The word Hunter would use to describe the inside of the Halls of the Cor Ancestors would be, quite fittingly, sepulchral. Brother Aurochs had placed his hand on the verdigris-covered surface of the double doors and they had come alive under his touch, opening to reveal what was only the first of many dark, cool chambers and corridors. Sister Peregrine had walked in, and the rest had followed.

Inside the Halls, the air itself was dead. There was no dust, no dirt, no filth of any kind. Everything felt sterile, like a place even the tiniest of insects and mites had long left behind. The most eerie thing, however, was that the halls weren’t silent. Quiet, yes, but not silent. There were tiny tremors and slight noises echoing and resounding throughout the place, coming from nowhere in particular, barely audible enough for Hunter’s senses to register. There was something rhythmic to those noises, too, something somehow all too familiar. Time and time again Hunter thought he had it pegged down, only to realize it had just changed.

Fyodor was padding next to Hunter, ears laid flat against his skull. Biggs and Wedge were perched on the furry direwolf’s back, uncharacteristically quiet. Fawkes was barely noticeable, barely there. She’d almost melded with the dark stone walls, just another shadow among the rapidly deepening darkness.

Sister Peregrine got a torch from an alcove and lit it using a tinderbox, but its light did little to dispel the Halls’ somber atmosphere. If anything, the dancing shadows it cast seemed to take an ominous life of their own. Whatever the Halls of the Cor Ancestors were, Hunter got the distinct impression he and his companions weren’t welcome in their depths.

“How much do you know about the Cor and these halls?” asked Sister Peregrine, as if she’d read his mind.

“Not much at all,” said Fawkes before Hunter had the chance to open his mouth. “In fact, we’d never even heard the name Cor before. The Brennai folken speak of the Ghost Nation. I assume both names refer to the same people?”

“Ghost Nation,” Sister Peregrine scoffed. “A misguided term used by misguided people for things they hardly understand.”

“Enlighten us, then.”

“The Cor,” she said as she led them deeper into the complex labyrinth of stone chambers, “initially came from across the sea, from the Far Lands. They made a new homeland for themselves here, and assimilated the local tribes into what’s now collectively known as the Brennai.”

“Interesting,” Fawkes noted. “The Brennai seem to have forgotten that fact.”

“That was on purpose," Sister Peregrine nodded. “The Cor do not wish to be remembered. Once the construction of the Halls of the Ancestors was complete–a massive undertaking that took generations’ worth of work–the Cor left their bodies behind and withdrew to a higher realm.”

“…and disappeared from the face of the world, much like ghosts in the fog,” Fawkes nodded. “Yes, the Ghost Nation appellation makes more sense now. Is this what the Halls of the Ancestors are, then? A monument? A memorial?”

“Hardly. Despite being spiritual, the Cor pride themselves in being very practical-minded, too. The Halls are a… a reliquary of sorts. It is a place to hide things away, dangerous things, and let them be forever forgotten.”

Fawkes raised an eyebrow, her otherwise impassive façade cracked for a moment by surprise and sudden interest. Hunter caught up quickly, too; this whole business sounded awfully similar to what Fawkes had told him about the Lodge. Coincidence?

“And so you and your brethren are the Halls’ guardians, then?” asked Fawkes.

“We are their keepers, yes. The last great-great-grandchildren of the Cor.”

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“Did you not follow the rest of your people to that higher realm you mentioned?”

Sister Peregrine turned her face–what little of it was visible under her falcon mask–away from the light and said nothing. Apparently, that subject was taboo. Fawkes must have thought so too, because she quickly followed with another question, changing it.

“Anyway, it seems to me that this is not related to the task at hand, and pardon me if I have overstepped my bounds. Tell us of the sister of yours you wish us to… gracefully unburden.”

Surprisingly, that drew a chortle from Brother Aurochs, which in turn drew a sharp glance from Sister Peregrine.

