“Don’t let it bother you.” The younger soldier reached over Corvan’s shoulder and brushed Morgan’s eyelids shut. “Sometimes that happens.” Bending in close to Corvan’s ear, his voice dropped to a whisper. “Get far away from this priest. Bad things are about to happen to all the priests. You will soon be free and won’t have to be a slave to the green cloaks anymore.”
The young man straightened, patted Corvan’s shoulder, and spoke out loud. “Rest a moment while we get this thing opened.” He stared hard at Jorad. “No doubt the priests are overworking their servants.” Pushing past the priest, he joined his partner in freeing the two rusty latches holding the lid of the crypt in place.
Jorad dropped his side of the litter and crouched next to Corvan. “Put your hood back on,” he hissed.
“He’s still alive,” Corvan whispered urgently. “Morgan is still alive. His eyes opened!”
Jorad yanked Corvan’s hood into place over his head and glared in at him. “Don’t fall apart on me. That soldier is right. Sometimes the eyes pop open if you give the body a jolt.”
Corvan shook his head. “Morgan was my guard at the Palace prison. He ate part of that pill the High Priest sent with Tyreth, but it didn’t kill him. His eyes didn’t just open, they focused on my face! He’s not dead!” he whispered hoarsely.
Jorad moved over to Morgan and made a show of straightening the shroud and wrapping it more tightly around the man’s neck. Corvan got to his feet, and Jorad joined him, muttering under his breath. “You’re right. He still has a bit of life in him. He was always the strong one. His father called him ‘the burak boy.’”
They were both startled by the squeal of seized metal as the thick lid of the crypt eased up and out of the way on its hinges. The older soldier peered inside. “What luck, it’s empty. No wonder the clasps were so rusty.” He turned to Jorad. “Let’s get the body inside.”
Jorad straightened Morgan’s body on the litter, then the soldiers each grabbed a pole. Together they lowered Morgan into the crypt. The people of the city must have expected the poor to die in groups; there was ample room for two more bodies inside.
An eerie wail, like a rabbit in its death throes, floated over the cemetery walls from the broken side of the city.
The younger soldier looked anxiously in the direction of the noise then turned abruptly to Jorad. “You are the priest, so you can finish your ceremonies and seal the crypt. I want to be out of the broken city before its fully dark.” He turned on his heel and walked briskly away.
The older man nodded and then followed the younger man.
Jorad bent down and was scooping up pebbles and dirt. “Are they gone?” he whispered.
Corvan occupied himself adjusting one of the clasps. “Just another minute.” The strangling sound came again, and the soldiers quickened their pace.
“What’s that noise?” Corvan asked.
Jorad continued picking up pebbles. “That is the sound of the Broken. They are beginning to move about and hunt for food.”
“They hunt people?” Corvan asked.
“It appears the soldiers believe they do,” Jorad said derisively. “Are they gone?”
“Yes.”
Jorad tossed the pebbles away, dusted off his hands, then dropped the lid of the crypt in a percussive cloud of dust. Placing both hands on the stone lid, he looked down at the stone slab. “Farewell, Morgan. This is not how it should have ended, but everyone must live, and die, by the choices they make.” He lifted the first of the clasps and twisted down the large turnbuckle.
Corvan watched in shock before taking hold of the second clasp. “You can’t seal a living man inside a tomb.”
Jorad finished the first clasp and turned fiercely toward him. “I know things about him that you do not. It is best if we seal his tomb and make certain it’s over.”
“But it’s not right,” Corvan said.
Jorad’s eyes flashed. “I am a priest of the Cor, and I know what’s right for my world. If you want my help to find the girl and get back to your own world, you’ll mind your business.”
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He stared at Corvan through narrowed eyes as he finished cranking down the second turnbuckle, and then he stomped off, leaving Corvan staring at the sealed crypt.
“Come on!” Jorad said over his shoulder. “If he survives the poison, he may yet escape death once again, though I doubt he will ever learn his lesson.” He pointed up a narrow street. “We must hurry if we are to catch up to your counterpart before its fully dark.”
Corvan reluctantly turned away from the tomb. A shiver was running up his spine as he hurried to catch up to the priest. “Jorad,” he said quietly, “Is Kate here in the cemetery?”
Jorad slackened his pace. “Yes. This has always been a secure place for the priests to keep our affairs hidden from the prying eyes of the Watcher and his guards. We are expected to come and go regularly, and we can arrange meetings with other priests and our allies from the settlements.”
