“It’s a trap! An illusion. Our eyes deceive us, and our fear makes us quail.”
I press forward and they creep after. In a mere twenty strides, the false painting ends and we reach the far shore and enter a vaulted chamber with four ramps leading into further passageways.
“Why would anyone want to frighten and confuse people like this?” Amaya whimpers as she huddles on the floor, clutching Cook’s leg for comfort.
Maraya turns to look back the way we came. A wall of wide arches gives us a view onto the lightless gulf we just traversed, a maw of darkness.
“That is a very good question, Amiable,” she says in a brisk voice. “Who built this place originally? When it was buried, why was it not totally filled in with rubble? Think how strong the roof must be to have not collapsed under the weight of a hill.”
“What are those lights?” asks Mother, twisting out of Ro-emnu’s supporting arm. She shades her eyes as against the sun. “What haunts us?”
Out on the gulf of night, sparks of blazing light dance like a swarm of fireflies. They spin through hypnotic circles and spirals and all in a silence that wraps us like swaddling clothes. Their uncanny glamour paralyzes when we should be running away.
As with an inhaled breath the lights collect into a pulsing mass. They spill toward us in a flood. Too stunned to move or speak, we stare helplessly. Like fiery locusts the sparks pour through the arches in such numbers that their brilliance blinds us. Sparks tumble hotly through my flesh like a thousand million falling stars. Their radiance dissolves me; my being becomes mist. Unmoored, my heart comes unanchored and slides toward the ocean of eternity.
My shadow frays and tears where it attaches to my heels. I forget my name. My breath ceases.
In the shadow-ridden flesh of my dead brother, a fierce spark lodges with a hiss of steam.
In an eyeblink the lights vanish. Silence crashes down over us like the fist of voiceless thunder, a force that jolts the whole world. My knees buckle, and I pitch forward, barely catching myself on a hand. The sling flops sideways, cloth flapping open to uncover his face. My little finger brushes the bow of his tiny lips. His mouth parts under its pressure, and an answering force clamps down.
I suck in a harsh breath, heart thudding madly, as I realize what I am feeling.