Possibly dying in the process.
Serill shuddered at the thought. Those two were the most capable people he’d ever met. The fire breather and the Night Terror. They’d be fine.
They’d be fine.
He nearly walked into Farrah, shuffling his steps to avoid taking a torch to the face. The tunnel had widened once Elias pushed a large stone and wooden bookcase out of the way, but the open space was just pitch black. Farrah reached above her head with her torch, setting the flame along a nook in the stone.
Tendrils of fire lit up the wall.
Bursting and expanding through the room, the flames followed a carved path. Swirling, curling, and bringing the room to life. Up and down, twisting and licking around the upper half of the cave walls, the fire illuminated their surroundings.
“Good gods,” Farrah whispered, a hand over her heart as she stared at the rock. “It’s beautiful.”
Serill’s jaw hung open at the patterns the fire made on the wall.
The symbols of the shadow-kind, carved into the stone and brought to life with flame. Veil shards glittered in the rock, embedded like a purple mosaic in smoke-like patterns that followed the fire.
Elias leaned closer to the wall and sniffed. “Cibi leaf. This stuff will burn—“
“For years,” Serill finished. The leaf was common near Anfroy, imbued with Sueta’s magic and capable of holding a flame without turning to ash or spreading. Used in every building from the sun-blessed kingdom to Severina to keep fires and lights alive, and safe to keep burning without fear of razing homes.
If only that could have stopped the destruction they now saw.
Dozens of shelves, thousands of books and papers and knowledge had been blackened. Charred and shredded and littered across the ground. Dampened by the dripping walls and puddles scattered around the stone.
Turned to ash by fire wielders. Including…
Serill threw a hand over his mouth and turned away from… the pile of…
Farrah choked on a gag, gripping Serill in an attempt to steady herself. Except they both ended up crumbling to the ground, her face shoved into his chest as she clutched at his shirt, trembling.
He managed to glance up to Elias as he pulled Farrah closer. The man’s face had gone pale as he leaned against the entrance, fingers crushing the stone to dust from how tightly he held the wall.
His eyes remained locked on the pile of red and black stained bones, fabric, and… strips of flesh. Like they had been gathered, tied, and then burned. Left there to rot.
Slowly, Elias released his fingers from the wall, rock showering to his feet. Each step looked heavy and painful as he moved toward the center of the room.
He removed the pack from his shoulder and unrolled his blanket.
Then rested it over the remains.
Without a sound, he turned and walked back toward the hallway they had just entered.
“Where are you going?” Serill managed to ask, still holding Farrah to his chest.
Elias blinked, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. His gaze was hollow as he looked down at them.
“I’m going to dig a grave.”
* * *
He relishedthe pain in his body, bones, muscles. Allowed his skin to suffer the chill from rain. Squeezed the bloodied fabric tied around the cuts in his hands from the rocky mud. Let that fresh sting remind him that he was alive, that his friends were alive, thatBrelawas still alive, wherever she was.
Elias hadn’t once tapped into his gods-blessed strength when he dug the too-shallow grave in the backyard of a nearby house. Those men and women deserved a proper burial, done without a magic that had contributed to their deaths. He did it so Brela wouldn’t have to. So they would have peace at last.
He was thankful that there were no children in that pile, but he didn’t thank the gods. No, the gods weren’t here. Not even Ryia, who refused to protect the people who honored her.
Brela would get the first stab against the shadow god if they ever met her, but Elias would be right behind her with his own knife.
