Page 11 of Torn Ivy
“Can you see anything?” Tate whispers.
“Not much,” I reply. “Just more tunnel. But there’s something off about this place.”
“No shit,” Bram mutters. “We’re in Death’s domain. Everything’s off.”
I ignore him, focusing on the strange energy I can feel pulsing through the air. It reminds me of the orb in my pocket, which has started to vibrate slightly.
Suddenly, the tunnel opens up into a vast cavern. The ceiling stretches impossibly high, lost in shadow. Massive pillars of bone and stone support the weight above, carved with intricate symbols that hurt my eyes to look at directly.
“Holy shit,” Bram breathes.
“The Underworld,” Tate states, far more calmly than I feel right now. “The realm of the dead.”
“How the fuck do you know that?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes away from the haunting beauty of the cavern.
“A fucking wild guess,” he growls, and I shrug.
“Fair enough.”
We stand at the edge of the vast cavern, taking in the impossible sight before us. The air is heavy and oppressive.
“So what now?” Bram whispers. “We’re in the Underworld. How the hell do we find Ivy in all this?”
I pull the orb from my pocket. It’s glowing faintly, the swirling colours moving more rapidly. The whispers in my head have grown louder and more insistent, though I still can’t make out any distinct words.
“I think this might be able to guide us,” I say, holding it up. “It seems to be reacting to something.”
Tate eyes it warily. “Are you sure we can trust that thing? For all we know, it could be leading us into a trap.”
I shrug. “You got a better idea?”
He scowls but doesn’t argue further.
“Right then,” I say, stepping forward. “Let’s see where this takes us.”
We make our way across the cavern floor, picking our way between the towering pillars and strange formations. The orb pulses in my hand, growing warmer as we move deeper into the Underworld.
Suddenly, a piercing shriek echoes through the cavern. We freeze, looking around wildly for the source.
“What the fuck was that?” Bram hisses, his eyes darting around.
“I don’t know,” I growl, “but I don’t like it.”
The shriek comes again, closer this time. In the shadows between the pillars, I catch glimpses of movement. Dark shapes flit just at the edge of my vision.
“We’re not alone,” Tate mutters, flicking his hand out to test if he has magick.
He doesn’t.
This is not good.
The orb in my hand pulses more urgently, growing almost painfully hot. I nearly drop it as a searing pain lances through my palm.
“Fuck!” I curse, juggling the orb between my hands. “This thing is going nuts.”
“Maybe we should—” Bram starts, but he’s cut off as a figure lunges out of the darkness at us.
It’s humanoid, but only barely. Its skin is grey and withered, stretched tight over an emaciated frame. Empty eye sockets stare at us from a skull-like face, and its mouth gapes open in another piercing shriek.
