32. Cat
Chapter thirty-two
Cat
M y eyes burned. My skin stung, screaming from the thousands of little pricks. I could barely see. Barely breathe. But I made it. I trudged through the field, through ash that was up to my knees, each step one that should’ve killed me, until I reached the base of the mountain. Then it got worse, my steps now taking me upwards through a mixture of ash and snow that reached my thighs.
I leaned my head back—there was no way I could see the peak from here. The mountain was as ominous as ever. And now I had to figure out how to get inside, where the mountain’s magic would neutralize the ash. Where I could feel alive again instead of this muted—but very real—misery.
I was close enough now that I could tell that Zariel was definitely beneath me, in the prison. Why? What were they planning on doing to him? Unease prickled through me. I couldn’t think of the High Artist, what else he had planned. He wouldn’t sacrifice Zariel , right? Regardless, I was not going to wait and see what happened.
At least I knew where Zariel was. But which of the tugs from my rune was him and which was Aniela?
I couldn’t focus—I could barely see. I had to breathe.
Breathe.
I had to find a way inside the mountain, out of this ashen hellscape.
Knocking on the front door and asking to be let in was out of the question. If Zariel was in prison, the best I could expect would be a locked door. At the worst … alright, I had to come up with another plan. That meant I had to find my own way in. Somehow. There was more than one entrance into this mountain near the ground, there had to be.
Aimlessly, I wandered near the base of the mountain, the relatively small layer of foothills that surrounded it were speckled by pine trees. My legs trudged through the layer of ash and snow, burning and freezing at the same time. The melted snow from my body heat mixed into the ash, coating me in a dark, glittery paste. This wasn’t a wintery wonderland—it was brutal, a grim reminder of why the angels picked this place as their library and prison. Even if a prisoner escaped, they’d never find their way out of this.
It was nearly impossible to see. The death glitter burned my face, while whipping against it like sand. I covered my face with a thin layer from my robe, which blocked the worst of it.
Zariel …
So what if I was in pain? I had to get to Zariel. Clumsily, I scampered up to a grove of pine trees, using their branches to take shelter, to give me a break from the onslaught. With the help of the pines and their thick needles, I was able to take my first clear breath and steady my rushing heart. The magic kept me alive and conscious, but damn it stung.
I had just caught my breath and started to look around when there it was—the pearl trees, those unique things I had noticed when I was outside with Zariel.
My heart skipped. Could it be?
Now that I was up close, it was easy to tell that these were unnatural, for what tree was decorated with actual pearls? It rested in the middle of a pine grove, like a goddess surrounded by her pine-tree worshippers. How could anyone think that this was a natural tree? Then again, in Zariel’s world, there were stranger things than this, including fish with wings that flew in the rain.
Alright, if the tree was here, that meant there was one of those “secret” entrances around here, or something else that the angels thought was worth marking. Now, where was it?
I kicked around the base of the pearl tree, digging through the ash—nothing. It was unlikely that the entrance was literally under the tree, but I had to try. I expanded the circle, kicking and digging—nothing. A bit further, making another painful round— still nothing. I was just about to collapse into the pile of ash when a strange carving on a trunk caught my attention, the tree’s yellowish flesh standing stark against the dark brown bark. I couldn’t read the angels’ runes, but seeing one marked on a tree was not normal. That had to mean something.
Frantically, I dug around the base of that tree and found a trap door covered with rocks.
Yes! I found it. I sighed with relief and got to the task at hand.
Moving the rocks aside, I worked my fingers under the small ledge, digging out the layers of ash and dirt that had accumulated over the years—centuries?—since this had been opened last.
Fuck—this thing was heavy. But I managed to open the trap door with a grunt, sending the slab back to crash into a pile of ash, puffing a little cloud into the sky.
I peered inside, my face hovering over the hole in the ground. Black. Pitch black. There was no way to tell how far it went, and I was not about to drop a rock and risk awakening some goblins or a fiery monster. Against one side there were metal bars fused to the stone—a ladder. I tested the top rungs. It felt safe enough. Sturdy.
Anything to get out of this burning winter.
Lingering next to the entrance, I treasured the last bit of sunlight I’d possibly ever have. If the angels weren’t going to let me through the front door, there was no way they’d be happy if they found me inside the mountain. And that was if I didn’t fall to my death first. Or get eaten by something at the base of the ladder.
Here goes.
Using the ribbon laces, I tied my fabric shoes into one of my long sleeves—bare feet would be safer. The cold metal froze my feet as I stood on the first rung—and then I climbed. And climbed. And climbed, descending into darkness.
