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“Ring around the Strangler Tree,
Two pieces of silver form the key.
Open your door to me,
Let me see.
Show me the way,
Let me see.”
A moment of silence fell, heavier than the one that had preceded it.
And then the earth split open beneath his feet.
He stood and backed up as the soil fell away in moisture-laden clumps. The tree roots moved like snakes, winding up into tight coils that parted to either side, a dark doorway opening into the ground.
Adrenaline thrummed in his blood as he leapt into the shadowy bowels of the Crossroads and prepared to face what lurked within.
8
The tunnel beneath the Strangler Fig was choked by a heavy blanket of unusual silence. Darien could hear his own blood moving through his veins, could hear every steady thump of his heart as he walked through darkness that was black as pitch.
This place was filthier than the Widow’s habitat. Filthier, even, than the Fawn’s, a creature he’d visited only once before, beneath a fig tree that was very different from this one. Less…eerie. Less filthy. The air was thick with ammonia and decay, making the nausea swirling in his gut from the Surge even harder to bear. Bile rose to coat his tongue, the taste bitter and revolting. There wasn’t a hint of space on the ground that wasn’t littered with the bones of animals and men; clothes and weapons; jewelry and various kinds of past offerings, all of them black with rust or mold. It looked like the inside of Blackgate Manor.
Forcing down the recent memories that crept to the surface of his mind at the thought of that manor, Darien took a deep breath. The medley of smells rushing through his airways made him nearly gag, but he choked back the urge and focused, searching for hints that might tell him where to find the witch or the monster, if they truly weren’t one and the same. But the air was too cloying, and if either of the creatures was down here, their scents were impossible to separate from the rot and ammonia. So he used his Sight instead.
Eyes wholly black, he took in the tunnel, thoroughly scanning several feet at a time. His surroundings were even darker than when he wasn’t using the Sight, only the subtle glow of insects and tree roots visible, like a thermal camera. No sign of the witch or a new winged creature.
He kept walking, his distance from the exit increasing with every step.
Eventually, he reached a curve in the tunnel, where a pool of stagnant water shimmered like black ink, the surface disrupted by a lone drip from the ceiling. There was no sign of life in there, no obvious reason as to why he should stop, but something compelled him to pause, his boots inches from the edge.
There was no aura. No flicker of heat. But he could have sworn something was watching him from under the water, and it wasn’t a feeling he was willing to ignore. There was a chill on his neck, as if something was breathing on the back of it, baiting him to turn and look.
He knew better than to fall for that trick.
What are you? came a slithering voice. The question was not a sound that reached his ears; it was a thought that didn’t belong to him, slicing into his mind like an unbidden guest.
Darien tensed, the chill on the back of his neck spreading.
This was new, he had to admit. Maybe Greg at 24/7 Stop wasn’t so wrong after all.
A monster hunter, Darien replied. Bandit was standing at attention in his shadow, the spirit being careful to keep his own mind blank. It was a smart move; Darien had trained him well.
The thing lurking in the water stirred. Darien didn’t allow himself to be shaken by the fact that this creature could hear his thoughts, but…again, this was new. For this reason, he kept his head empty of all thoughts, except for what he wanted this thing to hear. Giving it any advantage over him, no matter how small, would be a rookie mistake.
Silence stretched between them. There was a shift in the air that suggested a death was being calculated.
Darien was calculating a death of his own, hand drifting toward his weapons belt, as he said, What are you?
A pause. I have no name.
Are you the Soul-eater?
The pool trembled, a ripple of rings drifting out from its center, expanding the closer they got to the edge. The muted colors staining the rings reminded him of an oil slick. The damp ceiling of the tunnel reflected the water like a mirror, making it look like there were two pools instead of one. The tree roots that hung down from the earth above in loops and forks were glowing. The light was teal and very subtle, the glow nearly undetectable by both his regular vision and his Sight.
The Soul-eater is gone, said the voice, drawing Darien’s attention away from the glowing roots. The statement was followed by a giggle that sounded less like a monster and more like a child.
