Page 108 of Where Darkness Dwells

TÉRON

MORE OFTEN THAN I CAN RECALL, I have stood within these ceremonial grounds and witnessed things that still cling to the back of my mind. Every time I watched the sola blood pouring out, every time I whispered that it was all for our good, the black edged its way deeper into the crevices of my soul. It was a relief to avoid it for so many years.

Because this place ... it is the haunt of death.

I come to the clearing with that knowledge already bearing down upon me, but the eerie silence achieved by thousands of valefolk makes it ever more apparent.

Holding up my lantern, I slip into the crowd. Everyone stands strangely still. And there is something else odd about the scene I cannot quite identify.

A woman looks over at me and curses. “Put it out, you fool.”

That is it. No one has brought any light.

Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I open the door of the lantern and blow out the flame. Have the people become so accustomed to the illumination of the sola brossa that they no longer carry lanterns with them wherever they go, or is something else at work here?

I follow the gazes of the crowd to the far edge, along the tree line. A makeshift platform has been erected, with sola bones raised on stands on its four corners. The new Foremost stands in the middle of it, looking out at his people. Even near the back of the gathering, I can feel the frost emanating from his eyes.

The drums sound again. Myrzeth uses their frenzy to his advantage, grinning as the valefolk shift and grab each other, the tension in the clearing like a pulsing, living thing.

“Welcome, valefolk. You’ve been called here to witness the beginning of a new era in the Vale.” His words, timed perfectly for when the drumming ceases, are like a burst of oxygen. People inhale them hungrily. But not me. He tilts his chin, a deceptive smile dimpling his cheek.

“But before I get ahead of myself, I need to welcome our guests of honor.”

Leave, leave now,my thundering heart warns when the footsteps sound. The bone-rattling wind follows, bending the trees wildly. But my body is stuck in place, my eyes trained to the platform, my breath catching abrasively in the desert of my throat.

Muffled cries ring out as the sounds draw nearer. A chill crawls down my neck. There is no doubt the kaligorven are approaching, but this time from every direction, all around the perimeter of the gathering.

Why have they come? I can see no bonfire, no urn of sola blood.

“They promised they would return, did they not?” Myrzeth booms, as if in answer to my question.

I remember. The last Kuvror Erovantus, when they lifted the order of darkness. What is it they said? Something about our offering being acceptable but our faith still lacking. And ...

Oh no.

I move through the people, drawn like a moth to flame. With each step forward, each shoulder I brush past, the unease within me multiplies. As my eyes strain to see who stands behind the platform, I pray to Elyon that I will not find her among them.

The winds cease.

“And now, we welcome them back with open arms.”

A commotion arises amid the valefolk as the Shrouded make their presence known. The crowd presses in as the beasts materialize from the ténesomni, penning us in like a pack of wolves. But I don’t even notice, I don’t even care. The fear they inspire is nothing like the crippling terror that possesses me when I get close enough to see the person held between the two towering men standing at attention behind the Foremost. She is serene and determined, and so much like her mother.

My legs give out. I remember what else the kaligorven said at their last visit.

Proof of our devotion would be required.

42. Amyrah

AMYRAH

THEY ARE ALL AROUND US. I hear their great shuddering breaths, and every footfall sends shockwaves racing up my legs.

Myrzeth, head lowered as he utters diseased words, now stands straight and holds out his hands, palms up. Night comes to his call and he sends it to fill the clearing, making even the sola bones appear dim. He eases the path of the Shrouded, coaxing them closer, closer, closer. They bulge on the cusp of shadows like black waters.

I keep my eyes fixed to my left, from which a chill like the depths of Vestri emanates. The beast remains concealed behind the vibrating curtain of ténesomni, safe from the reach of the sola brossa. I can only imagine how frightening it must be for those closer to the back of the gathering, further than the bones’ glow could ever stretch.

My uncle nods to four people standing by, and they approach the posts on which the bones are balanced. As they reach up, I feel pressure building behind my ribs.

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