SONG of EMBER

19

REFLECTION

🙜

Ember slowed, each step heavier than the last, blankly watching the stone tiles beneath his feet and brushing his hand across the columns as he passed. Each column the same, every hall filled with dust and the dead.

Dirt, mold, decay, endless corridors which only led to other endless corridors.

Time had no meaning in the endless night of the mountain. When the glow which filtered down from above grew dim and swallowed up the pillars in shadow, Ember held out the stone-light and it brightened his path enough to keep from smacking into a wall.

The tapestries were taller than the greatest and oldest of trees in the forest below. Some of them were torn, and a few hung low enough to touch. Gold embroidery and faded colors had somehow survived the centuries, and now and then he thought one of the designs curled in a little tighter at his passing, or a woven figure looked away as he glanced up.

He was wandering through a mountain.

A mountain.

That much he remembered. How he had gotten here was a mystery, but he did not belong in these echoing chambers. Many great rooms were locked, and those that were open seemed in disarray: solid oaken doors—glossy and petrified—hanging off their hinges; splintered furniture; shattered cutlery; occasionally a weapon or stack of broken items which might once have serviced as a barricade.

One such room appeared to have been a dining hall, long and dark with many tattered banners hanging about. It was mostly taken over by creeping vines and moss, and a smattering of luminous berries. He plucked one, and it went dark in his hand; it smelled rather foul, and the temptation to eat it faded quickly. Shattered dishes crunched under his shoes. Ember wandered the room, running a finger along the table and watching the polished wood appear through the filth in a little trail.

He had not encountered a body in a long while, but there were several here, the most notable of which sat at the head of the table in a tall, carven chair—the rest of the party had been desecrated… picked clean… but not him.

Perhaps some sort of protective enchantment?

What do you know, Ember? What do you know about such things? Nothing, that’s what.

Ember glanced at the desiccated corpse quickly before turning away; he did not like that forever-grinning face.

Off the dining hall was a larder. No doubt fully stocked at one time, it now contained many empty and broken baskets and jars. He found this room the most disappointing of them all, for the berries had made him aware of how hungry he had become.

And then it was back to the main hall, which he hoped would lead to somewhere of importance if he continued to follow it. He knew he would never find his way out by turning around and going back, and besides, if he did chance upon that hall again it would be sheer happenstance.

“I have to get out,” he murmured aloud, curling his fingers around the wooden spear. He didn’t know where he had found it; he only knew that it was his. His voice lingered and his own echo was unreasonably satisfying. It belonged to him, like the spear.

Why had he come to such a forsaken place, anyway?

He couldn’t recall. It must have been the creature. What was her name?

Ky.

Ky had tricked him into coming here. She had meant to lose him in these winding halls all along. Yes, that must have been her plan. But why had he agreed to go with her in the first place?

I have to think—I have to remember. Ember brushed a cobweb from his eyes and sighed, stopping in the middle of the hallway. Footsteps whispered on behind him for a moment more, and then paused.

A prickling sensation touched the back of Ember's neck.

More magic?

He rested the spear in the crook of his elbow for a moment and clapped his hands, listening to the echoes rattle away into the darkness. No… the sounds rolled on before him.

Ember held his breath, his tongue lodging in the back of his throat, and hesitated.

He dared not speculate—could scarcely move—but the last thing he wanted to do was turn around and see it lurking there. Nevertheless, he counted silently to three, gripping his spear very tightly.

On the third count, he spun on his heels, eyes wide to behold whatever monstrosity haunted his steps. His heart skipped a beat and all his strength flooded out through the soles of his feet, rooting him to the floor.

Ebony pupils glowered back at him.

His fishing spear had come to rest a fingers-breadth from Ky's breastbone, and her silent breath chilled his face. The bloody wounds pulled wide as she smiled.

Her stare was empty.

Ember twitched backward.

"Ky…"

Her ears twitched forward and she grinned, neck elongating, mouth gaping. He glimpsed her tongue as it curled behind her pearlescent fangs, a bluish pink flash of moist skin. It was the most macabre smile Ember had ever witnessed.

His hand spasmed.

He would shove the spear.

He would do it now.

But it never moved. It remained a fixture between them, still and useless. A flash of clarity broke through the lingering scarlet rage in his mind, a cool swath of green that quieted his jumbled emotions and brought with it a deluge of recent memories.

The door.

The book.

The echo.

You lied to me!

And he left her there.

Alone… with the book.

Some way, somehow, it all circled back to the book. He hated the memory of it—the words which had hurt Ky Veli and made her bleed. And then he remembered grabbing her, shaking her, threatening her with his spear.

With each new memory he flinched.

The sirena watched him, her eyes glimmering like black marbles in the dark. The corners of her mouth turned down and he could see her gums. Then—quick as a frog's tongue—her arm shot out and she snatched the spear, twisting, pulling.

