Lasura stood in front of the secret passage, wondering how many ghosts still lingered in the tunnel they were about to enter and its surroundings. There was a reason 'Sed blesses those who are prepared to die,' had been carved above Samarra's city gate, and why travelers still prayed to Sed, the god of the sea, before they entered. In the old days, the only way of getting into Samarra by land, a city completely closed off from outsiders by the sea and the Djamahari, was to climb the mountain's treacherous cliffs––a task most died trying to accomplish before they even had a glimpse of this seaside, whitewashed city. When the Rajs got together to build the city gate for better access, its construction was said to have claimed the lives of more than five hundred workers during the mandatory removal of an entire section of the mountain. Then came Eli, whose conquest of the peninsula slammed into a dead end at the gate of Samarra he'd repeatedly failed to breach, resulting in the decision to dig a tunnel to bring his army through instead. The project, according to Eli's journal, had claimed almost a thousand more deaths to accomplish. To this day, tales of ghosts outside the city gate were still going around campfires lit by passing caravans.

Most stories were probably made up, to be sure, and Lasura imagined no one thought much of them until they found themselves standing here, in the dark, staring at the mountain still stained with the blood of its victims wondering if they would reach the city alive.

Which was exactly what they were trying to do, armed with only brief information from the first person who needed them all dead, namely Rhykal izr Zoren. But Djari had decided, and she would have simply come here with or without them if necessary, which didn't give him much of a choice. He was with her all the way, she needed to know that. He didn't think she did, or cared. She hadn't said much since last night. The was a quietness around her that didn't feel right. He had a feeling it was more than what Saya had said, something she wouldn't share if you pried her mouth open. Not with him anyway.

They'd waited until dark to approach, hoping to lessen the risk of being seen and stopped by the guards as they walked past the gate. Djari's hair had been dyed red with a paste Saya had obtained from a passing caravan so they could move around discreetly. Rhykal's hands had been tied in front of him, leashed and led by Saya who dressed as a slave trader with Djari as her young servant and him as her personal guard. She had the rope wound twice around one hand, keeping the other on her blade, ready to draw any minute her prisoner tried to escape. Djari didn't seem too worried about that. She seemed to trust Rhykal, for something he'd said during a conversation they weren't a part of.

The passage's entrance was covered by an obscure slab of rock, marked with discreet carvings for those who knew exactly where it was and what to look for. The slab could be moved by one man and easily put back in its place once inside. The short path behind it led to a large, natural cave, one he assumed was the beginning of the manmade tunnel built by Eli and later expanded by Deo di Amarra.

It was an immensely profitable project for both. Samarra was a city built on the horseshoe slopes of the Djamahari facing the ocean, its east and west ends closed off from entry by the mountain's steep cliffs, making it a city nearly impossible to breach or hold under siege by land due to its full access to the sea. With not enough ships and the rest of the peninsula's coastal areas being unfavorable to harbor a navy, the tunnel had been Eli's only hope to gain victory.

Once he'd succeeded in sacking the city, Eli had ordered the tunnel's entrance on either side demolished immediately for security purposes. For centuries, no one knew the locations of these entry points until a construction worker had discovered one by accident some two decades ago. Deo had, of course, immediately jumped in on the opportunity and turned it into his private property. Since then, Eli's passage was rumored to have been further expanded into a massive network inside the mountain. Rumored, because it was built, owned, and controlled entirely by The Red Mamba with funding from the most powerful figures of Samarra, all of whom kept its infrastructure a well guarded secret and its access opened only to those inside their own prestigious circle.

Them, and Deo's most beloved gold ring assassin, apparently.

It was how Lasura knew the man wasn't lying about everything. The passage did exist, and judging from how easily Rhykal had been guiding them through, he was willing to bet he knew it inside out. It must have been another reason why his father had found it crucial to have the Sparrow hunted down and brought back to Rasharwi. A map of these passages, in the wrong hands, could easily destroy the city, and Samarra was where the majority of food in the Salasar came from. Winning the city, in other words, was winning half the war against the Salasar.

Did Nazir Kha'a know this when he made him Djari's sworn sword?

Another shiver for another time, he thought, shaking away the chill that was running down his spine. There was danger here, he could feel it. The most important thing right now was to get out of this tunnel alive.

