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THE LIGHTS OF THE MAP-sense coalesced to show Aralath’s figure as she leaned forward to examine the glyphwork in a small room, a bag slung over her shoulder—and protruding from inside that bag were thin sheets of metal, themselves covered in glyphwriting. The sheets were reminiscent of the artifacts that had once allowed Cyrele and Aralath to reach the Temple of Lost Hope, but surely they couldn’t have been the same ones. Those had been left behind inside the temple.
Aralath must have found other such artifacts, though Cyrele couldn’t guess how. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Aralath was in possession of them and therefore able to cross the storm without the aid of a Karit. Which meant Cyrele didn’t need to rely on Kamene’s fickle power to escape the temple. She only needed to reach Aralath.
The thought of everyone else trapped inside the temple flashed through her mind, accompanied by a wave of guilt. Enosis was already on her way, but the others...
The truth was that Cyrele couldn’t risk saving anyone else. Kamene, Senna, the already-doomed Ninesh—all of them posed some sort of threat to her. Only Enosis was safe.
Even Aralath, who’d come in response to Cyrele’s message, was not entirely trustworthy. After all, it remained to be seen whether she’d come to rescue Cyrele or to gain the power of the first temple. So perhaps it was better not to risk giving Aralath access to the map-sense.
Much like she’d done for Enosis, Cyrele wrote her name for Aralath, seeing the other woman’s face light up with startlement—and a hint of intrigue. Then she added the words ‘stay there’ and ‘I’m coming’.
As she alternated between guiding Enosis and memorizing the path between the map-sense and Aralath, taking care to search for alternate routes in case the need for them arose, the glyphwriting on the stone beneath the map-sense caught her attention. There was something familiar about them, almost as if she had seen similarly structured glyphwriting before somewhere.
And then it came to her: a heart-pounding moment in the third temple, when she had feared Matiser would discover what she’d done to the vault and desperately tried to convince him that she’d been studying a passage whose meaning escaped her. Matiser had told her the passage wasn’t important...but he’d also expressed interest in the translation. Why would he have bothered asking about a glyphwriting passage that didn’t matter?
Finishing her memorization quickly, Cyrele redirected her full attention to the glyphwriting under the map-sense. If she deciphered it, she could determine if it truly was unimportant herself.
After some struggle with the language, she realized it was some sort of dedication to the creators of the map-sense. Nian and Jinlath, who were praised as ‘the two genius cousins who’d mysteriously turned up on our doorstep and risen to become the most proficient and accomplished members of our great Order’. Nian’s name here was no surprise, given that he’d been the head of the Order at the time of Shilanar’s Purge. But she’d never heard the name Jinlath from the histories—and yet, Cyrele had already encountered her name once inside this very temple, hadn’t she?
In the only piece of Viemian writing Cyrele had ever found in any of the temple complexes, a name that sounded phonetically similar to Jinlath had followed Nian’s name in a list of glyphwriters who’d created the temple traps. It had to be the same name. And that her name had appeared directly behind Nian’s, then appeared again with Nian’s name as a creator of the map-sense...she must have been lauded even amongst the select group of glyphwriters who’d worked on the temple complexes.
And yet, Akaterin had also mentioned the name Jinlath, this time as Amese’s loyal servant from the stories. Could they have been the same person? But how would that make sense? Someone so highly regarded by the Order would not have become a servant to a Kavan Queen...would she? The way Jinlath’s name had been recorded in the temple suggested that she wasn’t like Cyrele—she wasn’t expendable.
But perhaps she was inconvenient? Too well regarded, too highly proficient for a woman who’d joined the Order under mysterious circumstances? Or perhaps she was only highly regarded by whoever had carved the dedications in this temple—it might have even been Nian himself, immortalizing his name and choosing to share the credit with his cousin in a manner that no one could dispute.
Still, if such a powerful glyphwriter had been a servant in the Maelstrom’s court, wouldn’t she have done something? Changed something? Had the Purge killed her too soon?
Though it hardly mattered now. The glyphwriters of old were dead and gone...and Enosis was almost here.
