Reach, push, pull.
He repeated the movement over and over as he inched forward.
Was there light ahead? Jakob could not be certain.
The walls continued to press down on him, and he could no longer lift his back to gain purchase. Jakob was forced to lock his elbows against the stone to pull himself along, slowly dragging himself forward.
When will this end?
A different thought followed, worse than the last: Will it end?
He was forced to pause. There was nothing but stone around him. No sound. No light. Nothing but the cold stone.
Jakob took a deep breath before forcing it out. He crawled forward again. As he did, the stone crushed him.
He struggled to take a breath but could only take a shallow one. Panic filled him, and he tried to push himself backward but could not.
He would suffocate.
He tried to call out, but there was not the air for it.
He was stuck.
Jakob reached out and struggled to pull himself forward again, but managed only an inch.
The hilt of his sword dug at his side, and it scraped along the stone as he moved. It was all he heard.
He reached forward again and felt nothing but stone, waving his arms uselessly for purchase. I will die here, he suddenly knew, and without the answers he needed.
And then hands were upon him, groping at his arms and pulling him forward. He couldn’t even fight back.
Was this Brohmin or groeliin that grabbed him?
Worse, was it the High Priest? What would he do if he caught Jakob?
Do I care?
Fear of staying within the wall scared him more than what he would face once he was out. He exhaled the last of his air as he was pulled forward and then felt a sharp pull at his arms, yanking him hard. For a moment, he thought he would be torn apart. The stone scraped against his arms, his legs, and his back, and then he was falling.
He landed hard, the last of his air pushed out of him.
He gasped desperately for air. It was stale, thick with the dust of age. Brohmin and Anda stood waiting for him.
Jakob slowly recovered and, looking up, saw that he was in an immense room.
Strange lamps hung along the walls. They were not lit by flame or fire but rather glowed with their own pale light. Overhead, high above him, was a ceiling with a dome at the center, and a huge glass chandelier hung with tiny prisms reflecting the light. He imagined it was magnificent when the room was fully lit. Huge shelves lined the walls, books stuffed seemingly haphazardly into them.
It was a library, and it reminded him of the one in Chrysia. He felt a moment of homesickness, remembering a simpler time when there were no Deshmahne or groeliin.
A few tables were spaced evenly about the floor of the room, though they appeared made of stone rather than wood or steel. The overstuffed shelves held more books than he had ever before seen in one place. Some books were even stacked in corners, though stacked neatly so that their bindings were seen. A thick layer of dust covered everything. Novan would have a fit seeing all this knowledge neglected.
“Some tunnel,” Brohmin spoke, breaking the reverie.
Jakob looked at him. “I—”
Brohmin’s laughter cut him off. “You did well.”
“What is this? Why would she be trapped here?” Jakob asked.
Brohmin frowned. “I don’t know. The Tower once housed the damahne, and I wonder if this is all a part of some sick way he thinks to torment Alyta. We need to reach her. She’s somewhere above us, I think.”
Jakob could feel it. He felt Alyta pulling at him, at his ahmaean, and knew she was higher in the Tower. Brohmin pointed where there was a break in the line of bookshelves, and a staircase stretched upward.
Up.
Now that he’d recovered, now that he no longer felt the same panic that he’d known while trapped within the stone, he realized that the pull on him was not to be denied. It was a pounding upon his senses, an urgent drumbeat that kept time with his heart.
They hurried across the dusty floor and reached stairs that stretched high above them, spiraling around. Something about it reminded Jakob of the stairs he had climbed within the tree while among the daneamiin.
Brohmin started up the stairs.
Jakob and Anda followed silently. They wound up slowly, widely circling the Tower. More of the strange torches lined the walls. They were spaced farther apart here, and the light they provided was very little, though enough to see their steps. He was glad for that much at least.
Only two sets of footprints marred the dusty surface of the stone steps. Anda did not seem to leave prints in the dust. She had left no trace or trail in the forest either. This no longer surprised him as it once had. Instead, he felt a different concern. Where are the other footprints? Could they be wrong? Was Alyta not here?
If it was not she reaching out to him, then what was he feeling?
The slow thudding prodded him onward, heavy pulsing within him, demanding his attention. He could no more ignore it than stop breathing.
“Where are the other footprints?” he asked.
Brohmin paused in his climb and looked back, staring a moment at the dust. “They would not have come the same way we did.”
Jakob furrowed his brow. “How else would they have come?”
Brohmin didn’t answer and turned back, continuing his climb.
“There are other methods of travel than those you yet know,” Anda said and followed Brohmin.
Jakob had no other choice but to climb after them.
There were an uncountable number of stairs before they reached a landing. Jakob was breathing hard from the effort and the speed they climbed. As he stepped out onto the landing, away from the stairs, he looked out at the new floor that opened up into a long hall, stretching deep into the Tower. Doorways interrupted the stone walls periodically, countless doors all along the hall. The doors were old with carvings etched into the wood. More of the strange torches lined the walls, casting their pale light upon everything.
Jakob felt the pull on his ahmaean and knew. “We have to go higher,” he said. The steady drumbeat upon his senses grew faster, and his heart quickened with it.
