The Chamber of the Yellow King
Written by E. H. Robinson
Narrated By: Ian Gordon and Jennifer Gill
A Journey to the Tree of Sorrows Story
Created by David LaRocca and Heath Robinson
Copyright 2017 by Infinite Black
The shadows of their grotesquely exaggerated
party masks danced across the ancient masonry
walls with the flickering torchlight. The
three of them wore robes and masks suitable
for the Samhain Ball, but they also seemed
strangely appropriate here in the dark stone
corridors that twisted beneath the university
library. This was the first time Gabriella
had been in these passages, but she had heard
the rumors of what they contained. Ahead of
her, Samvel opened an iron shod door and its
hinges squealed. Armen closed in behind her.
She could draw no comfort from the handsome
faces of her companions. All she could see
were their unmoving masks and the occasional
glint of their deeply shadowed eyes.
She shifted her leather satchel filled with
the equipment she had brought, including candles
made of a marbled yellow wax and her set of
lock picks. She wasn’t above feeling a bit
anxious when a job was getting underway, but
this one in particular made her stomach churn.
Channelling this kind of magical power wasn’t
her usual evening activity, and tonight the
veil between the earth and all else would
be at its thinnest. Her hand shifted to the
rapier beneath her robe and her breath echoed
in her mask.
Samvel held the torch in a gloved hand. Academics
had come easily to him, so easily in fact,
that the more routine university curriculum
bored him. That left him ample mental energy
for more esoteric pursuits, like planning
tonight’s activity, and he had been planning
it for a long time.
His mask was contorted with a broad smile
and a bulbous nose. It seemed to mimic his
enthusiasm. In fact, he had been so enthusiastic
about it last night that he had been unable
to sleep, and he’d kept her up all night
as well. But, whatever might happen between
them inside the university walls could not
continue outside. Samvel would marry a woman
of similar wealth and noble birth, not an
up-jumped street urchin like her.
“Ready, Gabby?” Samvel asked her when
he had passed through the open door.
“As ever,” she said and strode through
with Armen behind.
“Good. No turning back now.” His voice
was muffled beneath his mask. “We’ve got
some time with everyone at the ball, but let’s
get this done as fast as we can. We get the
book, we cast the spell, and we get out of
here.”
Armen produced a small vial of pearly liquid
from his pouch. He was several years older
than they were. She thought the face beneath
his enigmatic long-nosed mask was a bit more
strikingly chiseled than was Samvel’s, and
that Armen was a bit more interesting too.
He already had a career that any scholar would
have been proud of after a lifetime’s work,
only he had compressed it all into only a
few years directly following graduation. However,
Armen seemed less romantically interested
in her than Samvel was, but she was still
working on that. “Take this,” he said
and Gabriella watched the vial glint in the
torchlight as he passed it to Samvel.
“How did you get this?” he asked and held
it up to the light to study it.
“It wasn’t easy, but I figured it was
worth the risk, given what we’re doing.
I hope you don’t need it.”
Samvel looked at it for a moment longer and
then slipped it into the pouch on his belt.
“Me too.”
Even with the Samhain Ball going on, Samvel
lead them quietly down the corridor with the
torch aloft. There was always the possibility
that a lone monk, contemptuous of the celebration’s
frivolities, might decide to wander the corridors
beneath the university, or that some overly
studious teacher’s pet might eschew the
ball in favor of keeping his nose buried in
a musty tome down here by candle-light.
Samvel needed no map. He had spent no small
amount of time sneaking through the passages
beneath the university, learning what they
contained, and memorizing the twists and turns
to the rooms where the more interesting books
were kept. He murmured under his breath as
he paced the distances and tracked the turns.
Many of the passages seemed to have been built
through natural fissures in the rock. Others
had been cut straighter, but were set at odd
angles to one another.
Samvel lead them to a heavy wooden door, iron
shod and set in a heavy masonry frame. “This
is it,” Samvel said, running the torch along
the doorframe so everyone could see. Runes
had been meticulously carved into the frame.
Gabriella recognized many of them from living
with the witch in the hovel on the outskirts
of the city as a child. Back then she had
taken everything the witch had said very seriously.
She didn’t know any better and the witch
was, after all, the only person who didn’t
mind having her around.
