I gasped, reaching inside my coat at my chest, where a piercing cold had lodged itself. But instead of ice, there was only the corn necklace, the piece so cold that it had become a chunk of ice that was now stuck to my skin, just above my heart.
“My God,” whispered Oakley, and this time her shivering was not because of the cold. “My God. Are you hurt? Did it hit you?”
“No, I’m fine. You?”
“No. Not a scratch.” I felt her shake her head. Above us there was a hiss, one that could be interpreted as wind, had I not known better, that seemed to form words as it met my ears. Pay your debt.
“Let’s move,” I said, pulling her forward. “I don’t want to stick around in case that happens again.”
“How did you know, though?” she asked, her voice shaking. “How did you know that the ice was coming? And how were you not hit? What’s going on, Caleb?”
“Let’s just get off the street first, then we can talk.”
Shock kept the questions coming as she walked with me down the sidewalk, now avoiding any tall buildings. The figures danced around us, flitting across our path just yards before we would step in the same location, and darting in toward us when they managed to get under my guard.
“Get!” I shouted, jumping toward one that made a grab for Oakley’s hand, and the figure streaked away. Just like the other day, I sensed fear. Maybe it was because I could see them, but the figures kept out of my reach, focusing only on Oakley.
She yelped as another figure made a grab for her hand—I had chased it away too late.
“What? How? I’m bleeding,” she said. “I must have been hit with some of the ice. I don’t know how I missed it. Stop moving like that. You’re making me nervous.” Then she added, a moment later, “Is it supposed to be this dark?”
I wouldn’t know. But I said the answer I suspected.
“No.”
Chapter 24 - Baiting the Hook
The figures constricted around us, their red ranks parting just before they came within range of my fingertips. Oakley shrank closer to me, and while I knew that she could not see the figures as I could, she knew something was wrong. Whether it was a prick on the back of the neck, or the feeling of being watched, or a general sense of foreboding, instinctively she knew.
I felt out each step as I moved forward, sensing each direction for Death, and taking the path where it was farthest away for Oakley. We walked the middle-left of the street, away from buildings or potentially-falling objects and devoid of cars. And with each step, the figures grew more agitated. They jostled over one another like a a school of fish, in a rolling boil with tangible heat. I could hear their whispers, strained voices that sounded much farther away than just a few feet, as if they were yelling from the end of a long tunnel.
I led Oakley up to the back path of the monastery, in through the old garden gate. The figures hissed as my feet touched the stone path, recoiling against the outside of the gate and refusing to enter. They fanned around the garden expanse, some in the surrounding streets, others perched on the gate like gargoyles, all watching.
“You live here?” asked Oakley as I creaked the door open and stepped inside. She lingered on the door frame.
“It’s home,” I said. “This is my school, and I stay in a room they have available upstairs.”
“Oh, so it’s a boarding school, then? How many students live here?”
“Not quite, it’s just me. Everyone else goes home at the end of the day.”
“But what about your parents? And who takes care of you?”
“My parents stayed behind when I left for school,” I said. Technically it was not a lie. “I do fine on my own.”
“But you’re blind.”
“That doesn’t make me incompetent, you know.” I stared at the figures waiting behind her. Who’s the real blind one? I thought.
Oakley huffed and stepped inside, and I closed the door behind her. The click of the lock echoed in the hall, enhancing the silence that seemed much thicker now that there was someone to share it with.
“I can come inside to warm up for a few minutes. This place looks so old, though.”
She sneezed as we started walking, and I felt her twisting to take in the expanse.
“Ugh, don’t you have a janitor here? It’s so dusty. And the windows are so dirty that barely any light makes its way in here. Where’s the light switch?”
I arched an eyebrow pointedly.
“Right. You lead the way, then.”
We entered the main hallway, walking toward the staircase to my room.
“Seriously, at night you have this all to yourself? It’s like a mansion.”
