They walked in silence through the dark, craggy opening of the foreboding structure.
Ten steps. Twenty. She kept count. Only when the platform edge fell behind them, swallowed by shadow, did Madelaine release unconsciously the smallest, most controlled breath she had ever uttered. It barely made a sound. Barely.
Jack’s hand moved—quick, subtle—brushing against hers for half a second.
A warning. Or reassurance. Or perhaps both.
He didn’t look at her.
Didn’t dare.
Ahead, the entrance to the city yawned open like a mouth of black stone and something inside seemingly waited for them, judging them before they even arrived. Well, likely only judging her.
Madelaine pressed her lips together tighter.
There were others in the cavernous space. Men only. All of them seemed to turn and watch the procession of three. Two of which were off-worlders. She was not acknowledged, but she doubted she was unseen. Not really.
And for the first time since they landed, she wasn’t sure that was better.
Unacknowledged at every turn by every man they encountered, and yet she felt like a strobe light was attached to her head, emitting an, “Here I am, a possibly irregular sound-making vessel for all to see,” message to all the men in this unforgiving land.
Yeah. Definitely not better.
The Obsidian Reliquary and The Archivist of Silence
The corridor narrowed the deeper they went.
Madelaine had found a rhythm to her silent walking and the counting helped, but she remained vigilant about keeping quiet.
Following the escort through the larger space of the city was basically a march. A quiet march to meet the Archivist of Silence in his secluded chamber.
The message in the package they’d received from the JOP told them they needed to meet the Archivist of Silence. There was no further description, but Madelaine figured he was like the Secret Keeper in Suspicion, Minnesota.
A smooth, black stone with alien carvings came with the directions and the long list of dos and don’ts for this leg of their journey. Lastly, the message included the phrase Jack would have to say when a particular prompt was offered.
The escort led them all the way across the large, open space to yet another corridor. Stone gave way to something darker—smoother. Obsidian stone surrounded them as they walked through a short entryway into the next space.
Black walls that didn’t reflect light so much as consume it. The escort never spoke, never turned, but somehow remained exactly four paces ahead, gliding along like he had built-in roller-blades attached to the bottoms of his feet. The image in her head almost made her smile. If breathing too loudly was a crime, laughter from a woman would likely result in a swift death she wouldn’t even see coming.
Madelaine mentally shook her head and continued counting her steps. Not because she needed to, but because it was the only thing she could control and she needed a bit of control to make it through this part of her important journey.
Jack didn’t look back once they entered the new corridor. He didn’t check on her or break formation. And that was how she knew he was more aware of her than ever.
They reached a threshold without a door.
The escort stopped.
Stepped aside.
And for the first time since they started his march, he spoke. “Proceed.”
The word echoed strangely, as though the room ahead had already decided it would accept them.
Or not.
Jack stepped through.
