Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“We have to keep moving.”
We urge the horses into a zigzag descent that is steep enough to require them to engage their hindquarters and for us to lean far back in the saddle, but not so angled that footing is lost. Though Merc is on the lookout all around, I’m consumed by the metropolis.
And my headache continues to worsen, until my heart starts to skip from the pain.
To distract myself, I focus on the ground—and that’s when I see the footprints. In and among the low ground cover, pressed into the earth, there are lines of markings too numerous to count. That they are like no animal foot I’ve ever seen is no surprise. I haven’t recognized any part of anything in the landscape for a good while now.
“Keep sharp,” Merc says, as if he’s noticed the same thing.
Though we’re still a distance off, trails in and out of the ruins become obvious, the snaky paths through the collapsed marble border trod by many, many crossings, with dirt tracked in. I try to see where whoever or whatever go after they leave the confines of the ancient remains. There’s no way of telling. And inside the abandoned city? I can see no one and nothing moving along any of the lanes or the toppled architecture, some of which seem to be draped in some kind of white cloth.
I’m not reassured in the slightest by anything I’m seeing.
I do start to notice the inscriptions, however. The stone pillars and columns are etched with pictures as well as writing in a form that’s unfamiliar to me. The images are beautiful, even from a distance, and if I squint, I can make out—
“Are you okay, then?” Merc asks.
I come to attention. “I’m sorry? I mean, yes, of course.”
“Thought I heard you groan. Like you were in pain.”
“It’s been a long day.”
As my temples thump, I tell myself it’s because I haven’t eaten enough, and maybe because when I fell off Lavante, I hit my head.
But that’s not it. And I don’t think I want to know what it is.
I feel surrounded by things I can’t explain about myself, and the further into this trip I go, the more that is revealed.
As we approach the bottom of the slope, we cross into the shadows cast by the mountain spires. They’re extending so much farther than they did when we were at the top of the descent, and with the prevailing wind coming off the ocean, the cold goes quickly through my clothes. Tucking into my saddlebags, I retrieve the red felt skirt.
Turns out it can double quite handily as a cape.
Predictably, Merc shows no reaction to the chill. Then again, given how the broadsword is up by the mane of his horse, it’s clear he’s most worried about us getting ambushed.
We continue along the very edge of the flats, moving parallel to the ancient city in the crease where the land accommodates both the slope and the flat land that serves as a base for the marble constructions. Once again, I have the eerie sense that we’re being watched, and my eyes dart around. The spreading eclipse in the lee of the elevations is unsettling, almost as if a pall has come across the land as opposed to it just being a lack of sunshine.
And things are only getting darker.
With every footstep the horses take, more and more of the sun is cut off, the hard line now slicing across the whole of the city, even the goddess statue in the middle. I watch as the shadow extends out toward the sea, as if a force is claiming the land. Glancing behind me, I tell myself it’s just an effect caused by the alignment of cliffs and summits, that as the sun continues on its journey to the western horizon, things will realign and light will shine for a little longer—
Movement. By the wall…?
Or is it just the uneven surfaces of the fallen blocks of rock and toppled obelisks.
“We have to cut across now,” Merc announces. “I don’t want to get too close to the marshland as fates know what’s in it.”
Oh, so it isn’t a meadow for grazing. At least not all of it.
I nod and follow along, even though Lavante is still not happy with being second in line. The trajectory Merc sets takes us across the front of the ancient city, while the darkness strides out ahead, extinguishing the light toward the ocean length by length. It appears as though we’re chasing the night, but what I feel is that it’s trapping us—
Lavante stops.
“Go on then,” I say softly, giving him a little encouragement with my heel.
When he just jogs in place, I look down—
For some reason, my hands have gripped the reins and pulled back.
I command my fingers to loosen, and they do not.