“I think it starts here, with these males and females guarding the well. It looks like they lived here, in the temple?” Letha pointed and Evelayn came over to look at the same section. “See how the building is intact? And there was furniture here then, it looks like.”
Evelayn nodded beside her. “I think you’re right. The forest also looks like it was beautiful back then.” The carvings weren’t in color, but the forest was depicted with flowers and sunshine, birds and trees lush with life. There was no sign of the encroaching mist, the constant gray light, or the Dheagmadra.
“But this—here—that’s an attack, don’t you agree?” Ceren stood to their right. Letha shuddered at the depiction of massive creatures from myth and legend tearing through the walls of the temple, and tunneling up through the ground into this very room. Some Letha recognized from stories she’d heard as a youngling, such as the serpent with two heads—one that of a snake and one that of a Draíolon—but others she’d never seen before. Such as the creature that was larger than a horse with wings, and talons on its feet, and a mouth sharpened into the deadly point of an eagle’s beak.
“Those are all of the Ancients,” Lorcan commented quietly. “And that tunnel came from the Sliabán Mountains.” He suddenly turned and began inspecting the ground around them. Letha ignored his odd behavior to continue following the carvings around the room. She’d heard about the Ancients as a youngling—the creatures that had supposedly inhabited Lachalonia before all others, even Draíolon. But she’d never known there were so many. The Ancients had broken into the temple and fought the males and females who lived there—they looked like Draíolon to her—to reach the well. It seemed as though they’d been trying to get to something inside it; in fact, the next panel of carvings showed a massive half spider, half female using her sticky legs and spider silk to drop herself into it and then coming back out with something gripped in her hands.
“That’s Máthair Damhán,” Evelayn gasped. “And what is she holding?”
“Those lines coming out from her hands … is that supposed to be Light?” Lothar leaned in closer.
“I think you’re right,” Letha agreed excitedly. “And that looks like clouds … Maybe it’s supposed to be Darkness?”
“It’s power,” Evelayn whispered. “This is where the power originated from. By the Light, they stole it.”
There was a caw from above them and Letha glanced up, realizing Lorcan had shifted into his hawk form and was hovering near the domed ceiling of the massive room.
He swooped toward them and shifted back into his Draíolon form.
“I found it,” Lorcan said triumphantly.
“Found what?” Tanvir asked.
He strode over to a section of floor and bent down to grab the massive stone slab.
“What are you doing?” Ceren shared a confused look with Letha.
“Lothar, come help me.”
The brothers worked together while the rest looked on for several long moments. Just when Letha was about to suggest they quit, the slab of stone came loose with a low grinding sound that echoed strangely. Rather than the dirt she’d expected to see, there appeared to be a gaping opening beneath it.
“You want us to dig our way to the White Peak?” Tanvir groused.
“No, I want us to walk. Maybe even jog.” He grinned at their confusion. “It’s a tunnel. The tunnel. Come look.”
Sure enough, there was a path leading down into the dark depths of the earth.
“How did you find this? And how do you know where it leads?” Tanvir sounded as baffled and concerned as the rest of them.
“Sometimes all you need is a little perspective.” Lorcan pointed at the lines that ran all across the ground. “From here it looks like a normal floor, but from above, I realized it was a map of this temple, including the tunnel the Ancients used to attack them.” He gestured to the dark opening. “This will take us to the Sliabán Mountains and the White Peak, hopefully far enough to avoid the Dheagmadra.”
“I’m not sure I want to trust lines on a floor to guide us,” Tanvir hedged. “Especially when we don’t know who—or what—made these carvings. For all we know, this could be a trap.”
“Then stay here or take your chances with the Dheagmadra.” Evelayn stepped up beside Lorcan, the musty scent of disuse and the loamy fragrance of earth rising from the tunnel. “But the Spirit Harbinger said we would find the answer, and the only one we’ve found is right here. I’m going down there.”
“So am I,” Ceren agreed.
Lothar also stepped toward his brother. That left Tanvir and Letha.