How many steps were on that damn ladder? Twenty? Fifty? After several minutes, the light became a distant memory, a faint pinprick at the top of the tunnel. I was slowly moving in the dark, breathing stale air and trying not to panic that the shaft was becoming smaller, my robes catching on the stones. If I fell, who would find me? Would anyone ever find me?
Oh…my corpse would stay here, undiscovered. Forever. Hopefully my ghost could haunt the library.
My damp hands gripped the bars, doing the job that my ash-covered slippers weren’t prepared for. Thank fuck I removed them.
Slow. Slow and steady.
I wasn’t going to trip on my dress. I needed to be patient. It didn’t matter how long it took—I wouldn’t be any faster if I fell. Well, technically I would be, but I wasn’t going to think about that. At least the ash was drying and flaking off. At least I could take deep breaths. I had a long way to go, and one way or another I was going to reach the bottom of this ladder.
One step.
A second step.
Then another.
Then another.
Until there was nothing but the metal bars, my breath, and my racing heart alone in the dark.
I was alive. Looking up, I searched for the light from the sky above. Nothing. There was nothing. I had lost count at three hundred and fourteen steps, when I started to wonder if this pit would go on forever, if there was even a bottom. My feet were sore, my hands raw from where they saved me more than once, clinging to the bars when my foot slipped. But I was alive and at the bottom. I had made it—I was back inside the mountain.
Now I could sense the two pulls on my rune separately again. One was directly above me, while another seemed … more horizontal. But which was Zariel?
Did it matter? Worst case was that the pull closest to me was Aniela, unless Zariel had even more family members in prison that he failed to mention. I definitely had such relatives—wayward cousins and all. If I found his sister, maybe she’d know how to help me. At the very least, maybe she knew some way to get out. I’d free her if I could, but I had no way to open any of the cells, and I knew better than to even dream about stealing the keys from a guard. I was a PhD candidate, not some assassin thief. There was also the fact that my knowledge was painfully academic—I couldn’t talk my way out of things. Once I got pulled over for speeding and found myself trying to convince the cop to give me a second ticket. Luckily, he didn’t.
Now safe on the ground—safe ish —I tugged the shoes back on my poor cold feet, and clumsily felt my way through the narrow hall of stone. It was little more than a tunnel, a pitch black one. If the space started shrinking on me, closing in with each step … I was going to have a problem. I kept my ears open, as much as I could over the roaring sound of my breath. If anything saw me, it was probably going to be too late. There was no running or hiding here.
Where was I? In the prison? Or did I manage to go under it? Was that possible? How many stories below ground was I? Sure, I started my descent from a bit higher than the mountain’s base, but hundreds of ladder rungs is … a lot. Annoyingly, I pushed back my new questions of just how deep into the earth the shifting of the worlds went. This wasn’t the time or place. First, I had to live long enough to see a computer again, much less write up a new paper. But … was it so bad to think about anything other than the consuming darkness?
Yes, anything but the darkness .
For what felt like a lifetime there was nothing but my soft steps on the stones and the constant rough stone of the walls until—blissfully— I felt the sides give way. The space had grown bigger, and there was a soft light coming from around the corner.
Oh, thank God. Light. Space.
But what caused the light?
Holding my breath, I slowed my steps, listening for any sounds. There was no shuffling, talking—nothing. Carefully, I rounded the corner, and found—food?
I blinked hard. There was a small lamp next to the wooden door, and the cavernous room was filled with what was probably the widest variety of food I had ever seen. The room, which was around the size of an elementary school gym, was filled with rough wooden crates, barrels stamped with angelic symbols, and hanging nets containing onions. And next to this medieval grocery selection were boxes from big brands and massive industrial cans of vegetables. Boxes and boxes of military rations. And gallons of fruit punch. Supplies from the summit, unless the angels had a warehouse store membership. Zariel had mentioned that there were multiple storerooms in the mountain—there had to be to keep the entire population supplied for years. This must’ve been one that was becoming empty of the original supplies and was now filled with all the carbs I could eat.
My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since last night. Should I take the time? But then again, would I be in better shape if I didn’t have the sugar shakes? What the hell. I opened the industrial pack of cheesy crackers and one of the gallons of fruit punch and hid behind some crates. While I enjoyed my ill-gotten gains, and tried not to throw everything back up, I planned.
Was it just me, or had the tug that was above me changed location? Getting weaker? Was it because they moved, or was it because I did? I wiped crumbs from the corner of my mouth. The other tug, the one that was more horizontal with me, was still there—a small blessing. Then again … was it?
If the angels moved one of them, odds were that they’d be moving Zariel, their most recent prisoner, which meant that I was going to find his sister.
And after enduring mere minutes in this darkness, much less years, I had a feeling that if I found Aniela, she would have her own scores with the Artists to settle.