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Or at least, I know what I think I saw the last time.
A large, cavernous room, with a huge, flat ledge. Hundreds of people will be there, chanting hjartanu. And then, just past where they’re gathered, there will be a protrusion of rock that hangs out, protruding over the churning mass of lava below.
When I finally emerge from the edge of the tunnel, it’s almost exactly as I remember it. The cavern is still there, smaller than I remember, but not by much, and the black ledge really does stick out over the boiling lava—even smoother and flatter and more ominous than I recalled.
Only, there aren’t any people, not standing around, not on the ledge. No people anywhere.
But the chanting’s loud, persistent, and clear.
It’s not coming from the ledge, though. It’s coming from. . .I step closer, stumbling forward without much control over my own actions. Heat rolls in almost debilitating waves upward, crashing over me from the lava pool. I crouch down, and I inch my way forward until I can peer over the edge of the rock.
That’s when I see them.
Creatures are teeming through the lava, leaping and sinking, screaming and chanting. Hjartanu. Hjartanu. Hjartanu. They’re humanoid in shape, but they have massive horns curving outward or protruding sharply from their skulls. All of them are charred and blackened, as if they’re in the process of roasting and burning and peeling every single second of their miserable existence.
And when I straighten up to stare, they all look right back at me.
The chanting stops.
“Oh, shoot,” I say, right before I run.
14
Liz
I have no idea what I saw when I was a child. In my memory, at least a hundred people, regular humans, were standing in white robes, all of them chanting the same thing. Hjartanu. Hjartanu. Hjartanu.
The woman who had dragged me into the volcano ripped my shirt open and exposed my birthmark, a perfectly shaped red heart, just over my left breast. The people who were gathered had gone wild then, and now that I think on it, their faces might have been a little deranged.
But the beasts that were teeming in front of me had fangs. They had horns. And when they saw me, they hissed, and began to churn their way closer.
Of course I ran.
Only, the second I hit the tunnel, I drop the phone and am plunged into the pitch-black dark of nothingness. I almost immediately stumble on who-knows-what and face plant, which hurts pretty badly. The palms of my hands are surely bleeding, and my knees sting just as badly. On top of that, all the air is knocked clean out of me.
When I turn back, panicked, toward the cavernous room, I realize that. . .
No one is chasing me. When I creep back, the people inside the lava are already watching for me, and when they see me again, they churn faster, but within seconds it becomes clear that they can’t escape the limits of the lava. Somehow, they’re stuck in there, perhaps paying penance for some horrific deed, locked in an eternally burning pit. I stand there for quite some time, watching them, before they become bored of me and resume their rhythmic chanting.
If the phrase, the heart, has some meaning to them, it apparently has nothing to do with me. In my memory, the people who were present chanted louder, almost in a frenzied manner when they saw me, but these demon-creatures don’t even care that I’m here, once the initial surprise wears off.
It feels as if I was summoned, examined, and then dismissed. I should feel relieved—and of course I do. Who wouldn’t be relieved that the demonic creatures aren’t able to hop out of the volcano and attack them? I’d have to be insane not to be relieved.
But I’m also a little disappointed.
What exactly am I going to tell Azar? We traveled here, leaving Houston, releasing half the humans the dragons bonded and all the humans the ensnared had trained in their former home base, all so that we could make progress to report to his father in their search for the heart. Azar believes that somehow I’m connected to this place, but if I am, I have no idea how. At least, to the demons here, I’m boring.
I stand up, steeling myself against the fear of the disturbing sight in front of me. Maybe they just need a little more information to pique their interest. “I’m Elizabeth Chadwick, and I’m seeking an object or barrier or something that the blessed call the heart,” I say.
They ignore me.
“Hjartanu,” I shout.
If they understood my attempt to copy them, none of them lets on.
“Do any of you know anything about the heart?” I shout again, and I wave my arms wildly.
Still, nothing at all.
