Salamin made his way through the crevice and turned, surprised that Lane was not right behind him. A call came from ahead. Lane was nowhere to be seen.

  A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him from the crevice. “There you are,” Akar said. “It’s safe to come out. Everyone, get back in the carriage.” He glanced up at the cliffs. “Hurry.”

  “Initiates gather! The cowards have fled, it is safe.” Paxton’s voice echoed through the canyon.

  Slowly, the other initiates emerged from the shadows, wide eyed and pale.

  “They took several of our weapons and supplies, my Lord, two of our own are wounded.” Akar informed Paxton.

  “Take several mages up on the cliffs. Watch our flank.” His stern eyes regarded the cliffs. “Ensure the error is not repeated.”

  Akar’s face reddened, and he nodded. “Yes, my Lord.”

  Elian opened the carriage door, motioning the others inside.

  “What did they want?” Staya asked, her eyes darting up to the rock face.

  Elian shook his head. “The Core is unhinged. A bunch of violent criminals.,” Elian said. “They’ll find out soon enough what it means to go against the order.”

  “Initiate Sedwick,” Akar spied him in the crevice and motioned him over. “Where is Lane?” Paxton walked over and peered through the dark crevice.

  Salamin turned back to the crevice, and pulse sped. Where was she? “She’s close behind,” Salamin said, hoping she’d come out at any moment. He couldn’t leave her

  Stones rolled down, and Salamin let out a deep breath as Lane appeared and stumbled onto the road.

  Paxton scanned the initiates, counting, and clapped his hands. “Back in the carriage. We’ll soon reach Cartess.”

  “Sir, how long do we have to fast?” Elain asked before ducking his head inside.

  “The Purification is part of the ceremony,” Paxton said solemnly. “Fear not.”

  “Yes, sir,” Elian said, glancing at the others.

  Lane got into the carriage first, followed by the others.

  Once they were all seated, the carriage rocked, and they continued their journey. They were all silent, lulled by the rhythmic sound of hooves, making their way along the road. Soon, the looming peaks became shorter, and the outside sand changed from red to a sandy brown.

  They’d made it through the canyon at last, and Salamin tasted salt on the air. The sun was low over the horizon and lit up the sails of several ships further out on the horizon.

  It was a seafaring community with boat masts lining the harbor. The docks were busy in the distance as workers unloaded crates. A low horn bugled from the inlet as a grand sailboat entered the bay.

  Birds cried and circled overhead, hoping for food.

  The carriage stopped, and Paxton opened the carriage door. “Welcome to Cartess. Tonight, we will have the purification with the initiates from the other realms. In the meantime, you will meet your guide and learn what it takes to survive.”

  Salamin took in the seaports, the masts that rose high in the sky, swaying in the wind. The last time he’d been here was with Haldar. He drew a deep breath, taking in the salty air. It was happening. His second rite of passage in the Catacombs. Soon, he’d be within the Order itself and find a way to Haldar. The strange stone he’d received from Sedwick was now in his pocket, and he fingered the strange, smooth gem. This was the key; he was sure of it.

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  “Come,” Akar called to them. “Time to go to the shrine and complete the purification.”

  Lane pulled Salamin aside. “They’re going to feed us, right?” she whispered.

  Salamin shook his head. He would not put it past the mages to keep them fasting.

  They followed Akar down a red stone path and under a wooden arch. Ahead, the path led to a white stone building with pillars and a single door. They were the only ones, and Salamin looked behind them. Where were the initiates from the other realms?

  “Thie sacred shrine of Cartess,” Akar said. “Be silent and listen to the Magistrate.”

  Salamin glanced at Lane, who was taking in the high ceilings and artwork depicting the First Wars. The altar to Argor stood at the apex, larger than life. The gold eyes glittered down at the mere mortals. Multiple candles flickered from below, lighting up the bronze statue.

  The initiates from the other realms had arrived and heads turned as they entered. They were seated at the front, nearest to the altar, and Salamin counted about 20.

