Seeker of Legends (Fate of Legends Book 2), page 9
Hunter tried not to think of what might happen to him in that crypt. Sure, he was an Original, but was that really going to protect him? Or was the Lady simply trying to get rid of him?
He grimaced, shoving the thought away. Picking up his pace, he rolled the map back up, putting it in his pocket. There was no point in second-guessing himself; he was going to do this, and that was that. After all the terrible things he’d done, his life was forfeit. He owed Vi that much. And his brother.
And Mom.
He fought down a sudden exhaustion, the feeling he got whenever his mind wandered back to his unfortunate past. The forest floor began to slope downward as he reached the end of the small hill, and he followed it, his eyes on the base of the mountain ahead.
The Crypt of Zagamar was near, and he was going to retrieve the man’s head.
Even if it killed him.
* * *
By the time Hunter reached the base of the mountain, the sun was hovering just above the treetops behind him, throwing his shadow several yards ahead of him. The trees ahead stood on the shallow slope of the base of the mountain, appearing strikingly different than those around him. They had black bark, for one, and their trunks were a bit smaller in diameter. But they were much taller, with countless spindly branches that twisted upward and to the sides. Dark green leaves grew in remarkably dense clusters on each branch, at least on the trees that were still alive. Most were dead, their branches bare. The ground was covered in a thick bed of black branches that had fallen to the ground.
He slowed, staring at the trees ahead warily.
There was something off about them. Something wrong. Whereas he might have forged onward without much thought a few days ago, after his harrowing experience with the Legendary tree, he had a newfound respect for the power of the forest. An abrupt change in flora or fauna might mean that powerful, invisible forces were at play…another Legendary creature might be nearby, or might have influenced this area.
Hunter glanced to the left and right, spotting the black trees extending to either side as far as he could see. He’d have to go a considerable distance around to avoid them. The fact that there was such a large swath of them – and not just a circular patch like with the Legendary tree earlier – meant that it was unlikely that there was a single, powerful tree nearby. Luckily, the black trees didn’t extend very far ahead; they gave way to bare rock and sparse grass that climbed further up the base of the mountain. He’d only have to hike a few hundred feet before being clear of them.
He remembered what Master Thorius had taught him, back at the Guild of Seekers. Transmission of traits depended on proximity to that which exuded the trait, the strength of the trait, and the duration of exposure. If he could limit the duration of exposure, he’d probably be fine. Especially if Lady Camilla had been telling the truth, and his status as an Original would protect him.
Only one way to find out…
He took a deep breath in, then burst forward, sprinting toward the blackened trees.
The carpet of dead branches crunched underfoot as he ran, and an immediate feeling of foreboding came over him. A primal fear that wrapped its fingers around his gut, twisting slowly. He had the sudden urge to turn back, and nearly did so. But Vi’s training kicked in, and he dissociated himself from the feeling, studying it.
This emotion is not mine.
He continued forward, weaving around the blackened trees, lifting his knees high as he ran to avoid tripping on the fallen branches. Within moments, he passed the trees altogether, bursting past the forest to the bare rock beyond. Still he ran, until he was well clear of the trees. Only then did he slow, eventually coming to a stop.
The fear gradually faded, but did not leave completely. It remained in the back of his mind, present but manageable. So far.
Hunter glanced back at the forest, then turned forward. The base of the mountain sloped upward at a sharper angle here, making the going more difficult. He looked to his right, spotting a narrow dirt path a few hundred feet away. A path that wound up the mountain at a shallower angle, cutting through the stone around it, which formed short rocky walls on either side. He recalled what Lady Camilla had told him…that the entrance to the Crypt of Zagamar was at the end of a path that extended a short way up the base of the mountain.
That had to be the path she’d mentioned.
He stared at the path, feeling another pang of fear. It had to be residual emotion he’d absorbed from the bizarre trees…or was it? Lady Camilla had mentioned how dangerous this place was. How men had entered and never returned. The fear might very well be his.
He took a steadying breath, clenching his hands into fists.
It doesn’t matter who owns this fear, he told himself. Emotion is temporary, action is forever.
And if he didn’t take this path, he’d never get a chance at exacting his revenge.
Do it for Vi, he told himself. Do it for Mom.
He strode toward the path, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other. As he drew nearer, he spotted stark white objects lying at the beginning of the path, half-covered by dirt. They were bones, he realized. He stopped before them, examining them.
They weren’t human…that much was clear. It looked like a deer-sized animal, with four legs and a long skull, like a dog’s. There was no flesh on the bones, which he supposed meant they’d been here for some time. He looked ahead, further along the path, and spotted more bones there. Lots of them, scattered on and around the path. And bodies, with dried, rotting flesh on them. Many appeared to be dead birds, while others were larger animals.
He stared at them, feeling a chill run down his spine.
What happened here?
Maybe there was some creature that had killed all these animals…but that didn’t make much sense. Animals hunted to eat, and the corpses that still had flesh on them didn’t look like they’d been munched on. Which meant that they’d died from something else.
