Page 232 of Eldritch
He climbed along the narrow path, up the edge of the rock and slipped past the guards who peered down into the vein, searching for him. As he stepped onto the path for the village, his surroundings shifted to a blur, coming into focus on a dark passageway with arched stone walls.
He was standing in the temple’s undercroft.
Frowning, Zevander twisted around, and the path he’d just walked from the vein was nothing but a long stretch of darkness. A tight fist clenched his chest, and Zevander dragged his hand down his face. It was then he noticed a weight in his other palm. He looked down to find two large stones of vivicantem captured there, his skin and nails coated in black dust, haunting visions shimmered in his mind.
Jabbing at the stone with a blade. Breaking loose chunks of vivicantem. Chalking an image in vivicantem across the stones. An intricate glyph. The violet glow of the vein as it rose from death.
Zevander shook his head, stuffing the vivicantem in his pocket. No. That wasn’t him. It was Cadavros who’d drawn that image. Cadavros who’d ignited the vein.
“Zevander?” A soft voice broke his thoughts and Zevander turned toward the corridor, where Maevyth stood wearing his tunic, her hair a mess.
When he stepped toward her, a wavering shimmer flashed before his eyes and he winced. “Are you real?”
Smiling, she tipped her head. “Can you hear me, Zevander? Wake up.”
He studied her, searching for any sign that she was an illusion. “Am I dreaming?”
Or was it reality? Had they never left the temple? Had their travels to Lyveria been nothing more than a dream in Caligorya?
“You slipped again,” she said. “Into another fit. Come. Let’s go back to bed.” She ran off down an adjacent corridor and Zevander set off after her.
When he rounded the corner, though, he found nothing but an empty passageway, lit by the sconces on the wall.
At the end of it stood the massive vault where he’d stored Theron.
Slow and uncertain steps brought him closer, until he could reach out for the handle.
He gave it a light tug.
Locked.
He twisted the iron lever beside it to disengage the lock and opened it with ease. Zevander stepped inside and summoned a flame to his hand, illuminating the suffocating space.
The vault stood empty.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
MAEVYTH
Aclamor of noise roused me from dreams, and I sat up in bed, twisting toward an empty spot where Zevander had lain earlier. Scanning the room showed no sign of him. The only movement came from the flickers of fire in the hearth, but my gaze caught on an image across from me, chalked onto the wall. A strange tree with some sort of massive hole in its trunk, depicted in frantic scribbles. It reminded me of the one I’d seen in the book the priestess had shown me. Frowning, I threw back the bedcovers and slipped into a thick black dress that lay waiting. Carefully padding toward the image, I kept my eye on the hole, the darkest part of the drawing, and as I did so, a feeling of dread coiled around the back of my neck.
Pounding at the door wrenched me from my thoughts and my muscles jolted with a startled gasp.
“Maevyth!” the priestess called from the other side. “Are you in there?”
Quick steps took me to the door and I swung it open to Erithanya’s worried expression. Behind her, villagers bustled about, frantic and shouting. “What is happening?”
“The vein…it’s been reignited.” She tugged on my arm. “Come.”
A branching cold slithered over my chest. “Have you seen Zevander?”
“I haven’t. But you must come with me.” She gave a hard yank, but I drew back and twisted from her grasp.
“I need to find him.”
“Please.” Her eyes were genuinely pleading. “One of our own has been bitten. He’ll die. His mate is with child.”
I scanned over the crowd one more time, finding no trace of Zevander. While my head urged me to ignore her and go after him, I allowed her to pull me along toward her cottage. Once inside, the priestess hustled toward the shelves, swiping up jars and herbs. Screams drew my attention toward the other room where Aleysia had been exorcised the day before.
