39.

Memories left in stone

Dominic did nothing for a moment but stare down that lonely tunnel. He could make out nothing in the pitch black. He’d be able to find his way around by using his sense of smell, but he didn’t know if crows could see in the dark.

He finally started to move down the hall, left with no other option. A light breeze was meandering through, meaning it had to be connected somewhere to a larger, wider web of tunnels. He followed wherever it blew strongest.

The scents, though mainly still just dust and sand and centuries-old grime, were now muddled with other things. It was like they had crashed together, forced into spaces they had never been before by that sudden reorganization of the maze. In one hallway there was the smell of crushed vines. He turned the corner, and it turned into mana like cold water. He moved a few steps, and then it was back to stale air and dust.

Dominic had no idea where he was going. He wasn’t trying to find the way out, not yet. He had already gone through too much trouble to come here. There was no way he was going to leave without gaining something from it first. Aster was not yet in danger for the time being. All the maze had done was separate them. Even if he wanted to find the boy, it was practically impossible right now. It had just re-formed, messing up all the scent trails that there had been. And the poor airflow due to the winding halls limited the range of his sense of smell.

The breeze picked up slightly, and he quickly found himself standing at the edge of another huge room, a sheer drop extending downwards. Judging by the way the mana moved, this one was even wider than the one they had been in before, and the bottom had been flooded with at least ten feet of water.

He turned back and went another way. It was hard to say for how long he wandered. Hours, at least. The labyrinth seemed to endlessly wind, and it was not just one level. Stairwells led ever deeper into the earth—and strangely enough, the deeper he went, the stronger that breeze became.

The air slowly began to change—a wisp of something fresh leaking into the tunnels. The scent of roots and weeds. Water in motion, dripping, splashing into tiny puddles and pools. And ahead of him, almost unperceivably, the first hint of light he had seen in hours.

As he made his way closer, the hallway widened, bit by bit, until it felt almost like a cathedral. The rock ceiling soared above, and he could now see that the stone the maze was made of was in fact light grey, and not the muted brown it had been in the dim glow of Marion’s lantern. The engravings she had sketched out before covered every part of the walls—unending, flowing into each other. And beyond that giant doorway, Dominic could see a room so cavernous that it made him wonder how it hadn’t yet collapsed.

He stepped inside, the bright light washing over him. When his eyes finally adjusted, he was forced to stop in awe.

In front of him, stone pathways led out over geometric pools of water like a giant web. In their reflections were the unending majesty of the walls and the ceiling. Vast murals, still vibrant with color, stretched across every fresco and frieze. Dominic walked along the wall, staring up at them. It was like the room he had spoken to Duchess Alobast in, but a thousand times larger and more complex. There were both humans and demons, in good times and bad. Grand stories and epics that stretched across hundreds of feet of space. Heroes and sorcerers and sovereigns and everyday people. The low glow of mana that came off the paintings dyed the room a warm blue-green.

He reached the beginning of a new mural, and stopped in his tracks. There was suddenly a vast swathe of thick red and black. A battlefield on fire. Ash and embers raining from a clouded sky. The slaughtered bodies of animals and men covering the hills like water. And at the center, a figure dressed in black armor from head to toe, carrying a burning sword. The knight had no face—his head covered entirely by a helm—but it felt obvious what emotion laid in his expression. It was determination, as plain as could be. A task that needed doing. Calmness that looked only forward stared at him through the fire, through the ashes, through the painting.

He felt like he knew which story this was. Midith the Knight. The Ashans said that long ago in the ancient times, he had cleansed the world of its demons.

Here, it looked like he had cleansed the world of everything. The land was on fire behind him. He looked on, sure of his mission—sure of the destruction at his hands. This was not the clad in white, holy knight Midith that the Ashans told stories of. This was a Midith bathed in blood and fire.

Dominic tore his gaze away and walked past it.

At the center of the cavern was a pavilion made of white stone. Lining every path leading up to it were life-sized statues. Dominic looked over as he neared the one closest to him. It was a mage with shoulder-length hair and a playful smile, two sets of canines showing with his lips drawn back. His cape was draped over the statue’s pedestal, and the carving was so detailed and life-like that Dominic felt like if he touched it, it would shy away.