He returned his gaze to the half-buried skeleton before him, then knelt down, lowering his forehead to press it against the creature’s skull. He closed his eyes, and waited.
There was fear – a fresh spike of it that shot through his chest – but nothing else.
Hunter continued to wait, ignoring the fear, knowing that it was coming from this animal. It was powerful, this fear. The last emotion this creature had felt before its death. The fear grew within him, and he felt his heart start pounding in his chest. The air felt thin suddenly, as if the oxygen had been pulled out of it. His heart raced faster, and it took everything he had to stop himself from jumping to his feet and running back the way he’d come. He stayed put, gritting his teeth, his forehead still pressed against the beast’s skull. Sweat trickled down his armpits to his flanks.
He felt himself running, saw black trees all around him. He looked down, seeing white fur covering his arms. No, his legs. He was running on all fours, black hooves where his hands should be.
His only thought was fear. A dread so powerful that it allowed nothing else.
He burst through the forest within unnerving speed, galloping toward the base of the mountain. He saw a path ahead, and ran toward it blindly. Faster and faster he galloped, his breath coming in short gasps, his heart nearly bursting out of his chest. He ran straight for the path, only fifty or so feet away now.
Have to get it out.
And there was only one way to do it.
He ran right up to the path, then veered left, toward one of the short rock walls bordering it. Faster he went, lowering his head, aiming right at the wall.
Get out of me!
And then pain exploded through his forehead, and the world went black.
Hunter gasped, his eyes snapping open. He shot to his feet, stumbling backward from the skeleton.
Jesus!
He forced himself to take deep, slow breaths. It was the creature’s memory he’d experienced, not his own. But he’d never experienced an animal’s memories so vividly.
It killed itself, he realized. Indeed, now that he looked, he noticed a large dent in the front of the creature’s skull. It had smashed its own head against the rock wall.
He felt a bug land on his cheek, and swatted it away. But there was nothing there; it must have flown away before he hit it.
Jesus.
He took another deep breath in, letting it out slowly. If he could absorb an animal’s memories, that meant that he could very likely absorb any creature’s memories. But he’d touched quite a few trees in the past, and not felt anything. That made sense, he supposed; trees didn’t have brains, after all, and couldn’t make their own memories. They could only absorb the memories of things that had touched or been near them…and with each transmission, traits – including memories – grew weaker. That was why it was easiest to absorb traits directly from their source.
Okay, he thought. This could come in handy.
He stepped over the skeleton, following the path as it continued forward and upward. Rock walls almost as tall as he was flanked him on either side, the path only ten or twelve feet wide. The farther he went, the greater the density of bones lying on the path, and scattered atop the rock walls. He felt his fear return. No, their fear. The combined terror of countless creatures who had died here.
He felt another bug land on his forehead, and swatted it away. Again, there was nothing there. But he could still feel something. Something tickling his skin, as if an ant was crawling there. He slid his hand across his forehead, but didn’t feel anything.
Weird.
He ignored the sensation, focusing on the path ahead. It wound to the left, revealing even more bones. They littered the ground so thickly that he could barely see the dirt of the path, and crunched under his boots with each step, the sound making his skin crawl. He noticed something else then, something on the bones.
Tiny black bugs, so small that he had to concentrate just to see them. They were spiders, he realized. Crawling over the bones…and his boots. They swarmed up his legs, quickly reaching his knees.
Shit!
He brushed them off quickly, striding faster down the path. He hated spiders, a loathing he’d inherited from his mother. It took everything he had to continue forward. Still, he couldn’t help but glance at his legs again…and he saw more tiny spiders crawling back up his boots, swarming up to his thighs.
“Oh, come on!” he complained, brushing his legs off again. He felt a tickling sensation on his hands, and saw more tiny spiders crawling over them, running up his forearms.
For the love of…!
He sprinted forward, the crunch, crunch of his boots on the carcasses below sending a crawling sensation up his back. Or maybe it was the spiders. Crawling on his back. Crawling under his clothes.
He swore, slapping at the spiders as he ran. But the crawling sensation continued, moving up his spine, then the back of his neck. He felt a tickling sensation in his scalp then, crawling over his ears.
Crawling into his ears.
“Shit!” he swore, jabbing his fingers in his ears, then swatting at his scalp. “Damn fucking god-damn…!”
He felt a crawling sensation on his forehead again, and slapped his forehead with one hand. But the crawling sensation only intensified.
What the…
He pressed his fingers against his forehead, feeling something there. Something under his skin. Something moving.
Oh shit oh shit…
Hunter felt a similar sensation in his arms, and yanked up one sleeve, seeing small bumps on his skin. Moving bumps.
They’re under my fucking skin!
He cried out, swatting at his arms and his head. But the sensation continued, that horrible crawling feeling. There was a sudden, gnawing pain deep within his forehead; he swore again, running blindly down the path, his heart practically beating out of his chest. He slammed the heel of his hand into his forehead, ignoring the pain. But the gnawing pain didn’t stop. It grew stronger, deeper.
