The Himalayan Codex: An R. J. MacCready Novel by Bill Schutt

Author:Bill Schutt [Schutt, Bill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01M0QB2KX
Publisher: William Morrow
Published: 2017-06-06T05:00:00+00:00

August, a.d. 67

During the weeks since the capture, Pliny noticed that Severus and “Teacher” had become more inseparable than he ever imagined possible—or healthy.

In any case, no matter how far Severus might have pushed long-held taboos, Pliny believed he owed a depth of gratitude to that very same relationship. He had no doubt that Severus and the Ceran physician were the reason he and Proculus were still taking in air through heads that had not been smashed flat against a pillar of ice.

Language-wise, for all of their efforts, the Romans had learned no more than a score of Ceran words. It was, Pliny thought, a maddeningly difficult exercise. Inexplicably, teaching the Cerae Latin was only marginally easier—even basic things like colors. Did they even interpret them in the same way? Pliny wondered.

On some levels, it seemed easy to understand the Cerae—as in their mastery of architecture. On other levels, though, Pliny believed he might have had greater success trying to understand the thoughts of a housefly.

For a time, the Romans were allowed to walk freely through the garden plots, tasting all of their fruits, grains, and meaty gourds at will—and there Pliny learned that the word for each plant seemed to have its own unique series of Ceran whistles and inflections. Each individual plant has its own name?

Pliny guessed that more than two or three weeks must have passed before he began to acclimate, emotionally, to the utter alien nature of this hidden world. The rough treatment—pokes and prods mostly—from their chaperones continued even after they were reunited with Severus. It served to remind him that this was not the tour of wonders he had once hoped for. There were, of course, wondrous sights to behold—the wall of mountains surrounding the valley, the tower of stone and ice rising with intimidating majesty from the center of the fog lake. Despite the often-boorish treatment by their captors, Pliny might have even found some serenity in the view—if not for a few contrary facts.

The Cerae were clearly disturbed about something. Scores upon scores of them were hurrying up and down through the mist layer. And, fewer than forty paces from Pliny’s overlook, two men staked out for Ceran target practice had been reduced to little more than smears on the ground, their distinctive garb revealing them to be Scythians.

“Though horrible, it brought great relief, to see immediately that they were not my men,” Pliny would write later.

There was little time, however, for relief or reflection. Teacher, two other physicians, and seven members of the race Pliny had come to call “the warrior caste” ushered them along a path that descended below the lake of snow fog. The historian noted that though they usually displayed little emotion, the Cerae now exhibited undeniable signs that indeed something new had intruded upon their well-ordered and strangely lit world—something next of kin to chaos. Briefly, they approached and then passed the base of the central tower.

“There’s something wrong with it,” Pliny thought aloud.

Proculus replied, “It looks like no one is home.

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