But I’ve never seen anything more clearly. I keep my voice down as I speak. “I suspect they’re trying to see if being in the presence of Etherlight causes anyone to transform. I’d bet their theory is that the Ethershade within them might reject the presence of Etherlight enough that it revolts.”
Of course, the Creed is wrong in all of it—I’m certain now. Dragons are creatures of Etherlight, not Ethershade. But, in that case, being in the presence of so much Etherlight would bring out the curse. They’ll get the results they want but for the wrong reasons.
The vicar descends the stairs, eyes grazing over us like honed blades. “This way.”
Supplicants and inquisitors fall into line, passing through the same door that we went through the last time we left the monastery and descended to the Undercrust. Previously, we kept to the bridges that skimmed the ceiling of the massive cave beneath Vinguard. This time, we descend farther.
The Undercrust is shaped like a cone. Its widest span is at the top—closest to the Upper City above. The cone is split into three broad levels.
The first and highest is the city portion—this level boasts multiple-story homes that, instead of being built from the ground up, are constructed from the top down in the massive stalactites that curtain the rocky top of the Undercrust. Almost like a mirror of the city above. Bridges connect the spears of hanging rock. Pathways loop around and through them, mostly shadowed. The only light is from the streetlamps and the ambient, golden glow of the Font below. Horowin and his brigade seem more at home here as we crisscross through the people of the Undercrust, who readily part for us.
Surprisingly, the latecomers seem wary to be back here. Their sunken eyes dart around, and they murmur to themselves, hands covering the bruises on their arms. I wonder if they’re remembering when they were caught…or maybe it had something to do with whatever replacement test the vicar gave them.
I shake my head and banish it from my thoughts. It won’t do for me to dwell on all the horrible things the vicar can come up with.
Those whose skin isn’t naturally a shade of brown are ghostly pale, much like Ulven. I doubt they’ve ever seen the sun. And they look at us with as much fascination as I imagine they’d look at the sky.
I can’t stop myself from wondering if somewhere among them are Yenni’s parents. I hope they were already told of their daughter’s demise and this isn’t how they find out. But everything involving the Tribunal seems so unnecessarily cruel, I doubt it. My hands ball into fists, and I set my jaw.
The cave begins to narrow in the middle section and brighten as it nears the Font, walls closing in and trapping the naturallywarm, thick air that radiates with a golden glow from deep below. This is the farming section.
Terraces are cut into the walls, connected by fewer bridges throughout. Crops and livestock are fed and nurtured by Etherlight. The buildings here aren’t privately owned. They are under the control of the Creed.
Beneath the farms are springs that pool on similar stone terraces in place of crops. The water is piped up to the Undercrust and Upper City above. But the springs themselves are a holy place of meditation—of connection with life itself, raw and eternal, bubbling up from deep within the world.
Then we reach an iron gate at the lowest of the ledges that hold the springs. It’s set into a fence that spans the edge of the terrace we’re on—a stone balcony that stretches over the abyss of the Font. Etherlight swirls so thickly, it manifests as a mist that I note with fascination is not unlike the scourge. This is the only place I’ve ever heard of Etherlight being potent enough that anyone can see it. Its golden glow illuminates the entire Undercrust, although the source of the Font itself is still impossible to see. An arched stairway carved from stone stretches away from the ledge and into the misty abyss.
I’m not the only supplicant that eyes the edge on the other side of the iron fence and the vast nothingness beyond. Even though we are deeper into the earth than I’ve ever imagined possible, it still keeps going. It’s as though we will touch the very heart of the world itself.
The vicar opens the gate before us, and I suck in a breath as he passes through.This is really happening. We’re going to head down to the point of the cone—the deepest part of the Undercrust: the Font itself.
Beyond the iron gate is another stairway that curves along the wall of the Undercrust. It’s carved right into the stone, just like the ones above. Except, unlike the ones above, it’s barely wideenough for one person at a time and has no railing. One slip would be our last.
I can almost hear every supplicant’s heart pounding—from proximity to the Font, and the peril of the sheer drop to our right. The stone wall is warm underneath my palm as I brace myself against it. Almost too warm. Tiny jolts pass through me, as if a lightning storm is happening in each of my joints. I can’t imagine how bad it’d be if Mum hadn’t been able to give me a tincture.
Please be okay, my heart whispers at the thought of her.
As we plunge deeper into the swirling mist of Ether, it becomes impossible to see beyond the person in front of us. Saipha’s shoulders are nearly invisible, awash in the golden glow. Somehow, all this light isn’t blinding. Ahead, a shape comes into view—another landing.
It reminds me of the wide, flat cap of a mushroom. The haze makes it impossible to see if there’s any structure beneath supporting it or if it’s a horizontal shelf protruding from the wall.
As our feet meet the stone, we all let out a sigh of relief, grateful to be off the narrow stairway. It’s hard to tell how big the landing is, but it’s large enough that every supplicant and the inquisitors can stand upon it and there is still more beyond, obscured.
With the haze of Etherlight blocking the city above completely, it feels as though we’ve stepped into another world.
“Welcome to the precipice of the Font.” The vicar’s voice is muffled, weighted by the ambient Ether. “Here is where, once you have successfully completed your Tribunal, you will receive your gilding. Just as the Mercy Knights guard Vinguard’s walls, I guard the soul of Vinguard. The Creed is the manifestation of the guiding light of the Font in all of us.” He lifts a hand and places it on his cheek underneath his shining, golden eye. “It is from this power we come, and it is to this power we return. The gilding is a reminder of this—a reminder that we are all connected. Today,you will not receive your gilding, but you will meditate before the Font to seek Valor’s guidance within you. You will spend time here, basking in the Ether, just as he did to empower himself before leaving to attack the Elder Dragon.”
The mention of the Elder Dragon so soon after thinking of Mum reminds me of something else she said—something I’d all but forgotten in the fog of hunger and push of survival: the vicar is planning an offensive. Did he bringmehere to make sure I’ll be ready? Mum mentioned a weapon, too, something big drawing on the Font. I look around warily for anything that could be it, but of course there’s nothing.
Questions on questions compound, filling the empty space in my stomach to the point that I’m nauseous.What am I not seeing?I’m missing something important, something that I know, through all my terror, has to do with me.
“Please follow the inquisitors to the spring of cleansing,” he finishes.
We’re taken to the right. Another narrow bridge comes into view, also without railings, suspended over a glowing abyss. The bridge takes us from the platform we arrived on to another.
On this vast arc of stone protruding from the cave wall is a wide but shallow body of water. It’s impossible to tell exactly how large it is, as it extends into the haze that surrounds us. Stone benches line the closest edge.
“Strip down to your smallclothes,” the prelate commands.