It was wrenched from him with petrifying ease.

Flung aside.

The wooden spear clattered into the darkness.

And then she lunged.

The memories fled, leaving behind only raw instinct and gut terror. Claws hooked on the edge of his sleeve, tearing through the material as Ember twisted away and sprinted down the hall.

He could not kill her—but he could run.

Both arms pumping, head pounding, heart thumping, and behind him came a blood-chilling shriek that set his nerves on fire. The demon in the dark was upon him.

A familiar demon.

It knew him, and he knew it.

The hall blurred around him as he ran and he could scarcely make out a dark shape looming ahead. If he darted around it, she would be on top of him. Before he could decide what to do he was suddenly plunged into darkness, smothered by something coarse and soft. He panicked and pushed past it, wrestling with the dusty fabric. It gave way to a frantic tug and one of the tapestries ripped from the ceiling, tumbling down around his shoulders.

It was heavy.

He panted, struggling out of it before it enveloped him. From behind him came another wicked scream, and a sound like a flock of dying birds as the falling fabric was torn to shreds.

If he hadn't chanced to see a glimmer of light reflecting off a shiny surface—a glass pane of some sort—he would have run directly into the wall. As it was, he banked sharply to the right and noticed a faint glow at the end of this new tunnel…

Light.

Light was his only chance. He could not hide from her in the dark, and though he was broader and his strides far longer, he knew she was gaining ground. The tapestry had given him a slight advantage, as had the rush of fear, but he could feel her drawing near, hear the pat of her bare feet on the floor.

As he ran, the light grew stronger. At times he caught glimpses of someone running along beside him—just a flash, a shadow—and after this happened twice he realized there were mirrors hanging along the hallway at regular intervals.

Run faster.

His legs burned.

The mirrors became more frequent, growing in size until they stretched from floor to ceiling and went on as far as the doorway ahead of him.

A frantic sideways glance lent him a sense of urgency and a speed he had not known he possessed: Ky sprinted less than two paces behind him, matching his long legs stride for stride, black hair streaming behind her.

One false foot and she would be on top of him.

The mirrors were all around them—up and down, the ceiling, the tiles—every surface reflected his wide eyes, gaping mouth, and disheveled mess of blonde curls—and behind him…

A cold breath stung his ear.

Ember stumbled.

His shirt choked him, the cloth ripping in the back and claws digging into his spine, dragging furrows through his bare muscles. He felt a thousand tiny tugs as the tendons tore.

"NO!" Ember shouted, his voice magnified in the hall as he lurched forward, desperate to yank himself free—the claws separated from his skin—

He fell.

The instant his knees touched ground he threw his arms over his head and curled into a tight ball on the mirrored tiles, blood leaking down his sides. And he braced himself for the searing pain of being divided from his flesh by a creature of the deep.

A rush of wind, and a shadow, and then the patter of feet on the opposite side of his head.

Ember buried his face in his arms, holding his breath until he was certain his lungs would explode. His body ached for air, but he could not give in. The silence was so long and so dark that at last he dared to open his eyes and slowly, slowly, lift his head.

The sirena had surrounded him. Black eyes glared from every facet of the hall, fangs glistened on every mirrored surface, her lithe form crouched behind every corner. And yet she remained curiously silent. Not a single hiss slipped past her fangs.

Ember waited.

She didn't move… didn't blink.

Her delicate nostrils flared at the corners and her upper lip curled out slightly.

Those black-pitted eyes darted to the left.

To the right.

Then through him once again.

Ember let out his breath very slowly, careful to make no noise at all. Her left ear shivered and she spread her fingers and toes lightly across the mirrors, lean muscles coiling.

There was only one explanation, which came to him with startling relief: he was invisible. Whether by some strange enchantment or a trick of the steady light and the mirrors, he could see her—he could see hundreds of her—but she could not see even one of him.

Her many eyes scoured the hall and she growled low in her throat.

"Ember," she gurgled at long last, a gruesome lullaby. "Ember. Ember. Ember…"

He shut his eyes for a moment, swallowing once.

The blithe undertones dragged at him, pulled at every fiber of his being.

"Ember… Ember… Ember…"

Ember continued breathing, very slowly, in and out with the utmost silence, in an attempt to calm his racing heart. Could she hear it thudding? Blood crawled across the fabric of his shirt, pooling in the valley of his spine and the hollow of his lower back. He felt like fainting, but it would be the death of him if he did.

Instead, he put his tongue between his teeth to keep them from shaking together and glanced around at all the thousand eyes which peered back at him.

And then—

Plop.

Ember froze.

The eyes blinked.

Plop.

His blood was dripping…

She snuffled, and a fierce white gleam lit up all the eyes around the hall. Her lips curled back in a thin grin of triumph as she slunk forward.

Plop.