Brohmin glanced at him, an unspoken question asked with his eyes, before turning back to the staircase. He climbed again. Jakob and Anda followed.
As the stairs brought them higher, occasionally Jakob thought he saw other tracks along the stairs, but the dim light made it difficult to be sure. The longer they went, the harder he breathed, and his thighs burned. Brohmin did not slow.
They reached another landing. The floor here was much the same as the other. Lamps along the walls cast their pale light, and doorways lined the long corridor, and this time, figures stood motionless in the distance.
“What is this?” he asked Brohmin.
“I’m not sure.”
Anda turned to him. “They’re people.”
Jakob frowned, confused. “People? Men and women like me?” He remembered the vision that had come to him seemingly ages ago, one in which he’d seen people with the groeliin. Was that what he saw now? “What are they doing here?”
Anda smiled strangely. “They are men and women.”
“I should have suspected,” Brohmin began.
“What?” Jakob asked.
Brohmin turned to him. “There are groeliin within the Tower somewhere. There would have to be to hold Alyta here. We see those they have captured,” Brohmin said. “Men and women who were taken, their minds broken so that they are no longer what they were. The Conclave referred to them as the Mindless. They are bodies only now, slaves. They do as their groeliin masters demand.”
Was that what he’d seen in the vision the first time he’d seen the groeliin? He remembered seeing people then, naked and walking alongside the beasts.
“Is she here?” Brohmin asked.
Jakob closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of the slaves and letting the pull on his ahmaean gui
de him. It was faster now, as was his heartbeat. Almost louder, if such a thing were possible. Finally, he shook his head.
“No,” he answered. “Still higher.”
Brohmin took his word and climbed higher, now running up the stairs.
Anda stayed by his side as he huffed up the stairs with legs that were growing tired. Occasionally, she would touch his arm, and her touch gave him extra strength. Jakob was panting by the time they reached the next landing, tired and out of breath. The pale light from the torches showed another hall, much like the last two. Shapes in the distance moved, and he turned to Anda.
She nodded. “The same as the last.”
“This floor?” Brohmin asked, somehow not short of breath. Jakob wondered how that was possible. Brohmin had nearly died in the forest following the Deshmahne attack. How was it that he managed to climb the stairs faster than Jakob?
Jakob again closed his eyes, feeling his ahmaean. His heart was hammering in his chest. Was it the pull upon his ahmaean or his fatigue from climbing the stairs?
“Higher, but I think we’re closer.” The pull was stronger now. He practically hummed with the pull upon him.
Brohmin sprinted up the staircase. The Tower stretched impossibly high into the sky. How much higher they would climb? Once they reached Alyta, he began to wonder whether he would have the necessary strength to save her.
Another countless number of stairs passed by before they reached another landing.
His legs trembled, and his face dripped with sweat. He couldn’t continue at this pace and be of any use. As he stepped out into the light, he saw this floor was little different from the last, and he sighed, doubting that he could go up any more stairs.
Something was different, though. Something he could not quite place.
He still felt the pull. Stronger now, it pulsated, beating in time with his racing heart and the pulsing in his head. It was a rapid staccato, repeatedly against his skull.
He stood, silent for a long time, his body swaying with the rhythm he felt, letting it play about him, filling him.
Then he knew.
It no longer pulled him up, though the stairs still led up behind him. It was forward, pulling him down the corridor.
Alyta was down the hall, pulling at him from where she was held.
Brohmin looked at him, and Jakob nodded.
Brohmin raced down the hall, leaving Jakob and Anda to run after him, and paused near one of the doors. Two men stood silently on either side of the door, completely naked, and stared blankly. Not only were their heads shaven, their whole bodies were shorn clean. They were well muscled, and each held a spear in hand.
Jakob reached Brohmin and stopped. He stared at the men, and the burning in his legs eased, but he still struggled to breathe.
“Why are you waiting?” he asked Brohmin.
“Their minds are gone, but their bodies are strong. If we push through, we’ll be forced to fight.”
“I’ve seen you fight before,” he said.
“This would be different,” Brohmin said. “These men did not choose this fight.” He struggled with his words a moment. “I do not know how to explain it, but I cannot attack these men.”
“Then how will we get past?” Jakob asked.
Anda touched both of the naked men above their ears with a long finger. They looked up suddenly, as if startled, before falling to the ground.
Brohmin knelt down to examine them and gasped. “You killed them?” he asked incredulously.
“They were already dead. Their minds, anyway. I only released their bodies. May their souls find the sun,” she whispered.
Brohmin frowned. “How do you know?”
“The daneamiin are all too familiar with groeliin and the way they use those they capture,” she answered.
Jakob looked down at the men, remembering the people he saw in his vision. They appeared peaceful now, the faint traces of a smile curling their lips.
The pull of the ahmaean upon him was strong and tore at his attention. He breathed deeply, but it remained difficult, a heaviness still upon his chest. He should have caught his breath by now, shouldn’t he?
It was the same sensation he’d experienced in the garden. What had happened then? How had he released it? If he didn’t do so again, would he begin to suffocate, the same way that he almost had there?