He passed more, checking them out one by one. Mages, musicians, warriors, engineers, artists, people of all kinds. Every one of them was unique, representing an individual person of their own. Dominic even recognized a few. Zeyn, the strategist so clever that people thought he was capable of clairvoyance. Endra, the sorceress who discovered the charm affinity. Drake, the first beast tamer. These were statues of heroes and legends that once existed.

At the end of the path was the white pavilion. Dominic stepped in, looking around. It was circular, huge pillars soaring up and supporting the domed ceiling far above. And inside, there was one, last statue.

It was a woman, shorter than he was, with long, wavy hair. She wore several layers of robes, the sleeves pooling down over her arms and draping onto the pedestal. In her hands were a simple brush and paper. Her face wasn’t beautiful, or even particularly eye-catching, but something about her expression kept Dominic from looking away. A mirth in the eyes, maybe, that didn’t speak of kindness, but of passion. Eccentric. Eclectic. Whatever was on her mind was not a mere interest, but an obsession.

He knew, instinctively, who it was. It was like the way he could understand Aster even though they spoke different languages, and how he could read the manuscripts in the archives despite being illiterate in Hesian. Whoever had made this statue had put all their mana into it. It was telling him loud and clear the identity of its subject.

This was Kali. The same Kali both the duchess and the king had spoken of. The Kali that had once lived in the lighthouse, long ago, before Caspar and Midi had gotten there, who had collected a basement full of weapons and a tower full of books. The Kali that had been the most influential archmage in history. The Kali that had died one thousand years ago, when the barrier went up.

Around her pedestal was a stone circle, slightly raised from the water, with winding, geometric lines engraved in it. It looked to be a map of the labyrinth, though Dominic had no idea how accurate it could possibly be after the maze had reshaped itself. He inspected it for a moment, then looked up to Kali again.

He realized with a start that the statue was looking back at him. Her stony eyes, blank and colorless, fixed on his, and slowly, she began to move. Her robes shifted like real cloth as she took a step forward, then another. She walked off her pedestal, over the map of the maze, steadily approaching him, staring all the while. Her gaze wasn’t threatening, but it was hard to hold for long. The king had exuded mana that was intricate and immaculately crafted. What came off of Kali was raw power.

She stepped closer, tilting her head as if to get a better look at him. Dominic, in turn, took a step back. This was a dead person—a statue of a dead person—and yet he could feel an aura worthy of an archmage coming from the stone. The scent of paper and ink, but also blood. The mind of a genius, mixed with the accompanying obsession.

She followed him backwards, step by step, never looking away. What she was trying to determine, he had no idea. He tried to take another step back, only to find that they’d already reached the edge of the pavilion.

He glanced back at her. She had stopped walking now, simply standing in front of him, inspecting his face. Her eyes were full of curiosity, and he noticed as he nervously stared back that freckles had been etched lightly across her nose.

Kali smiled softly, then put her hands on his chest and pushed him out of the pavilion.

He fell backwards into a thin pool of water, surprised by the sudden motion. But just as he was looking back up to her, a huge, stone sword obstructed his view.

It hit him with a force he had never even imagined was possible. The sword was not sharp enough to cut—the stone thick and dull—but it might have been better if it had. Instead, he felt the entire right half of his ribs shatter at the impact, his collarbone and jaw cracking too.

Dominic flew backwards, tumbling across the paths and pools. He was about to cast healing magic on himself as he slowed, only to feel a fist made of water dig into his already broken ribs and send him across the room again.

He crashed into the wall, groaning in pain. He barely managed to crack open his eyelids enough to see what had happened.

Across the room, all the statues had come alive. Some had already stepped off their pedestals, some still slowly warming up. He spotted the huge warrior who had first slashed him, his blood still splattered on the stone sword. There were mages, combatants, specialists of all kinds, and they were all looking at Dominic.

