were ancient. Colors of all kinds were stained into this wood. It blazed around the people, making their strength a visible force.
The thinnest woman wore something on her hand that seemed to be the focal point of the carving: a ring with a blue gem. The same one Balor had seen on the first door. The Moonstone.
Though most of the doors had narrow, stick-like handles, this one had no clear way in at all.
He noted each door he passed. As far as he could tell, nothing indicated what might be behind them. The carvings just told a story that Balor barely understood.
The Eighteener Entrance likely took place in the highest room in the Shade, he decided. It was the most important ceremony in Light World and was probably just as important here, too. Also, the secrecy behind the ceremony called for a room that was difficult to reach.
So he kept going, though blood now soaked the stairs beneath his feet. He lost more life with every step.
The higher he went, the stranger the images on the doors became. One depicted violence like he'd never imagined in his life. People stabbing each other, tearing each other's faces and limbs. Mouths open in screams of pain or rage. This was a red door.
On a tiny door higher up, he saw a carving of what had to be the Center in Light World. The next tiny door showed the Shade.
And another door depicted a picture of a crowd of Light People bowing in front of the five ancient creatures he'd seen in an earlier carving.
The next door showed Dark People doing the same thing.
Finally, Balor reached the top. This last door was an entrance of medium size, with a simple carving on it: an image of the old man Eref had followed to the cave. The man stood hunched over his stick, looking defeated and sad. This door had no color at all.
Balor held his breath. He had reached the highest place in the trunk. This had to be the room. If it wasn't, all of his actions had been in vain. He'd die here, alone. His best friend's enemy.
Sounds of feet scuffling came from the other side of the door. Balor leaned in to listen.
"...we set up yet?"
"Almost ready. Come with me to tell the Governors."
Footsteps tapped on a hard floor - whoever stood on the other side had walked away. Balor grabbed the handle shaped like a tree branch and turned it.
With a soft creak and swoosh of air, the secret heart of the Shade opened to Balor.
Chapter Eighteen
Eighteener Entrance
A horrible panic rushed through him. This room seemed so familiar. White-and-black checked floor, walls and ceiling....
Like the vague memory of a nightmare, the images struck at the back of Balor's mind.
It looked like a madhouse.
The light and dark here contrasted so distinctly that he found it difficult to look, even with his dark-vision glasses on.
Everything seemed far too clean, especially considering the murky jungle outside. An unmistakable odor of disinfectant tainted the air, like the smell of the Life hospital in Light World.
At the far end of the wide room stood an ornate altar that took up an entire wall. It, too, formed a mixture of black and white contrasts. Just the sight of it made him shudder, though he couldn't tell why. It was as though he'd been here before.
Statues of Dark People, Light People, and people of the old man's race were displayed all around. Some posed, looking triumphant. Others stood frozen in their stone postures, fighting each other and dying. All the figures waited, still and silent, on a little platform that created a half-circle around the horrible altar.
In the center stood a black-and-white sculpture the height and width of at least twenty Light People. But it wasn't a sculpture of a person. It was of the ring he'd seen in the carvings. From the center of the ring came the only color in the entire room: a terrifying blue that shot through Balor's eyes like an electrically induced panic.
Several incense sticks, apparently of the disinfectant aroma, burned in small black pots on the floor of the altar.
Balor wondered at this for a moment, dreading the altar for a reason he couldn't remember before he noticed the single operating table in the center of the room. Balor limped toward it, careful to avoid leaving footprints on the spotless checkered tile.
Next to the table lay a tray of shiny silver tools. One looked like a razor, another like a