“I stick to my room, mainly. There’s not much reason to come downstairs; I already have to spend all day down there during school.”
“But still,” she said as we began climbing stairs, “it’s quite an expanse. What’s that?”
She froze just as we neared the top step, and ahead there was the scratching noise of nails being dragged across wood.
“I thought you said you lived here alone,” she said, tensing.
“I’m the only person here.”
I heard the door knob begin to slowly turn, and the door to my room burst open.
Oakley screamed, I laughed, and Shankey’s tail wagged with vigor from showing off his door opening skills.
Chapter 25 - Top to Bottom
“It’s beautiful,” Oakley said. “Such a shame the view is wasted on you.”
She stood at the window, looking out over the city, as Shankey sniffed her feet. I sat on my bed, my hand petting Shankey’s back, and the radio playing softly in the corner.
“So they just left all this priest’s junk here when you moved in? Like the kneeler and all?”
“No, I brought that from home. I’m into antiques.”
“Oh you think you’re so hilarious, but really, everything here is ancient. You’d think they would have given you something a little more new.”
She rummaged through the pile of books on my dresser and pulled one out.
“Like this. Algebra, an Introduction, Edition Three. I have the same book as you—not in braille, of course—but it’s edition eleven. Even the books you have are old as dirt.”
“I forgot that algebra had changed so radically in the last hundred years.”
“You know, I think I’m starting to understand why you live on your own.” She paused. “You never really did explain that, anyway. Why you live on your own.”
I stayed silent, trying to pick my words. Stating Both my parents are dead, isn’t the best way to introduce that topic into conversation.
“Come on,” she said, “stop trying to be so mysterious. Did you get kicked out of school or something?”
“Both my parents are dead,” I answered, looking at my feet. There really wasn’t a better way to put it. I heard her draw in a short breath, then felt her hand grip my forearm.
“Oh, Caleb. Caleb, I didn’t realize, I mean, I didn’t mean to—“
“It’s fine. I understand,” I answered. I felt relief from saying it out loud. I hadn’t been keeping it secret, but it sounded so different coming from my own voice. There was a resolution to it, a finality, an acceptance that I truly would never be seeing my mother’s face again. A realization that was like a weight being lifted from my shoulders and being punched in the stomach at the same time. I had taken plenty of punches already in my life, but there was a different caliber to this one, something I wasn’t completely prepared for. Tears welled in my eyes, but I forced them away, knowing I would never forgive myself if I cried in front of her.
“Do you need to talk about it?”
“Not now,” I answered.
“Well is there anything I can do?”
“Actually there is,” I said after a moment’s thought. Then I told her my request, and though I’m sure she didn’t understand it, she asked no questions.
“Yeah, yeah, that shouldn’t be much of a problem. I can take care of that fo
r you.”
“Thanks, Oakley.”
“Of course, of course. By the way, how much of this place have you actually explored?”
I knew she was changing the subject, and I welcomed it. The next place in the conversation would have been talking about feelings, a subject my experience in life had rarely addressed.
“Most of it. It can get pretty boring here on the weekends, but I’ve got my radio and the library. Shankey keeps me company, so I don't get too bored."
"Let's look around, then! Shankey can come—it's pretty dark down there, I wouldn't mind a good guard dog."
"Sure. I'm still pretty frozen, so let's stay inside for a bit more, too."
I knew I'd have to keep her inside for as long as possible. While they could be determined, the red figures never seemed able to stay in one place for too long. Given time, she could outwait them.
So I led the three of us back down the stairs and back into the main hallway, walking slowly to draw out the tours.
"Kitchen is that way," I said, pointing, "but I'm responsible for my own meals. Apparently we haven't had a chef in quite a while."
"So I'm assuming you've been living off a mix of sugary breakfast cereal and frozen dinners?"
"No, there's more variety than that." Liz had arranged for a weekly delivery of groceries to be delivered to the back door, but much of the food was not to my taste. I'd never heard of blue chicken, but she sent me plenty of that, along with other meals I'd had the delivery man read to me that I could barely pronounce. Something he said was good steak that was made from ribs and eyes, which I avoided.
