Mask of Poison (Fall of Under Book 1) Kathryn Kingsley (best e books to read .txt) 📖

to cut its own flesh, sending the stony depiction of blood into the waiting chalices.

Its face looked like the skull of no animal Ember recognized. Huge, empty eye sockets sat over a toothy, grinning maw. The figure was cast in amber by flickering, overturned candles that sat on a cloth of pure white.

Ember knew all the gods of Gioll. All of them. And this was no god she knew. Nor did she particularly think she wanted to. It screamed malice. It screamed fear me.

And Ember had enough fear in her life.

“Excuse me? Miss, are you all right?”

Ember whirled, her spear lifted and pointed directly at the man who had spoken. He jumped back in surprise, his eyes wide saucers. He lifted his hands in a show of harmlessness, but she didn’t buy it.

He was dressed in all white. A suit the likes of which she had only seen worn by politicians and rulers when she was a child in the citadel. But the strangest thing about him was the mask that covered a quarter of his face. It was as white as his suit, made of perfect porcelain. It made his skin look less pale only by comparison.

“Where am I?” She tightened her grip on her spear. “Who are you? What’s happened?”

“I—you are in the Cathedral of the Ancients, miss. I’m not sure what’s happened. Everything—everything seemed to… fall.” The man was stammering every few words, looking at her in wild panic. “Are you—are you mortal?”

“I asked you who you were, friend.” She took a step toward him, pointing the end of her spear toward his throat.

“My—my name is William.” He took a step back. “You are mortal. I can smell it in your blood.” The man looked afraid of her. Terrified, actually. “Oh—oh, by the Ancients—”

He turned on his heel and…ran away.

Ember blinked. That wasn’t what she had been expecting. Weird man. But she didn’t have time to debate what was wrong with “William” for very long. Instinct and her hammering heartbeat were demanding she act. But do what? Run? To where? Hide? From what?

She looked back toward the terrifying statue at the front of the sanctuary. It was only then that she noticed there were several other similar figures in the alcoves around the room, as well. Each one depicted a different, but no less terrifying monster. They looked skeletal, or like it was made from armored plates in lieu of flesh. And each grinned or screamed in silent rage.

Every one of them promised terror or violence. And clearly celebrated the act.

And in front of each was an altar, swathed in color, like the white cloth in front of the largest statue at the head. Red. Blue. Black. Turquoise. Green. Purple.

It was the eighth statue that truly caught her attention. That one seemed different from the rest. She stared at it and felt a strange and instinctual revulsion.

Empty eye sockets glared at her from a rotted skull. Carved flesh melted from the figure in chunks. Beneath the depiction of its skin, she could see a skeleton that resembled the other terrifying gods.

That kind of monster, she knew. Not in its shape, but in its nature. Simply looking at the stone depiction of the rot brought the memory of the smell to her nose. She would never forget the scent of decay.

She’d lived with it almost every moment of her life.

And there, at the creature’s feet, sat an altar like all the rest. Atop it was a swath of fabric. But unlike the others, it was tattered and stained a sickly and terrible yellow.

Gripping her spear, she turned and fled from the room. If William warned others, they’d come for her. She would try to figure out what he meant by asserting she was “mortal” another time. Sure, she was. But wasn’t everyone?

Her first move was to hide and find somewhere she could make an easy escape outside. Ducking into a hallway, she pressed against the wall behind a column, using the shadows as best she could. And it wasn’t hard—the cavernous building had plenty of them.

She gasped in surprise, jumping as a candelabra in a sconce next to her burst into flame as she approached. She stared at it wide-eyed and reached out a tentative hand to poke one of the candles.

It wiggled in the cast-iron slot. Maybe it’s electric? Nowhere in Gioll had electricity as far as she knew, not for eighty years. But maybe this place had a generator or something like that. She picked up the lit candle and turned it over to see if she could find how the trick was done.

Nothing. A normal wax taper.

She picked up the whole candelabra next.

Nothing.

Shaking her head, she put it back down. It was another thing on a quickly growing list of reasons she was debating having a panic attack.

But if she had survived the hordes of hungering corpses chasing her for years…she wasn’t going to die because she got startled by a candelabra. I’d be laughed out of the afterlife.

She had to find high ground. Somewhere she could hide, and think, and wait. Somewhere with an easy route to escape if they found her. Who are these people? And what kind of madmen worship gods like those?

Ducking from shadow to shadow, she flinched each time a candelabra lit near her. “Stop it,” she hissed at one of the offending items. “You’re being a pain in the ass right now.”

“She was in here—she just—I don’t know. She had a spear, and she’s mortal.”

Ember ducked behind a piece of furniture, swearing silently in her head. The voice belonged to William.

“Are you sure?” asked a second male voice.

“I’m positive,” William replied. “She must have run off.”

“Well…we need to find her.”

“I’ll go find the Priest. He should know.”

Priest. Great. When footsteps came her way, she scrambled through a nearby doorway. Moonlight streamed into the room, bright enough to let her see the upended furniture. The whole building looked like it had really taken a hit. A bookcase was laying on