CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

A bridle may restrain

and shackles may retain

but the freedom patience provides

cannot be trained.

—THE HARMONY OF BEING

Zeli stood in the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Cool damp air chafed her skin and she shivered. Overhead, the sky was visible in a perfect circle. Remi’s head popped into view, but he was backlit, so she couldn’t see his face. She waved, hoping his childish curiosity wouldn’t impel him to try to follow.

The sound of trickling water echoed softly, and she could make out a tunnel of stone, which curved subtly outward. The space down here was larger than she’d imagined, about twenty paces wide, and tall enough for two of her, if she could stand on her own shoulders. A trench ran down the center of the tunnel. She couldn’t get a feel for how deep it was in the gloom, though the odor wafting up made her crinkle her nose. The smell wasn’t as putrid as she’d feared, though. Honestly, she’d been subjected to far worse back when she was locked up with dozens of children and only a bucket to relieve themselves. The aroma down here was delightful in comparison.

She could only move forward or back on the narrow walkway, and the Archives was in front of her and to the right, about two hundred paces away. Zeli started walking, lighting a match to get her bearings. Stepping carefully and afraid of slipping into the foul water, she grazed the wall with her fingertips, shuddering in revulsion at the occasional slick spots. She couldn’t focus on what that might be.

The match burned out and her footsteps echoed eerily through the space. She steeled her nerves, reminding herself of her purpose even as the creepy atmosphere made her a bit dizzy. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the darkness was splintered by flickering light up ahead. Her pace quickened. Torches were lit down a corridor to the right. This was about where she thought she should turn to get to the pyramid.

Her steps grew more cautious as she peered into the opening in the tunnel. This new passage was narrow. The trench disappeared and the rough stone of the ground and walls was replaced by smoothly honed limestone, the same material as the bottom layer of the Archives’ exterior. Only fifty paces ahead, an iron gate blocked the way; metal between its unadorned bars obstructed the view to the other side. The metal wasn’t rusted or corroded from being down here in all this dampness; by all appearances it could have been brand-new.

Where the latch should be there was a knob that looked like it was made of dark glass. Multifaceted and irregular, though generally spherical. She reached for it, but paused. Though it wasn’t bloodred in color, it reminded her of a caldera.

The only calderas she was familiar with were the king stone—the heavy, oblong thing that now stored all the Songs stolen from the True Father, and the death stone—a smaller caldera that had been retrieved from deep in the ocean by Queen Jasminda’s family several years ago. Zeli had given the death stone to the Poison Flame on the Goddess’s instruction. And the king stone had been stored in the vault in the Elsiran palace, under lock and key since the True Father’s capture. At least that’s where it was supposed to be.

She’d been advised by the Goddess to never touch the death stone—it gave Singers, and perhaps even former Singers like her, horrible visions. However, Zeli had been given no such warnings about the king stone. The Goddess had told her that each caldera had a purpose, certain requirements for its use. Some, like the death stone, could affect a whole swath of people, and others would do nothing at all unless touched by the person it was meant for.

If this knob was a caldera, then it was likely part of the challenge. She held her breath and grabbed hold of it.

Nothing happened at first. Her vision didn’t black out, she didn’t see anything strange, but a low hum began in her ears.

“What kind of hunter are you?” a voice whispered inside her head.

“I … ah.” She cleared her throat. “I seek knowledge.”

“And who will this knowledge benefit?” It was more like the suggestion of words than an actual sound in her mind, but it made her shiver.

“My people, the Lagrimari. And others, too. If we can stop what is coming—the wraiths and the True Father—then everyone will benefit.” Silence reigned around her. She kept hold of the knob, waiting for the next question.

Finally, a cold air blew around her, making the torches on the wall flicker.

“You may pass.” This time, the sensation was just an echo, fading away inside her head. Under her palm, the knob turned and the gate swung open on silent hinges.

She stepped through, and into a room of blinding white. After the tunnel, her eyes took a moment to adjust. There was light everywhere, but no lanterns in view—the walls just glowed. She couldn’t even identify the material they were made from, something smooth and featureless so that she couldn’t determine where the floor ended and the walls began. A raised platform of the same material in the center of the room was barely visible. The space might be rectangular, or possibly oval-shaped. She’d never seen anything like it.

One moment, she was looking around, contemplating what to do now, and in the next she spotted a staircase that she could swear hadn’t been there seconds earlier. It was directly across from her and painfully obvious. She shook herself. “Focus, Zeli,” she whispered.

The stairwell was a good deal darker than the strange, white room, and made of marble. She went up several flights with no outlet until it finally ended and she emerged in an enormously wide room.

She turned around in a circle, her jaw falling open. This was the inside of the pyramid. Sloping walls went up and up, the glass layers letting in the only light. The battering ram thumped away on the other side of the metal doors, but in here the sound was muffled, just a dull thud. Those wielding it were gaining no headway, but Zeli was actually inside.

Then her surroundings really hit her. She stood at the edge of a very large, very empty room. There were no books, no shelves, no other floors, no furniture, not even so much as a chair. The only thing breaking up the space was the rectangular, ruby-colored column in the very center. The red pinnacle visible at the top from outside was really the tip of an obelisk, like a tent pole holding up the building. Aside from that, this was just a giant, bare pyramid that was supposed to hold the archive of the knowledge of a god.

She grabbed her stomach as it hollowed out. Was this all a trick?

“Not what you expected?” a voice said from behind her.

She spun around to find Remi leaning against the wall, arms crossed, sadness weighing down his gaze.

“How did you get here so quickly?” She was certain he hadn’t followed her, she would have heard his footsteps echoing on the stone.

He pushed off the wall and stepped toward her. “You are the only one to make it inside this year. Sometimes there are two or three. Sometimes no one does.”

“But the last time the Archives was open was before you were born. Is it common knowledge how many people get in?” Her confusion mingled with her disappointment and the vacuum inside her belly grew.

The boy just stared at her, assessing, until she began to feel uncomfortable.

“Remi?” Her voice broke on his name.

“Actually, my name isn’t Remi.” His eyes, too old for such a young face, sharpened and a glow rose from his dark skin. Light in a blend of colors, like a liquid rainbow, swirled around him, obscuring the child from view. When it faded, the child was no more. In his place stood an adult—what the boy may have looked like in twenty years. Instead of the ill-fitting trousers and shirt, he now wore a long white caftan with blue embroidery. It grazed his ankles, ending just above his bare feet.

“My name is Gilmer. Welcome to my Archives.”

Zeli stumbled back several steps, shaking her head and trying to make sense of what she’d just seen. “Y-You’re Gilmer? The Gilmer? T-This is your Archives?”

He nodded sadly. “Yes, I’m the Gilmer and this isn’t my Archives.” He spread his arms open. “The Archives is me.”