It felt like an eternity, but eventually Warren and the shade arrived at the square. His shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you.”
The shade ignored him and drifted forward, up the steps to the temple. Warily, he followed, keeping his guard up for the shadows that had attacked them the first time. He made it up the stairs without incident and pushed open the heavy doors. The blade of his flashlight cut through the dark, cavernous space until it hit the platform at the other end where Esha had disappeared.
He gripped the dagger and headed straight for it. The shade appeared in front of him, blocking his way. He sidestepped, and it did too.
“What the hell?”
It was herding him toward the wall on the left. He could just step through it, though it would probably feel like shite, but the shade clearly wanted him to go left. It had led him correctly thus far, so he strode over to the wall. He’d give it one minute, then he was going through that portal.
“It’s just a wall.” It was made of gray stone blocks that rose forty feet above him. He stepped back toward the platform, but the shade blocked him again. Frustrated and ready to get to Esha, he tried to step through it, but was propelled back. “Damn it!”
The shade pushed him back farther, and he reached for his dagger. He didn’t want to hurt it if it had helped him, but it wasn’t giving him a lot of choice. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of great sweeps of color across the stone wall, illuminated by the glow of his flashlight.
This was what the shade wanted him to see. He hadn’t noticed before because of the dark. “Fine. I’ll look.”
He ran his light over the wall. It had been painted with figures in rows starting at the top. It was a story, or perhaps recorded history. He squinted and began to read from the top to the bottom. Some of the tales he couldn’t decipher, but the one about souls being trapped in the city made him frown. The shade hovered by the bottom portion of the tale, where the temple was destroyed and the souls were set free.
“You’re trapped, and you want to be freed,” he said.
Though it didn’t nod, he could almost feel its desire.
“But it says I have to destroy the temple. I canna—the portal to Aurora’s world is here. I need it to get to Esha.”
Frustration now vibrated from the soul, making his skin prickle.
“If I can get her back safely, and my soul from Aurora, I’ll do it. I’ll free you.”
He couldn’t tell what the soul felt now, but it advanced on him and he stepped back instinctively. It glided by him down the wall a few feet to another panel of paintings. It hovered near one and he stepped closer, his light and his gaze racing over the images.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathed. He raised the dagger in his hand and laid it against the wall next to the depiction of an identical one. These images, more detailed than even the story about the souls trapped in the city, showed the life of a soulceress who had stolen souls from others. Her crazed eyes gleamed with madness in one of the last panels, no doubt taken over by the pain and misery of the souls trapped within her body, trying to escape.
In the next panel, another soulceress stabbed her with the same dagger he now held and the trapped souls flew free. Finally, both soulceresses rose to their feet. The crazed one now had normal eyes and the wound in her belly had healed.
He gazed at the dagger in his hand. Could this really be the answer to his problems?
If he used this against Aurora and it worked as it had in the painting, she would live. Was he willing to risk that her madness and cruelty were due only to the souls, as Esha said?
Uncertain of the answer, he turned and strode toward the platform. The soul now let him pass, as if it had shown him the final painting as a reward for promised help.
He slowed when he reached the steps and climbed cautiously, his muscles tensed and ready for the appearance of the ice walls.
Nothing crashed down. A one-time spell, then. He prayed that the portal still worked. He hadn’t seen her enter, but it only made sense that it was the archway to the anteroom behind the great marble table.
He skirted the table and came to a stop before the archway. The sickness hit him without warning, the nausea and aching muscles nearly knocking him over.
Shite. In his fear for Esha, he’d forgotten to take the medicine.
With shaking hands, he struggled to search his pockets, praying that the vial was still there and hadn’t fallen out onto the floor of the bedroom. Finally, after an eternity of trembling and sweating, his hand closed over the tiny glass vial. It took several tries to get a drop on his tongue, but within seconds, his strength and steadiness surged back.
He shook himself, clearing his mind, then tucked the vial back in his pocket. With the dagger gripped tightly in his hand, he stepped through the archway and was sucked through the portal.
When he opened his eyes, he stood on a tropical beach at night. His gaze was drawn immediately to the brightly lit mansion that stood back from the beach. The windows were all broken and great crashing noises sounded from within.
Dread surged within him as he raced across the sand and up onto the marble patio. He stifled the desire to call out for Esha and pressed himself flat against the wall of the house. His only chance to stab Aurora would come with stealth, and he couldn’t blow it.
He peered through the broken glass door and saw only a living room, the marble floor cracked and the furniture upended. Noise crashed from the back. Heart in his throat, he crept silently through the living room, his back flat against the wall, and peered through an archway into the kitchen.
Shattered appliances littered every surface and Aurora stood within, her eyes wild and black, her short hair waving about her head. Her familiar, a sleek black cat, hissed at her from its perch on the counter.