GHOSTS

She gazed at the high king’s tomb. Lamplight glowed on the marble features of the effigy of King Zachary carved on the lid of the sarcophagus. She stood in its companion, the queen’s sarcophagus. It had no lid.

The sculptural effigy of the king was even more lifelike than she remembered, almost as though if she touched it, she would feel his skin and not cold marble. There was something about the king, something she knew, and though she wrestled with herself in an attempt to remember it, she could not. She was so tired.

I just want to go to bed.

“This is familiar,” a man said.

She turned to find Siris Kiltyre leaning against a column. Shadows shrank and enlarged in an exaggerated dance against the walls and ceiling. It was familiar.

“You acted as Westrion’s avatar for the first time in these tombs,” he said. “Reluctantly, of course, though I can’t say I blame you. You did come around and do a great service for the realm of the living.”

She shook her head at memories that buzzed around it like flies. Salvistar appearing, she riding him, sending spirits of the dead to rest. How could the memories be real? They were . . . ridiculous.

“Overwhelming, isn’t it? Your memory of it was put out of reach. It is not an easy concept for any living mortal to assimilate, but now it must be made more accessible to you.”

She’d ridden Salvistar into a deep pit and, in its very depths, mended a seal that kept dark entities at bay. Had they escaped, the chaos would have destroyed the living world.

“Yes,” Siris Kiltyre said, “in these tombs there is an access point to a realm beyond death, to the darkest realms of existence, and the iire, the seal, imprisons the dark entities. The Aeon Iire is now in danger. If it is broken, all hells will break loose, and this is no euphemism.”

She wiped her hand across her brow. These dreams, they were so tiring. Something bad had happened to her in the waking world. When she was sick, her dreams became stranger than usual, more real somehow.

Siris Kiltyre took a step toward her. “You are still unwell, I know, but this is no mere dream. You must remember. You must remember what I’ve said about the armor, and about how spirits will try to trick you.”

It took everything she had to speak. “What if you are tricking me?”

“Ah,” he said, brightening, “now you are thinking. That is good.”

Then he vanished, and all fell into darkness.