Within the Bone

XI. A Home of Secrets

The paths Sammael led them down were dark and twisting, into the deepest parts of the forest to the east of Sjaligr. The demon pushed on without letting them stop to rest until they were under the boughs of dark pines, far from the huntsmen that answered to Mara's father. Aallotar relaxed slightly once they were away from the lands of mennskr, as tilled field quickly became wilderness, but her golden eyes followed the every movement of their rescuer with unmistakable caution. Sammael took the time when they stopped to pant for breath to rebind his hands with the bandages of a leper, the better to pass scrutiny if they met travelers on the ancient, all but forgotten track.

Mara felt no real relief being outside the dungeon. The anger still sat in the pit of her stomach like a red-hot stone, surrounded by crystallizing hurt. Her family's condemnation was far more bitter a memory than any she had held before, despite the glimpses of her mother's support and Viljami's guilt. The more she thought about it, though, the more the weight set in.

Aallotar turned back when she realized Mara was lagging behind. They were both exhausted after days on foot, never sleeping more than an hour at a time if even that. "Mara, are you—"

"I'm fine," Mara said, softening her glower slightly. Aallotar was the only one she wasn't angry with and she didn't want to take it out on her friend.

The wildling glanced over her shoulder at Sammael, who had stopped to survey the path ahead. She approached Mara, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Lying is not needed," Aallotar said, the words still clumsy. She didn't speak often even out of captivity, which sometimes left Mara worried by silence.

"Don't worry about me," Mara said, catching Aallotar's other hand and meshing their fingers together. "What about you?"

A look of sickening guilt crossed the wildling's expression for a second, at least before Aallotar looked away, back towards Sammael. "I wish it undone," she admitted.

Mara knew that Aallotar meant her slaughter of guards in Sjaligr in beast form, not Sammael's rescue. "You are not the beast. We'll do our best to make sure it never happens again," Mara said, giving the wildling's hand a soft squeeze. She sighed, sagging slightly. "Gods, what I wouldn't give for a bed and a meal. I don't know if I can keep going at Sammael's pace."

"OUR DESTINATION IS NEAR," Sammael said, gesturing to a large stone spire rising out of the forest like a broken pillar. Cracks had given it a craggy appearance, but the overall shape was still regular enough to look like a construction rather than a naturally occurring rock formation. "MY ABODE IS BENEATH."

"A cave?" Aallotar asked, keeping her hand in Mara's as they approached the demon. To the huntress, the wildling's touch felt protective as much as fond.

"A REPOSITORY OF KNOWLEDGE THAT I HAVE ACCUMULATED OVER MANY MORTAL LIFETIMES," Sammael said. Beneath his hood and heavy wrappings, he might have passed for a deformed human. His twisted, animalistic bearing and blunt muzzle of needle-teeth were disguised, but those inhuman obsidian eyes betrayed his true nature even when he sought to conceal himself. "IT EXISTS IN THE SHRINE OF THE EIGHTH."

"The Shrine of the Eighth?" Mara asked curiously.

"YES. THE EIGHTH OF THE SORCERERS WHO CREATED ME, SHE WHO DECEIVED THE DECEIVER," Sammael explained in his grating, mechanical voice. "THROUGH HER GRACES, I CAME TO BEING BEFORE THE GREATEST OF ALL MY KIND AND I WILL ENDURE THROUGH KNOWLEDGE AFTER HE IS NO MORE."

That tidbit stunned Mara. "You were created by a mortal?"

"HARDLY." Even Sammael's inflectionless tone was easily read as dismissive when joined by the wave of one clawed hand. "THE SORCERERS OF OLD WERE IMMUNE TO THE RAVAGES OF TIME AND REQUIRED NO INDULGENCE OF BASE PHYSICAL URGES THAT DEFINE MORTALS."