River of Shadows (Underworld Gods #1)(74)

We step inside.

Hell.

That’s my first thought, and maybe it’s a bit sacrilegious, but still.

Hell, and snakes.

The moment the door opens, a multitude of black snakes start slithering from the center of the room, disappearing into the shadows, hissing as they go.

I gasp, nearly jumping into Raila’s arms. I think after my tussle with the Devouress, I’ve developed a new phobia of them.

Don’t mind them, Raila says. They are only relics. They protect the crypt.

And the crypt itself is like an all-white tomb. There are no windows, and the walls are this smooth, blasted stone, so unlike the dark textures of the rest of the castle. But while the space is bright, the things within the space are not.

First, there is the manner in which the crypt is laid out. It looks like a church, with a few pews on either side of an aisle. But the pews consist of the type where it’s all about being on your knees—there are no benches or seats.

At the front of the aisle is the altar.

The altar is made of bones, white and shining, which prop up two stands. One is empty, the other holds a crown made of black bones and red jewels. A crown of crimson, just as Raila had described to me, waiting for the next Goddess of Death.

But the crown isn’t what’s caught my eye, nor is it what’s made my blood run cold.

It’s what is lined all along the sides of the crypt, which I’m starting to realize is more of a church, a place of worship, than anything.

There are six statues, three on each side.

Four of them are of people in flowing robes, with gaunt faces, arms outstretched or together in prayer, crowns of needles or blades or porcupine quills or antlers on their heads. All of them have their eyes removed, blood or gold or tar running down their cheeks, while lit candles sit on their shoulders, the wax dripping down, making it hard to decipher what’s covering their bodies.

The two other statues are in similar poses, also wearing candles on their heads and shoulders and arms, except the upper halves of their faces are covered by intricate masks, with no holes to see out of. They are essentially blindfolded, one with a mask made of gold, the other of iron, their mouths set in a chilling grin.

“What…is all this?” I ask Raila. Fucking creepshow.

The Saints of the Undead, Raila says, and she quickly does some kind of curtsey and hand gesture in front of the crimson crown that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“And so what does it mean?”

It means… she trails off and slowly walks down the aisle, seeming to stare at the sightless statues as she passes. It means that the Old Gods are still worshipped. You see their eyes are missing? The old believers, the real ones, they removed their eyes because they were promised riches if they did so. They were told they could gain the sight of the Old Gods if only they gave up their eyes.

I try not to shudder. The crypt is feeling increasingly oppressive by the minute. “And the two with the masks?”

Those are the Gods, the Gods that believe, she says. They do not have human eyes nor human sight, but to be initiated into the sect, they must give up their sight in another way. It is also the way you must approach Vipunen.

“Vipunen is a giant, right?”

Vipunen is an Old God. The only real one we have left here. He has been here since the dawn of time, and he will remain after. No one has ever seen Vipunen, not even Death himself. He lives deep in the caves under the mountain and, because no one has seen him, there are only rumors to what he is like. But a giant he does seem to be, maybe a hundred feet tall. He’s helped Death rule, he’s trained his daughter and son in combat, and perhaps one day he’ll train you as well, depending on what happens to you. If you were to have him train you with the sword and the blade, then you would do so by donning a mask like this one. It signifies your status, but at the same time respects the one who doesn’t wish to be seen.

She looks around the crypt. Some say that to lay your eyes upon him is to die. Even the Master might suffer that fate. The masks protect both.

I gesture at the candles, but even that feels like I’m tempting the Old Gods to smite me or something. “So who comes down here and lights the candles? Who here worships the Old Gods this way?”

A lot of us, Raila says in a stern voice. There are a lot of us who do. The Stragglers, the leftovers.

Ones who have been rescued from the bowels of Inmost. Ones who wander the halls of Shadow’s End without any eyes. Some of which are hidden by veils.

But I don’t get the feeling that’s Raila. Not that it really matters what the Deadhands and Deadmaidens believe—it’s the least of my concerns. Then again, if they worship the Old Gods and there is talk about an uprising, well, who are the followers going to protect? It won’t be Death, or his family. They’ll defect.

And that’s why you need to get the fuck out of here, I remind myself. Before you get caught up in this shitty situation that doesn’t concern you.

“I think I’d like to go back to my room now,” I tell Raila.

With a nod, she obliges. It isn’t until I’m out of the dank depths of the castle and almost back at my room that I wonder aloud, “Let’s say that I stay here forever and rule as the new Goddess of the Dead. If there was to be an uprising, how would that effect, say, my father back in the Upper World? Or any other mortal? Are there far-reaching implications, more than just what happens in Tuonela?”