Each Ky advanced with the same stealth, the same cunning smile, the same wide-eyed stare. Ember quaked. He had to decide which was the true threat, and quickly. Her chin lifted and she put out her tongue, tasting the air.

He tensed, torn muscles knotting, and rose to a half-crouch.

Grasped the hilt of the knife he had stuffed under his belt.

Three more drops of blood spattered the mirror beneath him.

He drew the knife forward.

Their eyes met.

She had found him, somehow, in the sea of reflections. The knife felt heavy in his hand. His fingers curled around it, smeared and shaking. His gaze left hers as he followed the row of mirrors until he stared down what he hoped was the correct tunnel, and not merely another illusion: the hall wound on in a series of confusing mirrors, but from where he was crouching he could see a warping of the light at the far end.

A stone door.

Was it, too, a reflection?

He tried to force strength back into his limbs, but all he had left was a little willpower. It would have to suffice.

She advanced another step, her thousand fingers delicately webbed and the bridges of her thousand noses creasing around her thousand eyes. Her shoulders hunched and she bared her fangs in an obscene grimace. A clawed hand reached, fingers curling, tongue protruding, eyes wild, closing in from every possible angle.

Now.

Ember shot forward like a pebble from a sling, slipping once on the slick pool of blood, and turned his focus entirely upon the distant door.

He collided with something soft—there was a thump and his shoulder burned like fire—but he shoved past, sprinting for the end of the hall. A dreadful keening wail shivered the air behind him, rising to a pitch beyond his range of hearing. His ears rang and tears of pain welled in his eyes at the deafening shriek.

The mirrors shattered.

Shards of glass crumbled to the ground, pelting off his shoulders, and the glassy tiles cracked and split into fragments beneath his leather shoes. He heard a savage snarl behind him, and a rhythmic thumping.

No effort to soften her sticky footsteps: the game was over.

The door now loomed ahead of him, a great monolith of grayish stone, chiseled and coarse.

He was almost there.

Five more leaps.

Three more.

One—

Ember's palms smashed into the stone with a staggered thud.

It didn't move.

He rammed his shoulder into the door with a rasping yell of effort. His eyes watered. Blood ran across the stone.

"Please," he panted, pounding on the ancient door until his knuckles split. "Open! Please!"

A terrible shriek clawed the air.

"Let me in!" Ember screamed, his voice tearing in his throat.

The ground trembled.

Bits of rock crumbled under his fingertips, and then the door swung slowly inward, grating across the floor like a mortar and pestle. Light spilled out, some of it warm as candlelight and some of it pale as the light of day.

Ember pressed himself against the cleft; he had to squeeze through…

He risked a quick glance over his shoulder. She was further behind than he had thought, but gaining three strides to each one he had taken. Broken glass flashed beneath her bare feet.

With a final shove, Ember squeezed through the narrow opening, tumbling onto mossy stone. He glimpsed a single stream flowing through the center of the room, flanked by river grass springing up out of the tiles and endless stacks of books against every wall. Candles flickered to life beneath his hurried glance and a steady ray of daylight spilled over the stream and the misplaced greenery.

To his horror, the door continued to open behind him.

"Close, close, close!" he shouted, backing away—he clenched the knife in a shaking hand, panting, breathless. A grinding sound rang in his teeth as the door obediently reversed its deadly course, swinging shut again with that same terrifying slowness.

He could see her coming.

Flying over the ground in leaps and bounds, a black shadow among the fragments of the mirrors.

The door was almost shut.

She flung herself at the gap.

With a scrape and a boom, the stone shuddered into place. Something thudded against the door from the outside and a warbling howl of rage froze his bones.

It died away into a single mournful echo and Ember slowly lowered the knife, drawing a deep breath and choking as his ribs expanded, stretching the ragged wounds across his back.

Ember… son of Jarel… lived a fool, and died a fool.

This was the end.

The end of them both.

"Hello."

Ember whirled around, putting out a hand for balance with a cry of surprise and pain. The room continued to spin around him and he sank to one knee. Through the blur, a figure stood nearby... just beyond the flowing water, clothed all in white. A woman.

The tall maiden stepped forward, lacing her fingers, and smiled. Fair hair spilled over her shoulder, reaching the floor in soft flaxen waves.

"How goes the war?"

He reached for a handhold and, finding none, mouthed empty words—nothing escaped him but a gut-twisting moan. The knife slipped from his fingers and he slumped to the tiles. Those ransacked bookshelves and that crystalline stream faded from his view as he surrendered himself to the blackness. A sense of tremendous relief overwhelmed him: the pain faded, his forehead touched the cold stone floor, and his back spasmed once more before going numb.

It was all just a dream.

He would awaken soon, surely, upon his heather mattress, tucked beneath a ragged old blanket as he listened to the rustle of wind in the pines and the consolatory rush of the river as it wended past his cozy cabin.

Safe.

And alone.