THE BURIED GOD
Chapter 23: The Road Back to the Mountain
The road back to the mountain was longer than Damon remembered.
The sun was low, the sky was gray, the wind was cold. The trees were bare, their branches like grasping hands. The fields were dead, their soil cracked and gray. The world was waiting — waiting for the god to wake, waiting for the hunger to rise, waiting for the end.
Damon walked ahead, his shovel in his hand, his eyes fixed on the mountain.
Vespera walked beside him, her silver eyes scanning the shadows.
Lyssa walked behind, her hand on her knife.
Rook brought up the rear, his old legs moving slowly, his old lungs breathing heavily.
No one spoke.
There was nothing left to say.
They reached the base of the mountain at dusk.
The entrance was still open. The torches were still lit. The guards were still gone.
“The priests are hiding,” Lyssa said.
“Or waiting,” Rook said.
“Or feeding,” Vespera said.
Damon looked at the darkness inside.
“Does it matter?”
No one answered.
They stepped into the tunnel.
The walls were cold, the floor was uneven, the air was thick. The torches flickered, their flames low and blue. The shadows reached for them, but did not touch.
Damon led the way.
He had been here before. He knew the turns. He knew the chambers. He knew the doors.
He knew the heart.
The silver light was gone. The pulsing was gone. The hunger was gone.
But he could feel it.
Waiting.
They reached the chamber of bones.
The walls were still there. The floor was still there. The first priestess was gone.
Vespera stopped.
“I remember this place,” she said.
“You’ve been here before?”
“A thousand years ago. When we buried the god. When we sealed the heart. When we died.”
“How did you die?”
She looked at the bones.
At the walls.
At the darkness.
“We cut ourselves. We bled into the stone. We gave our lives to keep him asleep.”
“And now?”
She looked at him.
“Now we give them again.”