Page 36 of The Cradle of Ice
A stone altar stood between the fires. Atop its slab rested an open book, as wide as his outstretched arms. It appeared to be an illuminated manuscript, one that was likely centuries, if not millennia, old. The exposed pages revealed painted figures crouching and leering amidst lines of faded text. The images seemed to move in the flickering light.
Frell swallowed hard.
If such a tome was sequestered down here, it must be more precious than all the books above.
He tried to study the open pages. He was scholar enough that desire flared through his fear.
What is written there?
Unfortunately, Frell could not move any closer. Plus, the book was not unprotected. It had its macabre guardians.
Surrounding him, like spiders in that glowing web, a ring of cloaked and cowled sentinels stood watch. Both men and women. They were dressed in Dresh’ri garb, but clearly the gathering was something far more inimical. All their eyelids had been sewn shut. Their ears sculpted into sharp points. Their nostrils splayed open and stitched wide into place. Even their teeth had been sharpened to points.
With horror, Frell recognized the purpose of this mutilation, the appearance sought by the disfigurement.
They’ve been carved to look like bats.
19
FRELL CRINGED IN horror at the ring of figures surrounding him.
It was from their lips that the chanting rose. Their singing grew louder. He fought to clap his hands over his ears, but his limbs still refused his command. He knew what he was hearing. He recognized the hum resonating behind the intonations. The sound ate at his skull, danced fire over his brain.
Frell’s senses swirled, making it hard to think, frazzling his focus. Still, he knew the truth about these mutilated men and women, the gift carried in their blood.
They’re bridle-singers …
Zeng came before him, bowing to each of the figures, then faced Frell. “The Venin welcomes you. Seeks your guidance.”
The Dresh’ri lifted a palm and blew an ashy powder into Frell’s face. Surprised, he could not stop himself from inhaling it. The dust burned into his sinuses. His lungs convulsed, as if trying to reject the poison.
He gasped and coughed, doubling over. He clawed at his face—only then realizing he had control again of his limbs. Still on his knees, he sat straighter, no longer propped up by his bearers. He lowered his hands and stared down at his palms, which still trembled and quaked.
A fine mist of the powder hung in the air.
Not poison but antidote.
Zeng touched his shoulder. “We know what you came to seek, Frell hy Mhlaghifor. Even what you keep secret.”
Frell tried to shake his head, to deny, but he could not. The singing, the alchymy in the smoke … it all ate at his will.
Zeng waved his staff. Two of the Dresh’ri crossed to the twin pyres. Each threw fistfuls of silvery powder into their respective fires. The flames burst higher, dancing toward the roof on either side of the altar.
“Behold!” Zeng sang out. “She who will end the world and start it anew!”
His staff pointed to the image revealed by the flames. It had been painted across the far wall behind the altar. The glowing emerald veins emanated outward from it. The depiction looked smudged out of soot and drawn with black oil, or perhaps even smeared from the shadows themselves.
Frell gasped at the sight.
A huge full moon rose high on the wall. Silhouetted against it, a black beast with outstretched wings dove toward the altar. Its wings turned to flames at the edges, dancing in the firelight cast by the two pyres. A dark rider sat astride the creature, as hunched as the beast itself, both staring toward those in the room. Only the rider’s eyes were pools of that vile emerald, which shone even brighter now, glowing with menace.
“Here is the Vyk dyre Rha!” Zeng intoned.
Before Frell could stop himself, he revealed that he knew that forbidden name. “The Shadow Queen…”
Zeng swung toward him. The man’s face was a mask of adulation, approaching madness in its intensity. “We know the Iflelen search for a girl who commands one of the great Mýr bats, a beast of astounding size and malignancy. Someone you have communed with.”
Before Frell could respond, Zeng lifted his staff high.
