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Liam crouches in front of her. His eyes reflect oddly in the camera’s night vision. He speaks patiently, as if explaining to a child.
LIAM: He witnessed the destruction of the kingdom, and he will witness its rebirth.
ABBY: No offense, Liam, but what the f—
LIAM: We have to go. The Six-Wing is waiting. He will test us. He will discover if we are the ones who are awaited.
ABBY: And if we aren’t what he’s looking for?
LIAM: Don’t worry. We can still serve.
He stands. Closes his eyes, listening with an expression of pure bliss.
LIAM: He’s close. We must go to meet him.
He sets off swiftly, moving out of frame, but the microphone picks up the metallic creak of the stairs as he descends. Abby collects herself, swearing under her breath.
ABBY: Run or follow? Should probably run.
She stares after him.
ABBY: Not letting him die.
She picks up the camera and takes off after Liam.*
Video flickers. Abby moves awkwardly, bracing herself sometimes against the wall and leaving streaks of blood. As she descends, the video begins to glitch, lines crawling across the screen. The singing is louder down here. As Abby comes around the bend of one of the landings, there appears to be a visual distortion in the shadows near the ceiling. However, closer inspection reveals that it is the movement of mold, growing unnaturally fast across the ceiling.
Picture and audio cut out; camera records only black for several seconds. Then disconnected audio:
ABBY: This doesn’t make any sense. How deep does this go? This has to be at least sev—
The calling of birds drowns out her voice.
Video resumes. Hundreds of birds hurtle through the air, their bodies so dense it’s impossible to tell whether they’re indoorsor outdoors. Their cries are deafening, the crack of their wings like a storm.
More blackness. Then three seconds of video. Played frame by frame, it shows a shadowy, winged form. It judders, flickering, the image sometimes doubling as if two figures stand there—or three. And then they collapse together again, wings quivering.
Another gap. When video resumes, the ground is littered with birds that seem to be in various states of dissolution, bodies collapsing into the same thick liquid that coats Liam’s hand. He stands in the middle of the round room.
ABBY: No. Take me. Let him go.
The camera jerks backward. Video blinks out, then resumes. The camera rests on the ground, pointed so that only a rough stone wall is in view.
[UNKNOWN]: No. I won’t let you.
There is a hissing, rustling sound in response, almost like words.
Video cuts out a final time.
22
LIAM LOOKED QUEASY.We sat side by side on his bed, not quite touching, the last frame of the video paused on the screen. “It’s like trying to remember a dream,” he said. “I recognize it, but I don’t remember it. All I remember is—it felt like I was in an empty room, and the room kept getting smaller. Like I was being bricked up in my own mind.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It wasn’t fear I felt.”
“What did you feel?” I asked, looking at him. He flicked his lip ring against his teeth and thought a moment before answering.
