XLI

I ALMOST ATTEMPT A WILD, ill-advised leap back up toward the hallway before I realise my descent is smooth. Controlled, not falling. I’ve seen Will-imbued transportation platforms move this way, though I’ve never been on one.

I cling to the crimson railing, breaths still ragged and flustered; as my skin makes contact, the glass-like surface glows, bringing a startling respite from the utter darkness. The light is tinted the same colour, though. Casts everything in a dark red. Preferable to the terrifying unknown, but not by much.

I recover enough to take stock. The hallway above has already disappeared, and the wall behind me is smooth. Unclimbable.

It seems I’m going wherever this is taking me.

I reluctantly stop craning my neck. My knuckles are white against the blushing of the balustrade as the wall behind me is suddenly gone, replaced by inky darkness above and below and around on all sides, as if I’m sinking into an unending abyss. The stone platform’s descent continues for anxious minutes.

My hands are beginning to cramp from their apprehensive grip when the red illumination from the railing winks out again. I hurtle through the void for several more seconds in terrifying, silent darkness.

Then, finally, light flares below.

I flinch back, the abrupt restoration of my sight disorienting. Torches flicker to life one by one away from me. The hall I’m descending into is hewn from the mountain itself, hundreds of feet wide and long, probably a hundred feet high. Two rows of massive columns stretch from floor to vaulted ceiling, making the space appear almost cathedral-like.

And at the far end of the room there’s an enormous Hierarchy symbol set into the wall, glowering down over everything. Lines of bronze glitter against dark stone.

My platform slows as it nears the ground, then settles gently onto the floor. I don’t move. I have no idea where I am, but this place feels old. Off-limits. Dangerous.

Even so, there’s no activity anywhere that I can see, no sound.

Fear tightens my muscles, but I’m still on a schedule—and whatever this place is, it must have something to do with Caeror’s time at the Academy. If I can find out what happened to him, I can be free of at least one of the daggers poised at my back.

I force my fingers to uncurl from the railing, and disembark.

One step away. Two. My footsteps are swallowed by the enormity of the hall. I keep glancing behind me, but the platform remains grounded.

I steel myself, and start for the massive bronze symbol in the wall. It’s the only point of interest in the whole place, as far as I can see. There are no doors, no exits that I’ve noticed. The columns are square and plain. For all its immensity, there’s really not much here to see.

“What is this place?” I mutter the words absently, glaring at the massive symbol ahead.

“It is a test.”

“VEK!” I whirl and stumble backward at the calm male voice coming from not far enough behind me. The man’s only ten feet away, though I can’t see from where he could possibly have emerged. He’s dressed in rags. His feet are bare. Long, straggly black hair falls limply across his face.

It’s not thick enough to hide that where his eyes should be, there are only gaping, red holes.

The stranger doesn’t react to my fear. Just watches me. Motionless. Mute.

“Who… who in all the gods-damned hells are you?” I get the words out eventually. Still putting more distance between us, hand locked to the hilt of my dagger.

“I was known as Artemius Sel. I was a traitor to the commandment of isolation. I attempted to gain synchronism and remove the seal to Obiteum during the rebellion of the seventh era after the Rending. I have thus been lawfully condemned to servitude, guiding those who come after.” He speaks listlessly, in monotone, though his words are also strangely slurred. I shiver. The raw sockets of his eyes are hard not to focus on.

“Alright.” I’m as much confused as wary now. The man doesn’t seem inclined to attack; even so, I circle around so that he’s not between me and the platform I came in on. “What is this place, Artemius?”

The man rotates so that he’s still facing me, but doesn’t respond.

“Did you hear me? Do you… know where we are?”

No response.

“Alright,” I say again slowly. “You said this was a test. For what?”

“Basic proficiency.”

“In what? What does that mean?”

Silence.

I take a hesitant step forward. Wave my hand at him, peer into his face. There’s no sign that he’s observed my movement. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Still nothing.