“I can’t face those … things … again. Maybe the Spirit Harbinger is the one who made the carvings. Either way, I’d rather risk the tunnel.” Letha looked pleadingly at Tanvir.
He regarded her stubbornly for a few long moments, but eventually sighed. “All right.”
“We should still try to be as silent as possible,” Lorcan warned before descending, “so we don’t attract the attention of the Dheagmadra. They might be able to dig down to us if they realize we’re in the earth beneath them.”
Evelayn shuddered at the thought of not only being beneath the earth but also having those creatures digging through it to devour them. Accordingly, they were completely silent as they descended the steps onto the earthen floor of the tunnel. It was just large enough to accommodate them—all except Lorcan, who was the tallest and had to stoop to avoid hitting his head.
He and Lothar both summoned a bit of shadowflame, the dark fire barely enough to dispel the blackness, so they could see where to step. The group stayed close together. Evelayn couldn’t let herself think about what had happened between her and Lorcan, knowing it would raise emotions the others would no doubt be able to scent, giving away the tumult within her.
But it was incredibly difficult when her lips still burned from his kiss and the rest of her burned from how badly she wanted more.
Lorcan abruptly glanced back at her. Evelayn quickly looked away, her cheeks hot, forcing her thoughts to safer avenues … such as avoiding being eaten alive by Dheagmadra and the coming confrontation with Máthair Damhán.
Time seemed to drag by, a slow, interminable march, made worse by the never-ending blackness and the tightness of the tunnel. It wound up and down, left and right, leaving them no way of knowing if they were headed in the correct direction or not. Evelayn prayed Lorcan had interpreted the map correctly. If only she had the ability to shift, she, too, could have flown above them and studied the markings. But instead, they had to trust him.
Which, no matter how foolish it might make her, Evelayn realized suddenly that she did.
She’d been walking a step behind Lorcan, but she quickened her pace just enough to come alongside him. He looked over at her questioningly, but since she couldn’t speak, for fear of being heard by the Dheagmadra or by the others, she merely reached for his hand, weaving her fingers through his. A smile unlike any she’d ever seen changed his face entirely. He’d always been blindingly attractive, but in a commanding, severe way. As he squeezed her hand back, this smile softened his entire face and made his eyes glow. The shadowflame that floated above his other hand even brightened slightly as they continued their seemingly endless march toward the White Peak.
At one point they heard an unearthly howl above them, through the soil and tree roots that tangled in the earthen walls all around them, and Evelayn’s heart jumped up into her throat. Lorcan motioned for them to speed up slightly.
Not long after, Evelayn started to notice something … different. Something she hadn’t felt in so very, very long that it took her a moment to recognize the sensation surrounding them.
It was power. Gradually at first but steadily increasing in strength as they pressed forward. It flowed through and around them, a river that she could sense but couldn’t access.
She didn’t even realize her grip had tightened on Lorcan’s hand until he squeezed hers back and murmured, “I feel it, too. We’re g
etting close.”
Sure enough, it was only a few minutes later that the pathway ended at a ladder.
“We made it?” Lothar whispered.
“We have no choice but up,” Tanvir replied, his voice hushed, “so we will soon find out.”
“I’ll go first.” Lorcan had already released Evelayn’s hand and grabbed on to the rungs in front of him. “Wait a moment and I’ll make sure it’s safe.”
They all watched as he quickly ascended the ladder and strained to push aside the stone at the top, stuck from centuries of disuse. Finally, it gave way, and he disappeared.
When he didn’t immediately return, Evelayn refused to allow herself to worry. After all, there were no sounds of a struggle. But as the seconds turned to minutes, her stomach twisted into a knot of fear.
“I’m going to go up there,” she finally said.
“And do what?” Ceren whispered sharply, grabbing her arm. “If Lorcan can’t handle whatever is up there, what could you possibly do?”
Her friend’s words were like an icy blast, reminding her of how she was so utterly helpless. The power surging all around them had almost made her forget she couldn’t access it.