“Sister Finch, yes. Her long years of keeping the vigil the Ancestors have tasked us Brethren with have left her mind scarred and broken. She fell prey to the lies and deceptions of another, the poor thing. In her madness, she has caused considerable damage in the lower levels of the Halls. That is where I am taking you–but first, there is something else you have to see and understand.”

Sister Peregrine led them down a side corridor, made a few turns, and stopped before a seemingly random wall in a seemingly random corridor. If her goal was to confuse the two outsiders and prevent them from figuring out or memorizing the layout of the Halls, she’d done a great job; Hunter didn’t have the slightest idea where they were, or how to get back to the entrance. He threw a glance at Fawkes, but she was too focused on the two Brethren and the Halls around them to pay him any attention.

“This is what the Ancestors would call a containment chamber.” She touched the portion of the dark stone wall before her, and it came alive with waves of flickering, fluorescent etchings, strange-looking characters and ideograms. They were like the ones he’d seen on the entrance door, Hunter realized. Then the wall simply faded away, leaving a thin curtain of mist in its place.

“This particular one does not contain something overly dangerous,” Sister Peregrine said as she crossed the mist. “Still, I must ask you not to touch or disturb anything.”

Fawkes walked into the chamber behind her, and Hunter followed. Brother Aurochs crossed the mist wall last and stood just in front of it, much like a mob bouncer would. The chamber was more or less the size of Hunter’s tiny studio apartment back in the city. Just like everything else in the Halls, its floor and walls were made of immaculate dark stone. There was a pedestal in its middle, and a glass case that held what looked like a jeweled hand comb suspended in midair.

Around it, there were two gaunt forms… dancing.

If he had to describe them with a single word, Hunter would say they were mummies. Their emaciated bodies looked dry, their skin unnaturally tan and tough as leather. Their faces were covered in pale ceremonial paint. They were dressed in some kind of ceremonial garb decorated with feathers, beads, and bones, and wore animalistic headdresses–much like the ones Sister Peregrine and Brother Aurochs wore. If they had any kind of awareness, they didn’t show it; they simply performed a kind of circular dance around the pedestal, their moves rhythmic and precise like clockwork.

Hunter’s grip instinctively tightened around the shaft of his glaive, and Brother Aurochs put his calloused hand on his shoulder, both to calm him and to make sure he didn’t do anything rash. “Listen," the huge man said, and his voice was but a hoarse whisper, broken and deep. “Not with ears. With heart.”

It wasn’t some kind of sappy spiritual metaphor, either; Hunter felt his heart skip a beat, and he understood. His own heartbeat now followed a rhythm, a low, thundering drumbeat that resounded throughout the Halls. Hell, time itself seemed to follow it, now that Hunter was finally aware of it. How could he have missed it all this time? The mummies were dancing to it too, every one of their moves paced and performed with a timing and precision that was uncanny.

“These are the Kannewik,” Sister Peregrine explained. “The bodies of the Cor that ascended to the spirit realm, now tasked to keep a vigil in the Halls and dance the Great Spirit Dance. They are not to be disturbed, nor is the artifact that their ritual is keeping contained.”

“I see,” said Fawkes, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and awe. “How many chambers are there? How many Kannewik?”

“Hundreds,” Sister Peregrine shrugged. “And thousands. Always in motion, always changing shapes, always swapping places, all to make sure whatever is in the Halls stays in the Halls, lost to the world and forgotten. This is what the Halls are, this is their true purpose.”

Fawkes listened to her quieter than ever, her expression inscrutable.

“Thank the Ancestors you were allowed to witness all this,” the Sister continued, frowning at nobody in particular. “It was meant for the eyes of none–especially not for those not of the Cor or the Brethren. The reason I’m showing it to you is so that you understand. I say this again; under no occasion are the Kannewik to be disturbed.”

She led them outside the chamber again, ran her hand through the mist that covered its entrance, and the section of stone wall that covered it reappeared, solid as it had ever been.

“Come now. Our business here is done. The lower levels await.”