THE BURIED GOD
Chapter 11: The Road Back
The road to the mountain was darker than he remembered.
The moon was hidden behind clouds. The stars were hidden behind the silver light. The trees were black shapes against the black sky, their branches like grasping hands.
Damon walked alone.
His shovel was in his hand.
His heart was in his throat.
He could feel them.
The priests. Hunting. Searching. Hungry.
He could feel the god. Waking. Rising. Hungrier.
He could feel the dead. Buried. Waiting. Hungriest.
He reached the base of the mountain.
The guards were gone.
The entrance was open.
The darkness was waiting.
He stepped inside.
The tunnel was the same as before. Narrow. Cold. Damp. The walls were slick with moisture, the floor uneven with stones.
He walked faster.
The silver light grew brighter.
The hunger grew stronger.
And then —
He heard them.
Footsteps.
Behind him.
He stopped.
The footsteps stopped.
He turned.
No one was there.
The tunnel was empty.
The shadows were still.
He kept walking.
The footsteps returned.
Louder this time. Closer.
He stopped again.
They stopped again.
He turned.
A figure stood behind him.
Tall. Thin. Robed in black. Face hidden behind a mask of bone.
A priest.
“How did you get past the guards?” the priest asked.
“I didn’t. They were gone.”
“The guards are never gone. The guards are always watching. Always waiting. Always hungry.”
“Then where are they?”
The priest tilted its head.
“Feeding.”
Damon raised his shovel.
The priest did not move.
“You cannot hurt me with that. I am not alive. I am not dead. I am between.”
“Then what are you?”
The priest stepped closer.
Its silver eyes gleamed.
“I am the hunger.”
The priest lunged.
Damon swung.
The shovel struck the priest’s chest.
The priest dissolved.
Not into blood. Not into bone. Into shadow. Into smoke. Into nothing.
Damon stood alone in the tunnel.
His hands were shaking.
His heart was pounding.
He walked on.