Deepest, Darkest Read online

  Fable held up her hands. “We just kicked its butt. We didn’t know it was gonna start an apocalypse!”

  Madam Root took a deep breath. “It is only the first portent,” she said. She pointed farther down the wall. “They also believe there will be a mighty war between the human world and the magic world, during which giants will rise up against one another.”

  Fable winced. “Yeah. We sort of did that already, too. What else is going to happen?”

  Madam Root looked at Fable and then back to the wall. “The last portent is about a prince. Being the daughter of a queen, you wouldn’t happen to know any princes, would you? Because once they’ve offered the prince to their Ancient One, then the whole thing comes crashing down, everybody dies, and the snake burns up the world.”

  Fable considered. “Nope. No princes. I’ve met a gnome king, and I know a dog called Duke. What’s the prophecy say, exactly?”

  “The prince of lies and mirror guise will take his place as sacrifice.”

  “Mirror guys?” said Fable.

  “Mirror guise,” repeated Madam Root. “It’s describing a shapeshifter who takes the appearance of others.”

  “Oh.” A cold weight dropped into Fable’s stomach. “Oh. Yeah. I do know somebody who can do that.”

  Twenty-Four

  Tinn didn’t know how much longer he could keep up his transformation. He kept one hand on Evie’s shoulder and took deep breaths as the Low Priest began to speak.

  “Ancient One, we humbly make our daily sacrifice.”

  “Psst. Korvum?” a voice whispered.

  Tinn glanced to his right, where a tall, lanky acolyte was standing. She had a slightly longer face than the one Tinn wore, and her squashed-up nose was more like a pig’s than a bat’s. Tinn swallowed and smiled as casually as he could manage at the hooded figure, then stopped smiling because that felt like the wrong response.

  “You know you’re not supposed to bring uplanders to the sacrifices,” the acolyte hissed, her eyes flicking to the altar and back at Evie, who scooted a little farther away from her.

  “Who, her?” said Tinn. “She’s a . . . a spare. In case that hob up there isn’t enough for the Ancient One. You know how it is when you have a little snack and it just makes you hungrier? Don’t want the Ancient One to go hungry.”

  The acolyte narrowed her eyes. “The Ancient One is ever hungry,” she said, as if this were an obvious fact. “It is the sacred serpent’s destiny to devour the whole of the earth.”

  Tinn swallowed. “Right.”

  “I’m more filling than I look,” offered Evie.

  The acolyte looked aghast. “It talks?” She backed up a step. “It still needs to be converted!”

  Nearby acolytes turned at the sound of her voice.

  “I’m on top of it,” insisted Tinn in an urgent whisper. “All under control.”

  “Who dares speak during tribute?” the Low Priest’s voice suddenly boomed over the crowd.

  The assembly parted until a corridor straight to the altar opened in front of Evie and Tinn.

  “I—I dare,” said Evie.

  Tinn’s head was reeling. “What are you doing?” he breathed, gripping her shoulder even tighter, but Evie went on.

  “If you’re so afraid of this Ancient One,” Evie called up to the priest, “then why do you keep feeding it?”

  “Afraid?” The Low Priest laughed bitterly. “Child, what under earth made you think we were afraid?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you’re hiding in a hole in the ground and throwing people into lava because you think some monster is going to devour the earth if you don’t.”

  The priest smiled a wide, joyless smile. “Our sacrifices do not prevent the Ancient One from rising, simple creature,” he said. “They encourage it.”

  The magma behind him gurgled and spat.

  “Your sacrifices?” Evie went on. “Seems like you let everyone else do the sacrificing except for you.”

  “I-I’m sorry, um, Low Priest,” Tinn managed, trying to keep his face concealed behind the hood. “I will remove the human.”

