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Whatever was in the Astronomy Tower could not be good. But there was only one way for her to go, and that was through the jaw of the doorways and into the mouth of darkness awaiting her.

She pulled the dagger free from its sheath.

The handle of bone and gold was comfortingly solid in her fist just as it had been earlier—a reminder of Oscar, an unexpected anchor to her past life, to the quiet security of the existence she had left behind.

Step by slow step, Fern ascended the stairs and crossed the doorway into the Astronomy Tower.

It took her a moment to adjust to the darkness. She was in a large, circular room, narrow windows casting blades of sickly light across the floor. Little by little, she made out details: furniture shoved back against the wall, tables stacked high with books, translucent tatters of cobweb dangling between the corners of bookcases.

The more her eyes adjusted to the light, the more obvious it became to Fern that there was no sign of collapsed rock or structural damage, which she had expected. The collapse that had killed her parents must have been repaired, a long time ago, it seemed. She swallowed back a wave of discomfort and nausea. Her mouth and throat were full of the stench of blood. Another smell, too: the wild, sharp tang of frost and the smell of dirt or rot.

Fern grasped herdagger so hard her hand ached.

Tracing the wall with the tip of her blade, she stepped cautiously around the room until the tip of her shoes hit stone. A step. She peered at the darkness awaiting her.

A staircase.

She climbed the spiral cautiously. The next floor was the same. Tables and chairs stacked back against the shelf-covered walls, books piled high on floors and tables. Still, there was no sign of the collapse which had killed her parents.

Level after level, Fern made her way up the Astronomy Tower and stopped after a few floors, glancing around at the circular chamber.

More books. What were they doing here?

She stepped closer to a window, lifting books to the faint ray of light cast by the distant moon. Heavy leather-bound tomes, their covers blank. No titles, no author names.

She opened one book, flipping through page after page of nigh-illegible scribblings. Incantations? But where had they come from? Why were they left here, discarded, unnamed, and unarchived?

An icy wind slid past her, yanking a sudden shudder out of her. A draft swept the room, engulfing itself towards the staircase. It was coming from further up the tower.

By that point, Fern was certain the tower was empty. She hadn’t heard so much as a whisper since passing the doorway far below. A dull, heavy silence reigned. And the higher up Fern went, the stronger the smell from earlier.

Blood, rot, something else.

Something here waswrong.

Fern could not explain what, not even to herself. The darkness was hungry, and the smell of blood seemed both fresh and old all at once. Fern could not help the sense that something terrible had happened here. The rooms, apart from being untidy and hastily rearranged, were clean, free of blood. So where was the smell coming from?

It was carried on the icy draught, which was coming from the top of the tower.

She couldn’t be far now. She climbed on.

Fern finally arrived in a large, circular room topped with a dome of glass. The top of the tower. There was no astronomical equipment, no desk, no chair, no book. Instead, in the centre of the room, was a Gateway.

It was an unregistered Gateway. No symbol of any kind was carved into the rough-hewn stone of its archway. Under Sumbral Laws, all Gateways were marked with a symbol and entered into a register; this was a new Gateway, probably made illegally. A dangerous Gateway, pouring forth malice and darkness—a hungry, grasping darkness.

Fern’s stomach clenched. She heaved, swallowing back a wave of nausea.

In front of the Gateway was a splatter of blood. A splatter of blood so enormous, so violent that it had slashed across the length of the room on all sides. It stained the walls all the way up across the glass of the domed ceiling, turning the moonlight crimson.

Chapter forty-seven

The Eye

In the old days,back when Gateways were created in barbaric rituals, there had been no laws to govern Sumbra. Many, seeking power and knowledge, had entered into dark bargains with the Gateway’s cosmic entities, offering up living sacrifices. In exchange, the entities gave humans arcane knowledge, incantations and spells powerful beyond what people at the time thought possible.

Now, the act of offering a human sacrifice to a trans-dimensional creature was strictly forbidden. It was an act more grievous than murder: a betrayal against humankind.

But it was clear what had happened here. Fern stared in horror at the Gateway and the blood, revulsion crawling at her skin. Something abhorrent, unthinkable had happened here, more than once, judging by the amount of blood she could see.