We stumbled toward it, all three exhausted and battered. I limped, my left leg damaged by a stone shot by a sling hours ago. It had hit the side of my knee and every step sent a shot of pain above and below the injury. No time to stop and check it. We could only move forward.
Wind roared around us, and I glanced behind me to see a ball of flame shoot up from the dye merchant’s shop.
Forbidding take it!
The wind was already fanning the flames, and it was blowing in our direction. This was my worst fear – that the records would be burned before I could even access them.
We stumbled to the stone building. It was smaller than I would have thought, a slender tower that ended abruptly in a jagged line of stone.
It did not look like the rest of the city. It looked almost as if it had been birthed of the rock, rather than built here. Someone had carefully carved stone totems of birds and placed them around the low moss-covered entrance, but it seemed to me as if they weren’t placed for decoration, but in a ring to ward something off. What was in the building that was so dangerous it had to be kept inside?
I squinted harder, seeing a twisted form behind all the birds. Could that have been the body of a snake, the head knocked off and replaced by that carved eagle? And on the other side, another snake, hidden by a swan? I didn’t have time for chills, and yet one ran up my spine all the same.
“How do we get inside?” I asked, looking for a door.
There didn’t seem to be one. The monastery was placed at the very center of a small hedge-shrouded garden. Each of its eight sides were covered in thick lichen – so thick that it obscured something that was carved in the stone – and they were identical, except for where the totems had been placed. No one side looked more like it should have a door than any other. I thought I saw scuff marks leading up to one of the carved panels on one side, but it could easily have been my imagination.
“I’ve never heard of anyone going inside,” Oman said with a shrug. “It’s just here.”
“Someone cuts the hedges,” I argued.
The boys just shrugged.
“And it’s called a monastery. So that suggests there are monks.”
They shrugged again. Very helpful.
It was getting hotter as the fire licked toward us and then a cry echoed down the street. I glanced over my shoulder and froze. A Claw stood in the center of the street, pointing at us. He called behind him just as dozens more emerged from around the corner. Fire, pursuit, and no way in.
I ground my teeth together.
“You got me here,” I said to Oman and Dahn. “Now run. This is my battle to fight.”
They exchanged a glance.
“You can tell people what you saw – that there are bees in Far Stones.”
They nodded their heads to that, and Oman made something like a salute in response.
“We’ll tell everyone.”
I clapped them on the shoulders, glad I’d finally found some way to convince them to go. This wasn’t their fight.
“Be safe,” I said.
“We’ll tell everyone,” Dahn said, his eyes as fiery as the flush in his cheeks. “Everyone.”
Just as long as he did it a long way from here.
“Go.”
I gave him a gentle shove and breathed a sigh of relief when he finally turned and stumbled down the street, away from both the Claws and the flames. At least I wouldn’t get them killed with me. At least I could say that much.
I was glad that Zayana and Retger hadn’t come here with me. I wouldn’t have to watch them die, either. I placed my hand against one wall of the monastery and concentrated my thoughts. The strangest sensation – like a snake slithering across my palm – filled my mind. I jerked my hand back and it was gone. But now, through the lichen, I could see words glowing and I froze, swallowing down bile.
We keep what we catch.
Stories and souls.
Dreams and Sight.
Come in and Fetch.
Hearts and tales.
Hopes so bright.
Open with Blood,
Pay our price.
Bind your eyes.
Lose what you Loved,
Empty and cold.
It all grows old.
Lay bare your Desire,
Great or small,
Gain it twice.
Burn on our Pyre
Bright and hot,
Soul made naught.
Ominous and spooky. I was already regretting coming here and this only made it worse, but at least one thing was pretty clear about that door. It opened in a different kind of way. “Open with blood,” it said. I decided to take it at face value. I took my sword, cut my palm, and placed it against the poem. There was a grinding sound of stone on stone but nothing else.
I’d put my blood here, wasn’t that enough?
There was another cry from the Claws behind me – louder this time.
They were almost here. I needed to think. Think. Aella! Think!
A door that didn’t open. A monastery with no books. A useless dead end. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the panel, trying to think.
And fell through the wall.
Chapter Seventeen
I gasped, stumbling, shocked by my sudden fall, but I managed to keep my feet, knife still in my hand. I’d expected a tomb after the way this place looked from the outside.
Instead, I found a library. A very full library. Books filled the available space, shelves climbing upward as far as the eye could see, supported by carved bird totems and accessible by towering ladders and tiny railed platforms. Even the shelves were a tribute to the Winged Empire with little songbirds clutching vines carved into the shelf faces. Below, the books were set in leaning stacks or sprawled out over bookstands in all their open, tumbled glory. I could spend many weeks here. But I didn’t have that long.
The library was full of more than just books and tension rang through the small building like a clattering bell. Five men and women dressed in long, gauzy white robes stood before me, their hair pulled back and corded into braids. They were arranged in a half-circle, their faces showing looks ranging from indifference to pure judgment.
