As the Shadow Rises: Book Two of The Age of Darkness

by Katy Rose Pool

  “Not to the Nehemians,” Hadiza said. “They believed secrets have power and that the secrets you keep could present themselves as a sickness or ailment. As though secrets take up physical space in our bodies—in our mouths, bones—”

  “And hearts,” Ephyra finished. “And so a heart-secret is . . . what?”

  “Something to do with the heart,” Parthenia said simply. “A secret about who you are, truly.”

  “So not just a secret about changing eye colors,” Shara said.

  Parthenia gave her a sarcastic look and then stepped up to the door again and took a breath. “I haven’t seen my parents in five years because I think if they saw me now they would be ashamed of me.”

  The door began to rumble, and then it ascended, exposing darkness within the temple. Parthenia didn’t hesitate, stepping over the threshold and into the darkness. The door slid shut behind her.

  Ephyra caught sight of Numir’s face, which looked stricken, as she stepped up to the door. She told the door that during the traditional First Hunt that women in her tribe had to perform, she had tracked a hawk to its nest, but when she saw its baby chicks, she’d let it go. Shara went next.

  “So . . . I guess we’re all going to share secrets,” she said. “Great. Um. I never told Badis how much he meant to me, and I regret it every single day.” She paused, and when the door didn’t open, she said, “All I ever wanted was for him to be proud of me.”

  The door slid open again, and Ephyra watched Shara disappear inside. She looked at Hadiza.

  “After you,” Hadiza said.

  Ephyra eyed her. She didn’t want anyone to hear her heart-secret, but Hadiza certainly didn’t look like she’d let her get out of it. But that didn’t mean that Illya had to hear it, too.

  “You go first,” she said to him.

  He swallowed. “Fine.” He approached the door and touched it lightly with one hand. “My brother hates me.”

  The door didn’t move. Illya bowed his head and went on, even quieter, “I think he’s right to.”

  Ephyra’s eyes widened, and her pulse jumped as the door slid open. Somewhere, deep down, Illya really did regret what he’d done to Anton. He swung his gaze back to Ephyra for a moment before disappearing through the door.

  Ephyra approached it slowly, reaching her fingers out to brush the face of the door. A real secret. Something she’d never told anyone before. She took a deep breath, and said, “I’m afraid I’m going to fail.”

  The door didn’t move.

  Ephyra tensed and continued, quieter, “I’m afraid of what’s going to become of me if I do.”

  The door rumbled open, and Ephyra crept inside. The room was illuminated by the incandescent lights Shara and Numir held. The others all seemed to be avoiding each other’s eyes. A moment later, the door slid open and Hadiza entered.

  “All right, that’s all of us,” Shara said.

  There was a doorway directly in front of them. Through it, they emerged into another nearly pitch-black chamber—completely dark, except for a single beam of light that cut down from the ceiling into the center of the sanctum. Judging by its height, they were in the main chamber of the temple, which filled out the entire building.

  They fanned out across the interior of the temple, searching with the help of their incandescent lights. They seemed weak and dim against the sheer size of the temple’s interior.

  Ephyra found herself walking straight toward the column of light that beamed down from the ceiling, stopping to look up at the perfect circle of fading blue sky above.

  “There’s something over here hanging on the wall,” Parthenia called out.

  “I found something, too,” Hadiza said. “It looks like the same mirror we found in Badis’s hideout.”

  “There’s one over here, too!” Shara cried. “Not sure what good a mirror is going to do in the dark, though.”

  Ephyra’s hand flew to her bag, where the first mirror was stowed. She flipped it so the mirror side faced up, and immediately the glass became so bright she had to shield her eyes. She tilted the mirror away from her gaze. Suddenly, an oval of light was projected onto the far wall.

  She continued to experiment, moving the mirror this way and that, watching the light dance on the sloping walls, until she finally aimed it at the mirror Hadiza had found.

  The light bounced off the mirror and illuminated Illya, who was standing a few feet away.

  “Move,” Ephyra demanded.

