Page 54 of House of the Beast

“About what?” I wondered genuinely. Nothing ever fazed my monster. He was always the one offering me comfort in the face of adversity.

He pouted. “We’re so close to our goal. It’s been eight years—and many more of waiting before that, for you to come along. I’m allowed to express a little apprehension.”

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He was staring at the gate, a thoughtful quirk to his mouth that meant he was being serious for once. “You don’t believe that we can do it?”

He turned to me, outraged. “Of course I do! Alma, we can do anything together.”

“Then there you go,” I said. “Nothing to worry about.”

And somehow, saying that aloud allayed my own nerves. The fear I had felt last night seemed so far away. This was Aster—my first friend, my closest companion. I trusted him more than I trusted myself, and I would not want to be here without him—even when he was being silly.

He grinned fondly. “You’re right, of course. How foolish of me. Thank you for coming this far with me. I’m glad we’re here.”

The sincerity in his voice made my heart swell. It had been a harrowing few days, but I was glad too. I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

We stood there for the rest of the time allotted for preparation in quiet solidarity.

Despite it being the middle of the day, the sky grew steadily darker until it settled upon a gloomy blue-gray color more suited to dusk.

The wind blew more fretfully with every passing minute, sending my hair whipping every which way as Aster’s white robes billowed around us.

Above us, the star had come close enough that I could see how it flickered and glowed, an unnatural light in the noonday sky.

At ten minutes before twelve, the grand clock in the middle of Firmament Square tolled as if in warning.

All activity in the city halted for a heartbeat. The crowd went very quiet and then the gathering of intrepid Pilgrims in the square kicked into a buzz as they went through final equipment checks, head counts, prayers. It was almost time.

A group of holy men ascended the short steps to the great stone gate, led by one of the three Grand Cardinals of the Court of Divine Hearers.

Her great bejeweled hat swayed from side to side as she stopped atop the stairs and turned to face the crowd of Sorrowsend’s citizens.

As if on cue, the hum of activity and chatter quieted.

Soon there was only the sound of the wind blowing and the cries of the birds fleeing Sorrowsend. The Grand Cardinal began to speak.

“And so the heavens turn,” she said, her voice strong and clear, carrying across the square.

“It is, once again, a holy time for our nation.

Perhaps more than ever, in this era of uncertainty, as our neighbors eye our borders, as the world churns and tumbles toward new horizons.

But amid this turmoil, Kugara remains steadfast. We are the children of those chosen by the heavens—the heirs of celestial blessing.

“And now a star falls to our doorstep! By the blessing of our gods, we have the tools to not only overcome this terror but to use it to propel our nation to divine heights. We will slay this fallen star who dares encroach upon the demesne of our Four, and take its power for our own.” She raised her arms to the heavens.

“Brave men and women of Kugara, loyal vessels of the elder gods. We entrust our fates to you, on this blessed Pilgrimage.”

She bowed. The holy men behind her bowed. The people in the crowd, every single one of them, bent their heads.

Overhead, a line of the glowing gate drifted into place, a circle spun at just the right angle—and with a flash of light, the falling star disappeared from the sky.

The wind died down completely, leaving the air still and heavy.

The strings of lanterns and decorations that had been fluttering above the streets swayed slowly, and then stopped.

All noise faded as the crowds and Pilgrims alike watched with bated breath.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the stillness of the air and the unnatural quiet of an entire city in wait.

Then something moved. At first I thought it was a trick of the light—the flicker of a nearby lantern or someone in the crowd shifting around.

But then it moved again, and I realized the empty space in the center of the giant stone gate was shimmering.

Faces blurred and the edges of buildings wavered.

The image of Firmament Square between its arches seemed to melt away until there was nothing but a great black void.

The gate was open.

I had expected more fanfare—perhaps some great noise, or a show of light like with a Heavenseer’s magecraft. But it had happened as smoothly as the tick of a clock’s hand from one second to another. There was a hole in our world, and through it, we would find another realm entirely.

The Grand Cardinal and the bevy of holy men rose to their feet and shuffled to either side of it.

“First to enter,” called the Grand Cardinal, “Kaim Avera of House Avera, Fifth Hand of the Dread Beast.”

