Mariah's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

The tunnel spat Mariah out into the ruins. Broken columns leaned in the afternoon light. Moss covered the paving stones. She stepped clear of the thorn wall and the trail bent left between two fallen arches. Behind her, something dropped from a branch and did not land loud. She turned. A shape moved between the columns. Low. Long. Its coat drank the light and gave nothing back. Two eyes lit up, one gold, one blue. It did not run at her. It paced her. Every time she stepped forward, it stepped forward. When she stopped, it stopped. Mariah walked faster. The stalker walked faster. She could see the temple stones now, weathered and marked with the script she had come a hundred miles to copy. She could not stop to unroll the waxed paper. She could not even slow down. The thing was closing the gap one careful step at a time. She scanned the ruins for cover. Roof gone. Roof gone. Walls too low. Then, past a leaning stele, she saw a small stone building set into the slope. Peaked roof. Heavy wooden door bound in iron. Carved symbols crowded every block. The door stood open a finger's width. She ran. The stalker broke into a run behind her. She heard its claws on stone for the first time. She hit the door with her shoulder, tumbled inside, and shoved it closed. The iron bolt was already halfway drawn. A hand caught hers on the bolt and slammed it home. A man stood in the dark beside her. Big shoulders. Tool belt. He held a crystal lantern low against his hip. The light threw sharp gold across the stone steps behind him. "Back from the door," he said. "It'll test the hinges." Mariah stepped back. Something heavy hit the wood from outside. The bolt held. The man did not flinch. "Marcus Gravehart," he said. "I scout tombs. This one's mine this week." "Mariah. I need a rubbing off the temple stones." "Not today you don't." Another strike on the door. Then quiet. Marcus lifted the lantern. The cellar dropped away in worn steps. Old carvings ran along the walls, the same script Mariah carried folded in her pack. "It won't leave," he said. "They wait. Sometimes days." Mariah's hand went to the pack strap. The archive clock ticked in her head. The stones she needed sat forty yards away, on the far side of a door she could not open. "Is there another way out?" Marcus looked down the steps. The lantern light caught on facets and threw jewel-shaped spots across the walls. "There's a way," he said. "Goes under. Comes up somewhere I haven't found yet." She was alive. She was also trapped, and her stone waited in the open where the thing outside could see it.