Chapter 1

Scorio awoke from death in a tomb of hammered copper. His breath echoed harshly within the stark confines, his chest heaved, and his eyes grew wide, drinking in the faint, blood-orange glow seeping into the air from a rectangular hole in the ceiling.

With a convulsive jerk, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bier on which he’d lain. There was darkness all around, made thick and swarming by the mere hint of light from above. He grimaced, blinked his eyes owlishly, and tried to stir thoughts into motion. He sat there in a stupor, slowly coming back to himself until at last, he once more studied the rectangular hole.

It hovered some eight or ten feet above him. The steady, ruddy light came from a source outside his line of sight. He couldn’t make anything out but a great sense of enormity, of scale, of height.

Drawing deep breaths, he carefully stood upon the bier, his legs still weak, his balance unsteady. No telling how far the drop to the floor was—perhaps a yard, perhaps more. The darkness at the base of the bier was absolute. He rubbed his hands together and stretched up to the hole. It hovered a few feet above his fingertips.

Scorio drew his hands back, wiped them on his hips, rocked a little from side to side as he prepared himself, then leaped. It was a weak first attempt; he didn’t even brush the ceiling before falling back.

Again he leaped, then again, and a fourth time before casting around for some other means to get out. The bier was large, so he stepped to its head, measured how many steps he could safely take, then strode forward, half-crouched, and whipped his arms around and up, leaping again. This time his hands slapped against the hole’s broad, metallic rim, and his fingers curled over the uppermost edge.

Gritting his teeth, Scorio hauled himself up, arms shaking, muscles burning, until he was able to pull his head out.

His eyes widened at the sight. For a moment he simply hung there, shocked, but his body began slipping back into the tomb, so he heaved himself out, rolled onto his back, and sat up, staring.

The space was so vast that for a moment he thought himself outside. A great beam of luminous amber, some ten yards wide, split the darkness in the distance and rose to a great height before fading away. It shone like a slice of sun, richly golden and pitiless, inhuman in its scale and without detail or depth.

Scorio gaped in wonder, only to realize that the beam was in fact a partition between two dark walls that drew close together at the top of a dozen steps. Steps that were easily a hundred or more yards wide, partitioning the great plain on which he sat from the platform that led to the light.

Light which turned the upper surface of each step to a rich maroon, and which reflected off the ground in a feverish, apocalyptic smolder; swathes of imperfections in the copper dimmed its burning glow so its reflection looked like a bloody sun setting behind a haze of clouds.

Scorio felt himself a speck before that immensity, its grandeur. The floor on which he sat was patterned with countless small rectangles like his own, laid out with geometric precision, shallow depressions uniformly reflecting the amber light, showing they remained sealed.

His mind raced. Were others trapped below? Was he trapped here alone? Where was he, what was this place, was he meant to do something—?

Movement off to one side, and he rose to his knees, peering as a shadow clambered up from a distant rectangle, its mouth dark, unsealed. Eager, hesitant, he leaped to his feet, took a half-dozen steps, and stopped. “Hello?”

The man, for so it seemed, rolled out and onto his back, and lay there panting for breath.

Scorio could sympathize.

“What is…?” began the man, his voice a powerful rumble, but his words trailed off as he shifted onto his side, propped himself up, and caught sight of the livid amber beam.

Scorio walked toward him, taking care not to step into any of the rectangular depressions, even sealed as they were. He paused when he noticed something. He crouched and brushed his fingertips over a number incised at the base of one depression. 237. Frowning, he glanced at the next one over. 238.

“Where…?” The stranger pushed himself up to sitting. He was little more than a hulking shadow, two-toned; the side that faced the beam lit up fiery red, the other half-cast into darkness. “What is that?”

“No idea.” Scorio glanced back at his own tomb entrance. What was his number? Was it significant? “Just got out myself.”

The stranger rose to his feet and proved to be a bear of a man, broad-shouldered and deep-chested, his beard and pale skin burnished by the light, long, dark hair spilling halfway down his back. “This place. Are we dead?”

“Would be just our luck.” Scorio approached the man once more. “But before I awoke, I had this dream, or vision…”

“Of dying,” finished the stranger. His voice was rich and powerful, and with each passing moment, he seemed to be collecting himself, mastering his agitation. “Me too. But the details are lost to me now.” And he looked down and away, frowning.

Which prompted Scorio’s own thoughts. What could he remember? That dream of death, of dying… he could remember movement, violent arcs of something being swung—but no. It was gone.

“The name is Leonis,” said the man, extending a large hand. “You?”

“Scorio.” They shook, and the man’s grip was firm but not crushing.

A new voice drifted toward them, hollowed out as if from the base of a well. “Is there anybody out there? Hello?”

Both men started toward the sound, and Scorio saw a third rectangular hole, dark against the smoldering copper floor.

“We’re here,” called Leonis, his voice resonant. The kind of voice, Scorio thought, that would carry easily over a battlefield.

