Kinked (Elder Races, #6)(44)

Together they turned and walked to the passageway.

The Elven passageway in Lirithriel Wood, in South Carolina, had been intricately carved from end to end. This passageway looked entirely natural, the entrance to the canyon just another part of the landscape. But the land magic that poured off of it told a different tale. It was a very strong passageway and the only entrance that led into a fabled land.

She wasn’t glad that the Elves were missing, but she had to admit, she was thrilled that they gave her and Quentin a reason to make this crossover.

Quietly, side by side, they started the journey into Numenlaur.





ELEVEN


As they walked the rocky, uneven passageway, she craned her neck, trying to look everywhere at once. She saw out of the corner of her eye that Quentin did the same thing.

The canyon walls that rose high on either side of them obstructed their vision of any surrounding landscape, but halfway through the passage, the snow disappeared, along with the pale wintery sky that had canopied the Bohemian Forest. The temperature grew much hotter, so much so that they had to pause to shrug out of their jackets and sweaters before they continued. The overhead sky turned a brilliant, deep blue crowned with the intense yellow gold of a summer sun.

The scents came next, wafting down the canyon corridor on a breeze, tantalizing and rich with the promise of abundant growth, and spiced with the perfume of strange flowers. Among the old tales of Numenlaur that Aryal had heard were stories of fruits that were so delicate and flavorful they could bring tears to one’s eyes.

In those stories, Numenlaur was a rich, fertile land with olive and eucalyptus trees, a land that other ancients described as flowing with milk and honey, a paradise lost that held palaces, groves and temples more ancient than those found in Egypt and Greece. One, called the Temple of the Gods, supposedly housed statues of the seven Elder Races’ gods that stood several stories high, interspersed with heavy, massive pillars of white marble.

All in all, the place was going to have a pretty tough time living up to the hype.

They reached an area where the canyon floor was bottlenecked. The passage was so narrow they had to walk single file. She gestured for Quentin to go through first. He hadn’t revealed much reaction about their journey in, except for a quick flash of something that looked like real hunger before he managed to shutter his expression. He ought to be the first one to see what was a very important part of his cultural heritage.

Cultural heritage—it was another concept that fascinated her.

They passed around a curve. The passageway opened up, and so did the view.

The canyon ended in profuse greenery. She moved to walk at Quentin’s side. He nudged her and pointed, and that was when she looked at the canyon walls. Two massive, ancient pillars were carved into the bedrock on either side of the canyon’s opening. They rose four or five stories in height.

“They face inward,” said Quentin. “They were not meant for anyone on Earth. They were meant for the Numenlaurians.”

Not placed in an entryway, created to impress the newcomer, but at the exit.

She said, “It used to be important for them to travel out to the rest of the world. It must have cost them a great deal to close the passageway.”

“When I hiked through this area about thirty years ago, I couldn’t sense that anything was here. It was as if the passageway never existed. Somehow they cloaked it. I don’t know of any spell that could have done that, but whatever they did would have taken tremendous Power. If Amras Gaeleval was the guardian, did he maintain the cloaking so that people couldn’t enter? Or did he guard the way so that people couldn’t leave? Maybe he did both.”

Unease trickled down her spine. “That’s a creepy thought.”

The look on his face was cynical. “I’ve got a talent for them.”

They walked out of the passageway, into what was either a hot summer morning or evening. Sunshine slanted at an angle through the nearby trees. She studied the bushes and the long tough grass around the canyon’s entrance. The foliage was too rich for a desert climate, and none of it bore signs of any moisture from morning dew. It was evening, then.

Quentin squatted and ran his hand lightly over the grass as he studied the ground. “If the four Elves passed through here, they did it some time ago. There aren’t any footprints, and there’s no scent.”

She put her hands on her hips as she looked around. “What did Gaeleval do, live like a wild man in the trees? There isn’t anything here except for the pillars carved into the cliffs. Which makes sense since this place wouldn’t have been a priority for any Numenlaurian for … however long of a time has passed in here.”

In Other lands, the lands did not necessarily correspond with the geography that surrounded the passageways that led to them. The sun shone with a different light, and time moved at a different pace. The phenomenon was called time slippage.

Millennia had passed on Earth since Numenlaur closed itself off from the rest of the world. That did not mean that the same amount of time had passed in Numenlaur, although since the event had happened so long ago, the passing of time here had to have been significant in some way.

The length of time was certainly significant enough to leave the entrance to the canyon looking natural and overgrown. If there had been a road or a path through here once, it had disappeared long ago.

She spun backward in a circle, giving the area a second, closer look, and because she was who she was, that meant she looked up.