  “No.” The priest was unruffled. “Let this be a moment of enlightenment. Remember well, believers—we were chosen for this destiny. It is our sacred role to awaken the Ancient One, as it is the role of the unworthy to melt into the ashes. This holy task was not ours to begin, but by the grace of the great serpent of fire, it will be ours to see it done. Our ancestors heard the serpent’s song when no one else could. It called to them, just as it calls to us—let it awaken in each of you the truth of our sacred mission.” A low, tuneless hum started somewhere within the crowd and was echoed by a dozen more voices, droning out the same solemn notes. The priest nodded. “We will rouse the slumbering god who dwells at the center of the world so that the serpent’s divine fires might cleanse the unworthy from the earth at last. It is foretold.”

  “That’s what this is all about?” Tinn said.

  “Just to be clear,” Evie said, “some big snake sang your grandparents a song, and that’s the reason you’re murdering people and hoping to kill the whole world?” She glanced at the hooded faces all around her. “And that feels reasonable and normal to you all? Even when you hear it out loud?”

  The humming quieted.

  “Your feeble mind could not comprehend our higher purpose,” the Low Priest answered. “Enough of this. I have entertained an interruption for too long.” He waved a hand at the Thing, which rippled to attention. “Darkling, kill the girl.”

  “No!” Tinn yelled. His hood fell back, but he did his best to maintain the acolyte disguise. His heart was racing.

  The Low Priest stared at him for several long seconds before he spoke. “That face,” the priest said at last, his voice a guttural purr, “is not yours.”

  “Oh, this?” Tinn’s throat felt tight. Things were going about as disastrously as he should have expected. “Well, that guy you killed wasn’t using it anymore, so . . .”

  The Low Priest did not yell or grimace or startle. Instead, his wide lips bent slowly into an unsettling smile. Hushed whispers crept through the assembly. “The prince of lies,” Tinn could hear over the murmurs.

  Every eye was now on Tinn, with those farthest away craning their necks over robed shoulders to catch a glimpse. The Low Priest stepped down from the podium, taking slow, steady paces, his gaze locked on Tinn.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to interrupt your get-together,” Tinn managed. “I just wanted to find my friends and get out of your hair. So . . . everyone can just stay calm. There’s no need to be mad.”

  “Mad? You have not made me mad, little mimic.” The Low Priest came to a halt directly in front of Tinn. “On the contrary, you have made me happier than you will ever know. Your presence is a gift. A gift I intend to see properly given.” And with that, he grabbed Tinn by the front of his robes.

  Evie grabbed for the priest’s arms, but hands emerged from the crowd to restrain her. “Let go!” she yelled.

  Tinn kicked and struggled as the priest dragged him up the stony steps of the altar. He could feel panic setting in and his magic failing him at last. The robes shifted and shrank as his feet dragged across the dusty stones—until soon the priest was holding a bruised, scruffy-haired boy by his dirty shirtfront.

  Atop the altar, with Tinn still struggling in his grip, the Low Priest once more addressed the crowd. “Momentous news, believers. This ceremony has just been elevated. The prince of lies and mirror guise,” he boomed, “will take his place as sacrifice.”

  “What exactly do you mean, the end of the world?” said Cole.

  “It’s fuzzy.” Joseph put his hands to his temples. He looked like he was fighting back a nasty headache.

  “Try,” pleaded Cole. “Let’s go back. What’s the first thing you can remember after leaving work?”

 
“I remember . . . falling,” said Joseph. “I fell a long way down. I remember a stranger with a lamp, and then . . . I remember waking up. I think some time might have passed. Maybe even a few days?”

  “Maybe a little bit more than a few days,” said Cole, gravely.

  “I was still underground when I woke up,” Joseph continued. “And there were these men—or things—all dressed in red. They were walking me toward something—toward the fog, I think.” Joseph grabbed Cole’s arm. “Stay away from the fog!”

  “What happened next?” Cole asked. “The men in red?”

  “Everything got dark. There was something with us in the tunnel. A shadow. It was icy cold, and I was confused, so I ran. I ran and hid. The men in red were frightened. I know it sounds mad, but I think the shadow . . . attacked them, if you can imagine it.”

  “Yeah. I can imagine it.”

  “But then I heard them. More hooded people arrived, filling the tunnel, but they didn’t fight the shadow. They spoke to it. They told it that if it worked with them, then they would give it more lives to eat, more misery and pain. They promised they would deliver to it the end of the world. That’s what they said. The end of the world. I was having trouble keeping my thoughts straight, but I told myself to remember that part. I said it to myself over and over so I wouldn’t forget.”