And I wasn’t the only visitor there.
“Retger!” I gasped.
“Shrikeling, you made it.” Relief filled his features as he turned to quickly hug me. “When we lost you in the chaos, we both feared the worst. I went back for you, but you’d been swept away. I know I said to meet at the inn, but I had a premonition that you’d keep on going.”
Zayana looked relieved, too, her bird’s flames grew a little brighter from where he hovered just over her shoulder. I saw the nearest monk flinch at the sight.
“How did you get here?” I asked. “And when did you get here?”
“We fought our way through,” Retger said, but there was frustration on his face. “We arrived almost an hour ago, but these monks will not help us. And I’m getting nervous. It’s getting louder outside.”
“The fires are close,” I breathed and he nodded tightly, seeming to read my mood and determination just from those few words.
“As we’ve been saying,” one of the monks said. “This monastery is not open to the public. Though we feel for your plight in the chaos of the city, we cannot allow you to disturb this place. It has been here since before the founding of the Empire’s colony on Far Stones and here it will remain long past any temporary turmoil. No weapons or magic or breathed threats will change our minds.”
“We aren’t here to flee the violence,” Retger protested impatiently and it sounded like he was repeating himself. Had he really threatened them?
I laid a hand on his arm, my brows furrowing as I stepped forward. “Since before the arrival of the Winged Empire here? So my eyes did not deceive me. You placed totems around this place to ward off whatever is inside. And this very tower grew out of the land. I can see how it twists up like the Forbidding itself.”
Fear lit the eyes of the
monk who had been speaking and around her, the four others made the sign of the bird.
“Peace,” she said, to me. “Peace. Do not speak of what you don’t know.”
I took a step forward, sheathing my knife but crossing my arms over my chest. “If I don’t know about this, then you need to tell me. We came here looking for insight into the times of the early settlement here. This seems like the exact place to get that information.”
The monk seemed to relax. There was a smugness to her smile when she said, “Our written records only reach back to the time after the city of Glorious Ingvar was built.”
I smiled but not in a friendly way. “Your written records. That’s the key, isn’t it? You said this place was here before you even arrived. So, let’s talk about unwritten records.”
Her face paled. Her companions were shaking their heads unconsciously, bodies stiff.
“Are there unwritten records of a time before the Empire of War and Wings took this monastery? Perhaps they speak of a general. One with two ravens.”
The monk paled even further until I thought she might pass out. I watched her throat bob as she swallowed before steeling her face.
“Why would there be records of that here?”
Behind me, Retger snorted. “Why indeed. But if there weren’t records, I doubt you’d look so pale!”
I was out of patience. There was a muffled crash from outside. We didn’t have time to pick at their words.
“This monastery is about to burn with all your precious books inside. Our time here is limited, and I need answers,” I said grimly. “Lead me to your records of this time before. Or I will show you the same grit I showed the Claws outside.”
“Our monastery cannot be burned,” the monk said smugly. “We are not of the outside world.”
But the others looked less certain.
My bees were out before I’d even made the conscious decision to release them. They swirled out from my hands and centered around the monk as I took an aggressive step forward.
“Neither am I, monk. Show me these records.”
She exchanged a look with the other monks and one of them made the sign of the bird a second time.
“Bees,” the other monk said. “As prophesied.”
The others looked frightened, their eyes flicking from me to Retger and then their leader. She shook her head as if she pitied me.
“If you want access to our hidden records, then access them all you like. It is not we who will pay the price for that,” she said mildly.
I drew my bees back to me, nodding. “Good. Can you point me in the direction of the records concerning this general?”
She snorted. “He was the same kind of fool you are and faced the same kind of fate. But don’t worry. The unwritten records record his ending as surely as they will record yours.”
I glanced at Retger. “Why do I feel like she’s going to brick me up in a hole under this library?”
“Because she’s being intentionally creepy,” Retger said, drawing his sword. “It’s not a survival trait.”
“Peace!” The monk’s hands were up, all smugness fading away. “Peace. We – we monks, that is – will not hurt you. It’s your very request that carries the risk and if you choose to go into the heart of the tower and see what is hidden here, then it is the tower you must fear and not us. Yes, we have a library here, but this monastery was created for two reasons – to contain the power within and to obscure it from prying eyes. This place is not safe for mortals. It houses a tendril of that great entity you call the Forbidding and through that tendril, you may access the hidden tower and the mind behind the evil of this world. We live – every single day – in service of the good work of keeping people from that fate. Your ignorance – while horribly fascinating – is dangerous to you and to our cause. So, no, we do not mean you any harm and that is precisely why we have tried to warn you away.”
There was a roar outside and the sound of something crashing. I felt my body tense. We were running out of time. Totems wouldn’t keep Claws out and they wouldn’t keep flames out.