“What about the rebels the captain spoke about? Are they your allies?” Corvan asked.
Jorad’s steps faltered. “Some of the rebels were palace guards who lost family in the anarchy that followed the rise of the Watcher. In those days, everyone was betraying friends and even their own family.” His voice sagged with the memory, and he pointed to the jagged spires that climbed behind the city wall to the far side of the cavern. “The rebels are based in those crags up behind the graveyard, but as a rule the priests don’t contact them. At one time, I thought they might be a good ally against the Chief Watcher, but then a new leader came into power who claimed to be both Rantellic and the promised Cor-Van. They began raiding our settlements for food and recruits. He wants to take over Kadir, but his foolish plans are going to get a lot of people killed.”
“What’s a Rantellic?”
“Rantellics were an ancient order of wise sages from a city that fell into darkness during the destruction. Everyone knows the Rantellic order died off, so this new leader of the rebels is a fraud in every way.” Jorad sped back up. The conversation was over.
Corvan lost all sense of direction as he followed through the maze of narrow streets and alleys. Finally, they clambered over a pile of rubble and bones from a crypt that had been broken apart and stepped down onto a curved roadway. The crypts along the inside of the curve had been built tight up against each other and were taller with full height doors.
Jorad stopped and motioned for Corvan to stand watch. He checked into another alley just ahead, and he returned with a short cylinder that he inserted into a round hole in the front of a crypt. The entire wall pivoted inward to reveal a narrow passage and an open space beyond.
Jorad gave a shrill whistle. He waited, and then he whistled again. “Our guard is not responding. Follow closely and keep a sharp eye out for anyone coming up from behind.” A long knife appeared in Jorad’s left hand as he led Corvan through the narrow channel.
The secret passage emerged into a clearing walled by the backs of even more of the connected tall crypts. The pavements across the open area were in a pattern suggesting more crypts had originally filled the space. Jorad scanned the roofs around the perimeter and pointed to one of the crypts directly across from them. “Kate is inside that one. Take this rod, push it into the hole, and the door will open for you. I will remain here and keep watch. Bring Kate and Rayu back here, and we will return to the temple together.” Thrusting the notched cylinder into Corvan’s hand, he shoved him into the open.
Corvan stumbled across the pavements to the cracked and weathered crypt Jorad had pointed out. He almost dropped the cylinder in his haste to get it inside the hole.
Nothing happened. He twisted it from side to side. Still nothing. As he turned to look over his shoulder at Jorad, his weight on the rod pushed a narrow section of the wall slightly inwards and off to one side. It flipped him around and dumped him inside the crypt. The round key rolling away across the floor.
His heart sank as he got to his knees. The stone benches on either side of the musty room were empty. Kate and Rayu were gone—if they had even been here in the first place. He turned around just in time to see the door slide back into position.
In the darkness, a round light flickered in front of Corvan. Crawling forward, he peered through the keyhole.
Across the courtyard, Jorad was talking with two armed men. Someone dressed in a dark tunic walked in front of the tomb and blocked his view. When the dark cloak moved on, Jorad and the two men had vanished.
Now a man in a torn cloak marched into view and stood in the middle of the clearing with his back to the door. His long hair hung in two braids down his back. He carried a staff with a long, curved blade on top, and a short sword was at his waist. These had to be the rebel fighters Jorad mentioned, but it seemed the priest was working with them.
A loud bang overhead made him jump. The man outside turned and shouted in Corvan’s direction, and then he heard footsteps cross the roof and fade away.
Pulling back from the door, Corvan sat on the bench and watched the circle of light, but there was no more sign of movement outside. And all was quiet overhead. If they knew he was inside the crypt, it didn’t appear they were coming to get him, at least not right away.
He pulled off and dug through his pack for something to eat but found only a tin can. After putting it back in the pack, he stretched out on the stone bench. It was cold and hard, but it was a relief to finally rest. When he thought about how the last time he had slept was in the tunnels after the buraks had killed Tsarek, an intense loneliness enveloped him. With Tsarek gone, Kate still missing, and Jorad seemingly betraying him, it was hard to find much hope.
He was dozing off when his fingers brushed against a smooth object jammed into the crack where the bench met the wall. Clutching its familiar shape, he sighed with relief.
At least Jorad had told the truth about Kate being here. The Swiss Army knife she had taken from Tsarek in the labyrinth was in his hand.