That all changed on a particularly gloomy
day when a Slovak witcher with a strangely
scarred face came to the hovel and slew the
witch. Had Gabriella been there, the witcher
probably would have gutted her, but by happenstance
she was not. After that, she found everything
the witch had taught her was ridiculed and
dismissed by anyone who didn’t spend their
days trying to divine the future from firecracked
animal bones, summon devils by casting rune
stones, and howling the most obscene curses
at any man who happened by. Gabriella had
also learned that men weren’t as bad as
the witch had lead her to believe. To the
contrary, she found many of them to be quite
delightful, and, to her further delight, men
like Samvel and Armen expressed great interest
in what the witch had taught her.
“It is what I would have expected,” she
said looking at the runes. “No one would
leave the kind of book we’re looking for
unguarded.” She opened her satchel, but
Armen produced a silver key with a long barrel
and held it out.
“You got it?” Samvel asked. His mask did
not convey the surprise in his voice.
“Indeed. Madam Mariam isn’t quite as chaste
as one might expect of a woman in her position.”
Gabriella looked at Armen with a jealous scowl
that she was glad her mask obscured.
“Nice work,” Samvel said and took the
key from Armen. The key would allow them to
bypass the wards on the door without the need
for counter charms. Samvel inserted the long-barreled
key into the keyhole and turned it. The lock’s
mechanism clicked, and the door opened.
Beyond the door was a small library filled
with shelves of chained volumes. Gabriella
and Armen followed Samvel in and carefully
closed the door behind them. “Good god,
there is a fortune down here,” Gabriella
said as she noted the ancient books filled
with arcane lore and ran her gloved fingers
over the shelves.
“To the right person, probably two fortunes,”
Armen replied.
“But we’re here for one thing,” Samvel
reminded her. “The books are organized by
author.”
Fortunately, books chained to shelves almost
always remain where they are put. “Here
it is,” Samvel said as he passed the torch
to Armen and withdrew a large and heavily
bound book from the shelf. Its chain jingled
as he placed it on a study table close by.
The book was an ancient volume bound in elegantly
tooled yellow leather that had faded to a
sickly color. Its age made it difficult to
tell what designs had been on the cover, but
the book had iron reinforcements on its edges
and heavy metal clasps that kept it closed.
Samvel exhaled audibly and threw back the
hood of his robe. His long brown curls fell
free. He pulled his mask from his face exposing
his high cheek bones and bright green eyes,
and stripped off his gloves revealing his
ink-stained fingers.
Armen pulled off his mask. The silver ring
in his left ear caught the torchlight as he
studied the book’s cover with his grey eyes.
She wished those eyes studied her in the same
way. She had selected the perfect place for
that too—the cave with the waterfall under
the south wing of the university. There were
nights that the moon filled it with the most
romantic light and one such night would be
coming soon. Getting Samvel there would be
no problem, but the evening would be a little
wasted on him. Armen would be a bit better.
Gabriella removed her own mask and breathed
more freely.
“Careful, Samvel,” Armen said, looking
over Samvel’s shoulder.
“I am. I am.” Samvel said. His gaze was
fixed upon the book. Samvel stretched out
his hand and his fingers glided along the
tooled leather, in a way that seemed suspiciously
similar to the way they had glided over her
breasts last night.
“Hey now, she’s not as pretty as all that,”
Gabriella said, nudging him.
“Sorry, but you can’t compete, and you’ll
understand why when you see what she can do.”
Samvel grinned and then despite her thick
robe, he slapped her backside with a cupped
hand. “I’ll always have a place for you
though.” His bright green eyes flashed.
“Well, I guess I’m safe as long as the
book can’t touch you back.”
“Probably so,” he said and produced a
file from his satchel and went to work on
the link closest to the book. The sound of
metal grating on metal echoed through the
room.
“Quietly!” Gabriella implored.
Samvel looked up. “There’s only so quietly
I can file through a chain.” He returned
to the work and minutes passed.
“Can’t we just copy what we need?” Gabriella
asked.
“No,” Armen said.
Samvel broke from his filing again and began
to pet the book’s leather with tender strokes.
“You can’t keep a book like this in captivity.
It wants to be free. It’s like torture,
keeping a book like this chained to a shelf.
When it’s like this, there’s no telling
what lies it would tell.”
“I’ll just leave the two of you alone,”
Gabriella muttered.
“Hurry with the filing,” Armen said, and
Samvel returned to his work.
At last, the chain fell away like a snake
to the floor and the book’s yellow leather
seemed to brighten. Could the book really
be happy that it was no longer chained to
the shelf?