The cave they'd emerged into seemed to have been used as the workers' living area. Old, torn blankets scattered all over the place among dust-covered pots and pans that seemed to have been discarded in a hurry. Blackened, soot-covered ceiling offered ample evidence of bonfires being lit repeatedly over a long period. A poorly-arranged pile of rusting digging tools and carts still filled with rocks crowded a corner. Near the wall, at the far end of the chamber, a statue of Yahwa, the god of darkness and shadow, sat crossed legged, draped in black, complete with his fabled eyeless crow companion perching high on his left shoulder. A hole in the wall Lasura assumed was the real entrance to the tunnel system loomed behind the god's blood-curdling image, seemed to whisper an enticing invitation into some kind of underworld not everyone was permitted an entry, or an exit.

Rhykal led them to the god, at whose seat remnants of decade-old offerings and sacrifices had been laid. Empty cups, old bottles of liquors, and bones of small animals were arranged respectfully around the scar-faced, red-eyed, deity. Mines were dangerous, and it wasn't uncommon for those who must enter to give something to the relevant gods or spirits in exchange for a chance to survive the journey. Labeling it superstition was easy, until you found yourself underground, staring at the dark entrance. Down here, it didn't matter who you were or how much money or power you had. The mountain had its wrath, and one wrong path taken or one wrong stone being removed could kill your entire company. Down here, you couldn't help but wonder who was making the decision that you should live, but not the man behind, or vice versa.

Rhykal paused in front of the statue and gestured at the cup by Yahwa's right foot. "Blood is the best offering when you don't have a drink on you. The purer the better."

The smile on the statue seemed to widen at those words, showing more of its teeth smeared with old, dried blood, some workers must have rubbed or poured theirs over. Yahwah liked the taste of humans, according to the scripture, and so feeding him before entering his realms of shadow made sense, he supposed.

Djari, as someone with the purest blood among them, stepped forward without delay. She made a small cut on her palm with the knife she'd been carrying. Saya lifted the cup to catch the offering as it dripped off Djari's hand, before placing it back down carefully back at Yahwah's feet. Lasura tore a strip of cloth from his tunic and bound Djari's hand when it was done, trying not to look at the other one whose blood from the severed fingers had yet to dry.

'Women can be the most terrifying beings on earth when they need to be,' Deo had said. 'A man's job is to make sure they never have to become that beast. They're mothers. The future of all generations depends on them not being beasts.'

He remembered agreeing with that statement, and it stung every time he looked at what his mother had become, or what Djari had to do.

A breeze came in through the opening behind the statue, pulling him out of that thought. It made a slow circle around them before settling faintly at their feet. Something about the way it disappeared made them all look down at the cup.

It was half empty now...or had Djari not filled it from the beginning?

He looked up and saw the same unspoken question hovering above both Djari and Saya, waiting for the most courageous among them to voice it. Rhykal smiled at their coordinated silence and turned easily to the tunnel. "Let's go," he said.

Lasura shook himself free from whatever was making his hair stand in that cave and followed. Djari stayed just a moment longer, fixing her eyes on the statue's teeth before she, too, turned to leave.

Teeth that gleamed in the torch light as she went by, covered in blood that neither seemed so old nor so dry anymore.

They entered the tunnel one by one, even though the path was wide enough for them all to go in all at once. Eli had brought an army of thousands through this shaft in the mountain before, but that was centuries ago, and the suffocatingly low ceiling didn't make anyone comfortable. They were treading through it slower and quieter than necessary, and yet every now and then the stone walls would crank up the echoes of their footfalls, turning every step into five or ten, and the journey of four people into what sounded to him a march of twenty or a hundred. Sometimes, in some sections, Lasura thought he heard a few extra steps coming from the wrong directions, some falling blatantly out of sequence, before disappearing either too late or too soon.

The tunnel widened and changed in structure a few hundred paces down, bringing them in front of a metal gate behind which a clean, well-constructed corridor beckoned them to enter. Evenly spaced sconces lined the whitewashed walls left and right, its length dotted with several unmarked doors and more unmarked hallways that seemed to branch out in all directions. To their left, on their side of the gate, a possible turn where the old shaft stayed mostly the same, leading somewhere dark, damp, cold, and impossible to see beyond the reach of their torch light.