"Well as much as I'd like to see your personal collection of snacks, I think I'll give it a pass. Let's see, what about that door?"
"Which one?"
"Oh, right, right. I was pointing. Follow me." She took my hand and led me down the hallway, to the end.
"This one. Strange, there's no knob," she said, and she pushed my hand up against a panel of solid wood.
I felt the wood, solid and heavy, with thick grains that ran across its surface. The plastered spot on the far right, just before the wall, turned back into cold stone.
"I had always thought that was just a wooden panel. Without a knob it's pretty hard for me to tell. And it feels like the hinges are on the other side. Probably used to be some janitor's closet."
"Who knows what could be inside, then," she said, and I could practically feel her eyes widen. "All sorts of cool things could be in storage if this place is as old as it seems." She jiggled the door, and it thudded against its hinges, but refused to open.
"There's no deadbolt, is there?" I asked, sliding my fingers along the slim crack between wood and stone.
"No, just a normal door."
"Do you have your library card? Here, let me see it. And lean up against the door. When I tell you to, give it a push."
I took her card, and pushed it into the space where the locking mechanism in the door had been. I'd learned this trick at Kingston; most of the locks on school doors were poorly made, and you could force them with a thin piece of plastic or metal. This had led to daily raids on the supplies in the lunchroom until deadbolts were installed.
"Ready?" I asked, the card jammed into position, and I felt her nod. "Now push." I wiggled the card, trying to find the clasp, and with a click the door yielded. Oakley fell inside, screaming in surprise. I reached out to grab her hand and felt myself pulled forward and downward, thudding down steps where we had expected the flat floor of a storage closet.
Layer upon layer of cobwebs caught us, wrapping us in a cocoon of dust, but they failed to stop the momentum of our fall. The stairs were made of the same stone as the floor above, and they ablated any exposed skin in the tumble; mercifully, we both still wore our coats, which provided light protection from the abrasion.
I reached the bottom first, skidding to a sprawl and gasping for breath. The last step had caught me in the back, knocking the wind out of me and reminding me that it is still very possible to see stars when blind.
Oakley came next, her elbow smashing into my stomach just as I drew my first breath, driving it from my chest again like a linebacker. I choked, gasping for breath as I lay on the ground. And as I tried again to draw my first breath, I took account of my surroundings.
From the corner came a dull, red glow, a glow that I had seen too often before.
And from behind me came Shankey’s low growl.
Chapter 26 - First Contact
Oakley was the first to stand up; she still had air in her lungs.
"Shit!" she yelled, and I could hear her dancing around the room, the cussword sounding out of place coming from her mouth. "Shit. I hate spiders. Shit." Her movements slowed as the cobwebs fell off, her breathing slowly returning to normal.
"Looks like none of them are alive. Or present, for that matter. Just their webs. I can't imagine there's much to eat down here. You alright?" she asked, grabbing my arm.
"Fine, fine," I managed to croak, using up wisps of precious air. "Just give me a second."
Sharp bits of stone dug into my shoulder blades, and a fine sand coating tried to grip strands of my hair, yanking them out at the roots. I coughed then drew in another breath, only to choke on the dust-and-cobweb mixture coating my face before I managed to sit.
For as long as I had been in the monastery, I'd felt the presence from below. I'd heard the whispers that had bubbled upward, and whenever they had become too loud, I’d turned up the volume knob on my radio to drown them out.
I'd always thought that the glow had come from somewhere far deeper. Maybe in some forgotten well. Or maybe deep, deep down, from the edge of Hell itself. Or maybe it had originated in my imagination.
I'd never thought that the glow came from within the monastery. But it had, and now I could see where.
I couldn't see the room we were in, but from the sound of Oakley's voice bouncing across the walls, I could tell it was relatively small. I could smell musk, and moisture, and a faint scent I could only describe as rotting flowers.
