Page 60 of House of Dusk

SEPHRE

T hey reached Stara Sidea at dusk. The day’s journey had been long, but not unpleasant, aside from the painful detour Sephre insisted they take along a bramble-choked riverbed, after spotting what might have been a skotos—or a bloodthirsty prince—on the trail behind them.

Nilos had taken it well, had even laughed when it turned out to be nothing but a hungry goat.

There had been no more talk of the past or future.

Instead, she and Nilos debated the relative merits of catmint and spearmint, and whether the clouds in the west meant rain.

It should have been punishingly dull, but Sephre welcomed it.

Nilos was a surprisingly comfortable companion.

He reminded her of Abas. Giving her space to be who she was, with no expectations.

She flattered herself that she might be offering Nilos a similar comfort.

Back in the rain-drenched barn where they’d first met, there had been a sort of.

..distance . . . around him. A wall of clever words and that dark wool cloak drawn close.

And why not? It was only now that she understood the risk he had taken, that day on the hilltop, telling her his truth.

Challenging her to step outside her own understanding of the world.

And now she was here. Walking beside him.

Teaching him one of Zander’s favorite bawdy marching songs almost entirely for the pleasure of seeing him blush.

Watching him scramble up a wild plum tree like a boy half his age, to harvest a bounty of dusky-purple fruit for them to share.

He cut them for her, sweet, dripping slices of summer.

She almost regretted their arrival at the ruined temple. But she needed more than her own peace. She needed to rescue Timeus. She needed a way into the Labyrinth of Souls, and with luck the ruined temple of the House of Dusk would give her that.

Like Stara Bron, Stara Sidea had been carved into stone.

But rather than being atop a mountain, it lay deep in a canyon of smooth red rock.

Nilos led them into one of the narrow gorges, following the pebbled bed of a shallow river.

High walls closed them in. Overhead, a narrow ribbon of sky glinted with stars.

The only sounds were the eerie whispers of the wind over stone, and a faint skittering of falling stones.

She searched the heights above, but saw nothing. Probably just a rat, or a lizard.

Even so, her nerves thrummed, highly aware of just how easy it was to die trapped in a gorge, with nowhere to run.

Was this where the skotoi planned to spring their trap?

Nilos had said they were stronger within the labyrinth than without, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t strike earlier, given a good opportunity.

She turned to tell him so. He was gone.

Sephre swore, imagining a hundred different ways he might be about to betray her. She was just reaching for a nice hefty rock, perfect for smashing traitorous ass-weasels over the head, when she heard his voice, muffled, coming from one of the vine-draped walls. “Sephre? Are you coming?”

The vines shifted, revealing Nilos peering out at her from a narrow archway cut into the stone. “Is everything all right?”

She glowered at him. “Oh, absolutely. I’m following a complete stranger into the ruin of an ancient temple dedicated to the god of death, and he decides it’s a good idea to just disappear without warning .” She dropped the rock. It clunked loudly, echoing from the high canyon walls.

Nilos tsked her. “I think we’re well beyond ‘complete strangers.’ I did save your life.”

“Because you need me,” she bit back, though it was as much a reminder to herself as to him.

“Would you have told a complete stranger your secret recipe for bowel cleanser?”

All right. He had her there. But that was only because they’d seen a patch of broadleaf and she hadn’t been able to help herself. It was nice to have someone to talk to about such things.

She stalked past him, through the archway.

As the darkness swept over her, she lifted her hand to summon a flame.

Then jerked it back down again, remembering.

If Nilos noticed, he said nothing, but a moment later a spark flared, and he held up a copper lantern, spilling a golden glow over the passage.

They passed several small rooms that must have been sleeping chambers, judging by the bed frames and dusty heaps of cloth.

People had lived here. Prayed here. Maybe there was even a garden.

A workshop where some long-dead balewalker had dried herbs and brewed tinctures for her siblings’ headaches.

Homesickness twisted Sephre’s chest, yearning for the simple beauty and peace of Stara Bron.

For the people. For everything she’d taken for granted.

Eventually they came to a wider room, lit with a frail silver light filtering down from shafts in the ceiling.