And then he felt a pop.
The crawling sensation spread across the front of his skull, expanding from the center of his forehead. But it wasn’t on his skin, or under it. It was inside.
In his brain.
Hunter screamed, tearing at his skull with his fingernails, shrieking as he ran blindly. His shoulder slammed into one of the rock walls, and he ricocheted off, barely keeping his balance. Bones crunched underfoot as he ran down the path, blood trickling down his forehead and into his eyes, casting his vision in a crimson blur.
They ate a hole in my head, he realized. They’re in my brain!
He screamed again, clawing at his forehead, his skin slippery with blood. His foot caught on something, and he fell forward, landing onto his belly on a thick pile of stark-white bones. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he gasped for air, pushing himself onto his hands and knees. He crawled forward, seeing the path end ahead in a sheer rock wall…with a huge hole carved into it. An arched entranceway some twenty feet wide and equally tall, leading to pitch-blackness beyond. Two massive stone statues flanked the entrance, of scrawny humanoid creatures with unnaturally long legs and arms, faces twisted in a silent scream.
And tiny spiders swarmed over them. Over the path. Over everything.
Hunter scrambled to his feet, stumbling toward the entrance, his forehead burning. More blood dripped into his eyes, and he wiped it away with one sleeve, then looked down, spotting the hilt of his longsword – Vi’s longsword, sheathed at his left hip. He grabbed it, sliding the sword free, then brought the blade up to his forehead, pressing it against his skin. He grit his teeth, feeling that awful crawling sensation in his skull. There was only one way to get the damn bugs out.
He gripped his sword tightly, pressing the blade harder against his skin.
He had to cut them out.
Do it, he ordered himself.
He took a deep breath in, letting it out. Steeling himself.
Do it!
He felt something then. Something soothing. Something calm. It was familiar somehow. It felt like…
Vi.
He hesitated, lifting the edge of the sword from his forehead, staring at it. The silver blade was stained with blood. His blood. But that didn’t bother him.
His heart slowed, the crawling sensation under his skin – and in his skull – fading. He looked down at his free hand.
There were no bugs. Nothing crawling under his skin.
He looked back at the sword, catching his reflection in the blade. There were claw-marks on his forehead, with blood beading up from the wounds. But there was no hole in his skull. No bugs there.
He lowered the blade, staring at the bones around him.
No spiders.
Then he felt a spike of fear. Felt the crawling sensation return with a vengeance. He stared at his free hand, seeing faint bumps under his skin. Moving.
Shit!
He nearly dropped his sword…then froze, staring at the blade. He raised it again, pressing the cool metal against his forehead. Almost immediately, the crawling sensation vanished, the fear replaced by a soothing calm. A familiar calm…the same feeling he’d gotten after freaking out when walking down the path into the canyon to get to Vi’s house for the first time. After standing close to Vi.
It was her. Her preternatural calm, absorbed by her sword after years of being close to her.
Hunter kept the side of the blade against his forehead, realizing that the spiders had vanished again.
They’re not real, he realized.
A chill ran through him, and he swallowed in a dry throat, goosebumps rising on his flesh.
I almost cut open my own damn skull!
And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that, if it hadn’t been for Vi – for her emotion absorbed into this sword – that he would have done it.
He closed his eyes, remembering the animal smashing its skull into the rocks. Trying to kill the things crawling in its brain. The spiders.
Hunter looked around at the countless bones around him. Thousands of corpses. He didn’t need to touch them, didn’t need to absorb their memories to know how they’d died. They hadn’t been killed by a beast, or by poison.
They’d killed themselves.
Jesus.
He turned to the entranceway carved into the rock wall at the end of the path, keeping Vi’s sword firmly against his forehead. If it hadn’t been for Vi, he’d be dead now. Killed by his own hand. She’d saved him once again, even in death.
Thank you, he mouthed silently.
He stared at the entrance, knowing that it was the way forward into the Crypt of Zagamar. For the first time since he’d started the trip, he seriously considered turning around and going back. He hadn’t even gotten into the crypt itself, and he’d nearly died. What chance would he have of surviving whatever horrors lay within?
It doesn’t matter, he told himself. Not after what you did.
He’d killed his mother and his own brother, and his best friend was dead. His life was forfeit now. If he didn’t finish this mission, he didn’t deserve to live anyway.
Get the head. Get stronger. Kill them all.
He took a deep breath in, then strode forward, toward the gaping, pitch-black maw that marked the entrance to the Crypt of Zagamar.
Chapter 7
Dominus lay on his back on the floor beside his bed, staring at the blood spurting in irregular pulses from the stump of his right wrist. He turned his gaze upward, seeing the green and black-masked Seeker’s curved sword rise into the air over its head.
The blade gleamed in the lantern-light.
The Seeker grunted, chopping downward with all its might, the cruel edge of its sword slicing through the air.
Aiming right for Dominus’s neck.
Dominus didn’t have time to bring his arm up to block the blow. Didn’t even have time to be afraid. He closed his eyes, waiting for the end.
