Within the Bone

XXIII. A Speech from Void

The Void knew her name.

Mara froze in place, even her breath chilled to its core when the magnitude of that set in. Her mind raced as she tried to comprehend. That wasn't possible. Void wasn't alive, it was the antithesis of life. How could it speak? How could it know anything? It just...devoured. The endless, unceasing hunger of nonexistence tearing apart Creation—that was all her people's stories said of Void. Even Sammael, master of sorcery and a demon himself, had not corrected that view.

"We are not alone." Aallotar's warning voice crashed into Mara's panic like a hammer, dropping her back into the present instead of the vast, hungry possibilities stretching thin the veil of reality.

Mara nodded, swallowing hard. "It spoke."

The wildling turned her head, her concern for Mara overpowering her other fears. "What?" Whatever its source, Aallotar hadn't heard the voice.

If it could be called that. The interaction felt more like an etching on the surface of Mara's mind, a gnawing taste of what awaited at the end of all things. Mara started walking forward, every footfall echoing softly through the otherwise silent hall. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears. "You said we weren't alone? Do you think it's the ones from outside?" Mara asked to distract herself.

It was not evenly distributed, the threat of the Void. It was less here, like the shallows of a pool. Where they were going, where they needed to go, was the depths. Sammael's priceless relic would be at the epicenter. Mara knew he wanted knowledge, the more dangerous and potent the better.

Aallotar reluctantly let go of Mara's hand, but only so she could draw her sword. "I saw..." She hesitated for a moment. "There was someone far ahead, walking between the shelves. Could they get in? The door we saw was closed. Surely they would not camp in the cold if they could get in."

"Who else could it be?" Mara said quietly. "This place has been sealed for hundreds, maybe thousands, of years. Maybe the man in black armor made it in."

Aallotar shivered, though it wasn't clear if that was the thought of the strange prowling man they'd seen or the cold in the air here. Even without the ice and snow, the chill was palpable. It was as if the air itself sapped away all thoughts of light or warmth other than the little flashes of white light dancing in the ceiling sconces as they walked, casting hard and frequently disturbing shadows. Mara could have sworn her own shade was moving out of sync with her body, but perhaps it was just the strangeness of the angle.

They picked their way through the massive array of stone slabs. For a repository, it was strange to Mara: no books, no scrolls, no paintings, no carvings. Yet there was an order to the place, even if not immediately apparent as they made turn after turn, trying to reach the center. It was less like bookshelves and more like a maze, carefully and intentionally designed to confuse the senses. Mara couldn't really navigate it any better than Aallotar, except to follow the twisting fray of reality she could feel in her metal bones.

They walked for hours, winding their way back and forth through the maddening labyrinth of stone slabs, frequently hitting passages that wrapped around and came to an abrupt dead end. Retracing their steps wasn't easy, even with the quick marks of chalk Mara made on the stone. The place seemed endless.

"What is this place truly?" Aallotar asked as they rounded another corner into a blank wall.

"I don't think Sammael lied, but I doubt he told us everything," Mara muttered. Between the aching cold and the ceaseless backtracking, she was already sliding into exhaustion. Her wounded arm burned with pain beneath the bandage. "Whoever his maker really was, they left a hell of a path."

Aallotar steadied her with one hand, brow creasing with worry. "Are you well, Mara? You are pale."

The sorcerer didn't want to admit that she was struggling with the pull of the Void, the clawing of a world-ending hunger at doors hidden in the dark reaches of her mind. Once a door opens, it cannot be closed so easily, Sammael had warned once. He had pushed her to open them, but now she fought to keep them closed desperately. Void was everywhere here and it would devour her. If a young mage could incinerate himself with his own power of creation by mistake, what consequences awaited someone playing with nonexistence?