  “That’s a pretty good detail to hang on to,” said Cole.

  “Thanks,” said Joseph. “Hang on a moment. You . . . you look so familiar. Have we met?”

  “Stay with me,” urged Cole. “Did the red robes say anything about how the world was going to end?”

  Joseph looked pained. “Something about the central pillar?” he said.

  Cole’s face fell. “Yeah, that would do it.” He pulled the disc out of his pocket and looked at the design again. “Everything rests on the central pillar. If they break that, then the whole thing collapses. The Wild Wood. Endsborough. All of it goes down.”

  Joseph nodded. “I can’t let that happen. There are people in Endsborough I need to protect. I have a son.”

  “I know,” sighed Cole. “You have two.” Cole paused. His father’s brow was already creased with the strain of holding so many thoughts in his head. “Your family isn’t in Endsborough right now. They’re down here. I don’t know where Tinn is, but those bad guys in the red hoods, they took Mom. They have Annie.”

  “My Annie?” Joseph’s eyes widened. “They stole her?”

  “They stole you, too. Can you remember where they took you?”

  Joseph’s brow wrinkled with concentration. “I . . . I don’t remember. I was only under their control for a few hours, I think . . .”

  “It was more than a few hours.”

  “. . . Days?”

  “A lot of days. Please, try to remember. Where did they keep you?”

  Joseph took a deep breath. “There might have been a sort of a barracks, I think. It opened up onto the big chamber with the pillar in the middle.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes. I think I can remember it.”

  “Great. How do we get back to the big chamber?”

  Joseph scowled. “How many days?”

  “What?”

  “How many days have I been lost?”

  Cole read the confusion and frustration in his father’s eyes and it made his chest hurt. His dad looked like he was trying to read an important letter, but the ink was all smudged. Cole took a deep breath. “Give me your hands.”

  Warily, Joseph held out his hands.

  Cole lifted the rough, calloused palms to his cheeks until Joseph was cupping his son’s face in his fingers for the first time in thirteen years. “About this many,” said Cole.

  He let go of his father’s hands, but Joseph did not drop his arms right away. He stayed there, staring into Cole’s eyes like he might get lost in them. “I know you,” he managed.

  “We need to find where they’re keeping the prisoners,” said Cole, pulling away. His throat felt tight.

  “Right,” said Joseph. “Stay with me. And whatever you do, do not let the Low Priest get his hands on you.”

  Tinn had given up struggling. The Low Priest’s grip hadn’t budged, and even if Tinn had broken it, there was a crowd of a hundred acolytes behind him and a pit of liquid magma ahead. His options were less than great. He could feel the searing heat billowing up from the magma pool while the Low Priest shoved him into position on the altar. It made his vision swim.

  The Low Priest, still holding Tinn firmly by the lapels, began to hum. It was a deep, rumbling sound, not like a proper song, but more like a force of nature. It rose and fell the way trees groan before they topple or the way thunder grumbles during a storm. Around him, a hundred red-robed acolytes hummed along in unison.

  “If you’re going to kill me, do you really need to make it so creepy?” Tinn managed.

  The heat suddenly abated, and a cool breeze swept over him. Tinn peeked out of one eye. Ribbons of oily black shadows rippled in the air in front of him, rising to take an almost human shape.

  NO, said the Thing.

  The Low Priest narrowed his eyes at the inky figure.

  “Back away, darkling,” the Low Priest growled. “Your wait is nearly over. You will feast on a bounty of torture and torment the likes of which this world has never known. I am about to give the world to the Ancient One, and then you can gorge yourself on the misery that follows.”

  NO, repeated the Thing. NOT THAT ONE.

  The Low Priest scowled. “You dare to—”

  But the Low Priest didn’t finish. Tattered ribbons of shadow caught him by the throat and whipped around his arms and legs. Tinn staggered back, away from them both.