Three long tables filled it, set with bowls and platters and clay cups.

Sephre peered into one and saw the dark, dried dregs of ancient wine.

She suspected the platters had been full as well, before the mice had gotten to them.

“What happened to them?” She winced, her voice too loud in this forgotten place. “The balewalkers?”

“I suspect most died along with the Serpent.” Nilos continued on, not looking at the tables, the empty benches.

“Every balewalker carried a drop of the Serpent’s venom, just as your ashdancers carry a spark of Phoenix-fire.

And in the same way an ashdancer doesn’t fear flames, a balewalker had no fear of poison. But when the Serpent was no more...”

She jogs along the street, chasing the wail. Surely she can save one life. But the cry cuts off, and she’s alone, with only the dead bodies to see her weep.

She dragged in a long breath. Felt Nilos watching her. She gave him a dismissive half-wave before he could ask. Nothing to see here. “Which way now?”

He led them onward to a stair on the far end of the room that twisted downward in a tight spiral. “Most of the upper level collapsed during the cataclysm. But the lower levels are still passable. Mostly.”

Mostly was right. Chunks of stone littered the steps.

Dust clouded the air, raised by their descent.

The lamplight seemed to be dimming, the deeper they traveled.

And the occasional patter of falling rock sounded far too much like footsteps, sending prickles racing over Sephre’s skin.

Her knees didn’t care for it either. But Furies take her if she slowed down now.

They were close. She could feel it. The chill stones whispered with it.

She could almost hear the trickle of ancient pools.

Smell the funerary spice of a flower that bloomed only beneath the gray skies of the underworld.

The Labyrinth of Souls. Where spirits wandered in torment, until they found their way free and could be reborn into the world anew.

Zander had died ten years ago. Surely he wouldn’t still be lingering.

She’d never known anyone who lived his life with such relentless confidence, so few regrets.

I don’t make mistakes, he’d told her once.

I take exciting detours . He didn’t hold grudges.

He loved freely. She’d never seen him afraid, until the end.

And what about Timeus? Was he afraid? Did he think himself abandoned? I’m coming, she thought fiercely. Just hold on a little lo nger.

At last the steps ended, spilling them out into a wide chamber. The lamplight glinted over a forest of stony teeth, damp and shimmering, rising from the floor. More fangs dripped from the uneven ceiling. This must be a natural cavern, older than the human-carved passages above.

A great pool filled the far end of the chamber. In the silence, Sephre heard the plink, plink, plink of falling droplets. Saw dark ripples chasing each other across the surface. She couldn’t see the far side, only a vast dark mirror.

“What is this place?” she asked, the weight of the room pressing her voice to a whisper. Telling her she did not belong. That this was no place for anyone who wished to feel the sun on her skin again.

“The unwaking shore.” Nilos halted in the soft, dark sand that edged the pool. “Those are the waters of the Lyrikon. The river that bounds the Labyrinth of Souls.”

Sephre joined him, but when she would have bent to touch the water, he caught her, one arm clasping her waist, drawing her back. She had forgotten how strong he was. How uncannily quick. “Don’t. The waters still carry the Serpent’s venom. They’re death to the living.”

“The House of Dusk built their temple on top of a deadly lake?” She tried to make it a joke, to ignore the thrum of her pulse where his palm still pressed into her side.

“For the same reason the House of Dawn built their temple beneath a font of Phoenix-fire,” he replied.

“The balewalkers entered these waters as a trial, to prove themselves capable of carrying the Serpent’s power.

To bear witness to the pain of life, to protect and comfort the spirits that pass through the Labyrinth. ”

He released her. She scavenged her wits. Drew a breath to settle herself. “So how do we get across?”

Nilos pointed across the pool to a low shape Sephre had not noticed before. A shallow barge, floating about twenty feet from shore. “Does having a chunk of the Serpent’s power give you the ability to move things with your mind?” she asked.

“Sadly, no.” He gave her a brief smile. “But it does give me enough protection that I can enter the pool. For a short while, at least. In theory.”

“And you think it’s a good idea to test that theory now?”

“I don’t see any other option. Just...” He suddenly looked deeply uncomfortable. “Would you turn around for a moment?”