About ten feet away, the light fell in waves from a small box, one set on the floor. It was slightly larger than a ring box and itself glowed red. There were sounds that came from the direction of the box—I could hear wind whistling, and leaves rustling. Oakley's flame had moved over in that direction, and as she bent down to inspect the box, her own fire fluttered like a candle, bits and pieces of it spiraling into the light and burning like match heads as they were consumed.
"Oakley!" I nearly shouted, reaching my feet and pretending to fall back over. "I lost my direction in the fall. Help me up. What is this place?"
I saw her fire retract from the glow, and my heart rate slackened.
"It's a cellar," she whispered. There was no reason to whisper—we were alone—but it seemed unnatural to break the silence. There was something that felt heavy, something that shouldn't be dislodged; like a boulder atop a cliff, just a small push away from crashing down.
"I figured that from the fall," I said, massaging my elbow, where one of many bruises was forming. "Care to share anything else?"
"Well, well, it's empty. There are no windows, just stone blocks. Big and square. Very disappointing, looks like the entire area was cleared out. And there are marks all over the floor, streaks, like the room was flooded and the water dried up. There's this little wooden box in the corner, but you interrupted me before I could open it. Looks pretty worthless though."
"Help me over to it. I want to take a look."
"Very funny," she said, not realizing I was being serious, but still leading me to the spot.
The box was still, but I almost expected it to move like a roach cornered and scattering for a new hiding spot. Or like a snake, rearing back and ready to strike. The sounds and smells intensified as I came closer.
"You said it looks like a normal box to you? Can you hear anything odd? I can't tell if my ears are still ringing."
"I mean, it looks old. Polished, and stained I th
ink, but it’s hard to tell with the lighting. Maybe a little burnt. Looks heavy for its size; it's not balsa or anything. And no," she said, "it's dead silent."
It most definitely was not dead silent.
"Here," she said, "I'll open it up."
"Don't," I hissed, grabbing her wrist out of reflex. Something inside me, something instinctual, knew to stop her. She jumped as I made contact.
"Relax, relax," she said. "It's just a box."
The hell it isn't, I thought, but I wasn’t going to say that out loud. "You don't know what's in it. Some types of spiders like to burrow in wood," I lied.
"Like to what?"
"You know, dig into wood. Then they can fall asleep in the hole and wait until they can find food. That's how spiders survive the winter, you know. And it just so happens to be winter."
I could feel her recoil, but the feeling of relief was minimal. If I was going to be protecting Oakley, I couldn't keep lying to her. Sooner or later she'd make a mistake out of ignorance, and it would be my fault.
“Here, let me try,” I said, and I picked the box up from the floor. With care, I fit my finger under the lid and pried the box open.
Light poured out as the box opened, seeping out the widening crack. And I could see through the box, like a miniature window in my palm, as if there was no bottom. I raised it to my eyes and looked inside, peering through into the landscape beyond, to my first taste of actual sight in years.
There were rows of trees stretching before me, like an orchard that had not been managed in years, with rotting fruit at the trees’ bases and as many dead branches as living stretching toward a gray sky with no sun. Flower patches were interspersed between them, weeds towering high above the blooms, and a mulch of petals below. A creek wove into the scenery, but it failed to bubble or flow—it simply waited stagnant, with no upstream or down. And throughout the entire expanse, not a single bird chirped. No squirrels scurried through the trees, nor did any bugs zip through the air.
Directly ahead there was a massive tree, the trunk as thick as a refrigerator, bark peeling where deep scratches dug into the dead wood just above a hole in the base. Thorns as long as fingers stretched from its branches, replacing leaves that had long fallen to the ground about the tree and were resting just atop fragile brown grass. Wrapped around the trunk was a silver chain, its color tarnished and its links nearly falling apart.
Eden's Eye (The Gates Book 1) Page 9