“Did you see something?” Jasper’s voice was strained as he turned to her, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds.

“A white face - nothing more.”

“A Moon-kissed?”

Ihra swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dried and parched. “I don’t know. Sort of, but not quite. The face was really, really pale.”

Jasper pressed up against her, putting his back against hers, as he channeled even more essence into the fire dancing along his fingers. “Are we close to the trial?” he asked quietly.

Ihra set her torch on the ground and pulled Arutû’s map out of her bag. Once again the map had changed. A dazzlingly complex graph of the city was sketched out, showing seven rings around the central crater - they had barely scratched its depths. But more importantly, a small oval was marked on the second ring, more than halfway down the pit. “I think this might be our position.”

“So are we almost there or not?

She struggled to read the map. “Two more levels down?” She said, hopefully.

Ihra shifted uncomfortably, her eyes ever scanning the darkness, as she waited for his response. In truth, she no longer knew what their best option was.

Without an upgraded class, she would wither away into irrelevancy as Jasper continued to level; maybe he’d keep her around out of pity, but Ihra wanted to be a real partner, not a burden.

On the other hand, she also really, really, didn’t want to die down here - to become just another of the withered corpses waiting in the darkness for the next unfortunate adventurer to stumble across. Sure, Kas̆dael had resurrected Jasper, but Ihra knew it was unlikely that she’d receive the same treatment from the gods. Kas̆dael met with Jasper every time he meditated; Selene, on the other hand, had never even spoken to her.

The gods played favorites and Ihra wasn’t one of them.

After a long pause, Jasper agreed to continue. “We're too close to turn back now. I don’t think Arutû was trying to kill us, so he must have thought we could do this.”

Their journey into the depths of the city slowed down even further, though. Afraid of letting the mysterious creatures sneak up on them, the two inched down the tunnels, their backs pressed tightly together.

No more pale faces emerged in the torchlight, but it did little to quench Ihra's fear. A deathly hush lay over the silent catacombs, but every time the two stopped walking, the sound of scraping, shuffling footsteps continued for a short time afterward, leaving little room for doubt that something, or perhaps some things, were following them, lurking beyond the reach of the torchlight.

The heat continued to rise as they descended lower into the city. Ihra could feel the sweat dripping of Jasper’s back and, truth be told, she was not much better. Her hair clung to her head like a wet blanket, soaked through and through, and her eyes stung from the sweat. How did they live like this? It couldn’t always have been this hot, could it?

One revolution, then two. Ihra’s hands shook as she examined the map again. They were on the right level. But her heart sunk as she scrutinized it - Kaksû’s Sepulchre was buried deep within the heart of the city, on the fourth rung. “We’ve got to go through the homes,” she croaked, her mouth parched from the heat.

She almost hoped he would say no, that he would insist on going back to the safety of the surface. But Jasper just nodded, turning toward the hewn-out homes with a grim set in his eyes.

The sound of footsteps increased as they weaved their way through the homes, as all attempts at subtlety were abandoned by their mysterious followers. So too did the number of corpses. For some reason, the first two streets had been almost entirely clear of the dead, suggesting, perhaps, that at some point the streets had been purposefully cleared.

But as they passed the third ring of the city and begin to navigate through the final set of homes between them and their destination, the sheer number of bodies was shocking. The population of this city must have rivaled or even surpassed the one above ground, Ihra realized. And to be left like this? Why were they never buried? No one left corpses unburied, at least not where she had grown up, out of fear that the dishonored dead would rise again as qebrū. But thousands of unburied - and unrisen - dead surrounded them.

By the time they reached the fourth rung of the city, the sweat was rolling down her freely. Her skin itched from the heat as the wet garments chaffed her skin. If not for the mortal peril lurking in the shadows, Ihra wouldn’t have hesitated to strip her armor and clothes off - anything to get some semblance of relief from the suffocating heat.