  He stumbled out of the way, revealing another mirror behind him, and the light zigzagged around the sanctum, hitting each mirror and bouncing off to the next. Ephyra followed the beam of light to its end point, a circle impressed into a stone wall, which began to move, revealing a secret chamber on the other side.

  Ephyra put the mirror back in her bag. The light vanished, but the door stayed open. She approached it, the others at her heels. Plucking the incandescent light from Shara’s hand, Ephyra entered the secret chamber. It was much smaller than the colossal main sanctum, and crammed full of ceramic vessels.

  “What are we looking for, exactly?” Parthenia asked.

  “Hopefully we’ll know it when we see it,” Shara replied.

  “That’s your plan?” Ephyra asked. “Just hope the next clue falls into your lap?”

  Shara shrugged, and Ephyra bit back a frustrated sigh. Despite Shara’s bravado, Ephyra was beginning to think that she wasn’t actually a very good treasure thief. She seemed capable only of barking commands and making hasty decisions. What did she bring to the group, like Parthenia’s languages or Hadiza’s histories? Sure, Shara had gotten them this far, but none of that mattered if they didn’t find the Chalice.

  “Over here,” Illya said from one corner of the room. Shara and Parthenia, who were nearest to him, hurried over. “Look at this. It has the same symbol as the code I found behind the mirror.”

  Ephyra pushed her way over to them. “You mean the code you purposely destroyed so that we’d be forced to drag you along with us?”

  Illya glanced up at her. He held one of the ceramic vessels in his hands, and she could see clearly from the light that there was an impression of a circle with lines through it. It looked like a compass rose.

  Shara plucked the urn from his hands, weighing it in her palm. Then she hurled it at the wall.

  “What are you doing?” Ephyra demanded as the ceramic shattered against the wall.

  Shara just smirked and stooped down in the debris. When she stood again, she was holding up a long ribbon of leather.

  “What is that?” Ephyra asked, leaning toward her. There seemed to be writing on the leather. “What does it say?”

  Shara looked down at the leather. “Just a bunch of letters.”

  Ephyra whirled toward Illya. “What was the code? The one you found on the mirror?”

  “If I tell you,” Illya replied, “then you won’t need me anymore.”

  “If you don’t tell us, no one is getting the Chalice,” Shara said.

  A loud rumbling sound cut through the air.

  “What was that?” Shara asked, alarmed.

  Another rumble, this one louder. The chamber shook, small chunks of rock breaking off and raining down on them.

  “We need to get out of here,” Numir said. “Now.”

  She strode over to the entrance to the chamber. Ephyra moved to follow her—and then the floor started to shake. Gently at first, and then quicker still until it felt like an earthquake was erupting beneath their feet. Ephyra had the distinct sensation of falling.

  “The temple is sinking!” Parthenia cried, bracing herself against the wall.

  That, it seemed, was all it took for the rest of them to leap into action. They scrambled through the doorway and back into the main sanctum, rocks falling from the sloped ceiling. Ephyra ran hard for the entrance, Illya keeping pace beside her.

  A large chunk of stone crashed down in front of them, nearly crushing Parthenia. Numir leapt toward her, pushing her to the ground and sh
ielding her from more falling debris. The rest of them scattered around the fallen rock as Numir hauled Parthenia to her feet by the elbow and sprinted for the threshold.

  They reached it first, disappearing outside. Hadiza followed. As Shara approached the threshold, rocks cascaded down, blocking her way. Shara leapt back, and suddenly the door was no more. Ephyra and Illya looked on in horror.

  They were trapped.

  19

  JUDE

  JUDE DEMANDED THAT THEY STOP AT THE TEMPLE OF ENDARRA BEFORE TRYING to find the Pinnacle Blade. They arrived in the late morning, tired, hungry, but most importantly, alive. If any members of the Order had made it out of Kerameikos safely, they would have contacted the acolytes here.

  The temple lay just outside Endarrion, surrounded on all sides by the river. The entrance was accessible by riverboat or via a narrow, serpentine bridge that wound up to the temple steps.

  Jude reached for Anton’s arm to hold him back as they approached the bridge. “We don’t know who’s in there. Could be friends.”

