‘And we thought it was merely a hunting scene, decorative… but not very significant. How perceptive of your friend to notice these concealed inscriptions.’

Orial was glad that Jolaine had not asked her precisely what she was doing with Amaru Khassian down here in the Undercity. After a while, Jolaine began to read aloud:

‘“She hears the voices of the winged ones calling her. She falls to the ground, possessed by the divine madness. It is time to go down into the dark waters.” ‘

On the frieze the naked diver cleaving the green waters seemed sexless, the slender body clothed only in long strands of hair and a loincloth.

‘My predecessor called this “The Boy Diving for Fish”,’ Jolaine muttered. ‘But look at the skin colour. Ivory for a woman, light terracotta for a man. This is a young woman. And now the next picture in the cycle begins to make sense…’

‘Water-snakes? Or dragonfly nymphs?’

Dark, wormlike shapes writhed through black waters. Sun, moon, dawn and duskstars shone in the sky together. On the shores of the water, a riot of confused seasons was in progress. Stylised trees bore blossom, fruit, bare branches simultaneously.

‘“Years go?” Ah! Years pass!’ Jolaine cried excitedly. ‘Of course! It shows the passing of time. The artist was not merely being fanciful. It’s a calendar – of sorts.’

‘And this picture?’ Orial moved on to illuminate the last image. ‘“The Day of the Dead”?’

Dragonflies, gauze wings limned with jewel-shards of emerald and sapphire, hovered in a ring above the waters.

‘The unbroken circle. Symbol of eternity. We can but guess… for look, Orial, the last hieroglyphs that would have given us the clue have flaked away.’

‘Trodden into the dust in this chamber.’ Orial felt she might weep from disappointment. ‘And now we’ll never know.’ She set the lantern down on the floor and knelt to search the dust with her finger-tips, vainly hoping she might find a fragment of broken plaster.

‘Ah… but all is not lost. Your friend has made a discovery of some significance. These chambers are of immense importance – not just to you and me, but to the history of Sulien. They must be properly preserved or these priceless records of our past will end as dust blowing through empty chambers.’

A wisp of melody floated into Orial’s mind. She began to hum softly as she searched.

‘We always thought the Lifhendil sense of perspective less sophisticated than our own.’ Jolaine halted her swift pencil strokes to contemplate the spinning circle of dragonflies. ‘Giant dragonflies – little people, little trees. How charmingly primitive, we said.’

‘They’re not dragonflies?’

‘Winged Ones. Eä-Endil.’

‘Eä-Endil.’ Orial resumed her humming. What was the tune? She couldn’t remember where she had heard it before – and now it circled her brain as she continued her search, round and round…

‘What’s that you’re singing?’ Jolaine looked up from her notebook.