He’s reaching, fingers forever stretched, and though I have no idea what he’s extending toward, he looks happy. Like a bubble of laughter waiting to pop.
A sad sort of smile flirts with the corner of my lips.
I retrieve my jar of homemade mortar, untwist the lid, and bore a pallet knife into the muck. The gap in the wall is right in front of me, and I sweep the substance around the hole before pressing the whisper into place.
Leaning back, I study what I can see of the whole picture from down here at the edge of the light.
That’s the thing about this place: no matter where you’re positioned, you’ll never see the full story at once. Just segments of it you have to piece together in your mind.
Given the bigger, overriding images I’ve immortalized on the wall, I’ve always thought that more a blessing than a curse.
Nodding, I rummage through my bag and retrieve a diamond pickaxe, eyeing up my next target half-sheathed in shadow ...
The only rock not entirely eaten up by the hungry darkness.
Whatever I paint on it will only ever be half visible, and although there’s something poetic about that, it also signifies the end of an era. Unless I somehow manage to light the next sconce, I’ll have to start on the opposite wall or give up altogether, and I’m not sure how I feel about any of those options.
I rise onto my knees and start tapping at the mortar, cleaving the rock from its shell. It loosens a little, and one more knock sends it falling into my awaiting hand like a lump of shadow.
The entire castle is made from the same ebony stone; some rooms hewn straight from the side of the mountain. Other areas, like this passageway, have been built with bits of it—none larger than two of my fists pressed together.
I bag the rock and stand, spearing my gaze into the gloom ...
Maybe it’s time to try again.
I pluck the torch off the ground, draw a deep breath, then slide my foot over the flickering line.
It only takes two beats of my heart before the fire starts to sputter, but I carry on ... pushing further.
Deeper.
With each echoing step, my dancing bulb of light shrinks a little more, yielding to the plummeting temperature that’s turning my breath white.
I time my steps with every exhale, sweat breaking out across the back of my neck despite the biting chill ...
Surely the next sconce is only a few steps away ...
Step,breathe.
Step,breathe.
Step,breathe.
My flame sputters, lungs falter, and I pause ... letting my next breath leak out of me in a milky haze that somehow still snuffs the torch entirely, plunging me into a sea of darkness.
I forget how to move. How to breathe or think or blink.
The torch clatters to the ground and seems to bounce and bounce and bounce,like it’s descending a flight of stairs. The echoing assault shoves me into action, and I pivot, racing toward the promise of light, every hair on the back of my neck standing on end as if something is watching me flee.
When I finally merge with the light, I spin, collapsing against the unpainted wall—chest tight, lungs battling for space, heart catapulting little bolts of fire through my veins.
“You win again,” I rasp, throwing the darkness a side-eye.
Idescend the grisly, obsidian steps cut into the vertical cliff that leads to Bitten Bay, soft squeaks protesting from my bag every time it bumps against my thigh. Stony Stem stands sentry in the sky, casting a long, slender shadow across the pale ocean.
When I’m almost at the bottom I leap, landing ankle-deep in black sand that seems to gobble up the light. The gentle breeze salts my skin as my eyes sweep shut, and I’m lulled by the soft lap of waves, picturing myself as a plant delving its roots into the silky sand ...
Why anyone wears shoes, I’ll never understand. They cut you off fromthis.