I sigh, more bemused than anything else, even if an abundance of caution remains. The man’s only responding to certain questions, apparently. He’s unsettling, certainly. Very unsettling. But doesn’t seem immediately dangerous.

“What is the test, Artemius?”

“You must reach the entrance.” He points.

I frown, following his finger to the massive symbol at the far end of the hall. There’s nothing but an empty expanse of stone between me and it. “That doesn’t seem…”

I trail off as I turn back to Artemius. The man had been clasping his hands behind his back but now he’s unstrapping something from his left arm and offering it to me.

A bracer, studded with several dozen small stones. Each one with a unique symbol etched into it.

I don’t move to take it, cold at the familiar sight. “I don’t understand.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just continues to hold it out.

“Why do I need this?”

“You must wear it to reach the entrance.”

I tentatively reach out. Accept the bracer. Artemius’s arm drops back to his side. I squint at his empty stare, curiosity increasingly matching the creeping unease his presence brings. The way the man’s responding is rote, as if reading from a script. Is he able to speak only when asked specific questions? Questions to which he knows the answers, or questions which he is allowed to answer? Whatever the case, and though I’ve only heard of such things in the most fanciful of fairy tales, he seems in thrall to some unseen force. Under the power of someone other than himself.

If I didn’t know the bracer’s purpose, I don’t think I would have taken it. But after a long few seconds of hesitation, I’m slipping it onto my left arm and cinching it tight. It’s absurdly light.

There’s a crawling sensation as it settles against my skin.

And then the hall explodes into roaring, grinding activity.

I stumble back as stone bursts from the ground ahead. Austere black walls slam upward until they’re towering, thirty feet high at least, partially blocking the massive Hierarchy symbol from view. A single, arched entrance to the newly formed structure lies straight ahead. Through it, I can see passageways branching off in multiple directions.

The walls are taller, and there’s no way to view the layout from on high. But I know exactly what it is.

I pick a stone with two perpendicular crosses and give it a short, sharp twist. Sure enough, a soft grating echoes from the left-most corner section. Right where it should in the Labyrinth.

“What happens if I pass the test, Artemius?” I ask quietly.

“You will go through the gate to Obiteum and Luceum. But not be allowed to remain here. Synchronism is reserved for leadership alone.”

“Obiteum and Luceum—they’re places? Where are they?” No response. “What is synchronism?” No response.

I contemplate the daunting sight ahead for a little longer. Trying to understand. “If I go in there, will anything try and stop me from getting to the other side?”

“Remnants guard the way.”

“What are Remnants?”

No response.

I massage my forehead. Sigh. Press on with my enquiries.

Artemius, for the most part, stares vacantly: he seems capable of answering questions related to this hall, this “test,” but nothing else. When I ask for his history, he repeats his explanation about being a traitor. When I probe for more about the purpose of the Labyrinth, he tells me that I must wear the bracer to reach the entrance. That it is a test for basic proficiency. That passing will allow me to go through the gate to Obiteum and Luceum.

All my other questions are met with eyeless silence.

After perhaps fifteen minutes of fruitless investigation, I mutter a frustrated curse and start unhooking the control bracer from my arm. Whatever this test is, I don’t know the risks. Don’t understand the stakes. As soon as the device is free of my skin, there’s the thundering grind of stone as the black walls start sinking back into the ground. Within seconds there’s just smooth floor between me and the symbol on the far wall again.

I tetchily toss the bracer at Artemius’s feet. “Why do I even need that? Why can’t I just walk across there now?”

The eyeless man stoops. Takes it and impassively straps it to his arm. “Accord becomes too strong, so close to the gate. Remnants from Obiteum guard the way. Would you like me to demonstrate?”

I straighten. A new response.

“Alright,” I say, drawing out the word to indicate my uncertainty. If the intonation has any effect on the man, he doesn’t show it. He turns and begins walking toward the massive, three-pronged bronze pyramid.

“Wait.” My brow furrows. Uneasy. Artemius doesn’t stop.

There’s an undulation as he crosses to where the Labyrinth was. A translucent blur that ripples through the air, as if the man has just stepped through an invisible wall of water.

