“Oh thank fuck,” said Fern. “I thought you were going to put your hand—”
The rattkin squeaked shrilly as Viv drove her left arm into the blackness of the page, all the way up to the elbow, and drew it back out, fast.
Flexing her fingers and staring at the book in wonder, Viv finished, “That’s the second.”
Fern sputtered, waving her paws in apoplexy, and if she ever regained her composure, Viv figured the language would be pretty spectacular.
26
“I touched something,” said Viv. “There’s stuffinthere.” She’d done no more than brush a surface with her fingertips, a cold and unyielding object.
Fern approached the book again to stare warily into the darkness of the page, as though something might burst from within and drag her inside. “They’re portals,” she said. “Hundredsof them.” She dipped a finger into the blackness and withdrew it with a shiver. “It’s like icy water.”
“That’s right, isn’t it, Satchel? This is some kind of storage?” asked Viv.
Satchel nodded miserably. “Yes, m’lady Viv.”
“I guess once we know her secrets you don’t have to keep them anymore, huh?” Viv began to appreciate the scale of what the book might contain, and her eyes widened. “What’s Varinekeepingin all of these? Eight hells, she has to be furious.”
The homunculus remained tellingly mum on the subject.
“I’ve heard about objects like this, but I never thought I’d see one,” said Fern. “And so many pages!”
Flipping a few, Viv sank her left hand in again. Fern tensed, but didn’t object this time. The rattkin was right; it was likesubmerging her arm in icy water. Subtle currents licked at her skin, and Viv broke out in gooseflesh all the way to her neck.
She carefully quested around the edges, finding the borders of the space, like walls of ice that her fingernails skittered across. Holding her breath, she pushed deeper and found what was stored within.
It was moist, fleshy, slick with viscous fluid. She recoiled immediately, yanking her arm back. She stared at her fingertips, expecting to see them smeared with blood or something worse. They were clean, though.
“Not that page,” she said with a shiver, as her imagination supplied an idea of whatpreciselya necromancer might want to store for later use.
Turning to the next, she tried again and was relieved to touch an object she thought she recognized. Dozens of them, in fact. Coins? Pinching one, she felt writing against her fingertips, letters or sigils in sharp relief. But when she began to withdraw it, the coin bit into her flesh like razors, and she released it with a yelp. Pulling free, she found a network of fine cuts lacing her thumb and forefinger.
“Shit.” She moved to suck the oozing blood, but thought better of that and wiped her hand on her trousers instead.
“Satchel.” Fern grasped his ulna. “There’s not… not anythinglivingin these, is there?”
Viv stopped with her hand hovering just above another page, mouth hanging open. “Okay, that’s a question I probably should’ve thought to ask.”
“Nothing living can survive for long in the underspace,” he replied. “But that does not mean there are no dangers stored within. Be wary.”
“Can’t survive forlong? You mean if I put my arm—”
“A few moments will not harm you,” said Satchel, and Viv relaxed. “Not permanently, anyway,” he finished.
“Hells with it. One more,” said Viv, darting her hand into a fresh page. And this time, what she found made her smile immediately. “NowthisI recognize.”
Her fingers traced a pommel and slipped around a leather-wrapped hilt that fit her palm so well, it might have been made just for her. Tightening her grip, she felt momentary resistance, as though the weapon was lodged in a thin scrim of ice. She imagined she could hear the grinding snap as it broke free and she hauled it smoothly into the open, foot by foot, until she held it before her in both hands.
A greatsword, broad and gleaming. As cold shed from the steel with a frosty keening in the warmth of the room, moisture beaded on the blade and ran down into the fuller.
Viv stared in awe, and a thrill of recognition passed through her, like a scent from childhood. “Gods,” she breathed, turning it to catch the light. The forging was exquisite, the balance superb. She ran a thumb appreciatively down the flat of the blade.
She glanced at Fern, who eyed it with a worried expression, and then at Satchel, who was hunched over again in that hunted posture.
Her stomach twisted. “What?” she asked, lowering the blade and taking a step back.
Suddenly, the surface of the page seemed to ripple. It should have been impossible to detect, since no light reflected from it, but still, it could be perceived, a vibration that matched a low thrum issuing from the void, like a horn sounding in a distant valley.