“I’ll go,” Lothar offered.
“No.” Letha’s response was immediate, and she quickly added, “That would leave us without anyone to defend us.”
Lothar’s eyebrows raised, but he nodded. “That’s a good point.”
Evelayn couldn’t be sure in the uncertain light from Lothar’s shadowflame, but it looked like Letha was blushing. That was an interesting development. If they all somehow managed to survive this, Evelayn was very curious to see if anything came of what seemed to be a burgeoning connection.
And then they heard the sound of Lorcan coming back.
Evelayn looked up with a smile, but her relief turned to terror when, rather than Lorcan’s face, she found herself staring up at Máthair Damhán herself.
DO COME UP. I DON’T APPRECIATE BEING KEPT waiting.”
Ceren stared at the Ancient, frozen in fear. Máthair Damhán’s voice was vaguely feminine, but her words were clipped and accompanied by a faint clicking of the sharp pincers that curled over her ink-black lips.
“Where’s Lorcan?” Evelayn’s voice was admirably steady.
“He’s waiting up here. I suggest you hurry before I grow impatient.”
Ceren couldn’t tear her eyes away from Máthair Damhán, from the monstrously stunning sight of her. The lower half of her face was almost that of a Draíolon, except for the pincers, and her main eyes were larger than Ceren’s and entirely black. But the arachnid portion of her head sent a shiver down Ceren’s spine—the two other pairs of smaller eyes, the ropes of black hair growing from the ridges that made up her skull.
“Why didn’t he come back?” Evelayn demanded, still refusing to climb the ladder.
The trapdoor opened wider and a sudden blast of light tore through the air, exploding into the soil at Ceren’s feet, knocking her to the ground.
“Ceren!”
Ceren vaguely heard Evelayn’s cry over the ringing in her ears. Gradually she became aware of a sharp pain in her right leg. When the residual flash of light cleared from her eyes, she saw Evelayn kneeling beside her, staring down at her legs. Ceren was afraid to look, based on the expression twisting the queen’s features. She must have been burned—and badly. The stinging pain grew worse with every labored breath she took.
“I did warn you.”
Evelayn’s eyes flashed when she looked up at the Ancient again. “How did you do that?”
“Quite a bit has changed since we last met, Little Queen. You are powerless, and I … Well, thanks to years of studying your stone, I am not.”
Evelayn stiffened with anger beside her, but Ceren was overcome by a terrible sense of hopelessness. If the Ancient had captured Lorcan, there really would be no escaping their doom this time.
“Now come out of that pit before I strike to kill.”
“If only we had some of that magic water with us … We should have all filled our skins with it. Since we’re obviously not going to survive this, that Harbinger’s threat doesn’t seem very valid anymore.” Letha’s humorless comment made Ceren smile despite the tears that pricked her eyes. She’d escaped death too many times on this quest. Letha was right—they weren’t going to be able to do it again. Though she valiantly tried to hold them back, a few tears slipped out, sliding down her cheeks as her thoughts inevitably turned to Quinlen and their younglings again.
“Here, I’ll help you.” Evelayn climbed to her feet and then bent to grab Ceren’s arms as Letha stepped up to the ladder and began to climb. “This isn’t over yet,” she murmured as she leaned in close. “Don’t lose hope.”
Ceren nodded, even though she knew Evelayn was only saying it to try to make her feel better. “You’re right,” she lied in return. She finally looked down and had to fight a surge of nausea at the sight of her legs. Her pants were burned almost completely away, exposing the charred flesh beneath.
“Put as much of your weight on me as you can,” Evelayn instructed as she helped pull Ceren up to her feet. Ceren swallowed the cry of agony that threatened to escape when she tried to walk. I can do this. I can be as strong as Evelayn.
Together, they moved forward, right behind Tanvir and Lothar.
“One rung at a time. I’ll be right behind you if you need help.” Evelayn stepped back for Ceren to go first.
