Page 14 of Heart of the Shadow King

Jaw tight, I turn, still holding Faraine’s arm. “My wife will join you for the ceremony. Let her observe what must take place.”

Not a feature of my brother’s face moves. He merely bows, then extends a hand to Faraine, the picture of civil formality. A shiver ripples through Faraine’s body, but she lifts her chin and, without a word or a glance for me, slips free of my grasp and glides to stand beside Sul. She is so small next to his towering troldish height, yet she holds herself straight, her shoulder’s back, her head high. She will not be dominated.

Beyond the falls, a deep growl rumbles. If I didn’t know any better, I would think another stirring was about to shake the world. But this is no earthquake. It’s the low, gut-churning first notes of theVulug Ugdth,sung by a choir of two hundred priests and priestesses in the most ancient of all trolde tongues.

“Morar torGrakanak,” they intone.“Oagungad vulug ku-va!”

God of the Deeper Dark. Hear the song of our lost souls.

The Song of the Dead has begun. It will continue until the souls of our dead are brought to rest. There is no stopping it now.

Wrenching my gaze from Faraine, I face Umog Zu once more. She too has begun to sing, her deep voice joining with the choir beyond the falls.“Morar tor Grakanak,”she murmurs. The crystal in her hand begins to glow, the deep light in its core growing stronger by the moment. I approach, stand before her, staring down into that curved, polished surface. There’s so much power here, power I do not understand. The power of theVulug Ugdth,beckoning souls from the endless caverns of the Under Realm, drawing them to this place. It will soon be too much for even a holy woman such as Zu to bear. It is the burden of a king.

I reach out. Take the stone in my hands.

And the world as I know it falls away.

7

FARAINE

The moment Vor takes that stone in his hands, I feel him torn from me.

I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like some door I did not realize existed has slammed shut between us. He is still present, standing there on the edge of that pool. But in a very real and terrible sense, he is gone. The body which my husband’s soul no longer inhabits carries that crystal orb into the pool behind the waterfall. The pounding falls churn foam around him, but he continues walking in time to the pulsing rumble of trolde voices singing in the outer chamber. In another moment, the falls engulf his figure and he vanishes from view.

“Nurghed ghot.”

The harsh voice startles me. I turn to find Prince Sul studying me through half-lidded eyes. He speaks my language well enough, yet chooses not to. That choice communicates far more than mere words. I know he did not wish his brother to make an alliance with Gavaria. I know he is not my friend. But I’ve always believed him to be devoted to Vor. Does Vor view his brother as a threat to me? Should I be wary of him too?

The prince swings an arm, indicating I should walk with him. I nod once and fall into step beside him, aware of the silent guardswoman trailing in our wake. Hael put up no protest when I appeared in the doorway of my room, clad in this ornate gown. She looked me up and down once, raised an eyebrow, and said only, “The king prefers that you remain in your chambers.”

“I am well aware,” I answered, my neck already beginning to ache from the weight of the headdress. “And are you commanded to keep me here?”

She blinked once. Then shook her head.

“In that case I will be joining him.”

Hael led the way, maintaining a pointed silence all the while. I was lucky to have her assistance; I never would have found my way back to this grotto on my own. I’m even more thankful now to have her at my back. She may not care for me, but her loyalty to Vor is indisputable. If necessary, she will protect me. For his sake if not for mine.

I walk with Prince Sul along a narrow ledge that leads around the waterfall and into the huge chamber on the far side. There I stop short, eyes widening.

The dead are here. All the bodies of the slain gathered and wrapped in funeral cloths, black gemstones laid upon their closed eyes. There are so many of them. Big and small. Some heartbreakingly tiny. Row upon row, arranged around the sacred waters, filling the floor of this huge space.

My stomach pitches. I’d known this was a ceremony for the dead. I’d not expected to see them, to be faced with their numbers. Vor had said the final death count was not as terrible as it could have been. But he was only trying to spare me from the truth. How many of these souls might I have saved had I been a little quicker to reach the Urzulhar Circle? How many lives might I have spared had I not succumbed to the pain wracking my body?

My feet have grown roots. I cannot move, cannot flee. I can do nothing but stand fixed in place as the trolde song rolls over me. Human ears are not meant to endure such songs, sung by voices so deep and so harsh. There is beauty in that sound, but it’s a dangerous, wild, crushing sort of beauty. Desperately I wrench my gaze from the sight of those bodies and fix it on Vor. He has progressed through the falls and stands now at the far end of the pool, water lapping his thighs. He is so still, I could easily believe what I see is a stone replica of the man I love and not the man himself. It isn’t just his stillness either—much more profound is that ongoing sense of being cut off from him. As though his soul has passed into another world, leaving me behind.

I cast a quick glance along the high walls illuminated by hanginglorstcrystals. The hall is at least five stories tall with galleries overlooking the falls and the pool. Stalagmites form natural barriers between the onlookers and a precipitous drop to the cavern floor below. Innumerable faces peer over and around them, observing their king. Many of those gazes are fixed on me as well. Some with suspicion. All with curiosity. For the moment, I’m thankful my gods-gift has sunk into dormancy; I’m not sure I could bear the weight of emotion in this chamber of mourning.

Sul proceeds with dignity, leading the way through the dead to the far side of the chamber. Only now do I notice the other figures: tall, solemn trolde dignitaries, Vor’s ministers and members of his court. Their eyes are closed, their hands folded in attitudes of prayer. Their skin, usually so luminous and pale, is darkened into various shades of stone gray. Were it not for their fantastic garb they would easily blend into the walls.

Gripping my skirts with both hands, I cross the chamber, weaving between shroud-wrapped bodies. Painfully aware of each and every one of them, aware of the emptiness inside them. Where are their souls? Vor said this ceremony was intended to guide them to rest. Does that mean they are now wandering throughout Mythanar and the Under Realm?

There is a place for Sul among the trolde. He assumes an attitude of prayer like the others and bows his head. Within moments his skin dulls to a dark gray, and stillness comes over him. Upon closer inspection, I recognize the figure of his mother, Queen Roh, beside him. She is deep inside her meditative stone state, unaware of my presence. Yet I cannot help the creeping feeling that she is watching me somehow from behind those heavy eyelids.

And where am I to stand? There is no place here for me, nor have I the ability to sink into stone like these others. More reason I should have listened to Vor and remained in my rooms. If this ceremony is indeed to last for hours, how will I endure it?

With a determined set of my jaw, I place myself in front of Sul and his mother and face the pool. I fix my gaze on Vor, my anchor in this strange world of harsh song and impenetrable rock. The terrible rumble of those trolde voices calls to mind the crashing, chaotic formation of worlds—the burning life and breaking stone, colliding and creating and destroying in mere breaths of existence. Through it all, Vor stands immobile, that crystal orb held above his head. It glows with inner light, pulsing in time to the resonance of the song. Other lights have awakened within the pool itself, all those shining crystals which had lit up those sacred waters for our wedding ceremony. Now shining for the dead.

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