Which meant Cyrele had run out of time to spend with the map-sense. And yet, she hesitated before abandoning it. There was no point in checking on the others—on Kamene, Senna, and Ninesh—one last time, given that Cyrele was about to leave them behind forever. But this was the last chance she would have to see what was happening to them. The knowledge would be useless to her, but a part of her felt an obligation to understand what fate she was leaving them to.
She looked back at the flickering lights. Only one of the lights was moving at this point—Enosis’s light—while the rest stood still. Aralath’s and Kamene’s appeared to have remained in place since the last time Cyrele had checked on them. Senna’s had moved to an adjoining room. And Ninesh’s light...was gone. No matter how carefully she looked, Cyrele simply couldn’t find it. Like as not, the storm had finally caught up to him.
She touched Kamene’s light, finding the princess had remained unconscious among the flowers—would she be trapped there until her body gave out? The dark thought entered Cyrele’s mind that perhaps the princess would simply stay trapped and helpless until whatever prowled these lower levels came for her.
Next Cyrele reached for Senna’s light. The Karit was huddled inside a small alcove, while the maw of some creature—made entirely of bone, without a scrap of flesh or sinew covering its skeletal structure—snapped at her from an opening too small for its head to pass through. Heart pounding, Cyrele watched the furious creature struggle to reach Senna, almost imagining the sound it made as it thrust itself against the opening to the alcove to no avail. The Karit seemed to have found a way to save herself, but for how long?
And the creature...was this the same creature that was responsible for the bones in the jungle? Were there others like it?
She needed to find Enosis and Aralath as soon as possible. Clearly, it had been luck alone that left them relatively unmolested compared to the others. And they couldn’t rely on luck forever.
#
ENOSIS STUMBLED INTO the chamber, almost dead on her feet. As far as Cyrele could tell, she was uninjured, thankfully—her missing life force was enough of a disadvantage already.
“What is this?” Enosis whispered, staring wide-eyed at the plant life around her. Then her gaze finally found Cyrele. “Oh, it’s truly you! I wasn’t sure I could believe anything I saw in this temple.”
“I wish I hadn’t had to ask you to come all the here. Or that there was time for you to rest. But...”
“But there’s still a lethal storm chasing us through the temple,” Enosis finished grimly. “I know. And I can keep going. I assume you’ve found Princess Kamene the same way you found me? If she can control the storm again, the three of us might actually escape this death trap with our lives.”
Ah yes, the three of them—well, at least she wasn’t asking Cyrele to find Senna or Ninesh. Now how should Cyrele explain to her that the mistress she’d built her life around wasn’t leaving the temple with them?
Softening her voice, Cyrele said, “I think we need to give up on the princess. But we have another way out, I promise.”
Enosis began opening her mouth as if to ask a question or voice some protest—but then she closed it again without saying a word, only giving Cyrele a firm nod. Voicelessly consenting to abandoning Kamene with a gesture that somehow felt like it marked the end of her service, of their service, to the Viemian princess. And a rather anticlimactic end it was, borne of practicality rather than resentment or frustration.
Cyrele almost felt like she should say something more, but what else could she add? So instead she simply led the way out of the map-sense chamber, keeping her steps slow and cautious so as not to fall through the floor again.
The journey was quiet beyond the light tap of their footsteps against the stone, beyond the sound of Enosis’ labored breathing. Several pitfalls lay along the way, of course, but they managed to avoid them. Cyrele began hoping that they would arrive at their destination with little issue—
—and then the scrape of something against stone sounded from behind the walls of the corridor, loud and grating. Cyrele froze in place, hardly daring to breathe.
Then with a sudden clank, the walls that surrounded them began moving inward, slowly but surely closing in around them. Panic coursed through her, because there was nowhere to run—it wasn’t merely one part of the corridor whose walls threatened to crush them, it was the entire corridor, as far in the distance as her eyes could see. There was no escape...
...except for the very traps that Cyrele had been so resolutely bypassing.
Of course, that meant willingly climbing into a trap. And the last one had not only separated her from everyone else, but potentially led half of them to their deaths.
However, the only other option was the certain death that awaited her if she stayed here. She had to take the risk.
Where had the last trap she’d encountered been? Cyrele dashed over to its general vicinity and began prodding at the floor with her foot, calling out her intentions to Enosis. After a few tries, the tip of her sandal finally passed through the floor.