“Let’s just get this done,” Retger muttered from beside me, watching the ceiling nervously. Zayana made the sign of the bird, her eyes turned up with his. “Before this place comes crashing down in us.”
“What do you mean by ‘hidden’ tower? The broken tower is clear to see from outside,” I pressed. I was in a hurry, but that didn’t mean I could just rush in. I needed to learn to think things through first.
The monks shuffled uneasily. “The tower you see is just the physical shell around the real tower. The real tower is invisible – a thing of spirit and cloud. Anything trapped within – or that which emanates from what is trapped within – is also invisible.”
“Wait ...” Retger said. “Trapped?”
The monks seemed to stand taller. “We are trying to warn you. It is possible to be trapped within the tower. And if you enter it, we expect you will be trapped, too. The Forbidding is not to be tangled with. It is to be contained and defended against. Even we – who know the secrets of the Forbidding Tower – even we do not enter it.”
“But it’s inside that tower that we’ll find the records of what came before, correct?” I said, steeling myself. I was going to have to do this. “It’s there that we’ll find what happened to the general?”
The monks exchanged a look before the lead monk sighed again.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then I’m going in.” I turned to Retger and Zayana. “Can you guard my back? I really don’t want to be bricked into a basement somewhere.
Retger snorted. “You won’t be. On my blood and the honor of House Shrike, sister, I will guard your back. I will be there for you.”
I nodded, satisfied. “I’m ready.”
“No one is ever ready,” the monk countered. “But we will grant you the right to die on your own terms. Come.”
I stepped forward and Retger stepped behind me.
“Only the girl. If you wish to defend her, warrior of House Shrike, then you and your Wing will do it from here.”
I noticed Zayana’s blush and shy look toward Retger at being labeled his. That was fast. Though I could hardly judge her for it. After all, I had fallen almost that quickly for ... wait, that was undecided, Aella! I was not going to admit that – even to myself. Not right now when I needed a clear mind.
I cleared my throat, dislodging the thought.
“Lead on, monk.”
She led me between the shelves. They curled like the shell of a snail, spiraling into the center where a pillar stood – carved of black stone. It was a roiling pillar of interwoven snakes, swirling up from the floor into the sky and broken just above my head. On the pillar, the same words were written as on the door of the monastery.
She read the words aloud in a hallowed tone.
“We keep what we catch.
Stories and souls.
Dreams and Sight.
Come in and Fetch.
Hearts and tales.
Hopes so bright.
Open with Blood,
Pay our price.
Bind your eyes.
Lose what you Loved,
Empty and cold.
It all grows old.
Lay bare your Desire,
Great or small,
Gain it twice.
Burn on our Pyre
Bright and hot,
Soul made naught.”
“More blood?” I inquired.
“If only that was all it demanded,” the monk said dryly. “No, not this time. This time, think of the thing you are here to retrieve. But know that wanting a thing does not mean you’ll get a thing. And if you fail to be true – if what you want is not what you think you want – then your desire may warp what you are ultimately given.”
“That sounds dangerous.” My palms were already sweating.
“Of course, it is. None of us truly knows our hearts.”
“And what makes the Forbidding so ge
nerous as to grant desires?”
Her laugh was harsh. “Generous? It will take far more from you than it gives, and I doubt it will give you what you want. It never has in the past.”
The monastery shook as a battering sound filled the room.
“I’d tell you that time is short,” the monk said, “but I think you already know that.”
Chapter Eighteen
How could you make your motives pure?
I tried to concentrate on wanting to free the general – but it was hard not to let that get tangled up with wanting to defeat the Winged Empire and as soon as that struck my mind, it was hard not to think about Osprey or how I could be free of him hunting me – which would mean setting him to be free. What would he do if he was free? Would I ever see him again?
I took a deep breath – tried not to think of those things – and concentrated solely on the general. Victore. I needed him free.
Skies have mercy. Stars have mercy. It was like before when I sensed that there was some great presence listening to me. I reached upward with my heart calling for help. Grant me the clarity of heart to enter this door.
I took a deep breath, concentrating all my thought on Victore and stepped forward, placing my forehead against the pillar and closing my eyes yet again.
I stumbled into what I could only guess was the invisible tower. The floor was glass – or at least, it was translucent – and it glowed a rich golden orange as if there was a fire deep below that I could not see. The walls appeared to be woven of living black vines, which twisted and moved as I watched them, forming stairs that twisted up around the walls in a spiral and sprouting red flowers at the end of their twisting tendrils, only to let them die – living a full lifetime in the blink of an eye – and then re-sprouting them again.
My heart sped up. I hoped that time was not twisted here, that it wasn’t going as fast as those flowers. What if this place was like the stories where someone entered a magic cave and came back an old man later that afternoon?
BUT WHAT ISSS TIME?
A voice spoke in my mind. It hissed, stretching its “S’s” out too far. It felt almost as if a snake had crept up my spine and burrowed into the base of my skull and was lying within, whispering to me.
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