Cordelia had tied a scarf around her hair; her eyebrows were whitened with ash. “Is that Idumea?”
“I think those are towers,” Lucie allowed, wishing her Farsighted rune was working. She thought she was looking at towers and walls, but it was impossible to be entirely sure. She dusted biscuit off her hands and said, “It’s in the direction of Idumea, at least. We’ll have to go that way regardless.”
“Hmm.” Cordelia looked thoughtful but didn’t object. They clambered down the dune’s far side and started across the sea of black, quickly discovering that it was a mixture of sand and pitch: tarry, sulfur-smelling muck that stuck to their boots and sucked at their feet with every step.
“I haven’t felt this trapped since Esme Hardcastle tried to find out how many children I intend to have with Jesse,” said Lucie, yanking her foot free.
Cordelia smiled. “She did that to you, too?”
“Esme thinks she knows exactly who is going to marry who, and who is going to die when. Some people she thinks are alive are dead, and there are people who are dead who she is convinced are actually alive. This is going to be quite the family tree. It will confuse scholars for decades.”
“Something to look forward to,” Cordelia agreed. She hesitated a moment before she spoke again. “Luce, you can sense things about this world. Do you feel… anything about James and Matthew?”
“No,” Lucie said. “But I think that’s a good thing. I can sense the dead. If I don’t sense them, then…”
“They’re still alive.” Cordelia was clearly clutching at the idea; Lucie didn’t want to say she wasn’t as reassured herself.
They had nearly reached the end of the black sand. Cordelia was frowning. “I don’t think this is Idumea. It’s just…”
“A wall,” Lucie finished. They were in its shadow now, looking up. It rose perhaps thirty feet in the air, a construction of smooth gray stone that stretched in either direction as far as she could see. There were no other buildings or ruins to be seen: what Lucie had thought were towers were the wall’s battlements high above. It was completely smooth, dashing any thought of climbing it. They would have to find a way through.
They began to pace the length of the wall, heading away from the sun, which hung halfway to the horizon now, searing across the level sand. It didn’t take them long to find a gate: an elaborate carved arch that opened into the dark interior of the wall.
There was something Lucie didn’t like about that darkness. It felt cave-like, and she realized they had no idea how thick the wall was. They could be walking into a tunnel, or any sort of trap. Sand blew across the entrance, dimming the interior even further.
Yet she could still feel Idumea, pulling at her even harder now, telling her she had to pass this wall and keep going. She took a hand axe from her weapons belt and glanced over at Cordelia, who had drawn Cortana. The golden sword glinted in the harsh sun. “All right,” she said. “Let’s see if we can get through.”
They ducked through the archway and found themselves in a stone-sided corridor with a barrel roof. As they walked, the packed sand floor gave way to more stone. They were in a tunnel that bored through the wall, illuminated on the inside by a spongy, phosphorescent moss that clung to the walls. Lucie moved closer to Cordelia—the air was cold, and the smell of damp stone bitter. Lucie thought she could hear water trickling somewhere and recalled what Lilith had said about the water of Edom being poison.
Cordelia tapped her shoulder lightly. “Something’s glowing,” she said. “Up ahead.”
For a moment, Lucie let herself hope it was the end of the tunnel, the far side of the wall. Even the sandblasted desert of Edom seemed preferable to the tunnel. But as they drew closer and the glow intensified, the tunnel widened around them, expanding into a stone chamber filled with tallow candles: they were stuck in every crack and crevice, filling the space with flickering light.
Within a pentagram formed of dark red gems sat an oversized throne of black obsidian, on which squatted a scaly blue creature, lizard-tailed, with a downturned, froglike mouth and yellow-orange eyes. Hovering beside the throne, in midair, was a massive skull—not human or animal, but demon, with holes for far too many eyes, and threaded through those holes were a dozen black, oily tentacles. Each tentacle gripped a long silver feather, with which the skull fanned the blue demon on the throne.
“Oh my,” the demon said, in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “Nephilim. How unexpected.” It shifted, and Lucie saw that in one clawed hand it held what seemed to be a bunch of grapes. “Welcome to my court. I am here to collect a toll from all who wish to pass the Wall of Kadesh.”
What court? Lucie wondered. Other than the skull, and it didn’t seem particularly alive, there seemed to be no courtiers here, no real place for a court, if there was one, to assemble. All she could see was a peculiar variety of sun-bleached bones, long and white, stuck into the ground at odd intervals.
“What kind of toll?” Cordelia asked. She hadn’t lifted Cortana, but she was gripping the hilt tightly.
“The kind that will please me,” said the demon, plucking a grape from the bunch he held and popping it into his gaping mouth. Lucie was quite sure she heard the grape scream in terror as it was eaten. “I am Carbas, Dux Operti. I am a collector of secrets. Long ago, Lilith gave me leave to set up my court here so that I may collect them from travelers passing by.”
Cordelia and Lucie exchanged looks: Did Duke Carbas know that Lilith was gone, and Belial had taken her place as ruler of Edom? If he never left this spot, perhaps he didn’t; either way, Lucie wasn’t inclined to tell him.
“You collect secrets from passing demons?” Cordelia said.
“I didn’t think demons had secrets,” Lucie mused. “I thought they’d be proud of all the evil they did.”
“Oh, they are,” said Carbas. “Which makes it a very boring job. ‘Oh, I saved a kitten from a Ravener demon, Carbas, and I’m so ashamed.’ ‘Oh, I failed to turn anyone toward the dark side last week, Carbas.’ Whine, whine, complain. But you, Nephilim, with all your morals—you will have juicy secrets.”
He popped another grape into his mouth. This one definitely screamed.
“What happens,” said Lucie, “if we try to pass through without telling you a secret?”
Carbas leered coldly. “Then you will find yourself trapped in this tunnel, and soon enough will become a member of my court.” He gestured at the bones jutting from the ground, which began to vibrate. “We’d all like that, wouldn’t we?” He chuckled. “New blood, as it were.”
Trapped in the tunnel. Lucie tried not to look worried: dying in battle was one thing. Being trapped in this dank, demon-haunted tunnel until they died was something else.