  Akar glanced up at the sun, growing lower on the horizon. “Our time at the Catacombs is just after sunset when we will be entering. Until then, you are under the tutelage of the Magistrate.”

  As he spoke the name, a wizened mage dressed in white robes came to the entrance. “Welcome, initiates,” he said, as his voice carried through the shrine. He was swarthy, and Salamin could see him on one of those trading ships, silvery eyes squinting out to an endless horizon. He grinned and raised his hands out. “Tonight, let the worthy shine.”

  All was silent, and the initiates looked up at him expectantly. “The last of the worthy have arrived from the Parmouth Keep. Welcome. Take a seat, and listen closely, to what I have to tell you. As you well know, you will be expected to choose a leader from among you. Your leader will have a heavy burden that must be lifted by the other team members. Remember that.” His eyes roved over the initiates, landing for a beat on Salamin.

  Salamin held his breath. Then the moment broke, and the mage’s eyes swept past.

  He cleared his throat and spoke; his voice echoing off the walls. “There are three gates within the Catacombs. The First Gate will be the challenge of Sacrifice. It is the sacred sacrifice that opens the way. It is the first test of who is worthy to enter the Order.”

  Murmurs rose from the initiates.

  The Magistrate motioned for silence.. “The Second Gate will be opened by sheer strength of will, and cunning. It is the place where one in your group will find a Fury Stone, and it will bond with you, summoning the void and the power that will increase your standing within the Order.”

  Parric and Elian nodded to each other.

  The magistrate’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at several initiates whispering in the front. They soon hushed, and he continued. “The Third Gate will be the doorway out. It can only be opened with a Fury Stone.” He paused. “Any questions?”

  Gray eyes roved over the silent group. Salamin sucked in a long breath. Fury Stone was a rare object and not easily obtained even by seasoned mages. This was a death trap. His jaw tightened.

  “Then may Argor guide your path,” the Magistrate said with a nod. “Line up before the altar and receive your blessing. Food will be food waiting in the main chamber. Each group will be led at their allotted time to the Catacomb’s entrance.”

  Salamin waited in line, and when his turn came, he knelt before the altar, staring up at the statue of Argor. How had it happened? How had the sacred path been so violated?

  Water sprinkled atop Salamin’s head from the Magistrate’s hand. “Receive this blessing from our gracious god. Argor is with you for all time, in this world and beyond. Go with peace in your heart.”

  Making his way through the pews, he followed the other initiates into the main chamber as the smell of fresh bread and spices made his stomach grumble with protest.

  Salamin barely had time to stuff the crust in his mouth before the call came from the doorway.

  “Parmouth Keep, it’s time. Line up,” a mage in white robes called. “The procession will start when the gong sounds.”

  Elian lined up first, with the others following suit. Caden came in last behind Salamin, face ashen.

  “Come,” the magistrate motioned to them, his white robes billowing in the wind. He motioned with a hand towards the end of the staff, and a faint blue glow emerged from the tip. Several mages took the rear. Cold, salty air blew Salamin’s hair back, and he squinted up at the rock face ahead.

  The sun had set, and with the light remaining, they followed the magistrate. His staff lit the pathway, and throughout the forest there were only dark shadows, the rustle of leaves and an occasional crack of a branch underfoot.

  A bird’s mournful cry echoed beneath the forest canopy. The path grew steeper when the Magistrate stopped, raising his staff in the air.

  “Take the worthy. We place them in your hands, blessed Argor.”

  Electricity prickled through Salamin’s arms. They were getting close.

  Beyond the trees, Salamin caught his first glimpse of the Catacomb doors. The sacred Catacomb gate, carved into the hills of Cartess before time was recorded. High arching double doors locked tight by an ancient magic. The elements had peeled and cracked the red stain, and faint paintings depicting men on horses, swords raised were now barely visible. Gold runes lined the outer rim, glittering in the fading light.

  Salamin studied the runes. Their formation crafted a dangerous spell, keeping intruders from entering unbidden.

  “Come,” the Magistrate called to them. “Your destiny awaits.”