  “Could be Witnesses,” Anton said, completing the thought.

  Jude nodded. “Stay close.”

  The sun peeked out of the clouds, casting pockets of bright light on the river as they made their way to the temple’s entrance. They stopped at the threshold to anoint themselves with chrism oil. Jude caught Anton sneaking glances at him, as if he was copying the movements, and Jude had the startling thought that this might be the first time Anton had ever set foot inside a temple of his forebears. He opened his mouth to ask as much when an acolyte appeared before them.

  “Keeper of the Word,” the acolyte breathed. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  Jude moved toward Anton, shielding him, but there was no malice in the acolyte’s voice. “We seek the shelter of Endarra the Fair.”

  The acolyte bowed his head. “Endarra grants you shelter most readily.”

  The acolyte was not dressed like the ones Jude had met in Pallas Athos. These acolytes wore silk robes of lilac, trimmed in pale gold and patterned with small bursts of white flowers. Delicate gold bracelets hung from their wrists, and thin circlets lay over intricately braided hair.

  An auburn-haired acolyte approached them as they entered. “This is our head acolyte,” the first acolyte said. “They will see that you are taken care of.”

  The auburn-haired acolyte peered at Jude and Anton with undisguised astonishment. “You. You must be him. The Prophet.”

  Anton’s eyes went wide. “What? Jude, you never told me!”

  The acolyte paled.

  “He’s kidding,” Jude said belatedly.

  The acolyte looked unnerved.

  Jude also felt unnerved. Not by Anton’s joke, but by the way the acolytes were looking at Anton, like he was the sun rising in the east. He remembered what he’d told Anton after escaping from Kerameikos—that he often felt like Anton was two different people. Over the past ten days, traveling with Anton in solitude, depending on each other, it had been easy to lose sight of what Anton meant to the rest of the world.

  He couldn’t afford to forget that. Especially now.

  “Kerameikos is under attack,” Jude told the auburn-haired acolyte. “The Witnesses assaulted the fort almost two weeks ago, in search of the Prophet. We don’t know how they found us.”

  “We heard all this from your Guard,” the acolyte said.

  Jude let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since they’d escaped from Kerameikos. “They’re all right? They survived the attack?”

  “A small number of Paladin managed to escape downriver,” the acolyte said. “The Guard contacted us a day ago, saying they’d reached Delos. They also told us that you and the Prophet escaped alone, and advised that you should stay here under our protection until they arrive to retrieve you.”

  “Is the city safe?” Jude asked. “Are there Witnesses here?”

  The acolyte looked grim. “There were reports of a group of Witnesses arriving here several days ago, but none have approached the temple.”

  Jude’s stomach plummeted. “They’ve been waiting us out. If they saw us arrive here, then we’ve put you all in danger.”

  “The Witnesses don’t have a large presence in this city. I don’t think they would risk attacking the Temple of Endarra in broad daylight, and we have certain precautions in place to deter unwanted visitors.”

  Anton glanced at Jude again, concern etched onto his face. “Do you have somewhere we can relax, maybe?” he said to the acolyte. “Something to eat? It’s been a long journey.”

  “Of course,” the acolyte said, pressing a palm to their chest. “I should have offered to begin with. Come with me.”

  “What about a healer?” Anton asked. “Jude was injured in the attack.”

  “Of course,” the acolyte replied, sweeping through the main sanctum. They led them through a door that opened out into a lush garden shaded by canopies, overlooking the river.

  Jude hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until the acolyte sat him down on a plush circular cushion and disappeared to bring him a tray of food much more sumptuous than anything they’d eaten in Kerameikos. He and Anton picked at the plate of candied fruit and sliced meat, and then the acolyte returned with the temple’s healer in tow.

  The healer sat down beside Jude and got to work.

  “Wait,” Anton called out as the acolyte turned to leave. “I have a question I hope you can answer. We think that Jude’s sword—the Pinnacle Blade—might be here in Endarrion. Do you know anything about that?”