Thank the gods, she’d found the trap—or rather, she’d found their salvation. Crouching down, she began dropping her feet inside, getting her hands in position to lower herself down...
“Wait,” called Enosis, her voice echoing from further down the corridor than Cyrele had expected. Even exhausted, she should’ve caught up by that point. But when Cyrele turned her head, she found that Enosis hadn’t followed her towards the last trap at all. Instead, the woman was stumbling towards one of the walls that threatened to crush them.
“What are you doing?” Cyrele asked, alarmed. “The bangle drained too much for you to waste time like this! Enosis, you might not be fast enough to escape if you dawdle.”
But Enosis merely shook her head and stayed her course. “Every temple trap I have encountered so far has been an illusion,” she said, voice steady. “Why should I believe this one is real?”
Then she reached out towards the wall...and her hand passed through the stone as if it wasn’t even there. Because it truly wasn’t there. The walls were not closing in on them.
But why create such an illusion...unless it was meant to force them down a more dangerous route. Perhaps like the trap Cyrele had been about to fling herself into. It had been a trick and Cyrele had fallen for it, saved only by Enosis’ clear-headedness.
The walls still looked like they were closing in, still felt threatening even with the knowledge that they weren’t real—but then Cyrele stood up and walked through one of the encroaching walls...and suddenly the corridor looked as normal as it had before the illusion had taken hold.
“Thank you,” Cyrele told Enosis.
Enosis seemed oddly startled by the expression of gratitude, but nodded in acknowledgment. “Let’s simply continue onwards, shall we? I’m sure it’s only a matter of staying vigilant.”
Cyrele could only hope it would be that straightforward. But somehow she doubted they would be so lucky.
#
THE PATH TO ARALATH’S location was blessedly uneventful as they neared its end. So much so that Cyrele began imagining the moment they would free themselves of this temple, stepping out into the sunlight beyond the storm’s reach. It was a better ending than she could have dreamed of when she’d begun this journey.
So of course, with only a couple of chambers left between them and Aralath, their peaceful walk was interrupted by a strange, reverberating sound that rose up from beneath the floor—almost like a growl, but one that came from the throat of no creature Cyrele had ever heard before. Was that an illusion as well? Or was it as real as the jungle...or worse, as real as the bones she’d found beneath the undergrowth?
If only they reached the chamber where Aralath awaited them before whatever this was caught up to them, they might never have to find out. Cyrele rounded another trap, passed another threshold...
...and then she could see Aralath peering out of a doorway up ahead, her calculating gaze flickering between Cyrele and Enosis. She was so excruciatingly close. But then came another growl, so loud that Cyrele could feel the rumbling in her bones.
“Hurry,” Aralath said, looking past them at whatever lay behind with apprehension in her eyes.
And Cyrele couldn’t help it. She glanced back.
To find a massive creature made of bone, shaped somewhat like a tiger, emerging out of the floor as if it had climbed out of one of the traps. The same skeletal tiger she had seen coming for Senna through the map-sense. Cyrele froze in horror as the creature’s sightless skull turned in their direction, almost as if it could sense them.
“I’ve discovered how to lock down this room,” Aralath’s urgent voice called out, “but you have to hurry.”
Enosis sprang into action, likely using up whatever was left of her energy in one desperate burst of speed. Cyrele knew that she needed to follow. To run in the hopes that she could make it to safety. But before she could convince her paralyzed body to move, the bone tiger pounced at her.
Stumbling back in panic, she tripped over a protruding bit of stone in the floor and landed hard against her side, a crunch of glass coming the satchel beneath her. But the fall ended up saving her, because the creature sailed over her—to land directly between her and safety. What could she do now? She would never get past it alive...
...at least, not if she used the corridor. But she’d memorized enough of the layout to know there was another way to reach her destination—a path to a parallel corridor that also led into Aralath’s chamber. The entrance should only be a little way back.
Cyrele broke into a run away, frantically searching for the entrance to this alternate path. The clattering of bones followed on her heels, growing louder each second. She spotted a recess in the left wall that opened into a small corridor and threw herself into it—and an echoing thud sounded behind her, as the creature smashed against the narrow opening of the corridor, failing to fit inside.
