The three sit in silence, well, Merriman and Ambrosia sit in silence, M’A-bja says nothing, but contributes to the ambient background via hier bat nosed breathing which issues forth like a continual snore, occasionally accompanied by bubbling snot, though the drool which periodically falls forth from the side of hier mouth is, very definitely, silent.

Merriman eventually speaks. “Are you familiar with the origins of Arkanthor? They say Pomegranite’s Master built the main tower, set it over a seat of natural power, at least that’s one of the legends. Another is that it was built to prevent the dead from returning to roam the lands. Another, that to lay the foundations for Arkanthor they had to seal a natural fountain or spring which burst up from the ground...I think all of these stories are half truths but what the full truth is we have to decide whether or not we wish to find out, and this, this is the key to that truth. You said yourself that we should set ourselves upon the path of knowledge, well I say this is the point at which we decide whether or not we are going to journey upon it.”

“Merriman, I don’t understand. What is...” Ambrosia seems lost for words, her gaze casting about, “this?!” indicating M’A-bja. “It’s...it’s a little bewildering.”

“You know that I lived in a village near Mannerhorn, but my parents were quite poor. They sent me to work for Master Tumurius because of the things I did when I was little - you know I could summon these orbs without study, don’t you.”

Ambrosia nods...

“Well...” Merriman pauses, not knowing how to tell the story, feelings of guilt entwined with feelings of protection for M’A-bja. “Tumurius died - he fell down the attic steps by accident one day...and I found M’Abja in a cage in the attic and he was injured and...I set him free...and that’s when we became friends. He’s definitely a Diabolical but I didn’t summon him...just met him and helped him and he’s helped me.”

“Where did he come from?...I mean, this evening - did he fly here, and where’s he been?”

“I call him he, but I don’t think he’s a he or a she and I don’t want to call him it so I use he but...I don’t know...He just turns up, in fact this is only the second time.”

“The first?”

“After Tumurius’ death he just appeared in my parents house one day, fists full of gold bars, dropped them and left. That’s how I could afford to come to Arkanthor.”

Ambrosia returns to silence, taking in the new information and considering it carefully, thinking about what she had read in the book that Merriman has shown her several weeks ago. “And that’s it, nothing else?”

Merriman considers the question, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Well, he did bite me. When we first met” He turns over his left hand and rolls back the sleeve of his robe to reveal a row of tiny needle point scars arranged in a slight curve along the length of his wrist and inner forearm. “But only once - I think he was hungry...and it didn’t hurt...well it did a bit, but not much. And he wasn’t viscous when he did it...it was,” he thinks back to the moment he was bitten, a strange feeling passes through him and what he could only describe as a flicker of mind, but it passes as quickly as it arrives, and he thinks nothing of it, “it was...nice?”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“It was nice?” Ambrosia asks incredulously.

“Weird, kind of funny, but not really painful, or not as painful as you would expect.”

“Gold bars eh?”

Drool dripping from the side of hier mouth, hier short front legs trembling, M’A-bra lets out a short impatient whine, bringing Ambrosia and Merriman’s attention back to the moment.

“Easy M’Abja,” says Merriman, “We need to make sure we know what we’re doing.”

M’A-bja yawns, hier mouth opening wide to reveal not just hier needle teeth but the rings of serrated claws within hier throat.

“So, maybe it’s too much and too soon, but I think we need to make a decision,” says Merriman. “M’A-bja’s brought us here for a reason, and honestly I don’t know why...and I don’t know what this place is but he’s given me this key and...”

“Can we trust it?”

“Can you trust anything?”

“I can trust a bear to be a bear.”

“Then we can only trust a Diabolical to be a Diabolical.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“We said the other day when we went walking that we wanted to pursue knowledge...Is this any different?”

“Not really.”

“Then what say you? If this is fate knocking, shouldn’t we answer the door?”

“Once it’s open... I have to say I’m scared.”

Merriman reaches out and takes Ambrosia’s hand in his. “Me too, but what else do we have?”

“I’d be happier if I knew what we were doing. This just seems like...”

“A leap of faith?”

“Potential madness.” Ambrosia says, squeezing Merriman’s hand, before withdrawing hers gently.

Merriman screws up his face in thought. “I rescued M’A-bja and so far I have no reason not to trust him. Yes this place is strange - I don’t understand what’s happening with the aether and I don’t understand what we’re doing here, or where M’A-bja’s got the key from, nor do I know what’s going to happen if we put that key up that skull’s nose.”

“Well if you put it like that, I’m in,” giggles Ambrosia, before turning serious again. “Look, dealing with the unknown is dancing with death - that’s the reality.”

“Then what should we do?”

Ambrosia considers her situation, thinks for a moment of the fake plastered smiles upon the faces of the conjurers she saw at the parties of her youth, looks at the fear curled up inside her like a snake, looks at Merriman and sets her mind. “If you wish to proceed, then let us proceed together. If fate has plans for us, let us be bound by them...and in it til the end. There is nothing else for us, is there?”

Merriman holds her gaze and smiles, stares again at the beautiful face before him, looks at M’A-bja’s ugly countenance and laughs silently to himself. All things considered, what is the worst that could happen? He pushes that thought aside, knowing full well what the worst that could happen is, lifts the key up between himself and Ambrosia, takes a deep breath and inserts it into the skull. M’A-bja’s eyes oscillate with expectancy between the key in the skull and Merriman’s face. M’A-bja whines again, hier wings fluttering with agitation, a taloned paw clawing the floor.

Merriman, sinking into the aetheric currents, turns the key.