“I can’t get out,” said the woman, her tone tense, just shy of panic.

The two men hurried over and crouched on either side of the opening. A pale face peered up at them, little more than a smudge in the gloom below.

“Here,” said Scorio, lying down to extend his arm to her. “Grab my hand.”

She lunged up and clasped his wrist. Leonis reached in and together they pulled her out.

She was tall, pale, her frame angular, with a long mane of hair so dark it seemed to drink in the burning light and reflect nothing back but a single, shimmering line of blue across her head. She reflexively curled a long strand behind her ear as she stared at the amber shaft, and Scorio saw her eyes go wide in shock.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Leonis balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, his teeth gleaming through his beard as he grinned. “Quite the sight, isn’t it?”

“And apologies in advance. We’ve no idea what it is. Or where we are.” Scorio rose to his feet, turning to face the huge amber slash full on.

“The name’s Leonis,” murmured the large man.

“Lianshi,” said the woman, tone distracted. She took in the vast emptiness of the rest of the room, the way the copper floor extended out into the darkness, with only the umber walls that met on either side of the beam giving the room definition. Even these, titanic as they were, faded away into the distance, giving no hint as to the true size of the space in which they stood.

“I’m Scorio.” He glanced at the foot of her rectangle. “And you’re 723.”

Leonis frowned, scrutinized the incisions, then glanced back at his own opening. “You think the numbers mean something?”

“They must,” said Scorio. “Otherwise, why go through the effort of carving them into metal?”

“Is this… are we dead?” Lianshi’s voice was tremulous. “I remember… a dream of… but no.” She frowned, gave a sharp shake of her head. “It’s gone.” She paused, then her frown deepened. “It’s all gone.”

“All gone?” asked Scorio. “How so?”

There was fear in her gaze. “My life. I can’t remember… just my name. Lianshi. But beyond that, my home, my parents, who I was, what I did—it’s all gone.”

Scorio frowned and realized the same loss; the sudden awareness of the aching void within him hit him like a hammer blow to the chest. He staggered and took a step back.

Leonis plunged both hands into his long hair and wrapped his forearms around his temples, squeezing tight as he turned first one way, then the other. “She’s right. I can’t….” He trailed off, then blew out a deep breath. “All gone.”

For a moment the three of them said nothing, simply stared at each other in shock. Finally, Scorio forced a smile. “Fine. All our memories are gone but for a lingering dream of death. Odds are we’re dead. Which… would make this the afterlife.”

“But I breathe,” said Leonis. “And feel pain. I scraped my forearm climbing up.”

Lianshi surreptitiously pinched her own arm and winced.

“I didn’t say it was a logical afterlife, and we sure won’t figure this out sitting here,” said Scorio. “How about we take a closer look at that light?”

“All right. Good idea.” Leonis’s tone had grown assured once more. “Not that there’s a lot of options.”

Scorio extended a hand to the woman. “You coming?”

“Like he said. I don’t think there’s much of a choice.” Lianshi rose smoothly to her feet without aid. “But thank you for asking.”

A cry of effort yanked their attention off to the side, where another shadowy figure was struggling out of a distant tomb. Scorio took off at a sprint as the figure began to slide slowly back into the hole. He leaped over sealed tombs, footsteps echoing off the copper floor, and just as the slender figure let out a cry and slipped all the way in, he dove, crashing down just before the hole and sliding the last few feet to grab hold of her wrist.

But he had nothing to brace himself against, and momentum coupled with her weight pulled him in after; all he could do was panic and resolve not to let go as his head and shoulders slid into the darkness. He was about to topple in altogether when someone grasped his ankles tight and hauled him back.

He grunted in pain but held on. With Leonis’s help, he worked his way back out into the amber light and pulled her after him. Her thick hair was in disarray, covering her face, and for a moment she simply lay on her side, massaging her wrist as she stared, transfixed, at the beam of amber.

“It’s all right,” said Lianshi, crouching down beside her and reaching out tentatively to touch her shoulder. “I mean, it’s—well. Not all right. But—well.” She broke off, took a breath, and tried again. “Hello. I’m Lianshi. We think we might all be dead, but we’re not sure.”

The small woman pushed herself up to sitting. She had a narrow, saturnine face with thick, striking eyebrows above piercing eyes, and she tore her gaze away from the glowing beam to study them in helpless anger. “Dead?”

“It’s the theory we’re working with,” said Leonis, sitting back with a sigh. “Though honestly, this doesn’t feel much like death. We don’t know how else to explain it. I’m Leonis, by the way.”

Scorio was too restless to remain seated, so he rose and studied the hammered plain of copper, the feverish glow of the reflection undulating out across its surface. “Are all these tombs going to open up?”

“If so, it’s going to take a while,” said Leonis. “There’s an awful lot of them.”

“Tombs,” said Lianshi with a shudder. “Can we think of a better name for them?”

“Wombs?” asked Leonis.

“Let’s stick with tombs,” said Lianshi.