It was customary for an Avera to enter first, to lead the charge against any awaiting terrors—and it seemed that despite my uncle’s declaration of me as his heir, Kaim was still the one favored by the court.

My cousin’s proud, black-uniformed silhouette began marching up the stairs, followed by Fion’s smaller frame, and then his Dreadguard in their dark armor.

Up to the stone gate they marched like emissaries of death—and then they stepped through and were swallowed by the blackness.

“Second to enter: Lord Carnus Metia, vessel of the Heavenseer.”

House Metia began their approach.

Over the crowd, the first few lanterns were being released into the air, their thin paper bodies bloated by the candles lodged within. They would carry the prayers of the people upward, in the hopes that they would light the way for the Pilgrims within.

Without my noticing, my heart had begun to pound. My flesh hand was clammy.

This was it.

One by one, Pilgrims and their blessed men marched into the void. The streets were now swarmed with floating lanterns, like we were standing in a city of burning stars ourselves. It would have been a marvelous sight, if I wasn’t so restless I could jump out of my own skin.

“Fifth to enter: Priestess Aulia of the Sorrowless Disciples, blessed by the Weeping Lady.”

I watched, feeling like a caged animal, as the Disciple and her knights with their billowing white capes were swallowed by the gate.

The procession seemed to take an age. It seemed to take no time at all.

I felt like a man half asleep: aware of my surroundings but feeling utterly detached from them.

What if they had already found the Wanderer of Still Waters on the other side? What if one of the Houses had gotten lucky, and I went through only to find my plan of eight years had been foiled before I could even put it into motion?

And then, over the din of my thoughts, I heard the Grand Cardinal announce, “Meister Olissa Goldmercy, blessed by the Odious Tinkerer.”

Uncomfortable quiet settled over the square as no men marched up to the gate at her call.

Heads turned in the crowd as people wondered to their neighbors what had happened to the Mother Meister, and why she wasn’t present for the most important event of the decade.

I could not help sending a furtive glance toward my father—who happened to be looking back at me.

The moment our eyes met, I knew that he knew she was dead.

But he did not say a word. Neither did I. We only looked at each other, faces grim, an unspoken challenge hovering in the air between us. I was not tempered, and I was going through that gate anyway; he was guilty, but he had not been charged.

Our fates would be decided in the umbral plane.

Once enough time had passed, and it became clear that Olissa Goldmercy was not going to show up, the Grand Cardinal called, “Seventh to enter: Lord Zander Avera, Second Hand of the Dread Beast.”

My father snapped his gaze away like he was closing a door, and his retinue made their way up the stairs.

He did not hesitate. He strode through it with the confidence that came from an absolute belief that he deserved whatever glory he was going to find on the other side.

His Dreadguard followed him through, their black armor melting into the void.

The square was nearly empty now.

I stood by myself where all the other vessels had lined up with their loyal men, and watched the last of the other Houses’ Pilgrims pass one by one through the gate. My metal hand curled atop the hilt of my sword like a child seeking reassurance from a favorite toy.

The men of the court bowed as the young Lynel Metia with his cloak of dusk approached. He strode confidently through; his guards in their crisp blue uniforms followed.

The Grand Cardinal straightened and fixed her eyes on me.

“Last to enter,” she announced, “Alma Avera, of—”

“Of my House,” Aster whispered by my side, his low, familiar voice drowning out her words. “Blessed by me, and my Dread blood.”

Still holding hands, we ascended the stairs. Up close, the void was an utter, terrible black—a black so perfect it seemed to consume all the light around it.

My common sense screamed uselessly at me to run.

It was unnatural. Perverse. The hairs on my body stood on end, the tips of my fingers went cold, my throat dried.

This darkness did not belong in this world.

And yet all those men and women had walked right into it, confident in their right to traverse this bridge between realms.

I didn’t quite share the sentiment, but I knew one thing for sure. I was going to find my own kind of absolution through these gates. This debt I had cradled for years was going to be repaid. One way or another, this would be the start to my end, whatever that may be. It was time to square up.

“You’re with me?” I asked.

“There’s nowhere else I’d be,” said Aster.

We stepped forward and allowed the darkness to take us.