“Now we get the book to the casting chamber,”
Samvel said. The chamber he spoke of had been
largely forgotten, but it was rumored there
was still power there. “Let’s go…”
Samvel tucked the book into his satchel and
the trio left the library. He locked the door
behind them and returned the key to Armen.
Samvel lead them to a downward-sloping passage.
The deeper they went, the better repair the
basalt cyclopean stonework was in, but, the
black stones seemed to absorb more and more
of the torchlight.
When Samvel stopped again it was in front
of a large triple archway trimmed in white
stone decorated in runes. “Here we are.”
There was an iron gate, but it was a recent
addition. It was only a token effort to keep
people out who happened to be both inquisitive
and capable. Samvel illuminated the runes
with the torch. “Are they protective?”
he asked.
Gabriella looked them over. “No, descriptive.
Grandiose proclamations, but nothing more.”
She turned to Armen. “No key this time?”
“Not this time.”
“Good,” Gabriella thought as she pulled
the lock picks from her satchel. With a few
precise movements the lock’s mechanism released
and she swung the gate wide open.
The three of them passed through the archway
into a vast chamber. Samvel touched his torch
to the liquid in the large brass braziers
to the left and right of the entrance. They
caught fire and yellow flames rippled across
their surfaces.
The yellow light revealed a vaulted ceiling
stretching above them. It sparkled in a dark
way that suggested the stars of an unfamiliar
and even alien sky. There were a few stairs
that descended to a small landing, and then
a few more that descended to a narrow walkway
stretching across a deep pit to a triangular
platform at the center of the chamber. Tiered
stones like a stadium were placed around the
platform in a semi-circle. Evidently they
had been placed so onlookers could watch whatever
happened on the platform.
“This way,” Samvel said. He stepped down
the first flight of stairs, then the second,
and started across the walkway to the platform.
As he went, he lit braziers at both ends of
the walkway that threw more yellow light into
the chamber.
A lectern carved of the same white stone as
the archway stood at the platform’s center.
It was large and heavy and it gripped the
black flagstones with clawed feet. A ring
of runes inscribed in the floor encircled
the lectern. A stone table stood in front
of it. Manacles were secured to the table.
They passed by these for the moment, and Samvel
lit the braziers at the far corners of the
platform. There was no wall or railing at
its edge, but the new light allowed them to
see what was below and beyond. In the shadowy
light Gabriella could just make out the skulls
and other bones that littered the bottom of
the pit. Some bones were of beasts, but many
were distinctly human.
Across the pit and facing the lectern on the
far wall was a large and faded mural. It was
difficult to make out in the dim light, but
it featured a figure like a decaying corpse
dressed in tattered yellow robes emerging
from a deep lake with a tall diadem. The figure
held two suns, each approaching eclipse, that
reflected in the water. A shadowy city stood
behind him.
“What is this? Some kind of devil worship?”
asked Gabriella. Her voice echoed in the chamber.
She touched the manacles on the table and
looked at the figure in the mural.
“Worse,” Armen said. He was well-versed
in the Roman catechism. “The devil is merely
an angel who, through pride, fell from Grace.
His motivations we can at least understand.
This is entirely different.”
Everything in the chamber seemed specifically
placed for summoning, conjuration, invocation,
and evocation. Gabriella walked around the
outside of the casting circle. It’s runes
were written in a particular form of Arabic
often used by the alchemists of the Umayyad
caliphate. The witch had not taught her that,
of course. She had only learned the history
of the runes when she had sat in on lectures
at the university. “It is a powerfully worded
invocation, designed to channel power from…”
she looked over at the mural, “other places.”
Armen had taken a leather-bound notebook from
his satchel and was comparing the features
of the chamber with his notes. He was an expert
in mathematical and astronomical geography
and was checking the locations of the faux
stars sparkling on the ceiling against what
he had written. He looked up at the dome,
seemingly satisfied with what he found, and
whispered, “The black stars of dim Carcosa.”
He closed the notebook and pulled a sextant
from his satchel. With all the care of a ship
captain trying to find his position in the
midst of an unending sea, Armen measured the
ceiling’s stars with the instrument. Gabriella
and Samvel lit several of the marbled yellow
candles they had brought. Armen directed them
to place the candles around the casting circle,
in accordance with his measurements, until
they formed a constellation around the circle.
When they had finished, Armen put away the
sextant and said to her, “Your turn.”
