As fatigue mounted, she wanted to push herself through it and keep marching down the crystallized road. They passed scarlet buildings, the roofs buried. Signs led them on. They were approaching the Hall of Assemblage. From there, they could head towards the Hall of Communication. Ōbhin would be fighting his way through the ruby ruins to it.
“We should camp,” Fingers said. “Choose a building, let’s hole up in it, and get some rest.”
“Has it been a day?” asked Avena. “How long have we been down here?”
Fingers shrugged. “I need the rest.” He studied her. “I’m not as young as I used to be and not too stubborn to admit it.”
Indignation flared through her. “I’m not stubborn.”
Bran snorted in laughter. “I remember when you bullied your way into training with us.”
“I didn’t bully my way in,” she snapped, rounding on the impostor. The fact he knew that disturbed her. “I insisted, and Ōbhin recognized the wisdom in training me.”
“He recognized a battle he’d lose,” Fingers said. “How ‘bout that building? Looks good to me.”
“Sure,” Bran said and darted over on his long legs.
“Fine,” Avena said. “We should set a watch after we eat then douse the lanterns.”
“We’ll be in the dark,” whined Bran. A noticeable shudder of fear ran through him. Was it acting, or was the thing repulsed by the dark?
“Let’s cover the lantern and leave a slit so we get some light,” said Fingers. “If we face it away from the door, it should be fine. I don’t think I can sleep in pure darkness. Not down here.”
Avena relented.
The building had no intact door. They entered and found more statues, a family huddling beneath the table, the father in front, his children behind him held in his wife’s arms. Avena blinked back tears as they passed deeper into the house into what appeared to be a kitchen. Half a loaf of bread sat on a cutting board, the knife resting beside it. Glasses and plates lay nearby, covered in square shapes, slices of bread with maybe meat or vegetables sandwiched between.
All rubyfied.
*
The crystalman’s light swept over Ōbhin.
He lay flat, terrified to move. The crystalman tinkled like wind chimes as it scanned the room. Every ringing ding washed a cold wave of fear through Ōbhin. The skin of his arm crawled. A prickling sensation crept towards his wrist.
A pale spider moved across his skin, rustling the fine, dark hairs on his forearm. Revulsion rippled through him. It glittered in the light scanning the room. Its every step itched his skin. He wanted to bat it away.
Panic nibbled at his guts. Were other spiders crawling over him? He felt prickles tickling across his skin. Was a nest of the skittering things scurrying over him? Had they gotten beneath his leather jerkin? He wanted to thrash, to smack the filthy things away.
He squeezed his eyes shut. The spider neared his wrist and paused. A tremor raced through his arm, fighting to knock it off. Chimes tinkled. He couldn’t move. He had to stay still. His jaws clamped tight against a primal snarl.
Leave! screamed through him. Leave us alone! Niszeh’s Black Tone! Disharmony curse you and your creators! Leave! Leave! LEAVE!
The spider resumed its crawl. The back of Ōbhin’s neck tingled. Was another creeping up to his hair? His breathing quickened. Unmanly terrors, shameful fears, swept through him. He wouldn’t flinch. He would endure.
He’d once kept watching through a blizzard, guarding his post at the palace. Snow and cold hadn’t stopped him. He’d endured it wearing only his winter sherwani, a long jacket that fell down to his knees, made of the finest Raqob wool, and heavy winter gloves, dyed the majestic purple of the warrior. An honorable hue to wear.
Not the filthy sable on his hands now.
The spiders itched all over his body. He wanted to scream. He forced slow breaths. The scanning lights bled through his eyelids. How long should it take the crystalman to search? Either it would notice them or move on. It had to pick one of those options.
Leave! Attack! Do something!
The lights snuffed out.
THUD! THUD!
The crystalman lumbered away. Ōbhin bolted upright, his hands slapping at his body. He smeared wet guts across his arm; one spider dead. He slapped at the others, voice cracking. He remembered his dead friend Carstin’s fear of the damned things and understood why the man had once thrown his blankets into the fire in a panic.
“What’s wrong?” Dajouth asked.
“Black-cursed spiders!” snarled Ōbhin.
“Elohm’s blessed Colours,” Miguil groaned. “They’re in here?”
“They are everywhere,” said Dualayn calmly. “We need to find the Crystal Sheriff Hall. It is our only hope. We must deactivate them. If we are caught again . . .”
Ōbhin nodded, his fear retreating. The spiders were gone. Dead.
They crept out of the building and moved through the street. It wasn’t long before they found the strangest sight yet: a vein of ruby slashing across the ruined tunnel they wandered down. Dualayn paused, touching it in awe.
“Transmutation,” he whispered. “It was thought impossible. Scholars in Abriss often delve into alchemy. They’re always seeking a way to turn common stones into jewels. Diorite into emeralds or andesite into sapphires. Things like that. And yet . . . This has changed everything. The stone walls and floor, the metal pipes.”
“There’s another one,” Miguil said, lifting his lantern and hurrying down the hallway.
Ōbhin limped after. His foot felt stronger by the hour, but still had a burning ache. Soon, they came across a second line of ruby rippled across the hallway. He glanced at it and frowned. They both seemed to point back in the same direction. Radial? Do they all come from the same point?
“This is clearly unintentional,” Dualayn continued. “It’s haphazard.
