Sunless Ezthamic's Arc

Chapter 5 of 8

The coin led Ezthamic north, out of the dark, to a cliff where the ground simply ended. Six graves hung in the air on chains. Each stone bore his name. A seventh grave hung beside them, open and empty, its wood raw and dark. He stood before the six and could not tell which held an answer. Dig the wrong one, and he wasted his only lead. The chains creaked. The empty grave waited. Soil shifted in the third grave. A hand pushed through. A body climbed out, half rotted, skull showing through torn skin. Its eyes glowed pale blue. It wore the same face as Ezthamic, older, ruined. "You smell like the Engine," it said. Its voice cracked. "Instance. Like me. I remember the vats. I remember waking up already dying." It pointed a gray finger at the empty grave. "They made us in rows. That hole is for the last one. Don't let it be you." "Which grave holds the truth?" Ezthamic asked. "None," the dead thing said. "The truth isn't buried. It's counting." The ground shook. From behind the hanging stones, a huge shape rose. It was built from pieces of dead men, six skulls fused into one body, chains looped through its chest. Green fire burned in its eyes. It did not guard the graves. It reached for the empty one, then turned toward Ezthamic. He understood. The Grave Warden existed to fill the seventh hole, and he was the filling. It swung a massive arm. Ezthamic rolled. His sword came up, and the metal changed. The blade darkened, curved, split with lines of gold. Eclipse Fang now, lighter and hungry in his hand. He cut across the Warden's wrist. Bone snapped. A skull on its shoulder screamed in his own voice. The Warden grabbed him and dragged him toward the open grave. Ezthamic drove the black-gold blade up through its jaw. The green fire guttered. He twisted the blade and tore sideways. The skulls cracked apart. The giant collapsed, chains clattering, and hung half over the cliff before it slid into the dark. Quiet. The rotted instance limped to a chained book near the graves and dragged it open. "The Death Ledger," it said. Pages flipped. "Every death recorded." Ezthamic counted the entries. Six deaths. Six graves. The seventh page was blank. "Six," he said. "Then the engine made seven of us, and one still lives." The dead man shook its ruined head. "Wrong. It made eight. Two are missing from this book." Its blue eyes dimmed. "The ledger lies. Someone tore pages out." Behind him, wood groaned. Ezthamic turned. Letters were burning themselves into the raw timber of the empty grave. His name, carving itself, line by line. EZTHAMIC. The grave was claiming him. He gripped Eclipse Fang and backed away from the hole already digging for his body.