It must have been where the old tunnel joined with Deo's new extensions, if he had to guess. The original passage to their left must be leading to the beach where Eli's army had emerged to take the harbor by surprise. Standing still, listening carefully, Lasura realized he could hear the faint sound of waves from time to time, perhaps even smell the sea in the occasional breeze that came in.

Djari too, seemed to hear and smell it. She was staring at the old tunnel, eyes fixing on something in the distance, head tilted slightly.

He remembered then, that she had never seen the sea, and how he'd promised her once, that he would take her to Samarra, to see it.

He stepped up to stand next to her, chest filled with something thick and heavy he had a feeling was placed there specifically to kill him sooner or later. "You can hear them too, can't you? The waves?"

"Waves?" she traced the word as if it was foreign to her.

He realized belatedly that it must have been. The word was Samarran, and while she seemed to know the language, it made sense that she had never been taught a term used specifically for something her part of the White Desert had no access to.

"It comes from the sea," he tried to explain. "Water...moves...makes that sound when it crashes onto something. If this is the original passage dug by Eli, it should take us to the waterfront somewhere."

She turned to Rhykal, as if hoping it was where they were heading.

"It does lead to the harbor." Rhykal nodded. "But the tide will be high at this hour. The exit will be under water."

"Tide?"

Lasura smiled. She didn't seem to know that term either. "The water level changes a lot throughout the day. You can predict it by the phase of the moon. He's right, now would likely be high tide."

"We go this way," said Rhykal, gesturing at the newly constructed passage. "There's a key under that rock to your right. It will open the gate."

Djari peeled her attention from the old passage, went to look, and found the key. She slid it into the keyhole and turned it twice. The gate sprang free, made a loud creak as she forced it open.

"Leave the key on the floor, someone will take care of it," said Rhykal.

Saya's hand went to the sword at the same time as his. "Someone?" It meant that they could run into the person, maybe even guards.

Rhykal smiled at the reaction. "There's an old caretaker who lives here. His only job is to clean and keep it lit. Sometimes, he'll escort you to the right door if he feels like it. But I don't think anyone has seen him in years, not even Deo."

Lasura kept his hand on the blade, glancing nervously at the doors around them as they passed. They all looked perfectly identical, which added to the anxiety he was having.

"Fights are prohibited in these tunnels," explained Rhykal when he noticed. "You'll find the entries heavily guarded from the outside, not inside. As long as you don't open the wrong door, steel shouldn't be needed, they shouldn't even be drawn. There's a fine for that."

It sounded like Deo. But who would know? Lasura wondered, but decided he didn't want to try. He didn't like the old tunnel, but he hated this place even worse.

"What's behind these doors?" asked Djari.

Rhykal kept his eyes forward, didn't seem too worried about where he was going. "Storage, someone's residence, some government buildings..."

A growl of something inhuman came from one of the corridors to their right, followed by a screech of someone who made dying seem like a better idea. Rhykal turned toward the sound and smiled lazily at the way their hands all went to the blade again. "...some experiments, a few tortured beasts, people who pissed off the Red Mamba, among other things."

The screeching died down, leaving only an injured silence that made everyone uncomfortable as they continued forward. It suddenly occurred to Lasura, that getting lost in here would require opening one of these doors to survive. They were all worried about what they would face once inside Samarra, but they hadn't considered what being left behind in this maze would mea––

A flash of sharp, searing pain shot down his spine, jerked him back like a dog being grabbed by the scruff of its neck. Out of nowhere, the same feeling he had before Djari fell into the river came back. The same pain he had before that lightning came down in the Hall of Marakai.

Stop. Go back. Someone's voice, shouting somewhere in his head.

He turned to Djari, saw the same terror on her face, and the confirmation in her eyes before he even asked the words. "You heard that too?"

***

A/N: Just a heads up for those who haven't got a copy and want one. Obsidian book 1 is on sale for both Paperback and Ebook format. Grab one on Amazon before the offer ends December 1st. Please also leave a review or rating on goodreads or Amazon. Even a short one goes a long way.