As the thought crossed her mind, Ihra’s torchlight fell on another corpse. A withered man lay slumped against a door frame, a sword still clutched in his hand, and his naked, withered body was covered in the all too familiar cuts and scrapes. And end up just like him, she realized. Naked, scarred, and dead. Despite the heat, a shiver ran down her back. I don’t care how hot it gets, I’m not taking my clothes off, Ihra vowed.

Looking up, Ihra screamed as a pale face loomed before her. She lashed out with her torch, the fiery brand whipping through the air with such speed that the flames almost guttered out. But there was nothing there. Her breath came hard and ragged, her shoulders shaking as she pressed tight against Jasper’s back.

Ihra forced herself to breathe deeply, running her mantra through her mind over and over again as she calmed her nerves. The gentle rainfall of a fleeting spring shower pattered across the tranquil sylvan pond, rings expanding across its surface as a newborn fawn, its leg still wobbly, drank from it - the life-giving pond, the mirror of the heavens. Her shaking stopped as peace flooded her.

“Did you see it?” She asked, finally finding her voice.

Jasper’s voice was hoarse and low, but his words rang loud in the silent city. “Yes.”

Stolen story; please report.

He hesitated. “I turned when you screamed and caught a glimpse of it from the side. It looked sort of like them, Ihra - the really tall Moon-kissed - just a lot bigger and more bestial. I don’t know if it moved so fast I couldn’t see it, or if it faded out of existence, but it disappeared as soon as I saw it.”

She shook her head, barely daring to blink as she held the torch up. “Let’s just find this sepulcher and get out of here.”

For a change, something actually went right. They had only walked a short distance down the fourth inner avenue when they found what they were looking for. The homes had, for the most part, the same relatively simple structure although the architecture had varied slightly from rung to rung. Ihra wasn’t sure if those differences reflected changes in style over time, the newer portions presumably having been built deeper into the earth, or if there was some sort of class structure at play.

But they had also passed a handful of grander entries where, unlike the homes, elaborate facades of wood and stone jutted out into the avenue. And their destination proved to be one of those.

Decorated with the same pale green stone as the upper city, a soft glow emanated from the building, the light welcome in the endless domain of darkness. Eight pillars decorated the entrance, each carved in the shape of a woman with a single pair of wings drooping at her side.

The faces on each were unique, the statues so lifelike that Ihra wondered if they had been crafted from the same horrific ritual that had been used to create guardians for the abandoned safehouse they had pillaged. Only their sheer size - the pillars rose from floor to ceiling, at least twelve in height - made Ihra think that they couldn’t possibly be anything more than statues.

Still, as they walked beneath the frieze-decorated arches, Ihra remained as tense as a fine-strung bow, ready to spring into action at any moment if the statues unexpectedly surged to life. But the pillars were soon the least of their concerns.

Unlike the hundreds of homes they had passed, whose wooden doors and windows had long since fallen into decay, Kaksû’s Sepulchre was much better guarded. A sturdy copper door, covered in a thick coat of green patina, barred their way, its edges still sealed shut tightly. Jasper lifted the handle, even bracing his foot against the wall as he strained against the door with all his might, but it was no use. The door wouldn’t budge.

After fifteen futile minutes of fighting with the door, Ihra felt ready to cry. It was hard to keep track of time in the endless darkness - their sojourn only prolonged by the fear and terror that had stalked their every step. But to be so close to their goal, to have risked death itself only to be stymied by a door, was almost more than she could bear.

The scraping, shuffling sounds in the darkness, just beyond the reach of the fire didn’t help either.

Jasper pounded at the door again, but his blows - more than powerful enough to shatter bone and limb - barely made the frame even shudder. The handle still glowed slightly, small clouds of steam rising from it as it cooled from the spell he had unsuccessfully cast on it.

What are we missing? She thought, futilely scrutinizing Arutû’s map in the hopes that it had changed again. And then Jasper groaned, banging his head gently against the door. “Of course. How could I be so stupid? The pillars - it's all about the pillars.”

