Page 72 of Vasmora

“I feel like my skin is crawling,” she whispered.

“The tunnel is small. Claustrophobic.”

Again, we pressed on, and at the sound of hissing, I shook my head. “Ignore it. We’re almost there.”

More hissing joined the chorus above and around us.

“I don’t like this, at all.” Melantha’s voice held a shaky quality that mirrored the trembling in my body.

My outstretched hand pressed into a hard surface, just as before, and the rigid grains of the wood slipped beneath my fingertips. “It’s here! We’ve reached the door.” I gently released her, helping her to the ground, and patted around for the lock, holding it in my palms to get a sense of its shape. Thick, rounded body, the shackle rising upward toward the hasp. A few hard tugs proved futile as the lock refused to give.

“Won’t it open?”

I winced, the darkness when I opened my eyes no different than when they were shuttered. “There’s a lock.”

“A lock! You never mentioned a lock!”

“I need a rock. Something hard to break it.” I scrabbled across the ground in complete darkness and as one hand closed over a decent sized rock, the other grasped what felt like a stick, but strong. Unbendable. I kept both.

The rock clanked against the lock as I lined it up and gave the metal a hard whack.

The surroundings hissed.

“There is something in this tunnel,” Melantha whispered. “Something evil. I can feel it.”

I struck the lock again. And again.

Each clash against the metal birthed more hissing.

“Whatever it is, you’re upsetting them.”

I ignored her, pausing to feel for any damage, as I ran my fingers over the surface of the lock, noting nothing more than a few small dents. “Damn it!”

“We might have to consider contending with the charnelyths.”

I growled and whipped my head to the side. “Is that what you’d prefer? To have eggs put in your belly?”

“At least I’d see my foe.”

“I’ve almost got it.” I tossed away the stone and lifted the long, narrow object that felt like iron in my grasp. Feeling for the lock again, I attempted to line the pointed edge into the hole, but it wouldn’t fit. “If only I could see!”

No sooner had I spoken the words, a soft white glow bloomed beside me, and I turned to see Vaelora, the ghostly figure from earlier, kneeling alongside me, her aura offering just enough light to see the lock. “Thank gods,” I said, and lifted my gaze toward the ceiling.

My heart punched against my throat, my muscles stiff and cold.

Not a bit of the stone ceiling could be seen through a cluster of black chitin. Beetle-like humanoids, the size of an adolescent, crawled over one another, their shells like an oil-slick green armor, twice the width of their bodies.

Large bulbous eyes stared out from an almost human-like face, with a rigid mouth framed by long, serrated mandibles. Curling antennas seemed to feel the air as the creatures stared down at us. “Oh, merciless fate,” the words strangled out of me.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Do you not see them?” My voice cracked on the last word.

“See what?”

Of course she couldn’t see. The light made available to me was courtesy of the dead.

I couldn’t tell her. Telling her would incite panic, and I was certain panic would incite an attack. Instead, I turned toward the lock and glanced down at the chunk of metal in my palm.