Gabriella reached into her satchel and produced
a single stone carved with the Umayyad rune
for a planet known to the caliphate’s alchemists
through ancient Babylonian texts. With the
stone in her palm, she walked slowly around
the casting circle reading its runes and taking
note of the burning candles’ positions.
As she walked the rune stone began to turn
in her hand as if it were a lodestone aligning
with a magnetic field. That had never happened
before. She smiled nervously and looked up
at Armen. He was watching, and he nodded.
She continued and the stone pulled hard in
one direction as she walked. It stopped when
she reached what she assumed was the correct
position. “Here,” she said. The stone
seemed to be resonating somehow.
“Nir-bir-it-hoo,” she said, speaking the
planet’s name as the witch had taught her.
The rune stone jerked as if it were strung
on a wire that had suddenly been pulled taunt.
When she removed her hand, the stone stayed
where it was, suspended in the air amidst
the constellation of candles.
“There,” she said, turning back to the
men. “That’s it.”
“Okay, then let’s get this started,”
Samvel said. He walked over to the edge of
the platform and looked solemnly across the
pit to the mural. He began to chant in a low
tone:
Have you seen the yellow sign? Oh, great king
in his tattered robes.
All we have to offer him are blood and bones.
Then he took a human skull from his satchel,
held it aloft, and studied it for a moment.
Then he cast it into the pit and it struck
the other bones with a clatter. He drew a
knife from his belt, stripped back his sleeve,
and sliced his inner forearm with a twisting
cut. Then, he shook drops of blood over the
platform’s edge. When he had completed the
offering, he walked back toward the lectern
where Gabriella and Armen were standing, just
short of the runic casting circle.
Gabriella looked at his bleeding arm held
away from his robe. “Everything will be
alright,” Samvel said when he noted her
concern.
“It had better be,” she sighed. She looked
up at his green eyes. She grabbed him by the
collar of his robe and yanked him close to
kiss him. He grabbed her left buttock with
the hand that wasn’t bloody, squeezed it,
and brought her even closer.
“Excuse me,” Armen said after a moment,
and they released each other.
“Did you want a hug too, Armen?” Samvel
said starting toward him.
“Not tonight.” Then he gestured at the
ceiling. “The time is right.”
“Yes,” Samvel said as he breathed deeply.
“It’s time.” He looked down at the runic
casting circle and stepped across it. He pulled
the yellow book from his satchel and set it
on the lectern.
Then Armen took a heavy sack from his satchel
and held it up to Samvel. They locked eyes
in a moment of seriousness. “Just in case.”
“Just in case” Samvel confirmed. Armen
poured the contents of the pouch in a circle
that enclosed Samvel, the book, the lectern,
and the casting circle.
“What’s that?” Gabriella asked.
“It’s a barrier to magic. Mainly sea salt,
but also flakes of silver and a few other
more exotic ingredients.” When Armen had
finished the circle of salt, he nodded at
Samvel and Samvel nodded back.
“Mask on,” Armen said, looking at Gabriella.
“There is no reason to let anything see
us that doesn’t have to. Here…” He stepped
behind her and tied the ribbon of her mask
behind her head. She was touched by his concern
for her safety. It was good to have his assistance.
“Thank you,” she said. “Do you need
help?”
“I’ve got it,” Armen said. He was already
tying his mask on with deft fingers.
“Of course,” she thought.
“What about you?” she asked Samvel who
was standing alone in the circle with his
bleeding arm.
“I don’t want there to be anything over
my mouth as I articulate the spell.”
She sighed again. It seemed silly, but even
having the mask between her and whatever else
might be in the chamber gave her comfort.
She glanced back at the candles around the
circle and at the rune stone that was still
suspended in the air. Then, more meekly than
she would have liked, she said, “Please
be safe.”
“I will,” Samvel said. He breathed deeply
and then turned to the book. Books like this
were often protected by several layers of
enchantment. Even lifting the cover could
have serious consequences, which was why so
many were sealed with iron bindings to prevent
accidental opening. A moment later, Samvel
began the counter-curse. It was a dance-like
incantation and he sang rhythmically as he
waved his hands over the book. Nothing happened.
But did the book look even more yellow?
He reached for the book’s clasps and unfastened
each with a snap. The spine of the book relaxed.
It seemed it had not been opened in a very
long time. It creaked as he lifted the cover
and he sighed as he ran his hand down the
first page. The sigh sounded like one of relief.
He turned a few more pages.