“Breathe carefully, Jakob, and focus your mind,” Anda said.
“What is it?” Brohmin asked.
Anda nodded toward Jakob before answering. “He feels the groeliin. They are near.”
“What can he do?” Brohmin asked. “How does he stop this?”
“I have never seen this reaction in person before. I have only heard about it.” She paused, staring at the door before glancing to Jakob. “It must come from within. That is all I know of it.”
The longer Jakob stood there, the more the weight pushed on him. Each breath became more difficult, reminding him of when he’d crawled through the tunnel through the Tower. The same panic set in.
What could he do? How did he stop it the last time?
Anda said it must come from within.
Focus your mind.
Jakob knew of only one way to focus his mind, the same one he’d used ever since learning the sword with Endric. Would it work now?
He reached for the now ever-present pulsing of his mind, using it to sharpen his focus. Pulling at it, at the ahmaean around him, he forced its energy through him.
It was not enough.
He felt his concentration slipping, felt a blackness threatening to overcome him, and he finally remembered what had helped in the garden.
Jakob reached for Neamiin and pulled at its ahmaean, filling him as it radiated through him.
The tightness in his chest eased, and he took deep breaths.
“Remember what you did,” Anda said.
He knew what had helped. Neamiin. The key.
How is it I have this sword? How is it that I can use it this way?
More questions for Alyta. Shaking his head to clear it, he said, “I’m better, I think.”
“Good,” Brohmin said. “You’re the better swordsman of the two of us, and the only one armed. I think we need to hurry. I worry our time is shorter than I’d realized.”
He felt the pull on his ahmaean and knew that Brohmin was right. There was an urgency to it, one that pulsed within him.
Brohmin gave the heavy door a shove. It opened easily, and the three of them rushed into the room. Once inside, Jakob stopped suddenly.
Three huge groeliin surrounded a large metal table. Small black eyes focused on him as he entered, alert and full of malice, and he saw black ahmaean surrounding them. Dark markings completely covered their flesh, similar to the Deshmahne. They hissed at the newcomers as they entered, though did not move to attack.
Waves of hopelessness, similar to what the Deshmahne radiated, pressed upon him.
Full of the ahmaean borrowed from Neamiin, he ignored the sensation.
And turned to the table.
A woman with long, golden hair was strapped there. Her eyes narrowed as they entered. They were beautiful eyes, exotic, and set farther apart than they should be. Her body was stretched out upon the table, chains keeping her feet locked at one end, her arms chained over her head at the other.
She was a goddess.
He recognized her: Alyta.
A simple white robe was all that covered her, barely concealing her nakedness. Black etchings were seared into the pale white flesh of her arms and legs. He could almost smell the stink from the tattoos but thought that only his imagination. He was reminded of something similar he had seen. Like Salindra’s, but those upon Alyta were different. Where Salindra only had the markings upon her ankles, circling them, Alyta had them on each ankle and around each wrist, working their way up her arms and reminiscent of what he had seen around the Deshmahne.
The shapes were different too. Those on Salindra had been like three jagged teeth, biting a
t her ankle. What he saw on Alyta was a single encircled fang repeated around each ankle and wrist, like an interlocking chain.
Her ahmaean oozed from the brandings. That was how he had felt her pull.
Jakob tore his attention away from her and studied the groeliin stationed around her. They still hadn’t moved but watched them with an intensity to their gaze.
Two stood at the head of the table, one at each corner, and the third stood at the other end, at Alyta’s feet. They were different from any groeliin he had seen before, larger and their eyes more alert. The dark markings that marred their gray flesh seemed to twist and flow as he stared.
Jakob looked to Brohmin, uncertain. “What now?”
Brohmin turned to Alyta for advice.
“You must destroy them,” Alyta said.
Her voice was weak, yet musical. Jakob wondered what she sounded like before she had been captured.
Like my dreams, he suspected.
“They cannot move now,” she said. “They form my prison, trapping me and my ahmaean.”
Jakob saw what she meant. A pool of Alyta’s ahmaean flowed around the base of the table, as if held in by some invisible force. A small amount leaked out and stretched toward Jakob. It was this he had felt. These would be powerful groeliin, perhaps more powerful than any other groeliin he had encountered.
“Careful,” she warned. “When one is gone, the other two are free.”
Jakob grabbed his sword from its sheath and looked to Brohmin. The ahmaean of the sword quickly raced through him. Neamiin was awake. The slow pulsing in his head became a steady humming. The sense washed through him, invigorating him, and granted strength to his tired legs.
Brohmin nodded. “You must do this.”
A moment of uncertainty came to him. He wasn’t sure what he was but knew he needed Alyta for answers. Could he do this?
How could he not?
Drawing upon the ahmaean, he raced toward the groeliin at Alyta’s feet. It hissed at him, sharp teeth framing the horrible mouth, and he swung in a quick arc, beheading it. There was a thud as it fell, and he smelled the acid stench of its blood.
Suddenly, the other two groeliin moved.
They streaked toward Brohmin and Anda, ignoring Jakob for now.
Tower of the Gods (The Lost Prophecy Book 3) Page 28
