Page 193 - TheRedSon_PrintInterior_430pp_5.5x8.5_9-22-2019_v1

were lined with some of the oldest funerary idols ever
offered to the grinding bowels of the world. These ancient
artifacts magnified the common darkness into otherworldly
bastions for the Walking Dark—the true high priests of the
Order of Nox.
When I reached the end of the tunnel, I encountered a
large cavern, the entire back wall of which was carved in
the image of a great fanged maw. Before the wall sat a man
upon a large seat hewn from a great protrusion of onyx.
Initially, I assumed him part of the cavern itself—then his
eyes opened. I could feel him looking upon me from every
pore of gloom that haunted the chamber. His voice was
the sound of nightfall and the spaces beneath beds and the
unknown depths of the earth.
“Stand there,” he said, gesturing to a small platform to his
left. I said nothing and did as instructed. When I assumed a
place upon the dais, the man rose from his seat and pulled
a lever extending from the wall. Within seconds, I was
descending deeper into the earth. How long I traveled or
how deeply I descended, I cannot say precisely, save only
that I was lowered to a depth that made the caverns beneath
Lastrygone seem like divots in the soil.
At some point, the walls around me disappeared, giving
way to a vastness that, like the titan ghost of some long-
dead prehistoric sky, opened dark and primal, offering black
heavens to the dead and damned. There was movement
all around me—I was reminded of sharks gliding casually
around their intended prey. Regardless of how much I
strained, even my eyes failed to pluck shapes from the
surging void. I was hesitant to summon my sisters, despite
their pleading. I had been invited to this place, and a show of
arms could be poorly received.
The platform settled atop something solid, the sound
echoing within a great emptiness. I was unsure how to
proceed, as there was only oblivion. Suddenly, cold words
floated up to me from below. “I shouldn’t be impressed
196 | Mark Anzalone