She gritted her teeth together and reached for the rung. One at a time, she repeated with each painful movement that took her closer to the Ancient who had done this to her. Evelayn had to help push her over the top edge, and then they were suddenly both free of the tunnel, only to find themselves surrounded by a dozen of Máthair Damhán’s daughters.
Evelayn helped Ceren to her feet once more while she frantically scanned the cavern for Lorcan. The daughters surrounding them were of various sizes but looked every bit as dangerous as their creator. A couple were nearly as large as Máthair Damhán herself and had similarly Draíolon features and arms and hands. But most of the others were somewhat smaller and almost entirely arachnid. Lorcan, however, was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is he?” Evelayn demanded again.
Máthair Damhán’s gaze pierced her from where she rose above them on her eight massive legs. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure he could do it,” the Ancient said.
Evelayn remembered her scent from their last encounter—the malice and darkness and perhaps even a little bit of decay. “Where. Is. He.”
Máthair Damhán moved, revealing Lorcan lying on the ground, bound entirely by spider silk, even his mouth. His head was turned to her, his silver eyes wide and full of regret. His conduit stoned burned crimson in his forehead.
“Lorcan!” Evelayn cried, lunging forward only to have Máthair Damhán step over the king, her bulbous body directly above him.
“Swans are such loyal creatures, wouldn’t you say?”
“Excuse me?”
“Of all the creatures you could have imprinted on, it was a swan. Docile, useless … but loyal. So very loyal.” Máthair Damhán made a terrible noise that was part screech and part clicking of her pincers, and her daughters moved toward them. All at once, they sent silk flying from their spinnerets at all the Draíolon except Evelayn.
Lothar shot a massive blast of shadowflame in defense, his abilities bolstered from being so close to the Immortal Tree, where all the power in Lachalonia originated, burning away the silk before it could bind him and forcing daughters to scuttle out of its way. Máthair Damhán made another noise and then lifted one leg. Evelayn realized what she was going to do an instant before the Ancient stabbed Lorcan with it.
“Lorcan!” Evelayn’s scream was drowned out by his muffled howl of pain.
“Do that again and he suffers.” Máthair Damhán leveled her unnerving gaze on Lothar.
He slowly lowered his hand, and the daughter launched more silk at him; this time he allo
wed himself to be bound, his gaze on the blood soaking through the white spider silk encasing Lorcan’s body.
Evelayn was shaking inside but valiantly tried to hide it by clenching her hands into fists.
“Now”—Máthair Damhán turned to Evelayn—“it’s time for you to do me that favor you promised.”
EVELAYN STARED INTO LORCAN’S EYES, REFUSING TO meet Máthair Damhán’s gaze. She couldn’t bear to see him—the powerful king of Dorjhalon—so helpless and injured.
And then it hit her. “Wait … how did you entrap him?” The only thing that stopped Lothar from continuing to blast away at her daughters was Máthair Damhán’s threat to hurt his brother further. She remembered how instantaneous and strong her power had been when she’d come to the White Peak before … and Lorcan was already incredibly powerful. This close to the Immortal Tree, he should have been as close to invincible as possible.
“It would seem the Dark King cares for you, Little Queen, enough to offer himself as a sacrifice to protect you.”
“I don’t understand.” Evelayn couldn’t fathom it—if he wasn’t powerful enough to defeat Máthair Damhán, he could have shifted into his hawk form and at least escaped. He, who always touted his duty as king to do what he must as most important. Surrendering without a fight—leaving himself vulnerable—didn’t make any sense.
“You aren’t required to understand.”
“Then what do you require?” Anger warred with helplessness within her. Evelayn could sense the power all around her, felt it pulsing under her feet, in the air, trying to enter her body; but without a conduit, she had no access to it. She had to get her stone back … somehow.
“Ah, that is the question. The one that has haunted you ever since our first meeting.” Máthair Damhán’s pincers clicked, and her daughters moved closer to Tanvir, Letha, Ceren, and Lothar. They all remained on their feet, wrapped in spider silk. “That’s why you’ve returned, is it not? To fulfill the debt you owe me in return for my gift to you.”