Page 151 of Anathema

“What is it that you’re trying to see?”

“The image on the other side. The peg in the center seems to follow a distinct pattern. If we could visualize the image, we’d know where to move the pegs. My guess, given the complexity of the grooves, is that it forms something. All I see is blackness, but you try.” She took my hand, gently resting it against the top of the puzzle. “Now click your tongue.”

“What does my tongue have to do with my hand?”

“Clicking it creates a benign noise that bounces off the surrounding objects. Like echolocation. If you focus on the sound, really focus, it should project the image against your hand. The power in the glyphs will then communicate that image to your mind.”

“That sounds exceptionally complicated.”

She chuckled. “It isn’t, I promise. Be sure to close your eyes.”

Eyes shuttered, I clicked my tongue as she had.

Nothing but darkness persisted.

I tried again, and still, nothing came to mind. Shrugging, I opened my eyes. “Must not work for me, either.”

“Try one more time. This time, use only your fingertips to concentrate the vibrations.”

Once again, I closed my eyes, and when I clicked my tongue as before, a flash of an image came to mind. “Oh! I saw something!”

A spark of excitement had me shifting on the bed, and I adjusted my hand just enough to ensure a better image next time. I clicked my tongue again and the image lingered in my head that time. Brighter. Clearer.

“It’s a … tree? A massive tree, with curled branches and old bark.”

“Good. Hold that image in your mind. Don’t let it slip. And try to trace it.”

Using the same hand I’d placed on the puzzle, I twisted the dial of the top puzzle, as I’d done dozens of times before, and pushed it along the groove of the bottom maze, beginning at the top of the tree. Something clicked that time, and goaded by my success, I twisted the dial again, moving the peg downward into another groove. Another click. Another turn of the dial, another slide of the peg, another click.

I followed the same pattern, repeatedly, along every branch, until I pushed past what felt like a lump in the bottom of the tree, just before the roots.

Something popped against my palm, and I opened my eyes to see the top of the dial opened.

“You did it! It’s open!” Allura gave a small and frantic clap.

The peg in the center of it served as something of a doorknob, which I pulled open to show an image carved in wood. The tree I’d seen in my mind—only the carving held a more haunting depiction of it, with a woman’s face etched into the bark and the limbs made to look like arms reaching over top of her.

“The Grymswood.” The excitement in Allura’s voice from moments ago had sobered. “It is the cursed tree that lies at the bottom of the Crussurian Trench. The forest of the dead. They say the tree houses the soul of a powerful priestess.”

“Crussurian Trench. Dolion told me that’s where the Corvikae were sent to die.”

Lips pressed tight, she nodded. “He told me that as well.”

The more I stared at the woman’s face in the bark, the more I longed to free her.

“She’s in pain,” I said, tracing a finger over the ridges that felt like rough bark.

“It would seem, yes.”

I lifted the carved image and found a small depression beneath, inside of which sat a fancy silver whistle.

I held it up to the light, where I could study the gorgeous etched filigree designs in the metal. Turning the page showed no story, nor explanation, for what it was meant to do. Only another puzzle to solve.

A flat end made up the mouthpiece, which I stared at for a moment, before looking back at Allura, who nodded, urging me to try. I placed the mouthpiece between my lips and blew hard. Not a single sound came forth.

Frowning, I studied the whistle and, thinking it might’ve been broken, blew it again.

Still nothing.

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