He throws a puzzled glance over his shoulder. “At the Aurora Columnae? You cannot go through Placement if you can’t use Will, Catenicus.” He chuckles humourlessly at the absurdity of the notion as he turns away again.
I watch him limp back toward the fires, the night cold around me, air smelling faintly of smoke. Of course. I hadn’t forgotten, exactly, but these past few hours had pushed it to the back of my mind. The giving up of the one part of me I’ve kept sacred, all this time. The last, irrevocable step in my becoming part of the Hierarchy.
The line I swore I would never cross.
Stars glimmer above the shadowy mountains. Only the silence of the dead keeps me company. I could still disappear. Right here, right now. Just … not go back. It’s probably my last chance.
But like every other time I’ve had the thought since waking yesterday, I know it’s a choice in name only. I’m done with running.
I square my shoulders. Set myself toward the looming black of the Necropolis.
Follow the Magnus Tertius into the darkness.
IV
THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT WAKING FOR THE FIRSTtime after everything you know has fallen apart. A few beats of blissful, dark ignorance, the amnesia of sleep still in effect. Then the creeping memory of there beingsomethingwrong, though the specifics escape you. Confusion and denial as your mind searches unwillingly, hoping to find nothing, but deep down, knowing.Knowing.
Then it all floods back. Shock as you lie there, trying to convince yourself that it was the conjuring of a restless night rather than memory. And finally, the demoralisation of acceptance. The gut-punch of reality.
The understanding that you rise to face a new and uncertain normal, today.
It is dark, wherever I am. Almost pitch-black. The last thing I remember is standing with Caeror just beyond the lip of that crater, triangular glass archway in front, light pulsing beneath us. It all feels like one long nightmare, everything from the Labyrinth up until that moment. But I know it wasn’t. Iknow. The air is still slightly too sharp in every breath. I can feel the cold stone of the Vitaerium against my arm.
“Vis.” The voice that woke me is closer, and suddenly there’s a hand on my shoulder.
“Caeror?”
“Sorry to wake you early, but I really need you to come with me.”
I lever myself up and scrub my eyes with my palms before squinting blearily around at the gloom. It’s a fairly small space; I can just make out the rough walls ten feet away to my left and right, illuminated by the slightest trace of light filtering through an entrance demarcated by two pillars. A shelf to one side, the vague outline of pottery and small figurines. I can perceive markings covering the walls, too. Pictures of some kind, though I can’t discern the details.
“Where are we?” My stomach growls. The air in here is warm; my tattered clothes from the Iudicium are gone, replaced by only a coarse, knee-length linen skirt. Otherwise, I’m barefoot and bare-chested, the scarab amulet strapped to my arm my only other adornment. “Gods. Early? How long have I been asleep?”
“Qabr, and long enough. Let’s call it a week.”
“Aweek?” I stagger to my feet, and Caeror’s silhouette quickly braces me before I fall. Muscles stiff, which is unsurprising given what I’ve just been told.
“That device we used to get here is called a Channel. It’s safe and it’s fast, but it shuts down your mind for the journey. You need a … fairly long rest, after.”
“You didn’t think to mention that?”
“Oh, I definitely did.” His cheerfulness echoes through the dark. “Come on. We can talk more on the way.”
My eyes are adjusting a little now; I let Caeror guide me forward, toward the glimmer of light and past the two pillars—square columns, strange paintings of people and animals covering them—guarding the entrance.
I stumble to a stop.
“Qabr,” says Caeror, spreading his hands in an overly grand gesture at what lies before us.
The crevasse into which we’ve emerged is enormous. From where I stand it’s a hundred feet down to the ground and at least that distance again higher, the roof eventually narrowing into snaking fissures and cracks that barely allow for the feeble hints of day seeping inside. The opposite wall is less than fifty feet away, revealing a dozen levels of carved walkways and stairs and hundreds of shadowed, painted entrances. All of which, as far as I can tell, are roughly mirrored on this side.
The line of crypts stretches out to the left and right for as far as I can see, vanishing into the dim. There are no torches, no lanterns or lights to relieve the unrelenting gloom.
I turn. Peer back into the dark from which we’ve just emerged. “You put me in atomb?”
“It’s a very nice tomb. One of our nicest,” Caeror assures me, nudging me to a start along the walkway. He’s dressed similarly to me, though a thin black blade hangs at his waist. “I don’t think there was even a body in there.”
I stare at him, and he grins.
