Chapter 17:
The Signs
Glory of Ash
The inside of the structure was wrong in a way Luke couldn't name. Not cold. Not dark. Just... absent. Like the space had forgotten what it was supposed to feel like. His boots scraped on stone that didn't sound like stone. His breath came out in clouds that didn't dissipate—just hung there, suspended, like the air didn't want to move. He blinked. When had he sat down? "You with us?" Jorund's face was close. Too close. Luke pulled back. "I'm fine." "You were walking. Then you weren't." "I stopped." "You fell." Luke looked at his hands. They were dirty. One of them was bleeding again. The bandage was loose. "I fell," he said. "Yeah." He stood up. The room tilted. He caught himself on the wall. The stone was warm. He left his hand there longer than he meant to. --- The walls were wrong. Not built. Grown. The stone looked like wood—grain running vertical, knots in the rock, places where the surface had split open to reveal something darker underneath. Dorn was running his hand along it, his fingers tracing the lines. "Feels like bark," he said. "It's stone." "Feels like bark." Luke touched it again. The warmth was still there. Or maybe it was his hand. He couldn't tell anymore. "You should sit down," Leon said. Luke turned. Leon was standing behind him. When had that happened? "I'm fine." "You're not fine." "I'm standing." "You're leaning." Luke looked at his hand. It was pressed flat against the wall. He didn't remember putting it there. "I'm thinking." "About what?" Luke pulled his hand away. The warmth stayed. "I don't know." --- The corridor narrowed. Harkin had to turn sideways. Dorn couldn't. His shoulders scraped against both walls at once. The sound was loud—too loud—and it echoed in ways that didn't make sense. "How much further?" Silla asked. "How should I know?" "You're the one with the lantern." "The lantern doesn't know either." The walls scraped. The sound followed them. --- Luke's head was pounding. Not a headache. Something else. A pressure behind his eyes, like something was trying to push through. He kept blinking. The world kept swimming. "You're doing it again." Leon was beside him. Walking close. "Doing what?" "Staring." Luke blinked. He had been staring. At the wall. At the grain. At the knots in the stone. "Just tired." "You've been tired for three days." "I've been tired for three years." Leon didn't respond. But he didn't move away either. --- The first chamber opened up. Not big. Maybe ten paces across. The ceiling was low—low enough that Dorn had to duck. In the center, a stone table. On the table, nothing. But the floor around it was covered in marks. Not scratches. Burns. The stone was blackened, cracked, like something had been burned there over and over. Silla walked to the table. Ran her hand over the surface. "It's smooth," she said. "Stone is smooth." "Not like this." She was right. Luke could see it from where he stood. The table wasn't carved. It was worn. Polished. By hands. By bodies. By something that had been there for a long time. "We should keep moving," Varra said. "We should rest," Jorund said. "We should keep moving." "We should rest." Harkin looked at the lantern. The light was dim. Weak. "Ten minutes." --- Luke sat with his back against the wall. His chest was tight. His hands were shaking. He reached for the vial in his pocket—the pale yellow medicine, the last of it. His fingers found glass. He didn't pull it out. He just held it. "You're not taking it." Leon was standing over him. "Not yet." "Why not?" "Because I might need it later." "And if you collapse now?" Luke looked up at him. Leon's face was hard to read in the dim light. His eyes were narrow. Watching. "Then you carry me." "That's not a plan." "It's the only one I have." --- Leon sat down beside him. Not close. Not far. Just... there. "How do you do it?" Luke turned. "Do what?" "See things. The tracks. The shapes. The way the forest moves. You're always looking at something the rest of us missed." Luke was quiet for a moment. "I've been on hunts." "So have I." "Not like this." "Not like this," Leon agreed. He was quiet for a moment. The lantern pulsed. Blue. Weak. "You're too good at it," Leon said. Luke's hand tightened on the vial. "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means you're not just observant. You're accurate. Every time. The tracks. The timing. The direction. You haven't been wrong once." "There's a first time for everything." "Is there?" Luke looked at him. Leon's face was still hard to read. But there was something there now. Something that looked like suspicion. "You're asking if I've been in the forest before." "I'm asking how you know things you shouldn't know." Luke pulled his hand out of his pocket. The vial was warm. "I don't know," he said. "I just see it." "That's not an answer." "It's the only one I have." --- The lantern flickered. The light dimmed further. The shadows in the corners of the chamber seemed to stretch, reaching toward them like fingers. "We need to move," Varra said. "The lantern isn't ready," Harkin said. "The lantern isn't going to be ready." "It needs—" "It needs things we don't have." Harkin looked at the lantern. His jaw tightened. "Five more minutes." "We don't have five minutes." "We have five minutes." Varra walked to the entrance of the chamber. Stood there. Her back to the group. Her one good hand on her blade. "If something comes through that door, I'm not waiting for the lantern." "No one asked you to." --- Luke stood up. His head was spinning. His chest was tight. The cough was building—he could feel it in his throat, raw and wet. He walked to the far wall. The symbols were here too. Not like the ones outside. Different. Older. The lines were smoother, more deliberate. They almost looked like writing. He reached