Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
The bone token burns against my palm as I rise from the tank’s edge, the eels’ final vision still seared behind my eyelids. That woman’s desperate face, and her last act of defiance by dropping this key into waters where only the desperate or the damned would follow.
Water drips from the token’s barnacle-crusted surface onto the floor. Already, the eels have retreated to whatever depths they call home, leaving me alone with the weight of what they’ve shown me.
A corridor branches off from this chamber, hidden behind an archway I hadn’t noticed before, probably because I was blindfolded and panicking during so much of my time here.
It’s darker than the passages above, carved directly from the mountain’s bones rather than dressed in the castle’s polished marble facade.
Here, beneath all that gleaming veneer, the castle’s true age shows with ancient stone that has witnessed centuries of bloodshed.
I follow the passage deeper and descend the staircase. Air grows thick with the smell of damp and something medicinal that makes my throat tighten. Sconces are fewer and farther between, casting pools of sickly light that seem to emphasize the shadows rather than banish them.
Warmth spreads up my arm from the token as I walk, its carved glyphs shifting under my thumb like living worms.
Ember roils against it. It’s like I can feel her in my veins, and she’s fast retreating from where I grip the token.
The discomfort in my chest grows sharper as Ember pulls away from my fingers, coiling deep into my chest.
What’s wrong? I ask her, but she doesn’t answer, just burrows deeper until I can barely feel her warmth.
My cloak catches on rough stone, and I have to yank it free, the fabric tearing with a sound that seems deafening in the oppressive silence. Every instinct screams at me to turn back, but Davrin’s face flashes through my mind, that look of resigned fate as Malakai led him away.
When the staircase ends at a wider antechamber, I stop dead.
Stone slabs line the walls, each one carved with drainage channels that lead to grates in the floor. Dark stains mark the stone despite what must be regular cleaning. Above each slab, iron rings are bolted into the ceiling, chains dangling like metal vines.
The token’s edges bite into my palm. It provides little distraction from the horror.
Thankfully, Davrin isn’t here, but fresh blood gleams wetly on the nearest slab, still pooling in the drainage channels.
I have to breathe through my mouth to keep from gagging.
At the far end of the chamber, barely visible in the soul-fire’s weak glow, stands the door from the eels’ vision.
Massive and ancient, it dominates the wall like a wound in the castle’s flesh.
Up close, I notice that it isn’t merely bone-colored stone as I’d first thought.
It’s actual bone, yellowed with age and polished by countless hands.
Thousands of tiny bones fused to create something monstrous and beautiful.
“What kind of creatures did they harvest to build this?”
Tiny finger bones form intricate whorls around larger femurs and ribs that might have belonged to beasts I’ve never seen. Or perhaps they belonged to people who failed whatever test lies beyond this threshold.
As I approach, glyphs carved into the surface begin to glow faintly, responding to the token in my palm. My heart pounds so loudly I’m certain anyone within a hundred paces could hear it. Ember has retreated so deep inside me that I can barely feel her warmth anymore, leaving me cold and uncertain.
“Where are you going?” I whisper to her. “I need you now.”
Away from that thing, she finally answers, her voice faint and strained. It hungers for me.
I glance down at the token, its barnacles now completely fallen away to reveal pristine bone beneath, carved with symbols that match those on the door.
Symbols that shift when I’m not looking directly at them, rearranging themselves into new patterns that creep across the bone.
I step closer, drawn by a fascination I can’t explain.
My boots scuff as I approach, leaving wet prints behind me.
The air grows colder here, as if the door itself radiates chill rather than heat.
Standing before it, I feel impossibly small.
The bones used in its construction weren’t just taken from the dead.
They were arranged with purpose, creating a mosaic of suffering that makes my skin crawl.
Eye sockets emerge from the pattern when I stare too long. Skulls of varying sizes peer out from between finger bones and vertebrae, their black depths seeming to follow my movements. One particularly large skull near the center appears to be smiling, its jaw open in a rictus grin.
Blood from my thumb smears across the token’s surface, filling the grooves of its carved symbols.
The effect is immediate. The glyphs flash gold, then crimson, then settle into a steady thrum that matches my breaths.
Twin glyphs appear in the skull’s eye sockets, flaring in response and lighting up the chamber with their unearthly glow.
“Oh,” I say with sudden clarity. “I’m supposed to put this in your mouth.”
Drawing a steadying breath, I place the token in the skull’s open jaw because it seems to be staged for exactly this purpose, and when the token slides into place with a soft click, it reverberates through my body.
A shudder runs through the massive door, bone grinding against bone as ancient mechanisms awaken. I step back instinctively when the token sinks deeper into the skull’s maw, disappearing completely.
The grinning skull’s jaw closes with a sickening crunch.
Blood rushes in my ears as the door begins to part down the middle, splitting along a seam I hadn’t noticed before. Stale air rushes out, carrying the unmistakable scent of decay and a chemical so sharp, it burns my nostrils and makes my eyes water.
“Ember,” I whisper desperately. “Please come back.”
She doesn’t answer. For the first time since awakening my magick, I feel truly alone.
The gap widens, revealing darkness so complete it seems solid. No torchlight penetrates that void, no sound escapes. It’s as if the door has opened onto nothingness itself.
My feet remain rooted to the spot as cold air continues to pour from the opening, carrying whispers just below the threshold of understanding. They swirl around me like smoke, brushing against my ears with words almost familiar, almost comprehensible.
Swallowing hard, I force myself forward.
I should turn back. Every rational thought screams at me to run, to forget about Davrin, to save myself while I still can. But my feet move forward of their own accord, drawn by a curiosity that overrides my fear.
What happened to you down here, Falcen?
“Davrin?” I call softly, peering into the darkness. “Are you in here?”
No answer comes, but something stirs in the shadows. A shifting of weight, the dragging of chains.
On instinct, I summon my soul-weapon, and it bursts into existence, bathing the darkness in a hue that reveals horrors beyond my darkest nightmares.
“Sweet Lux,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
Not three paces away crouches a creature with skin hanging in strips from exposed bone, peeling away like bark from a rotting tree. Where their shoulder blades should be, skeletal wings jut outward, the membrane between bones torn and bloody, dripping viscous fluid onto the stone floor.
Our eyes meet. Their irises glow scarlet in sunken sockets, pupils contracted to vertical slits that widen as they fixate on me. Recognition flickers across their ruined face, but not of me specifically.
Of what I represent.
Fresh meat.
An escape.