Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 21: Into the Shrine

Music is The Shard from the soundtrack of Mirror's Edge. Play it!

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For a moment, all of us stand in silence, awestruck by the sheer ingenuity and effort put into erecting the scrinaius. Like the other rooms in the catacombs, it has a circular shape. Multiple pillars are carved into the stone walls, each one depicting a different scene of the Pietists' legends. In the shrine's centre lies a golden alatrigne—sacred bowl—its heavy, ornate form resting on a three-legged stand made of smooth, polished wood. We don't dare to venture into the scrinaius; it has a sacred and untouchable aura emanating from within.

Out of nowhere, Gilbert whips out a flint and steel. With a few expert strikes, the torch blazes to life once more. I suck in a breath as the details become clearer. The room is very cleverly designed, all angles reflecting the light of the torch, maximising the illumination of the area. My eyes rove about, not wanting to miss a single carving, a single image.

But as soon as I lay my eyes to see the walls in detail, my heart nearly stops in fear.

Necromantic books, and not of the mediocre kind back in the study room—these are true, deadly necromantic books, their very presence humming with suppressed power.

"Maybe we should go back," Quinnian Allura squeaks.

Gilbert and I do not answer. On one hand, these books could contain all our answers regarding the key to understanding necromancy, and yet, bedtime tales about the frightening magic of necromancers suddenly comes into mind.

"Constantine? What do you think?"

"My apologies, I wasn't listening. Could you repeat your question?" In my moment of spacing out, I hadn't even heard Gilbert until he'd raised his voice.

"I think we should head back up," he says tightly. "What do you think?"

I weigh his words on my mind. If I'm to be honest, the thought of closing the door on this treasure trove of information sickens me. For some reason, I feel a pull towards the books, as though a voice is beckoning me towards them...

No!

Do it!

No!

Do it!

Although the thoughts echoing in my head are of my own voice, I know that they're not of my own accordance. There's a spell in the books, compelling me to bend into their will, drawing me closer into the woven net of mental bindings. I struggle to fight my panic.

"Do you feel it?" I manage weakly. My companions only cast me blank looks. "The necromantic books." When the words leave my tongue, I almost taste sparks in the air. "There's a compulsion spell on them."

"Perhaps they're only affecting you?" suggests the Quinnian, not too unkindly.

I still an angry retort hanging on the edge of my tongue, thinking about the consequences of my words. Maybe it would be better to let it slide. Now that logic is ruling my mind, I think that searching for references in the necromantic books here could provide us with more good than bad. There are risks, but when compared to Diomedes's ghost army...

"Or maybe it's just a trick of the mind. After all, there are many hair-raising stories of necromancers," I make a half-hearted attempt at a joke. Seeing that I fail to induce smiles from Gilbert and Quinnian Allura, I quickly sober up. "I think the necromantic books here could prove useful to us though."

"It's a feeling of yours?" mocks Gilbert.

I scowl at him. "Yes. It's a completely logical, sure feeling based on theorising and deductions."