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“No,” Jino said. “Were you really hoping to find any?”
Pietro didn’t answer, but he was aware of a heavy weight in his chest, as if disappointment had created its own rockfall over his heart. He stepped cautiously into the room, wading through a fine sift of grit and gravel. Jino stayed at the door, but Stollo followed him in.
“Look at this,” Stollo said, his light wavering wildly as he bent to pick up something lying the floor. “It’s stamped with a quatrefoil. Just like all the temple doors in Corcannon.”
“No doubt,” Pietro said. “This place was built by the same people.”
Stollo scooped up another rock, this one long and flat. “And here. That’s a portrait of Dar, do you see?”
Pietro examined it. “You’re right. Identical features.”
“I’d be careful about just picking up bits and pieces,” Jino called nervously from the doorway. “You don’t want things to start shifting around.”
“Just stuff from the edges,” Stollo promised, and snagged another scrap from the floor. He studied it for a moment. “That’s an odd thing,” he said, handing it to Pietro.
It was a slab of stone, maybe ten inches square and two inches thick, with heavy bolts extruding through the back. Clearly a decorative piece designed to be affixed to the wall. Pietro flipped it over and found himself staring at the simple imprint of a hand. It was carved into the tablet with such precision and skill that it actually looked as if the stone had formed itself around the palm and fingers.
“That’s remarkable,” he said.
“What? What is it?” Jino asked
Stollo crowded nearer to make a closer inspection, holding the chemlight directly over Pietro’s wrist. “It’s a hand,” Stollo said, trying to fit his own over the indentation and covering it completely. “A small one, though. Maybe a child’s.”
“A woman’s,” Pietro corrected him.
“How do you know?”
“Because there’s a casting just like this in the temple in the city. Legend has it that Dar and Cordelan were having an argument. In a fit of rage, she slapped her hand against the wall and left this mark behind.” Pietro angled the slab to try to get a better look. Except for the imprint, there was no decoration on the tablet at all. “But that can’t be the right story. Obviously, these castings were hung in these chambers on purpose.”
Jino overcame his unease and scuffed through the ash to join them. “Not Dar,” he said. “Zessaya.”
“Why do you think that?”
Jino shrugged. “That’s the story that’s been handed down by Cossi’s people. Cordelan wooed Dar and took her as his wife, and together they rearranged the scattered lands. They created the mechanism and decreed that it had to be kept oiled with the blood of their descendants. But Zessaya was furious at their arrogance. She reminded them that the islands were made up of her bones and still responded to her will. She threatened to tear the continent apart unless Cordelan and Dar in some fashion acknowledged her power.”
“And then she slammed her hand into the wall and left this mark behind,” Stollo said in an admiring voice.
“Wait,” Pietro said.
“The legend claims that, when the eastern continent began to tremble, Zessaya could have stopped the destruction if she’d wanted to,” Jino went on. “If she’d put her hand on the wall andpushed,the lever would have turned. The lands would have settled. That was the bargain she made with Cordelan and Dar.”
“Then why didn’t she do it?” Stollo asked.
“All the gods had stopped walking the world by that time,” Pietro said in a choked voice. “If you believe they were even gods. They might have been men—and women—with extraordinary abilities.”
“That’s blasphemy, of course,” Jino said, in a tone that indicated he subscribed to the same theory.
“Gods or humans, it doesn’t really matter,” Stollo said impatiently. “You’ve been going on and on about the blood of their offspring. Didn’t Zessaya have any heirs lying around? Couldn’ttheyhave run up here and pushed the lever in place?”
Pietro glanced mutely at Jino. A thought was forming at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. Or couldn’t quite believe it . . .
Jino nodded. “Oh, certainly. The islanders will tell you they’re all descended from Zessaya. That’s true here, and it’s true back on the mainland.”
“So?”
“They have to be descended from Cordelan as well,” Pietro guessed.
Jino nodded again. “Cordelan was vainglorious and conceited—or, if you prefer the interpretation of the sacred texts, too wise to completely cede any power to the lesser deities. It’s not enough to carry blood from Dar—that won’t turn the key. It’s not enough to be the daughter of the daughter of the daughter of Zessaya—your hand won’t be strong enough to move the mountain.”