And then, as the ripple reaches the Hierarchy symbol, something flickers into being.

I freeze. I’d swear there was nothing there a moment ago, but now there are three dark shapes. Waves of black, glittering in the dull light.

They rush toward Artemius.

I’m mute with horror. The surging swells are made up of thousands of shards of what look like dark glass, scraping and scratching and grinding as they sweep closer.

“Artemius! Get back!” I finally find my voice.

Artemius doesn’t turn. Keeps walking.

“Run!” I scream the words this time.

The waves hit him.

They change shape as they strike. Sprout pointed lances that spear Artemius through the torso, gore-coated tips protruding from his back. I shout in helpless horror. I can hear the eyeless man’s gasp from here. It’s cut off as he’s enveloped; there are flashes of skin being flayed away, red flecks through the black. He vanishes beneath a writhing mountain of shadowy glass.

The chaos clears quickly, the swells sliding away. Sated. All that’s left on the floor is a glistening smudge.

I stumble back, double over, and retch. Everything seems distant, detached. As if this is happening to someone else.

When fear straightens me again, the dark masses have disappeared.

I spit and wipe my mouth with a trembling hand. Those must be the Remnants. Can they go farther than the boundaries of where the Labyrinth rose? Are they aware of my presence here?

I can’t use the control bracer to raise the walls again, either. It was consumed along with Artemius.

When I finally tear my eyes from the red stain ahead and turn, there’s a young woman standing silently about ten feet away. Hands clasped behind her back. Shoulder-length black hair matted. Her long tunic is torn. Her eyes are as sightless as Artemius’s were.

I reel back. Let out a string of startled curses. She doesn’t react.

“What in all…” I throw up my hands. Alarm fading to vexation. “Who are you?”

“I was known as Elia Veranius. I was a traitor to the commandment of isolation. I attempted to gain synchronism and remove the seal to Obiteum during the eleventh era after the Rending. I have thus been lawfully condemned to servitude, guiding those who come after.” Her voice is high-pitched. Reedy.

My skin crawls. “Of course you were,” I mutter. “Alright. Tell me everything you can about this test.”

She brings her left arm forward, revealing a bracer. “It is a test for basic proficiency. The way is guarded by Remnants. I am able to demonstrate—”

“No. No. Gods, no.” I wave my hands frantically to cut her off. “No demonstrating. Definitely no demonstrating.”

I spend the next five minutes throwing every question I can think of at Elia. Probing. Experimenting. I learn little. And I’m acutely, acutely aware that my time here is running out.

“How do I leave, without taking the test?” I’ve already gleaned this from Artemius, but want to verify.

Elia indicates the platform on which I arrived. “That will return you to the entrance.”

I exhale my relief at the confirmation and nod, though I don’t think it matters whether I acknowledge her. “Can you leave?” No answer. “Can I get back in the same way?” No answer.

With a last, wary glance toward the bronze symbol on the wall—and the dark stain beneath it—I walk away. Elia makes no move to follow.

The return trip is bathed once again in red, the platform rising as soon as I step on and grip the railing. My mind races as I ascend. Was this what happened to Caeror? Did he try to run the Labyrinth and get killed by those… things? I don’t even know what I’m reporting to Ulciscor. I understand that the maze is a test, now. A means of getting to a gate on the other side, which leads to Obiteum and Luceum. Beyond that, though… I don’t even know where Obiteum and Luceum are. Or what synchronism is, or the Rending, or the commandment of isolation.

They’re important, though, that much is clear.

The crimson light lingers once the platform seals to the end of the entry hallway, providing just enough illumination for me to stumble my way forward. The bodies to either side of me are cloaked in their recesses by deep shadow.

“Scintres Exunus,” I yell once I reach the bottom of the stairs.

As the way above folds open and fresh air flows against my face, any relief is cut short by golden light. Vek. It’s past noon. Much later than I realised. I clamber upward. No time to celebrate survival. Urgency lends vigour to my weary body.

This is going to be close.