Celia looked at it and shuddered.
“No problem,” Solomon said.
He turned back to the door and without hesitating, lifted the mask to his face.
The effects of Yag-Morah’s tea were gone almost instantly. The stairwell was plunged into gloom again, although he could still see well enough through the eyeholes. The door quivered in its frame.
In the back of his mind, the thought occurred to him that he could simply open the door and go home. The way home was in there, he was sure of it. Leave Dunfield and its problems behind him. Leave Celia and her new attitude here as well. Who needed it?
That wasn’t him, though. While the euphoria that Yag-Morah’s tea filled him with was gone, the good feelings, the right ones, were still there. He’d do what he could for Dunfield, if it was at all possible, and find a way to shut this whole thing down.
As he reached for the door handle, something moved on his face and he felt a tiny sting. His cheek went numb, but he ignored it and pulled the door open.
The stairwell was filled with an ugly green glow coming from the room beyond.
“Come on,” he said to Celia, his voice sounding hollow through the mask.
His face was really starting to go numb. Despite the power of Yag-Morah’s tea, he needed to take the mask off as quickly as he could, but from what Celia had said, if he removed it, the door would close.
Instead, he drew his sword and moved around to the back of the door. He inserted the blade into the gap between the door and the frame, with the hilt turned horizontal.
Then, holding the sword with one hand, he reached up and tugged the mask from his face. It came free with a sucking sound, and he felt something tear itself from his cheek with a trickle of blood.
The door started to swing shut, and Solomon backed up to let it close until the hilt of the sword prevented it from going any further.
He turned to smile at Celia, rather proud of his solution.
Upstairs, there was the sound of one door after another slamming open.
Chapter 70
“They’re coming,” Celia said.
She knew it! She knew from the moment they came into this place that this was going to be it. It was him. Everything that Solomon did ended up being some big event, some end-of-story happening that carried everyone else along with him.
And now here they were, trapped at the bottom of the stairwell like rats in a bucket.
The whistles started, a lot of them, all competing against one another in a confusing cacophony of noise. If the whistles were communication, this was the shouting of a mob chasing down its prey.
“We need to get out of here,” she said.
“Too late,” Solomon replied. “In here. It’s our only chance.”
He stood in the doorway to the glowing chamber, one hand on his sword, ready to pull it free and let the door close all the way. Once that happened, their only way out was through whatever was in that room. If they didn’t find the answer in there, it was all over.
Friedrich moved past Solomon and she heard his muttered oath.
“You better be right about this,” she spat as she entered.
Inside, she could see what drew the expletive from Friedrich.
The chamber was dug out below the manor. It was several yards across, with a hard-packed dirt floor and circular in shape. There were no other doors leading from it.
Around the walls were stone arches, the blocks built against the sides of the chamber. One was much larger than the others and it was from there that the green glowing light was coming. The light was a sickly color, like swamp water or pus from a wound.
It pulsated and every time that it did, a wave of nausea passed through her, growing stronger with each strobe of the light. She put her hands to her stomach and pressed, determined not to give in to it.
Friedrich didn’t seem to be affected by it. He simply stood, mouth hanging open, staring at the light, then moving his gaze to the other arches.
One was a healthier green color, like rich foliage after a spring rain. But the swirling color was shot through with thin tendrils of black.
It was home. She could feel the Greenweald through it as surely as she could feel the sickness of the other one. All she needed to do was step into the light and she’d be home.
She turned to Solomon, meaning to tell him that she found the gate the Mar-trollid had told them about.
He was standing in the still open doorway, sword in hand, facing the stairwell.
Hunters stood on the stairs, silent now. Celia realized that their whistles had died away several moments ago while she gaped at the colors in the arches on the walls.
“Why isn’t the door closed?” she asked.
“Why is anything the way it is around here?” Solomon answered. “It’s staying open now. I’ll deal with it.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Go home, Celia. Go back to the Greenweald. I’ll hold them here.”
Of all the arrogant, self-centered …
Of course, he would stay. He would be the self-sacrificing hero again! The living legend who always did what was right no matter the personal cost. While she would go back to being just Celia, the one who ran away and left the hero to his fate.
“You’re out of your mind,” she yelled. “Come on! We go together. Friedrich, too! We’ll find a way to get him home!”
Solomon glanced over his shoulder, that smile that she once found so charming now doing nothing more
