28. MARTYR #3
The walls loomed monolithic and bare but for the one that formed the base of the triangle, opposite the entrance.
That one held a titanic frieze of twisting, visceral shapes, which hurt Jacen’s head to gaze upon too long.
In the center of the chamber three obelisks, etched with glyphs, marked the points of a triangular dais.
No—not a dais; that was a pool, but so still and black, it could have passed for stone. Above it hovered a tear in the universe.
The ceiling slanted up and up, letting in a shaft of red light that fractured around that void, scattering strange patterns across the water. A lone woman, scarred and red-robed with a shaved head, waited there. Her left arm was a burned and twisted ruin, secured in a sling across her chest.
Seth jogged past the militiamen to keep pace with Hesaya. “If I could just speak to Neri. Or Ysira. I swear to you they would not—”
Hesaya rounded on him, so swiftly, they almost collided. “Unless you want to follow Brother Kheris into the Source, you will stand aside and you will not interfere.” She swept a hand off to her left, indicating where Seth ought to stand.
“It’s all right,” Jacen said, though his voice came out a croak. Ogden gripped Seth by the shoulder, steering him toward Urien, Nines, and a silent row of veiled acolytes. But Seth held Jacen’s gaze, and it brimmed with a heat and terror he had never seen before.
The militiamen forced Jacen to his knees before the Gate. He found himself looking at a flower with bruise-dark petals. Thorned telkaan vines lined the edges of the inky water, roots spidering out in a hundred greedily drinking tendrils.
“I didn’t know they could flower,” Jacen murmured.
“Not in centuries,” said the woman in red. “This is a powerful sign.”
Seth made a choking noise. The woman ignored him and crouched in front of Jacen. She grasped him by the chin with her good hand, forcing him to meet her stark white eyes.
“You don’t know me,” she said. “But I know you. I am Eneva Nal Karak, and I am the last Gatekeeper. Before the conquest, I would have selected valak candidates and prepared them to enter the Source. I would have ensured that only the strongest, the bravest, the worthiest were allowed to attempt this most sacred of tests.” Her lip curled.
“But in these times, we are far less spoiled for choice.”
“I’m here to atone,” Jacen said. “All my gifts are at your disposal.” “You’re of Zal blood,” Eneva went on, like he hadn’t spoken. She tilted his head side to side, examining him. “Probably not enough to counter the enemy’s taint, but it might help.”
Without breaking eye contact, she took a polished obsidian cup from her robe and dipped it in the pool. She held it, dripping, in front of Jacen’s face.
“Telkaan,” she said. “A powerful hallucinogen, known to enhance extradimensional senses. It will impair you in this universe but open your mind to the divine.”
Ogden cleared his throat. “He’s in a bit of an unstable psychological state, just a few days sober. I don’t think—”
“With due respect,” said Eneva, in a tone that conveyed anything but, “he deserves no more consideration than he offered my murdered allies.” She smiled mirthlessly. “Besides, I have little doubt he’ll be found unworthy. No need to worry about preserving his faculties.”
She held the cup to Jacen’s lips. “Drink.”
He had faced death so many times over the last few days, but this felt different. More final. What chance could there be that he of all people would walk into the Source and be found worthy?
Panic shrank his world sliver-thin, made it impossible to breathe.
The cup tipped forward.
Then a voice rang out across the temple chamber, clear and commanding. “Release him!”
Eneva’s expression turned coldly furious. But she only let Jacen see it. She schooled her features into resignation, set the cup down, and stood.
She said, “Var Naktis.”
Such was his shock and relief, Jacen could have fainted. He sagged to the floor, retching, wiping any traces of contaminated water from his lips.
“I was carrying out due justice,” Eneva said with a bow. “As is my role as Gatekeeper. I didn’t think it necessary to disturb—”
“Spare me the act,” snapped the newcomer. “I told you I was to be alerted immediately once they arrived.”
Still kneeling, Jacen turned to look at her.
Ysira Naktis wore a black spidersilk gown with a neckline that plunged to a hammered copper girdle, exposing the red tattoos spiraling over her arms and torso.
Her red-black hair hung loose around her shoulders.
She had brought no weapons, but she carried herself with the countenance of a queen.
“I didn’t know,” Hesaya said, with real deference. “I thought we were following orders.” She frowned at the Gatekeeper. “Eneva. What’s going on?”
“Var Naxal commands that you spare Jacen Kheris,” Ysira said. “My son wants him alive.”
Ysira laid heavy emphasis on the word son, as if Eneva might need the reminder. Jacen could not muster more than distant surprise. He still felt on the verge of collapse. The Gatekeeper bowed lower and backed away.
Ysira’s night-dark gaze swept the room, narrowed and calculating. She ordered, “Everyone except the new arrivals—out. I’ll speak with them in private.”