“Does it have what we need?” Gabriella
asked.
“It does.” Samvel turned a few more pages.
“It’s all here.” He flipped more pages
and then one more. “Here it is…” He
stopped suddenly, captivated by something
he saw.
Seconds passed. “Samvel, are you alright?”
Armen asked.
Samvel shook his head to bring himself back
to the moment. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.”
He gestured at the page. “This is the incantation.”
One final time he looked at the mural, the
casting circle etched into the floor, and
the salt circle beyond that. He breathed deeply,
drew himself up to full height, laid his right
hand on the book, raised his bleeding arm
above his head and crooked his fingers into
an ancient sign. He took one final breath
and then began to recite the spell.
His speech began quietly and the rolling echo
of his voice made his words even more unintelligible.
Then, a yellow light began to come from the
book. It was dim at first, but it brightened
as he spoke. The runes inscribed in the casting
circle began to glow. A mist rose from the
runic circle, but as it rolled across the
floor it stopped at the salt. The carved rune
on the floating stone began to glow and the
candles began to lift off the ground.
A moment later Samvel’s voice deepened,
grew louder, and echoed unnaturally. It was
as if he was speaking words that were in no
language she understood. The mist thickened,
and the book’s yellow light shone brighter.
The candles floated upward and each stopped
at a different height. The stone began to
vibrate and yellow light pulsed across its
surface.
There was a chill in the air and she looked
up at the ceiling. There was a new twinkle
to the stars above. “It’s working…”
she whispered and turned to Armen. If anything
was happening that he did not expect, he did
not let on. His grey eyes in the hollow of
his mask were narrow and unblinking.
She looked across the pit. The mural seemed
to have brightened, as she had thought the
book’s cover had done. There was light coming
from the suns, and it reflected in the ripples
of the lake. Her heart raced and her stomach
churned. Then she saw the face of the figure
move, slowly and almost imperceptibly at first.
It tilted its skull-like head in an almost
inquisitive manner. Then, its expression hardened
and its black eyes fixed on Samvel.
“Dear god,” she whispered.
A gasp arrested Samvel’s speech. He choked
and gagged as he yanked his hand from the
book as if it had been placed on white hot
coals. The yellow light began to dissipate,
the candles began to drop and the resonance
of the stone lessened. As Samvel turned, Gabriella
could see that the cut in his arm had widened
and the flesh was seared at the edges. Samvel
retched and coughed up a thick wad of dark
blood that splattered across the floor.
“Samvel,” she started toward him, but
Armen extended his arm across her chest to
stop her.
“Are you alright?” Armen asked.
Samvel coughed again. “Yes, yes I am.”
“You need the vial.”
Samvel coughed a few more times to clear the
blood from his throat, each time spraying
red droplets across the floor. “I’m okay.
I think I just…I just miss pronounced something.
I…”
He moved his hand up to his face. Something
was running from his nose. Blood? He looked
at his fingers. It wasn’t blood, it was…sand
of some kind? He looked up at Armen and Gabriella
outside the circle. It wasn’t blood or sand
pouring from his nose, it was his nose, disintegrating
bit by bit from his face.
“Samvel!” exclaimed Gabriella. The flesh
of his nose was falling away and leaving a
hollow in his skull.
Samvel looked at his fingers. The tips were
turning black. His flesh was rotting and disintegrating.
He gasped. “I need…,” he said and started
for his pouch and fumbled inside. With bones
for fingers he withdrew the vial of silvery
liquid and tried for its stopper. But he dropped
it and it shattered on the floor. The pearly
contents flowed over the stones.
Samvel fell to his knees and looked at the
shattered vial. There was just enough left
of his disintegrating face to express horror
and disbelief as he looked at the pool of
liquid and then to Gabriella with a pitiful
expression. His lipless face would not have
even been able to suck the liquid from the
stones.
Black inky fluid started gushing from the
book. “Samvel, oh my god, you have to get
out of there.” Gabriella started toward
him, but Armen lunged after her and grabbed
her short of the salt circle. He held her
fast. “Don’t go in there!” he said.
The black fluid reached the salt circle and
stopped. The salt sizzled and sparked as magic
fought counter-magic.
What remained of Samvel’s skin was falling
off faster now, exposing the tendons and ligaments
which themselves started to disintegrate.
He raised his hand and watched his finger
bones fall away, one by one, joint by joint.