Ihra followed him to the base of the first pillar, for the first time taking a closer look at the unsettling statues. A beautiful woman stood before them. Frozen tears ran down her cheeks, and two large wings drooped at her side, the downy feathers covering her feet from sight. A viper was coiled around her arm, its fangs buried deep into her flesh.

The second featured another winged woman. Although her wings still drooped below her waist, her face was frozen into a defiant snarl. The scars that marred her skin, and the necklace of jagged teeth that dangled in her bosom testified to her fierce character.

Jasper clapped his hands together, wincing immediately as the loud noise echoed in the silent graveyard. In a more subdued tone, he continued. “Look at the first two statues - it's a word. They must be clues to some sort of password.”

Ihra wrinkled her brow, as she glanced over the two statues again. “I don't see any words…oh!” The serpent and the necklace of teeth - naḥas̆-s̆innu, the name of the city.

They worked their way down the row of pillars, taking turns watching their back as the pair struggled to crack the code left by the stone women.

The third clutched her chest, grasping with both hands the hilt of a dagger buried deep within her bosom. “A dagger - so patru?” Jasper guessed.

The fourth was harder. The stone woman cradled a statue in its arms. There were no identifiable symbols on the statue - even the face itself was left unfinished - but the elaborate pedestal gave Ihra an idea. “I think it’s supposed to be a statue of a divine image, but the face is erased - so not any particular deity, but just the gods in general?”

“Naḥas̆-s̆innu patru ilī…the serpent’s tooth is the dagger of the gods?” Jasper shrugged. “It makes sense at least.”

The fifth held a mountain between her palms, while the sixth cradled a broken body to her bosom in a form that reminded Jasper much of medieval pietas. “So, it’s got to be S̆admūtī, right? Mountain of the dead?”

They turned to the last two statues. A long, rectangular box leaned against the knee of the seventh pillar, while the last was bedecked in glorious robes with a crown of stars upon her brow.

“So…kakkabū for the last word?” Ihra ventured. “But I don’t know what the box is supposed to be.”

“Switch with me.” The two changed positions, Ihra taking up the watch against the darkness as Jasper contemplated the statue. He ran through one word after another, discarding them almost immediately. “Chest? Reliquary?…”. She fidgeted, her pulse racing as she shifted her eyes back and forth, terrified that any moment another face would loom out of the darkness. It would seize her by the hair, tossing her to the ground before its teeth clamped tight around spine, draining the very lifeblood out of her.

“It’s a coffin.” Jasper interrupted her dayterror. “Mountain of death, coffin of the stars - maybe a reference to the slaughter of the Mwyrani?” He concluded thoughtfully.

Confident of his solution, he spoke the phrase into the darkness. “Naḥas̆s̆innu patru ilī; S̆admūti arānu kakkabī.” The doors shuddered as he spoke the phrase, the frame glowing faintly in the darkness. But they did not open.

“Damn it.” With a muffled scream of frustration, he slammed his shoulder into the door, bouncing off with a pained whimper. “I thought we had it.”

But Ihra felt a glimmer of hope pulse through her. “But the door did respond - we must have been close.”

Jasper sighed. “Maybe arānu was the wrong word. Qebru?” They tried a number of variations and each time the door responded, but did not open.

In despair, Ihra muttered a half-hearted prayer to Selene, looking for any sort of insight. And, as usual, the heavens remained silent. She glanced down the row of pillars, her eyes suddenly drawn to the third statue. Ihra felt certain that Naḥas̆s̆innu and S̆admūti were right; she also pretty confident that kakkabī was right which, assuming the phrases were roughly parallel, meant that ilī was most likely correct itself. If arānu wasn’t the problem, then that only left one other option.

She stared up at the woman clutching the dagger to her breast. Agony was writ across her face, her mouth opened in a scream that could never be uttered. And in a flash of inspiration, it came to her. “She’s not trying to draw a dagger out of her chest, she’s plunging it in herself.” Ihra turned to face the door one more time. “The word’s not patru, it’s dāi’ku, slayer.”

Naḥas̆s̆inu dā’iku ilī; S̆admūti arānu kakkabī.