Fear prickled along Aloisia’s skin. What had they walked into?
Inari swept his hand forwards, lighting the way before them. A stone door carved with an intricate pattern blocked the way.
“I would wager what we are searching for is behind that door,” Inari said.
“There’s no handle,” Kaja said. “How do we open it?”
Aloisia noticed a groove at about waist height on the door. The stone jutted out a fraction, hollow on the inside like a small bowl. She traced it with her fingers, observing how the swirling pattern grew from this bowl like a vine.
“I think,” Inari said, reaching out to the groove, “this may require a blood sacrifice.” He lifted his blade, the tip resting below his thumb.
Aloisia caught him. “It shouldn’t be you.”
A frown furrowed his brow. “Why?”
“I think the only one of us with magic ought to be kept out of this. Just in case.” Aloisia pressed her own blade to the base of her thumb before either of them could protest, holding it over the small bowl so her blood would be collected there.
“Lis!” Kaja tried to pull her away, but Inari stopped her.
“It is done.” His gaze was on the door. “There’s no stopping it now.”
Aloisia watched with a morbid fascination as her blood travelled along the channels etched into the door. She withdrew her hand, pressing her tongue to the laceration, the coppery taste of her own blood filling her mouth. Gradually, the pattern filled in with red, reaching the edges of the stone slab. A thud echoed around them, and they backed away. The door inched open, screeching as stone grated against stone.
With the release of the door, Aloisia’s skin prickled as if a thousand tiny insects had descended upon her. She raked her nails across her arms, knowing it was only in her head. A voice sounded at the back of her mind; a memory of a dream long gone.
Blood is the undoing.
Blood will release him.
Blood will bind her.
A red glow poured through the crack, lighting the world around them as the door opened further. Within were more of the runes: bind, break, awaken. Aloisia’s body was alive with pain and fear and something more foreign still skittering atop her skin. Her mind dimmed like candlelight.
Inari stepped inside first, the flames still cupped in his palm, more a talisman than a light now. The huntresses followed close behind, the world around them turning to shades of red in the unearthly glow.
At the centre of the room stood a rock, as tall as Inari and wider still. It was black as onyx, fine fissures splintering its surface, emanating a red glow. All around them, the walls were covered with the runes of the spell. And, at the far side of the room, huddled in one corner, was a man.
Wary hazel green eyes peered out from behind lank, dark curls. He studied them, his jaw set. His wrists and ankles were bound by chains, each covered with more of the runes. The light brown skin beneath the manacles was raw, a stinging red, and there was dried blood on his bare feet.
Silence enveloped them, each party staring at the other in a stunned quiet. The man was deathly still, slumped against the wall, the only movement the swift flicker of his eyes as he looked between them.
“This is a rather strong spell for one person,” Inari said, breaking the silence. “Who are you?”
“The name,” the man said, his voice breaking, “is Ezra.”
Kaja pulled out their skin of water. Ezra’s lips were cracked, his voice hoarse. Inari took the skin, closing his fist around the flame, dousing it. He knelt before the man, holding the skin to his lips. Ezra drank deeply, as if he had not for days. Aloisia wondered if the magic was the only thing keeping him alive.
Inari withdrew the skin, retaining some for their journey back.
“Much obliged.” Ezra wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
“What are you doing here?”
He breathed a laugh. “If it were that simple, I would have told you the whole tale the moment you set foot in here.”
“Who chained you here?”
“I would love to divulge such information. But, unfortunately, I cannot.” Ezra leant back, his head tipping against the wall.