Then there was a hideous laugh that filled
the chamber and Gabriella looked up at the
figure in the mural. A dark and smokey shape
emerged from the book with a screeching hiss.
“Samvel!” Gabriella exclaimed. “Get
out! Get out!” But she knew he couldn’t.
“We’ve got to help him.”
“There is nothing we can do,” Armen said.
There was resignation in his voice, and she
knew he was right.
The shape glided through the air. First, it
circled Samvel. The smokey mass changed form
revealing the skull-like visage of the figure
in the mural. Then it turned to Armen and
Gabriella and slid toward them. Gabriella’s
skin went cold, her heart pounded, and her
knees buckled but Armen still held her. The
black shape was a writhing mass of smoke.
It stopped just short of the salt circle and
glared at them with empty eye sockets.
“It can’t get us out here,” Armen said.
It seemed Armen was right. It did not pass
the circle of salt. But it studied them, and
she was glad the mask obscured her face. Then
it screeched, perhaps in frustration, and
turned and flew back to Samvel. He had resigned
himself to his fate as the dark mass stared
him down.
Smokey tentacles wrapped around his throat
and then the whole mass plunged down through
his mouth, nostrils, and eyes. Samvel’s
body jerked and heaved as the thing passed
inside him. He coughed up black smoke and
another wad of blood, and looked over at Gabriella
one last time. His eyes turned a sickly pale
green and his pupils shrank. Then Samvel’s
body lost cohesion and collapsed.
The light from the book had gone out, the
casting circle’s light had faded, and the
candles had returned to the floor. Suddenly
the rune stone popped from its suspended position
and loudly struck the stone floor. The color
had left the mural and its image was still
again. Armen released Gabriella as the flow
of black liquid from the book slowed and stopped.
The black liquid lapped over the salt circle.
There were no sparks as it crossed. “It’s
safe now,” Armen assured her gesturing to
the fluid flowing over the salt. “There
is no magic now.” Armen pulled his mask
from his face and surveyed the scene.
Laying where Samvel had collapsed was a pile
of bones. The bits of flesh still present
hung by threads in the midst of the wet, blackened,
and tattered robe he had worn.
Gabriella set her hand on Armen’s shoulder.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“I’m not leaving without that book.”
“Are you insane?”
“There are other places we can study it.
It’s contents are too valuable to leave
here.”
Armen stepped over the salt circle, now mostly
washed away. Nothing happened. “I’m going
with you,” Gabriella said. Armen did not
object.
“Do not look upon the pages of the book,”
he said. She nodded and followed him closely.
As Armen stepped up to the lectern he pulled
his hood over his eyes. Gabriella looked everywhere
else, surveying the chamber. Armen felt for
the book, and placed his hands on it.
Gabriella shrieked as Samvel’s skull snapped
up right. Its shriveled milky-green eyes looked
at her with the kind of loathing that could
only come from the ghoulish dead. The spine
was still attached to the skull and the bones
rose snake-like from the floor.
“Dear god!” Her hand went for her rapier
and she drew it from its scabbard. The skull
darted toward her with a hideous screech that
did not come from vocal cords. It’s jaw
opened and a long slobbering purple tongue
lashed out. Armen started to turn, but Gabriella
lunged with her rapier.
The point was on target. She plunged her slender
blade through a pale eye that had once looked
at her with such desire. The eye erupted in
a spray of pale pus that dripped down what
now passed for its cheek. She felt the rapier
jar as the point struck the back of the skull,
and then broke through, leaving the creature
impaled on the blade. It tried to wrap its
tongue around her arm, but the tongue spasmed
violently. The skull gurgled and a frothing
yellow foam issued from its mouth. Seconds
later, the tongue went limp, the remaining
eye rolled unfocused in its socket, and the
spine dangled.
She dropped the tip of her rapier, placed
her boot on the creature’s face and pulled
her blade loose. The skull and spine clattered
to the floor. Armen shut the yellow book and
snapped its clasps closed again. Together
they looked at the remains of the creature
that had once been Samvel.
Armen touched her arm, “That wasn’t Samvel.
You know that, right?”
She nodded and a tear rolled down her cheek.
“What now?” she asked.
Armen slid the yellow book into his satchel
and knelt down beside the remains. He lifted
the broken skull and looked into its remaining
putrid eye. He studied it as he walked to
the edge of the platform and sang, “All
we have to offer him are blood and bones…”
He tossed the skull into the pit where it
joined the others beneath the mural of the
Yellow King.