It had been so close to her. She had only barely escaped...
...but she wasn’t safe yet. She wouldn’t be until she reached Aralath’s chamber.
Cyrele sped down the corridor, turning onto a path that would bring her back towards Aralath’s room. All she had to do was run in a straight line through the doorway ahead to reach safety—but then a shattering crash came from behind her, bits of stone pelting against her back.
She glanced behind her and found that the creature had somehow burst through the wall. How was this possible? The skeletons she’d encountered in the third temple had nowhere near enough mass to accomplish such a feat. So how could the bone tiger generate such force?
The creature shook itself, appearing somewhat dazed from the feat. And that was likely the only reason Cyrele had enough time to start sprinting for Aralath’s chamber in a desperate bid to survive. A rattling roar erupted from behind her, followed by a clanking gait that was clearly catching up to her.
Enosis appeared in the entrance way ahead, her eyes widening as she saw Cyrele running for her life. “She’s here!” she called back into the chamber behind her.
The echo of bone striking against stone gained on Cyrele until it was seconds away from overtaking her, but the distance to Enosis had also shrunk down to a few steps. In those final moments that would decide everything, Cyrele put on one last burst of speed and only just managed to throw herself past the doorway. Behind her, the creature ran full force at them as a slab of stone began lowering from the ceiling to close over the entranceway...but it wasn’t closing fast enough. The creature would surely make it through.
Then Aralath was in front of the opening, tossing a slab of stone through it—and the stone erupted into several chunks midair, some of them striking the creature as they fell. The bone tiger slowed, suddenly uncoordinated, buying enough time for the door to shut.
A sudden roar erupted from behind the stone, then a bang rang through the air as something struck against the door. The very walls of the chamber shook from the force, but the stone held...for now. Yet as the bone creature continued to ram itself against the door, Cyrele wondered how long they would last.
“I found a passage about a hidden exit out of this chamber,” Aralath said, grasping Cyrele’s sleeve to tug her towards a piece of glyphwriting along the walls. “Which ideally should let us bypass the animated temple trap that’s after us. However, I’m struggling to translate all of the relevant information on my own. I need your help.”
And Aralath pointed out the words and phrases that she needed help with so the two of them could puzzle over them together. Focusing on a complicated stretch of glyphwriting, filling in the gaps in each other’s knowledge, brought on a feeling of nostalgia. The times that they had coordinated like this had been precious few, yet Cyrele had never felt a stronger sense complimenting another person’s abilities in her life. For all that their personal relationship was a mess, their professional one was a gift. One she hadn’t dared imagine that she might get to experience again.
Then they finished the translation and modified enough of the passage to open a pathway through the floor...and it was over, like waking from a dream.
They made their way out of the chamber quietly, worried that the bone tiger might realize that they’d escaped and come after them. Even their soft footfalls felt like they echoed too loudly, let alone Enosis’ heavy breathing—an uncharitable thought, given what the woman had been through, but Cyrele couldn’t help thinking it anyway. And yet, they made their way steadily forward, heading towards the exit that Aralath had used to enter the temple. Without falling into any traps, without attracting the attention of any reanimated bone creatures. Without even a glimpse of the storm that must have been filling up the inside of the temple.
“It’s through the next door,” Aralath told them.
And Cyrele truly began to believe that they had actually succeeded. Despite the odds, despite two Karits holding them hostage, despite Kamene’s inconstancy...Cyrele had lived through the experience of sabotaging the temple so that no one could claim its power. She almost couldn’t believe it.
Crossing the threshold into the final room, Cyrele’s gaze fell immediately onto the wide door that opened onto the raging storm—and it was the first time that the sight of that storm had ever given her comfort. Aralath was already reaching for the artifacts she carried, the ones that would let them safely leave the temple and all its dreadful traps. And then...
“This is a surprise,” said a familiar voice, in a tone as acrid as a desert sandstorm—and Cyrele’s blood froze as she saw a figure emerge from the shadows of the room, realizing it was Matiser.
A surprise—and a betrayal, he added mentally.
And then her head felt like it was swimming, her limbs growing heavy, until she sunk into unconsciousness.