Scorio turned back to the new stranger. “We’d just decided to investigate that glowing light when you arrived.”

The woman nodded, a vertical line between her brows, and drew a deep, shuddering breath. “All right. Yes. I’m Asha.”

“Scorio. Good to meet you.”

She frowned up at him but took his hand and allowed him to help her stand. “Thank you. For helping me when I was falling.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. Jumping in and out of tombs is all I seem to do these days.”

Asha stared at him strangely, but Leonis grunted in amusement and clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s work on getting you a new hobby.”

The four of them stood clustered together, facing the light, their fronts painted in hues of orange and gold.

“Should we wait to see if anyone else emerges?” asked Lianshi.

“I say we get some answers first,” said Scorio. “I’m not sure I can stand not knowing what’s going on for much longer.”

“Agreed,” said Asha, arms tightly folded across her chest. “But… do you keep… I don’t know—reaching for something that’s not there?”

“How so?” asked Lianshi.

Asha’s face screwed up in annoyance. “I can’t quite explain it. Like the sensation you get when you think there’ll be another step at the top of a flight of stairs and there isn’t. That moment of disorientation. I keep… reaching for something. Within me. And it’s not there.”

They all studied her.

“I’m not crazy,” she said, voice sharp. “I’m just being honest.”

Leonis raised both hands. “Nobody said you were.”

“Reaching for something,” mused Scorio. “No. Haven’t felt that yet.”

“Never mind,” said Asha. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“It’s all right,” said Lianshi. “We’re all out of our element here.”

“Let’s focus on getting some answers.” Scorio began walking. “And if we’re lucky, someone to blame for this mess. Hell of a way to run the afterlife.”

Scorio angled their approach to the steps past his own tomb’s opening and saw inscribed at the base the number 37. Continuing forward, and upon placing his foot on the first step, Scorio turned to study the plain of copper one last time. He searched for movement, strained to hear a cry for help.

Nothing.

“Do you feel that?” asked Lianshi, voice soft.

Leonis frowned at her. “Feel what?”

“It’s…” she trailed off, unsure. “Like a current of air passing around us. But not. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Scorio raised his hand, studying it in the feverish glow. Trying to sense what she was talking about. There was no wind. The air was utterly still. But yet… he thought he felt something pass through him, or around him, like some subtle current he’d not noticed till now. But just as he felt it, the current disappeared, slipping away between his fingers like the dream of death that had awoken him.

“No,” said Leonis at last, shaking his head.

Asha stared off into the middle distance. “I do, I think. An invisible breeze, or… I can’t quite describe it. Different from what I felt a moment ago. Connected to it, though. Somehow.”

“Yes, like an invisible breeze,” said Lianshi, voice soft with wonder. She, too, raised her hand and gently moved it back and forth, as if caressing a monstrously large and unseen cat. “But it’s gone now. I lost it the moment I noticed it.”

“Same here,” said Scorio. “Let’s add it to the list of weird things we’re noticing and keep going.”

Nobody protested, so he climbed the steps, the amber beam growing broader and filling more of his vision as he reached the top. There he stopped, hands on his hips, and craned his head back to take in its vertiginous height. Even this close, a mere twenty or so yards away, it was easy to believe it was a solid, glowing object and not a gap between the two massive walls.

“No warmth,” murmured Asha.

Scorio approached cautiously, squinting his eyes against the violent yellow beam. He raised a hand as he drew near. There was no heat at all. Nothing but the sound of their breathing, the metallic tang in the air, the echo of their footsteps.

“So, do you think there’s a god on the other side?” asked Lianshi.

“Maybe,” said Leonis. “Though I don’t know which one. You remember any names?”

“None,” she admitted, and Scorio thought he heard relief in her voice.

Closer yet. The beam had become a wall before him, ten yards wide, absolute and all-consuming.

“Careful,” said Leonis.

Scorio slowed, each step now taking effort as if he were knowingly walking in the dark toward a cliff’s edge. Squinting, he stepped right up to the fiery wall, and realized at last that it was neither a tangible object nor a gap, but rather both—a veil of burning light rising before him, but through which he could only vaguely sense space, a continuation, a passageway.

“Looks like a curtain of some kind,” he said, eyes nearly closed. “Going to touch it.”

Nobody spoke as he reached forth. His hand pressed the burning amber, and for a second he felt resistance, like pushing against a soft cushion. Then his hand broke through and disappeared, the light moving up his wrist and engulfing his forearm as he slid it in deeper.

“There’s something beyond,” he whispered, sweat prickling his brow. His heart was pounding, pounding, and he couldn’t catch his breath. “Space of some kind. I’m going in.”

“Scorio,” one of them said, but he couldn’t tell which. His pulse was roaring in his ears. Even with his eyes slit, he felt blinded. He edged forward, arm disappearing to the elbow, then the bicep, then right up to his shoulder.

For an aching, agonizing second, he hesitated. Hung there, suspended in the balance.

He took a deep breath and stepped through.