They moved in huge shoals: gliding, turning, spiralling and darting into and out of the green wall of water. Some were long and sleek, others round and broad, some had orange fins, some red, and others still were silver all over, but all moved together in a breathtaking dance of light and colour. He watched as one large shoal swam swiftly from one side of the hall to the other, rising and dipping to avoid others as they went. The fish moved so effortlessly and yet so perfectly in unison that they reminded him of the flock of tiny birds that he had seen in the Shop of Things.

“It’s amazing,” he said quietly.

“Look behind you,” said Simia.

Sylas turned slowly and looked. He retreated into one of the upright boats.

Simia giggled with delight. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly without taking his eyes from the panel. He was looking at an entire wall of fish, their glittering flanks teeming against the glass from the floor to the very top. The sight was wondrous: a vast, glorious work of art depicted in life itself, its colours, shades and forms shifting and changing constantly. Each and every fish was in motion, moving between, beneath and above those around it as if searching for the perfect position in the teeming shoal. Although their efforts at first seemed random and disorganised, Sylas soon saw that they had a purpose: they were trying to stay close to Filimaya. At her shoulder a great vortex of fish turned in endless circles as they seemed to take their turn to be the closest to her. She appeared entirely unaware of this commotion, looking instead at Sylas, enjoying his delight.

“What…” he blurted after another long silence. “Why are they here?”

Filimaya looked a little surprised. “Well, that is an odd question,” she said, cocking her head to one side in puzzlement. “We hardly need a reason to surround ourselves with beautiful things. But I suppose, if they have another purpose, it is to remind us of our place.”

Sylas furrowed his brow. “Your place?”

“Our place in the world,” she replied, as if this should be obvious. “Our place in Nature. Now come, for we may have only a short time to talk.”

She turned and set off along the green carpet, her robes billowing about her. The vast shoal of fish shifted behind the glass and then began gliding in the same direction, rolling and turning as it went.

Soon they had reached a wooden staircase that partially blocked the way ahead. It climbed beyond the top of the Aquium, then twisted with the curve of the wall to the first balcony high above. Filimaya danced lightly up the steps with the ease and energy of a young woman. Simia scrambled to keep up, but Sylas lingered for a moment on the bottom step, letting his eyes drift back to the great shoal of fish at his shoulder.

He bit his lip and then drew his hand across its cool surface of the glass. Instantly the fish turned and began teeming beneath his fingers. He gasped and drew his hand away. In the same moment the shoal calmed and once again slowed to a gentle churning motion. He glanced up the steps and, checking that no one was watching, threw his arm out across the glassy surface of the tank. Even before his arm was outstretched, the great shoal had responded, wheeling about and, with a flurry of tails, setting out in the direction of his sweeping hand. However, they did not stop beneath his palm, but darted onwards with breathtaking speed around the huge arc of the Aquium, rising and falling, rolling and weaving as they went.

“Are you coming?”

It was Simia, blinking irritably on the top step.

Sylas’s heart was thumping and he realised that he hadn’t been breathing. What had just happened? Was it the fish acting on their own or was it him? Surely not, and yet something had made him fling out his arm: something had made him think this would happen. He shook his head as he saw the shoal rounding the last of the arc, completing an entire circuit of the room and once again drawing close to his shoulder.

With some difficulty, he drew his eyes away and continued to climb.

He soon reached the top step where Simia was waiting for him. Without saying a word, she set off along the balcony as he drew near. He paused to look around. To one side and over a wooden railing were the same beams of light that he had seen from the hall, but they were closer together here, and the pattern that they made in the air was far more complicated. He walked to the railing and peered over the edge. The magnificent latticework of light poured down into the hall below and from this vantage point he could see everything: the circular platform, the many concentric circles of seating and the impressive sweeping circle of the Aquium that still swirled with life.

“These are the galleries,” said Filimaya somewhere ahead.

He saw the old woman’s elegant figure standing on the far side of the circular balcony, beyond the beams. He turned and began skirting the void towards her, trailing his hand along the banister and casting his eyes about him. At every few paces he passed a large wooden door set into the outside wall, each leading to some sort of chamber beyond – he counted ten such entrances in total and he was only halfway around. When he looked the other way, he could see two further floors above, and although the beams of light made it hard to see any detail, he thought he could see more doorways leading to more rooms. It looked more like a hotel than a mill.

Filimaya was standing in front of one of these many doors. As Sylas approached, she pushed at it, leaving it to creak open. He craned his neck round the door frame and looked inside, but the interior was pitch-black. Filimaya raised her hand and drew a finger towards the door, and at the same moment one of the beams of light beyond the railing changed its path, lifting from its downward angle until a pool of light moved across the floor and through the doorway. It advanced further and further from the opening and then, as it reached the far wall, the entire room suddenly glowed with its bright light. The beam had fallen on another porthole-shaped mirror on the far wall, then bounced off to another out of sight, which in turn had sent the light on to mirrors scattered around the walls, creating another web of beams.

“This will be your room while you are with us,” said Filimaya, smiling warmly as she ushered him through the doorway.

He glanced around him and saw a stone wall at the far end, with wooden panelled walls on the two sides. There was a large green sofa, a leather armchair, a small desk and a cosy-looking bed in the corner, which held his eyes for some time, such was his longing to rest.

Filimaya followed his gaze and laughed. “I’ll not keep you for long, then you can rest,” she said. “But first, let us see if we can discover why you are here.”