Through Stone and Sea - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,171
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Wynn grabbed Shade by the scruff, shouting, “Hold . . . wait!”
“Make her quiet, now!” Chane rasped.
“Shade, stop it,” Wynn urged.
“No . . . let her howl,” someone said, and Wynn looked up.
Cinder-Shard stood in the passage. How had he arrived so suddenly, and from where?
“My brethren heard the black one,” he added. “If it runs toward the wolf’s noise . . . so much the better.”
Wynn understood—they all thought the wraith would come for her.
“Everyone up the passage and into the next cavern!” he ordered. “Until I am certain where the intruder is, all of you stay near. Do as I command, and do not get in our way.”
Wynn released Shade, who ceased howling but still rumbled. Chane pushed past, signaling her to follow.
They hurried down the passage after him, leaving the Chamber of the Fallen behind, and emerged in a cavern lit only by dim phosphorescence. Wynn knew what those dark forms were in that place. Light suddenly erupted behind her.
A cold lamp crystal blazed in Chuillyon’s outstretched palm. He closed his hand over it, crushing out the light.
“Do likewise,” he told her. “But toss your crystal when I cast mine.”
Wynn dug in her pocket, first pulling out the pewter- framed glasses. She tucked these into her grip upon the staff and then retrieved and prepared her crystal. In its briefly escaping light, forms moved among the cavern’s columns and the calcified remains of the honored dead.
Bulwark stepped around a figure barely recognizable beneath crusted minerals. Another Stonewalker at the far end moved inward. Both stared toward the cavern’s left side, but Wynn couldn’t see what they watched through all the obstructions.
She closed her hand, snuffing the crystal’s light, as a thrum began to build from two, and then three deep voices. The last, somewhere off to her right, had to be Cinder-Shard.
Chane stood tense before her and reached back, pulling her as he stepped inward and away from the walls around the entrance.
“No!” the duchess whispered.
Wynn glanced back as Reine pulled free of the captain’s grip and followed. Chuillyon advanced behind her with a scowl, and the captain hurried out ahead of them.
Shade’s rumble rose to a pealing whine. A shout echoed from the cavern’s left, sounding far off.
One dimly glowing column off to Wynn’s left went black—then returned. Two more did likewise, one after the other, as if something dark passed quickly before them.
Light erupted behind Wynn. The bright spark of a cold lamp crystal arced past her between the columns, and fell to the cavern floor.
Wynn shuddered at a grating hiss rolling throughout the space.
The wraith stood in the cavern’s heart and twisted toward the crystal’s light.
Wynn quickly threw her crystal to the other side, filling the cavern with more light, and the black figure turned toward her. Every time she saw it—him—her stomach wrenched like that first night in the streets of Calm Seatt. It was nothing but black robes and cloak, sagging faceless cowl, and cloth-wrapped hands that weren’t truly whole and real.
“Chuillyon, get them out, now!” Cinder-Shard yelled.
The wraith lurched around, turning every way.
All six Stonewalkers shifted among the columns and the still, stone forms of the dead as they circled inward. Those who’d just arrived joined the others in the thrumming chant, doubling its volume. Wynn still didn’t understand their utterances as they raised their palms outward.
The wraith pivoted back to fix upon her.
His hiss seemed to form into words she couldn’t quite catch—and he rushed straight at her.
Shade lunged out as Chane reversed, grabbed Wynn’s arm, and thrust her aside before she could speak. She spun into a column, tripping on its wide sloped base, and he stepped straight into the wraith’s path.
“No, get to cover!” she shouted.
The wraith never slowed.
Shade backpedaled, hopping aside with a failed snap at it, as Cinder-Shard shouted, “Balsam, cut it off!”
The Stonewalkers’ rhythmic chant faltered the instant Chane collided with the black spirit.
The wraith dissipated like smoke on a wind gust, and Chane stumbled through, nearly collapsing.
Those shredded black vapors coalesced again with a hoarse scream. At first, both the robe and cloak trailed wisps of black dust or smoke in the air—as if the wraith struggled to regain its presence.
Then it rushed on. Wynn had barely gained her feet when its black-cloth-wrapped hand swiped at her.
She flopped back against the column, rolling around it, out of reach. The wraith’s hand closed on her staff, just below the crystal. But the staff passed straight through those clutching fingers.