THE BURIED GOD
Chapter 24: The Memory of Blood
The chamber of bones was colder than Damon remembered.
The torches on the walls burned low and blue, their flames struggling against the darkness. The shadows pressed close, watching, waiting, hungry. The bones crackled beneath his boots, each step a reminder of the thousands who had died here, the thousands who had been fed to the god, the thousands who had been forgotten.
Vespera stood at the center of the chamber, her silver eyes fixed on the far wall, her hands raised, her lips moving.
She was speaking.
Not to Damon. Not to Lyssa. Not to Rook.
To the mountain.
To the god.
To the hunger.
“What is she saying?” Lyssa asked.
Rook’s gray eyes were dark.
“She’s remembering. The words of the priestesses. The words of the burial. The words of the sacrifice.”
“Can you understand her?”
“No. Those words are not for the living. They are for the dead.”
Damon walked toward Vespera.
The bones crackled.
The shadows reached for him.
He did not stop.
He reached her side.
“Vespera.”
She did not respond.
“Vespera.”
Her silver eyes flickered.
“Damon.”
“I’m here.”
“I know.”
“What are you doing?”
She lowered her hands.
The silver light dimmed.
“I’m remembering the way. The way to the heart. The way to the god. The way to the end.”
“Can you find it?”
She looked at the far wall.
At the bones.
At the darkness.
“I can.”
She walked to the wall.
She pressed her palms against the stone.
The bone symbols blazed.
The wall crumbled.
Beyond it was darkness.
Not the darkness of the chamber. A deeper darkness. An older darkness. The darkness of the heart.
“The heart is close,” Vespera said.
“How do you know?”
She looked at her hands.
They were silver.
“Because I can feel it. Beating. Waiting. Hungry.”
Damon stepped through the opening.
The darkness swallowed him.
Vespera followed.
Lyssa followed.
Rook followed.
The wall sealed behind them.