He cast a thick numbing spell on himself, and then healed his broken bones. He’d pass out from the pain if he had to be conscious of it. The burning in his body quickly faded away. As his vision finally focused, he saw Kali again, standing at the edge of the pavilion, staring at him.

She was smiling. It wasn’t a mocking smile or a smug smile—it was kind and enthusiastic. Good luck. Do your best, Dominic.

He scrambled to his feet and dodged to the side as a huge claymore stabbed right into the stone where he’d been. The knight behind it looked at him, then slashed sideways, the tip of the sword drawing a deep line through the wall. It grazed the ends of his hairs as he ducked and ran.

He quickly spread a full-body healing spell across himself so that he would heal automatically without having to cast it again. Every single statue in the room was a legendary expert. This was no time to take chances.

Just as he tried to make a bit of distance between himself and the statues, a woman with long, curly hair pointed a staff towards him and chanted something under her breath.

From under the floor tiles, roots broke through and latched onto his ankles. He jolted backwards, falling to the ground as they dragged him back the way he came. He cut himself free with his halinium threads, but not quickly enough. The broadsword from before smashed into him again, sending him tumbling back.

He dug his fingers in, fingernails snapping and regrowing, water splashing all around as he forced himself to a stop. As the warrior statue stomped over to attack him again, footsteps resounding through the floor, he planted his feet on the ground, took a deep breath, and threw a punch back.

His fist met the edge of the sword, and the stone exploded. From the tip of the blade all the way through the statue’s arms, the rock cracked and blew into shards, a hole appearing where its left shoulder used to be.

Mana was a representation of life force. That meant mana could be converted into strength. And Dominic had plenty of it to spare. All of the statues were unmatched heroes, but after everything, they were still statues. It would take some time, but he could beat them down with brute force.

The warrior statue stared at its broken arms as if it hadn’t yet comprehended why they were missing. Suddenly, the shards that had been blown off began floating upwards, clicking back into place. Dominic watched, eyes wide in both irritation and disbelief.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he mumbled under his breath. What kind of stone statue could heal itself?

He barely got his arms up in time to block the next blow aimed at his face. His bones shattered, and he hit his head hard against the floor when he landed.

“Fuck…” he mumbled, pressing himself up, only to be blasted with a ball of fire from the side a second later. “Fuck!”

He lashed out, striking a statue that had snuck up behind him. His forearm, already healed, met its neck, and its entire head flew off.

The decapitated head floated up and fitted itself back onto the statue’s shoulders. Dominic planted his feet down and bolted for the pavilion.

There was only one thing he could think of that might stop all of this. He arrived in front of Kali, placed his hands on the side of her head, and put some strength into his grip.

Her head came off, the neck crumbling and snapping violently from the force of the stone being ripped apart. If the statue at the center of it was disabled, then maybe—

A heavy stone fist plunged into Dominic’s side. He shouted out in surprise, the blow sending him flying away. He skidded across the debris-laden paths, Kali’s head slipping from his hands and bouncing to a rest.

He coughed as he pushed himself up again. Through the throngs of stone bodies, he could see her still standing in the pavilion, her stump of a neck rebuilding itself bit by bit—her severed head making its way back to its rightful place in a stream of broken rock shards. They slid across the floor, clattering, mixing with the sound of a spear of water thudding into Dominic’s chest and blowing him backwards again.

The last piece clicked into place. She turned her head to Dominic, watching him be beaten with a smile. She was so enthusiastic, so happy to see him. It would have been better if she had been sneering, looking down on him, expecting him to lose. It would have been better if she didn’t look so hopeful. Trying to kill her had failed. But instead of telling him to despair, she smiled as if telling him to try again.

Dominic laughed to himself.

“You want me to keep going?” he mumbled.

Two stone arrows flew at him, his body jerking back as one landed in his shoulder and one in his chest. He pulled them out, then crushed them in his hands, the shards of stone splashing down into the water, the deep puncture holes sealing up.

“Fine,” he said, facing the army of heroes that had mobilized before him. “Let’s see who gives in first.”