Page 57 of The Edge of Darkness

The ship’s shield retracted, and the scent of the briny sea and the damp cave stones filled my nose as we came to a halt on the gravelly shore.

Orbs drifted out from the ship’s cabin to cast light above the vessel, allowing the few deckhands that Niall had brought with us to secure the ropes to the nearest stone columns. The males all stared upward as they worked, eyeing the ceiling, like they half expected something to emerge from the shadows and snatch them from the deck.

We disembarked, and Silas led us toward the stairs. The steps were wide enough that the four of us could have ascended them side by side as one, but instead, Niall followed Silas, with me behind him, and Roirdan bringing up the rear.

Lanterns of ethereal, pale blue light lit our way as we climbed. The walls, like the stone steps, were wet from sea spray, and slightly slickened. I was thankful that I’d worn the newest pair of boots that had appeared in my wardrobe as of this morning—courtesy of Niall. I could practically feel the basalt cutting into the leather soles with each push upward.

No one said a word until several dozens of steps were behind us. And of course, it was Roirdan who voiced his concern. “Just how many stairs are we going to climb?”

“It’s not much further,” Silas answered.

Something skittered behind us, sending pebbles scattering in its wake. Roirdan whirled, sword drawn. I spun too, hand at my waist, grasping my sword’s hilt at the same time that Niall’s shield pulsed outward.

There was nothing.

“It’s all right,” Silas assured us as he kept climbing. “It’s just a wight. They’re spirits of the land. The same as the ones in Anbrya.”

Niall retracted his shield. “The same spirits that the fae seek to banish every year at Lumeri?”

“I believe so. Some are good, some are evil. For one reason or another they’ve become locked to the land upon their death. The witches have embraced them and given them the ability to take on incorporeal forms.”

“What form do they take?” I asked warily.

“They appear as small cats.”

Roirdan stumbled on a step. “They don’t have . . . poison . . . do they?”

This time, Silas glanced over his shoulder as he answered, “No. They’re not those kinds of cats.”

Roirdan quickly cleared his throat and said, “Good,” as he sheathed his sword. I could have sworn his voice deepened upon the reply.

I bit back a grin.

“The spirits cannot fill a truly physical form, since they’re not actually alive,” Silas added. “But they can take physical action. Don’t ask me how that’s even possible.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” Roirdan grumbled.

A few minutes later, the ground leveled out, and we emerged into a dark corridor with what looked to be an arched opening at the other end. As we approached, and the arch came into focus, I noted its familiarity. It was similar to the one we entered Vahrenhall through each time we ported to the highlands.

I peered into the void beyond the threshold. The space was murky, like churning, muddy water.

“This is the Akksi,” Silas said. “It’s a gateway.”

I could feel the power it was laced with. Something ancient and strong. For a moment, I had the fleeting thought that it felt similar to Niall’s power. Not the ability itself, but the force behind it—where it stemmed from.

Of the four of us, it was Roirdan who stepped closer until he was nearly touching the structure. The arch pulsed faintly with pale blue light, and symbols like those I had seen in Vahrenhall became illuminated around the edges, forming an inscription.

“I’ve seen these markings,” Roirdan mused.

“The Old Language of Vahrenhall?” Niall asked.

“Yes.” Roirdan nodded, tilting his head to decipher the message.

I looked closer. The carvings were similar, if not the same as the ones on the Seidr as well.

Silas pressed a hand to the stone just as Roirdan translated the words, “‘Not everything is what it seems.’”

The archway flared with light, and the muddy mass within began to clear away, peeling back toward the edges to reveal the world beyond.