St. Silas seemed to know which direction as if by instinct, taking turns without a moment’s hesitation, although each passage shared the same rough-bricked outline.
“…a cold finger,
That’s where the ring willgo,
Merry in the ground,
We’ll toast her shadow…”
Rami’s voice weaved through the darkness, reciting an old Golborne tune often sung during the Festival of Demons to keep the spirits at bay.
“The sound of a dying cat would be a marked improvement.” Leena could hear the abject disgust in St. Silas’s voice, but neither he nor Leena told Rami to stop. Perhaps he was as glad of the break in the silence as she was.
They walked for another long spell, the darkness sitting heavily on their chests. Evenly spaced torches jutted from the walls, and Rami reached to kindle one with his own light. The sizzle of the flame meeting the wick was loud within the narrow hall.
St. Silas whipped round, a harsh command wrenched from his mouth. “Rami, step back!”
“Wha—?” Rami began to ask, but it was too late.
An explosion erupted behind her, where Rami had been standing moments before.
Instant. Thunderous.
Leena felt her body hurled against the stone wall, St. Silas’s unyielding arms confining her in place. The debris flew around them, but she remained untouched. St. Silas pulled himself away from her only when the silence overtook them.
Heart hammering, Leena pushed forward past St. Silas, shouting her brother’s name. Images of Rami’s body strewn on the floor, charred and lifeless, flashed in her mind. She staggered toward him, horror rising in her chest with every second in which he didn’t answer.
“I’m here, Leena. I’m all right.” It was Rami’s voice, corporeal through the thick haze. “It’s just smoke.” He let out a loud cough.“Lucky for me, or I’d be dead.” Another cough. “Or have lost another hand in a completely unrelated accident. No one would believe that story.”
She grabbed his arm and they stumbled through the smoke together, holding their breath until they cleared it. Rami cleaned the soot from his face with the back of his sleeve, leaving streaky residue over his cheeks. The entirety of Leena’s back was a grit-covered mess from the wall, and her hair was ashy, as if she’d powdered it in the old fashion. St. Silas had been far enough away from the initial explosion that it hadn’t affected him at all.
“Are you all right?” St. Silas lifted his lantern to Leena.
“Yes.” She flushed. “Thank you for your assistance.” St. Silas did not respond, his assessing eyes searching her. She tried to wipe her face free of dust. “Rami was behind me when the explosion occurred. What happened?”
“The explosive mechanism from the hidden trap must have backfired, so only smoke was released.” St. Silas began relighting Rami’s and Leena’s fallen lamps. “You were lucky. Some of these traps are too old to function properly. The next one might not be so forgiving. Do not touchanythingwithout my explicit command. And don’t light any of the torches; they are all designed to explode.”
Both Leena and Rami looked outraged.
“You could’ve warned us!” Rami took back his lamp with more force than necessary.
“Consider yourself warned.” Without another glance at either of them, St. Silas pressed forward, and the Al-Sayers had little choice but to follow.
Leena was not sure how much time passed. The crypts felt as if the hours didn’t reach them, as if time itself stood still, too weary to progress in these decrepit halls. They had entered the crypts shortly after half past two; surely they must have been walking an hour at least. She hoped that they were not too far from their destination.
Just as she was about to ask St. Silas, who always carried histimepiece with him, she felt a wet trickle slide down her nose. When she wiped it on her sleeve, she found blood.
Leena drew back in surprise. She thought she’d been too far from the explosion for it to have caused any damage, but the bleeding would not stop.
First it was the left nostril. Then it was the right. Then it was both.
Carrying the kerosene lamp prevented her from searching her pockets for her handkerchief, so she used her sleeve to stanch the flow of blood.
Gradually, the passage narrowed until they were forced to walk shoulder to shoulder with the walls. Both St. Silas and Rami dipped their heads to navigate the low ceilings. And all the while, Leena silently tried to control the bleeding, irritated with her body’s response. First, she had lost control with Moira and needed to be rescued, and now she was injured and risked slowing them down.
Then Leena began to taste the metallic acidity of blood at the back of her throat. Stubbornly, she tried to swallow it down, but the backward flow from her nostrils had intensified, making her choke.
The hall expanded suddenly into a large cavernous space just as Leena dropped her lamp and began coughing up blood.
