Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,146

must keep going, no matter what.”

“This is sounding better and better,” Stina grumbled.

“If you don’t like it,” Nubiti told her, “I suggest you move faster.”

Sophie picked up the pace for all of them.

“How much longer do we have before the hallucinations start?” Dex asked.

“It varies from person to person,” Bronte told him. “I’ve seen some lose themselves almost instantly, and others make it through a significant portion of the journey.”

“The average is about ten minutes from the moment you hit the darkness,” Grady added, “which for us should be right… about… now.”

Sophie didn’t need the verbal cue—she knew the second the light abandoned them.

The shadows shifted, turning blacker—thicker.

Erasing everything.

Up. Down. Left. Right. These no longer held any meaning.

She couldn’t even feel the breath in her chest or the ground beneath her feet.

Ten minutes until the madness, she thought, determined to last longer. She counted off the seconds, hoping the focused task would keep her head clear.

How many seconds were in fifteen minutes?

Or twenty?

Working the math made her lose count, and she started over, making it to eighty-one before the darkness changed again, slamming against her with an eerie sort of chill that sank past clothes and skin and bone.

Into the heart of every cell.

Freezing solid.

But her body didn’t shiver.

It sweated.

And the trickle down her back felt like icy fingers—tugging at her hair, her skin, her clothes—

No! Stop! Focus!

No one was touching her.

No one else was even there with her, except Nubiti and Bronte and Dex and…

There were more.

Why couldn’t she remember them?

And what if there was someone else—someone she didn’t know?

Nubiti had never said they’d be alone as they journeyed down this path.

And dwarves could pop out of the ground anytime, anywhere, their clawed hands thrashing through the sand, teeth glinting—

“What was that?”

Sophie didn’t recognize the voice who asked.

She also couldn’t see what they meant.

It was too dark. Too cold. Too empty. Too—

“Wait, what was that?”

This time the voice was hers—though it sounded shriller.

Shakier.

Broken up by heavy breaths.

But that was because she’d caught something this time.

A flicker of movement.

A darker shade of black.

Someone was there.

What was that? What was that? What was that?

So many flashes all around her, burning her eyes, making them tear up. But she must’ve made it past the darkness, because she could see again.

The hallway stretched endlessly in front of her.

And it was empty.

No one.

No one.

No one.

Her hands felt strange now.

Hadn’t she been holding on to something?

And wasn’t she supposed to be with…?

She couldn’t remember their names.

Sophie.

No—that wasn’t it.

She needed several beats to realize that was her name. And she tried to tell the voice it wasn’t being helpful, but it just kept repeating her name over and over—the sound echoing down the dark, empty hallway in front of her.

Urging her on.

Slowly she followed.

Counting her steps. Her breaths. The stones beneath her feet.

Anything.

Everything.

Millions of things.

Billions.

How long had she been there if she’d counted that high?

How many lifetimes had passed?

No—that couldn’t be right.

She shook her head, trying to clear it and…

Her ears felt strange.

Longer.

Sharper.

Ancient.

“No!” she screamed, reaching for her face, but she couldn’t feel it, couldn’t find it.

“Yes, Sophie,” a voice said behind her. “We’ve come that far. And this was always where we were heading.”

She spun around and…

There.

There in the center of the hall.

A tall figure in a hooded black cloak with white eyes glowing across the sleeves.

The sight of it made Sophie want to kick and punch and vomit all over the floor—but she couldn’t feel her body enough to do any of those things.

“Isn’t it time to stop fighting?” the figure asked, raising its arms—but not to strike.

To embrace.

“This was always the endgame,” it told her, no longer in a single voice.

A voice with four layers.

Gethen.

Vespera.

Lady Gisela.

The fourth she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself recognize.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

And it was the only tone she could hear when the figure told her, “This is our legacy.”

“NEVER!”

She screamed the word so loud that her throat tore, pain arcing through her as she turned to run and run and run—but there were cloaked figures everywhere.

Hundreds of them.

Thousands.

A lifetime of enemies.

Closing in.

Welcoming her home.

“Sophie. Sophie. Sophie.”

NEVER! NEVER! NEVER!

“Never is a very long time—but not long enough,” all the figures told her, and it was in that same voice again.

The one she hated but didn’t hate.

“Go away go away go away,” she begged, curling in on herself as the figures closed in—black fabric all around, flowing and fluttering and flapping.

“This is my legacy,” they told her. “Our legacy. Your legacy.”

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Panic and fury flooded