Page 57 of The Thirteenth Child
Trickling water echoed off stones I could not see. The air around us was surprisingly clean, fresh, with a mineral bite strong enough to make my throat heave. I tightened my grip on Merrick’s hand, terrified of losing him. If he were to leave me alone in this darkness so complete, I feared I’d go mad.
“Where are we going?” I dared to ask, and my whisper carried up and down the tunnel, returning to us over and over, until it broke apart into a barrage of words, out of order and without sense.
Merrick said nothing but quickened his pace. He never tripped,never faltered on a rise in the ground or a bit of rock poking into the path. I tightened my grip, grateful for his lead.
After a time, my eyes adjusted, picking up bits of light down corridors we didn’t take. The ceiling rose to a steep point above us, like the nave of a great sanctuary. To our right, through arched windows, was a yawning cavern. Dim light filtered down, illuminating lengths of bridges that spanned the wicked chasm.
The air grew colder. Puffs of breath steamed from my mouth, clouding the passage.
“Every year I tell you the story of your birth,” Merrick began, picking his words with care. His voice creaked, as if he was holding back a deluge of emotions, a crumbling dam about to collapse and ruin everything. “Every year I tell it to you, and there’s a question I always expect you’ll ask, but you never have.”
The tunnel forked and he pulled us to the left. The air softened, scented with wafts of smoke and wax. We entered a chamber and I paused, wonder radiating from my core.
The room was full of candles.
Some were tall and fat, their flames steady and strong. There were skinny tapers, with trickles spilling down their sides. Some were small votives. Others were great pools of liquid, entirely melted, their lights about to sputter out. They were perched along rows of wooden tables, stacked plinths, and rocky outcrops. Above us, the chamber’s ceiling vaulted to a wide curve. Polished by eons of rainwater, it reflected light from the hundreds of thousands of candles.
“What is this place?” I whispered. I didn’t want to break the hypnotic beauty of the flames.
The fires highlighted the folds and sharp curves of Merrick’s face, shrouding his eyes in deep shadow. He looked out over the vast cavern. “This is my home.”
Home. The Dreaded End’s home.
That could only mean…
“Are those lives?” I guessed, studying the candles.
“Mortal lives,” he clarified. He pointed to hollow niches across the cave, near the swell of the ceiling. In each nook, a ball of light hovered, flames flicking over themselves, consuming the air with colorful light. “Up there are the gods.”
There were hundreds of them, each burning their own unique shade.
“They have no wicks,” I observed, squinting.
“We don’t burn out. Not like them.” He gazed back to the floor. “Each of these is one life. When the flame goes out, that life is over.”
He glided down the shallow steps, walking deep into a row.
I trailed after him, lost in the sea of glimmering lights. “They’re all so different.”
“Some lives are long,” he said, gesturing to a fat, round pillar. “Others are short. Some are over before they even have the chance to begin.”
A series of tiny tea lights stabbed at my heart. They were small, so small, some just minutes from flickering out.
“Can’t you do anything for them?” I asked, my gaze drawn to one writhing wick. The flame hissed and sputtered, meeting a swift death in the pool of wax. It was gone before I could offer it something to feed on. A wisp of smoke curled from the blackened filament, shimmering memories of a life burned out too quickly.
Merrick’s eyes fell on me, heavy with sadness. “I do. I send their souls to an eternal rest.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He squeezed my shoulder as he passed me, going deeper into the chamber. “I know.”
“Where is Kieron’s candle? That’s why you brought me here, isn’t it? To show me his?”
He let out a short sigh darkened with resignation. “This way.”
I followed him carefully, wary of creating a draft. I’d never forgive myself if I extinguished someone’s flame with unchecked haste.
Merrick came to a stop in front of a bank of lights. I found I couldn’t tell which one was Kieron’s. I’d expected it to be a puddle of wax, entirely spent. But all the candles here burned tall and strong.
