A low thrum vibrated up from the stones beneath Annev’s feet. There was a soft hum as a hidden mechanism whirred and chirped on the other side of the door, and then a crack appeared in the centre, gradually widening until it split the glyph down the middle and the door-within-a-door swung inward. The rod slipped free, clattering to the ground.
Annev crossed the threshold, dropped his torch, and snatched up the keys. As he slid the key ring over his wrist, the doors began to swing back into place. He stepped inside to avoid being crushed, then remembered his fallen torch. Before he could turn and reclaim the light, though, the doors swept it across the floor and into the hallway. He darted after it, too late, and had to jerk his hand back as the doors snapped shut, locking into place.
Well, Annev thought, slowly turning, let’s see what I’ve got myself into.
Chapter Sixty-Five
A stone wall blocked his view of the Vault, but an orange light at the edge of it caught his eye. As his gaze lingered on the peculiar citrine glow, it became a bright yellow, an eerie green, and then a vibrant violet. Annev stepped up to the wall and peered around the corner.
Despite the iridescent colours rounding the wall, it was a soft white light that filled the cavernous room. Annev blinked, eyes adjusting, and saw the ceiling was a single huge dome, about twenty feet high at the centre and hundreds of feet across, which tapered at the edge then sloped sharply to meet the ground. The curtain wall stood just a few feet from the edge of the dome’s perimeter, as though to prevent unwanted eyes from peering into the Vault of Damnation when the ironwood door stood opened.
Annev stepped away from the curtain wall and saw the room was filled with row upon row of shelves organised in a radial layout. These extended from the walls and converged like spokes on a hub, pointing to an open space at the centre of the dome. The room’s light emanated from there, transitioning from a soft white to a rainbow-hued halo suspended in the air.
‘Seas and skies,’ Annev whispered, almost reverent.
The shelves teemed with items, both common and wondrous: scrolls and books, stones and jewellery, rods and ornaments, weapons and armour. It was like the treasures collected in Janak’s study, but whereas the merchant had spent the latter part of his life collecting particular artifacts he deemed valuable, the Academy had spent centuries sending out avatars to steal any and every magic artifact known to them, all so they could be hoarded here.
Annev had finally entered the Vault of Damnation.
A pair of brown boots at the end of a nearby row of shelves caught Annev’s eye. He scampered towards them, elated at the sight of any article of clothing. Even better, when he reached the boots he found a whole aisle dedicated to nothing but clothes: cloaks and scarves, trousers and boots, shirts and jackets, gloves, and undergarments. The aisle stretched away like a spoke in a wheel, extending from the wall at the edge of the room towards the light at the centre of the chamber.
Blessed Odar, Annev thought, snatching up a pair of thick black trousers, and some underwear. He hastily pulled them on. The dusty brown boots went on next and proved an adequate fit. He was more selective about his next pieces of clothing. He skulked down the aisle, passing by a hair-covered shirt, a vest made of bones, and a hat shaped like a wolf’s head. He stopped when he found a hooded, blood-red cloak made of tiny fish scales.
Not fish scales, Annev thought. Dragon scales.
He reached out a hand, touching the fabric, and was surprised to find the cape felt soft beneath his fingertips. As he left his hand there, he also felt the warmth of his skin radiating back to him. He picked up the cloak and draped it over his naked back and shoulders. Heat instantly flooded his body, giving him goosebumps. He shivered, clutching the cloak tighter around him, and was surprised to find two small pockets sewn into the lining of the garment. He slid the key ring from his wrist, dropped it into one of them, and carried on walking towards the light.
Annev spotted a gold-embroidered red shirt folded neatly on one of the storage shelves and paused to pull it on. The moment the fabric touched his back, though, pain lanced through his spine. He bit his tongue, afraid to scream, and ripped the garment off, casting it to the floor. As soon as it was gone, the pain disappeared.
Annev stared at the unassuming piece of fabric and shook his head. Some of these things deserve to be here, he reminded himself. I have to be more careful.
And he was. A moment later he found a rich blue shirt that looked like it might fit him, but as soon as he touched the collar to his neck, his vision grew fuzzy, it became hard to breathe, and he had a sudden impulse to douse himself with water. It took some searching before he found a plain white shirt that seemed harmless. He carefully eased it on and, when he felt no pain or other unpleasant side-effects, decided it was safe to keep.
Voices echoed across the open space in the centre of the chamber.
Tosan and Narach! Annev remembered, almost too late. He fled down an aisle filled with bottles then darted behind a shelf holding jars of translucent orange liquid. He waited there, peering between the jars, watching the two men approach and holding his breath. The ancient and the headmaster were arguing about something, taking a few steps down one row, then stopping to argue, then moving on again.
‘… asking questions.’ Tosan scolded. ‘If it is Odar’s will, it will work.’
Between the orange haze of the glass bottles, Annev could see them walking down the central path towards the entrance.
‘Elder Tosan, you’re not a religious man. Why would Odar—’
Tosan was holding a jet-black wand made of glassy stone. ‘I am the Eldest of Ancients and our Academy is under attack. I will do whatever I think is necessary to protect our people. Anything. Do you understand?’
There was a roaring boom outside the Vault, and the concussion shook the floor and sent motes of dust cascading down from the ancient shelves. The bottles in front of Annev clattered against each other, and he ducked out of view. When he peeked back up, Narach and Tosan’s attention was fixed on the Vault door.
‘Very well,’ Narach muttered. ‘But don’t try to use it in here. The records say it burns through stone as easily as wood or flesh – the whole room could collapse. If you’re committed to this insanity, wait till you’re outside the Academy.’
‘I’m not a fool, Narach.’ Tosan marched towards the ironwood portal with Narach hurrying to follow. Annev shifted his vantage point so he could watch Narach dart forward, his nightshirt billowing behind him as he brought out his keys. He slid the slender ironwood rod into the door, muttered something, then hastily withdrew it. Once again, a low hum reverberated through the floor and the doors swung inward. Narach stepped aside, allowing the headmaster to pass. Tosan was halfway through when he spared a final glance over his shoulder.
He was staring directly at Annev when the doors snapped shut between them.