Page 33 of The Eyes of Tamburah
“Six levels. Although a few go deeper.”
“Wow. How big is the monastery?”
“Twelve levels.”
“Where are the Rooms of Knowledge?”
She wondered if his questions were due to innocent curiosity or for tactical information-gathering purposes. “I’m not allowed to divulge the location.”
“Why not?”
“It’s part of my agreement with the monks. If I tell you, I would no longer have access.” She swept a hand out, indicating the stone benches and tables scattered about. “You can wait here. No one will bother you. If I’m delayed, they will escort you to a safe level during the killing heat.”
“Wait, you didn’t say it would take youthatlong.”
“I don’t expect it to take that long, but just in case it does, you don’t need to panic.”
He crossed his arms. “I don’t panic.”
“Fine. Just don’t leave this area without an escort.”
“And if I do?”
“Then you’ll find out just how well trained the monks are.”
By his stubborn expression, Shyla doubted he really understood just how capable the monks were in defending themselves. Perhaps it would be fun to spar with Rendor so he’d get a better idea. Where did that thought come from? She quickly dismissed the ridiculous notion.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back.” She headed for the tunnel on the right.
“Comfortable? There’s no cushions,” Rendor grumbled as she left.
That was the point. Visitors weren’t encouraged to linger. Besides, the monks believed in an austere lifestyle and limited items of comfort. They also embraced what the desert offered and spent as much time on the surface as they did underground.
Shyla traversed the familiar route to the First Room of Knowledge. During the trip, the hallways and stairwells remained empty. Word had probably spread of her visit and no doubt everyone was avoiding her. While a part of her was glad to avoid the awkward encounters, another part longed to see her family members.
After she passed level six, she grabbed a couple druk lanterns. No mirror pipes reached the Rooms of Knowledge. The sunlight would fade the ink, but the yellow glow from the druk wouldn’t.
Easan stood outside the First Room of Knowledge on level nine, guarding the entrance. Her childhood playmate had grown taller and broader in the shoulders since the last time she’d seen him. Dark fuzz along his square jaw might be an attempt to grow a beard. His blue-eyed gaze looked right through her as if she were invisible. He gave no indication that he’d recognized her as he unlocked the trio of complex mechanisms installed in the thick stone door that covered the threshold.
Shyla kept her expression neutral despite the sharp bite of pain in her chest. Once the opening was wide enough, she slipped inside. Calling the space a room was a bit of an oversimplification. The shelves extended into a maze of rooms and spanned high enough to be considered a cavern. Narrow walkways wove through the stacks of tablets, rolls of velbloud skins, and other ancient artifacts. Located in the center of this labyrinth were low tables topped with druk lanterns—the reading area.
When the door thumped closed behind her, Shyla turned to check that the call rope still dangled nearby. After she finished researching, she’d need to pull it to alert the sentry to let her out. While this was her favorite place in the monastery, she had no desire to be trapped inside.
Instinctively, she followed the familiar twists and turns. Small low tables and cushions lurked in various nooks and corners, illuminated by druks. She reached the main reading area—a large open area with wider and longer tables. It was empty. Not that unusual, but she wondered if the others had cleared out before she arrived. She set up a camp of sorts, removing her cloak, unpacking her supplies and the picture of the ancient symbol. Her next step wasn’t as clear. Where to start?
According to Banqui, the Invisible Sword formed during Tamburah’s reign—approximately thirteen hundred and ninety circuits ago. That meant she didn’t need to read anything older than fourteen hundred circuits. But that still left plenty of resources to review.
A memory of Weira teaching Shyla and three others close to her age rose unbidden. Weira handed each of them a large handful of sand and told them to find the single purple grain in each pile. They’d laughed, thinking she joked, but no, it’d been an exercise in patience. And a lesson in the desert’s true colors. Those grains ranged from dark vermillion to bright red to orange to yellow and even tan. They did the same with cap sand, lightning sand, and sluff sand.
Focusing on her current task, Shyla wended through the shelves, pulling any tablet or scroll that might mention Tamburah and his rise to power. When she had a number of stacks on the table, she sat cross-legged on a cushion and read.
Many many angles later, she had found no mention of the Invisible Sword. Returning those items, she collected more. And after those proved unhelpful, she gathered another set. Then another. Hunger and thirst marked the angles. She stretched her sore back and stiff legs between sessions. When fatigue pulled at her muscles and fogged her thoughts, Shyla figured it had to be deep in the time of darkness. To stay awake, she practiced a few Yarin techniques. That, and remembering Banqui’s fate should she fail, chased the fog away for a while.
* * *
The echoing thud of the stone door closing woke Shyla from a light doze. She jerked upright in horror. How long had she slept? Glancing at the scrolls spread on the table, she tried to remember where she’d left off. Something about a sword maker…
“You’ve been in here all darkness,” said a man whose voice resonated within her.
