Thousands of tongues. Red and bloated, severed at the root and piled like stones until they towered above us. A metallic tang hung in the air. Like iron. Or blood.
Vikram paled. “That’s not supposed to be there.”
“Where did you read that?” I grimaced.
“Wouldn’t the stories say that the entrance to Alaka is surrounded by… bythat?”
I was going to answer him, but the gate lurched to life. A hundred red tongues wagging. Instinctively, I shoved Vikram behind me and brought out the dagger.
“What are you going to do?” asked Vikram lazily, pushing past me. “Threaten to cut out their tongues?”
I glared. All at once, the wagging tongues fell still. The gate grumbled. Shuffled. A deep voice echoed from within:
“Stories are slices—”
“—dices—”
“—pretty slivers of—”
“—not so pretty things—”
“—clever prince and—”
“—fierce princess.”
Vikram stood up a little straighter. The tongues had begun to move once more. Speaking to us.
“Have you come to play the Lord of Treasures’ game? Do you wish—”
“—to win a wish? Then give us—”
“—the secret truth lodged in the crease of your first heartbreak—”
“—and we will let you pass.”
“What are you?” Vikram demanded.
Even though the gate was nothing but tongues, I thought I could feel the air tugging into a sly smile.
“We are the toll paid by those who came before and left Alaka—”
“—and those who came before and—”
“—didn’t.”
“You see, a truth parted with has its own way of becoming a tale. It is told so often that it stumbles in the telling, little bits flaking off, little bits sticking on, and then years accrete and they—”
“—tend to warp the truth, press it into something it was not at the beginning—”
“—not a lie, but a—”
“—tale. It’s easier to see the truth when you disguise it.”
Vikram cleared his throat. “I’ll go first.”
I prepared to leave. His secrets were his own business. But the gate huffed.
“You play together. You break—”