  Hooded acolytes swept toward the altar in defense of the priest, but the Thing was faster. Jagged spears like fluid obsidian shot out and back, piercing through one red robe after another, and writhing vines of darkness coiled around those who remained standing.

  “Why?” croaked the priest.

  I DO NOT KNOW, answered the Thing, flatly.

  “You could have had . . . such exquisite miseries,” the Low Priest wheezed.

  I WILL CONTENT MYSELF WITH YOURS. The Thing’s shadows trembled around the priest’s neck.

  The priest smiled back at it.

  I HAVE THWARTED YOUR SACRED PLANS. I HAVE KILLED YOUR MOST DEVOTED FOLLOWERS. YOUR DEATH IS A CERTAINTY. YET YOU DO NOT DESPAIR, said the Thing. WHY?

  “You have not thwarted anything,” the priest rasped. “It was always going to end this way. It has all been leading to this, the song that has echoed in our skulls for generations. And now . . .” His eyes glistened with the golden-orange glow of the magma. “. . . Finish it!”

  The Thing gave a rippling shrug. VERY WELL.

  In a flurry, all of the ribbons of shadow receded back into the Thing, sending the Low Priest spinning backward over the end of the altar.

  Tinn stared. He could not look away as the mad priest cackled, tumbling through the air, arms spread wide. He could not look away as the priest’s body struck the boiling surface and those brilliant robes caught fire. He could not look away as the glowing magma slowly began to envelop what was left.

  “Why did you do it?” Tinn managed at last.

  IT IS PECULIAR. The Thing’s shadows wavered like smoke in a gentle breeze. I SAW THAT YOUR SUFFERING WAS IMMINENT, BUT I DID NOT WISH IT. SO I PREVENTED IT. THAT FELT . . . RIGHT. THAT SENSATION IS STRANGE TO ME. I DO NOT DISLIKE IT.

  Tinn glanced down at the ashy remains in the magma pool one more time. The sigil that had hung around the Low Priest’s neck was still just visible in the center of the charred pile.

  “Well, I definitely would have disliked experiencing that.” Tinn looked back at the Thing. “So . . . thank you?”

  I ENJOYED MAKING OTHERS SUFFER AND DIE ON YOUR BEHALF. I WOULD DO IT AGAIN.


  “That really doesn’t need to become a regular thing.”

  Like creeping molasses, the magma finally pulled the last of the Low Priest down beneath its glowing surface, and with a faint snap, barely audible over the steady crackling, the sigil shattered.

  And with the tiny snap of that pendant, the apocalypse clicked into motion.

  Twenty-Five

  Evie stared up at the Thing standing beside Tinn on the altar. The cavern was spinning around her. It had all happened in a blur. She had heard the stories, but witnessing the creature of darkness in action was more terrifying than she had imagined. All around her, red-robed corpses lay where they had fallen.

  Evie was no coward. She had once run through the middle of a raging battle between humans and magical creatures to save her uncle—but in the end, everyone had miraculously survived that fight. This had been the opposite. There had been no battle in which to be brave, just a ruthless whirlwind of shadows. And now Evie was wading in a sea of death, feeling it wash up against her with every heartbeat. She felt empty and weightless and impossibly heavy all at the same time.

  She stared up at the Thing. Out of habit, the one part of her brain that wasn’t going quietly numb began trying to conceive of how she could capture the smoky, fluid patchwork of shadows on paper for her journal. How did you draw something like that? The constant rippling movement. The icy chill. The raw brutality.

  Snap.

  Evie blinked. She glanced down at her feet. Had the acolyte in front of her just moved? She nudged the body with her foot. A shard of broken stone slipped from the folds of the robes, and she flinched as it hit the ground with a faint click.

  Crack. Snap. Clink.

  She looked left and right. All around her, she could see little lights, like glowing embers, flickering to life atop the fallen bodies. She shook her head. What was happening?

  An acolyte beside her had perished on his back, and she glanced down at him just in time to watch the sigil hanging from his chest glow red-hot and then burst to pieces with a snap.

  Click. Crack. Snap. All of them were wearing the sign. And all of the signs were shattering.