  The acolyte’s gaze swung to Jude, and Jude wanted to recoil from the horror on their face.

  “It’s true, then?” the acolyte asked. “The Pinnacle Blade was lost?”

  Jude looked away and didn’t answer.

  “What do you know?” Anton asked.

  “A rumor, only,” the acolyte replied. “There’s a famous collector here in Endarrion who trades in rare items. There’s been talk that she’s acquired a new sword for her collection, said to be as old as the Prophets themselves. We didn’t believe it was truly the Pinnacle Blade, but . . .”

  Jude realized he was shaking with rage. The Pinnacle Blade was forged for the first Keeper of the Word, made to serve the Prophet. It wasn’t some pretty trophy to be paraded about by a collector.

  “A collector,” Anton repeated. “Can you tell us anything else about her?”

  The acolyte shook their head. “I’m sorry.”

  They left the room, and the healer finished her work on Jude’s wound.

  “Should be good as new,” she said gently, smoothing her fingers down Jude’s side where the wound had been. The pain was entirely gone, and when Jude moved there was no twinge or stiffness.

  “Thank you.”

  Anton got to his feet as soon as she disappeared out the door.

  “Where are you going?” Jude asked with a frown.

  “We need to go into the city,” Anton said. “We need to find this collector and get your sword back.”

  “It’s too dangerous. You heard what the acolyte said. The Witnesses are searching for us here. If one of them finds us—”

  “Are you kidding?” Anton said. “This is the whole reason we came to Endarrion!”

  “We should wait for the Guard.”

  “And who knows where your sword will be by then,” Anton said. “We know where it is right now. We know—sort of—who has it.”

  Jude hesitated. He knew he should keep Anton here at the temple, where they were safe. But he couldn’t shake the possibility of it—of returning to the Order with both the Prophet and the Pinnacle Blade safe.

  It could mean absolution.

  And more than that, it might mean his Grace being restored. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the possibility since Anton had brought it up. If anything could fix his Grace, it was the Pinnacle Blade. Maybe that was why Anton had seen it in his dream. If Jude’s Grace was fully restored, he could once again serve the Prophet and hel
p him stop the Age of Darkness.

  He glanced back at Anton, who was watching him intently.

  “Even if we wanted to reclaim the Pinnacle Blade,” Jude said slowly, “how would we get to it? It doesn’t seem like we can just walk into this collector’s house.”

  Anton grinned. “That, I have figured out. All we need is to find someone who knows her, and then get an invite to see the collection. Rich people love showing off their wealth. And as it so happens, I know just the person.”

  “I thought you’ve never been to Endarrion before.”

  “I haven’t,” Anton replied. “But I used to be a server at a taverna in Pallas Athos, and there was a merchant who used to stay there a lot with his son. We were . . . friendly.”

  Friendly. Jude wondered what details, exactly, that word glossed over. Again he was struck with the uncomfortable knowledge that there was a lot about Anton’s past that Jude knew nothing about—and might never understand.

  “Anyway, his father specialized in selling valuables, so if anyone knows the collector it’ll be him.”

  “And you think this merchant’s son will help us?”

  “I know how to be persuasive,” Anton replied, and Jude’s frown deepened. “We’ll just go over there and say hello. The worst that can happen is he says no.”

  There were plenty of worse things that might happen, especially with Witnesses in the city. It was selfish to put Anton at risk for the Pinnacle Blade—selfish like he’d been in Pallas Athos, chasing after what he wanted and denying the oath he’d sworn. To serve the Prophets above all else. Above our lives. Above our hearts.

  But selfish choices had led him to Anton. And now they were here together in a city of hidden enemies, with no way to defend themselves. If there was a chance that Jude could regain his ability to protect Anton, the risk was worth it.

  “Fine,” Jude said at last. “We’ll go.”

  Anton beamed at him all the way into the city.

  Jude rowed them down the river in one of the acolyte’s small boats. He’d rolled up his sleeves, the sun warming his arms. Without his Grace, rowing was more of an effort, but he didn’t mind the strain on his muscles. In fact, the exertion was almost comforting.