out. Touched one. The warmth spread. Not from the stone. From inside his hand. He pulled back. "What is it?" Leon asked. Luke shook his head. "I don't know." "You keep saying that." "Because I keep not knowing." --- Bren walked over. His hands were shaking. His eyes were red. He looked at the symbols like he was looking at something that had already hurt him. "Can you read it?" Luke asked. Bren nodded. Swallowed. "It's a warning." "What kind of warning?" Bren touched the stone. His fingers traced the lines. "'The light calls. The dark waits. Do not stay. Do not return.'" The chamber went quiet. "That's not a warning," Dorn said. "That's a threat." "It's both." --- The lantern flared. Not bright. Not white. Just... more. The light pushed the shadows back to the corners. "It's ready," Harkin said. "Finally," Silla muttered. They moved. --- The second corridor was wider. They walked in pairs—Dorn and Silla at the front, Harkin and Varra behind them, Jorund and Bren in the middle. Luke at the back. Leon beside him. "You're limping," Leon said. "I'm not limping." "You're favoring your left side." Luke looked down at his legs. He hadn't noticed. "It's nothing." "It's something." "It's not going to kill me." "That's not the point." Luke didn't answer. Leon walked closer. His voice was low. "You need to tell me if you're slowing down." "I'm not slowing down." "Your hand is bleeding through the bandage. Your cough is getting worse. You just stared at a wall for thirty seconds without blinking." Luke stopped. "You were counting?" "I was watching." "Why?" Leon looked at him. His face was hard to read in the dim light. "Because someone has to." --- The second chamber was smaller. No table. No burns. Just a door. Iron. Rusted. Sealed. "Can we open it?" Silla asked. Dorn pushed. Nothing. "Not without help." They looked at Harkin. "Don't look at me." "I'm looking at you." "I'm not a mason." "I'm a mason," Jorund said. He walked to the door. Ran his hands over the surface. The rust flaked off in sheets. "The hinges are seized. The frame is warped. We could force it, but—" "But what?" "But whatever's on the other side is going to know we're coming." Harkin looked at the lantern. The light was steady now. White. "Force it." Jorund and Dorn pushed together. The door groaned. The hinges screamed. The rust fell in sheets. The door opened. --- The corridor beyond was dark. Not fog-dark. Not shadow-dark. Just dark. The lantern's light barely reached the walls. The floor was wet. The air was thick. "I don't like this," Varra said. "You don't like anything." "I don't like this more." Luke felt it too. The warmth was back. On his neck. On his face. On the back of his hands. "It's close," he said. "What is?" He shook his head. "I don't know." --- The third chamber was the largest. The ceiling was high—higher than the lantern's light could reach. The walls were covered in symbols, thousands of them, overlapping, spiraling, climbing into the dark. In the center, a pit. Not deep. Not wide. Just a hole in the floor, black and still. "Don't get close to that," Varra said. "Why not?" "Because I said so." Luke walked to the edge. Looked down. The pit was empty. But it wasn't. He could feel something looking back. --- "We need to go back," Bren said. His voice was high. Shaking. "We can't," Harkin said. "We need to." "We haven't found anything." "We found enough." Harkin turned. His face was calm, but his hands weren't. "We came here for the herb. We're not leaving without it." "The herb isn't here." "How do you know?" Bren pointed at the walls. At the symbols. At the pit. "Because this isn't a place for growing. This is a place for keeping." "Keeping what?" Bren didn't answer. --- Luke walked to the far wall. The symbols were different here—older, faded, almost worn away. He traced them with his fingers. The stone was warm. The warmth spread up his arm. "Bren." Bren walked over. "Read this." Bren looked at the symbols. His face went pale. "What does it say?" Bren shook his head. "Bren." "'The first came. The first stayed. The first became.'" "Became what?" Bren looked at the pit. "I don't know." --- The lantern flickered. The light dimmed. The symbols on the walls seemed to move—not shifting, just... watching. Like they were aware. "We need to go," Varra said. "We need to charge the lantern." "We need to go." Harkin looked at the lantern. The light was almost gone. "Five minutes." "We don't have five minutes." "We have five minutes." The walls pulsed. Not with light. With something else. --- Dorn screamed. Not loud. Not long. Just a sound—sharp, cutting, like something had bitten him. He pulled his hand back from the wall. His fingers were black. Not burned. Stained. "What happened?" "I touched it." "The wall?" "The wall." He held up his hand. The black was spreading—slow, creeping up his fingers toward his wrist. "That's not good," Silla said. "No shit." Jorund grabbed Dorn's wrist. Looked at the stain. "It's not spreading fast." "That's not comforting." "It's not supposed to be." --- The lantern flared. White light exploded from the glass—bright, blinding, burning. The walls seemed to recoil. The symbols stopped moving. The warmth on Luke's neck faded. "It's full," Harkin said. "Move." They ran. Not back the way they came. Forward. Through the door at the far end of the chamber, into another corridor, another dark. Luke was last. His chest was burning. His head was spinning. The walls were blurring together—stone and shadow and symbol, all of it bleeding into one. He stumbled. Leon caught his arm. "I'm fine." "You're not fine." "I'm standing." "You're leaning." Luke pulled away. Walked forward. The dark swallowed him. Behind him, the pit waited. Something was still watching. He could feel it. He kept walking.
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