All That Burns Read Online Free PDF

start to climb.
    “Welcome to the Labyrinth of Man, Lady Emrys,” the Ad-hene rumbles when I conquer the final step. “I’m Kieran of the Ad-hene. Follow me. Stay close or the island will swallow you.”
    We step out of the dawn, into the yawning tunnels. They stretch on and on, a maze more complicated than a Gaelic knot, twisting and pure black. Every few lengths the Ad-hene halts and glances at his map—a silver, glowing mark which laces the skin of his left arm. Etchings of the Labyrinth’s ever-changing tunnels.
    Even in the realm of spirits and magic Ad-hene are strange creatures. Sixteen sullen male spirits who act as one—all sprung into existence from the Isle of Man’s dark, earthy magic. All bear silver scars on their arms, strange pieces of magic which allow them to navigate the prison’s impossible length and depth. Ad-hene are theonly way in or out of the Labyrinth of Man. Even the Faery queen needs a silver-armed guard to lead her into the deep.
    I begin to think Kieran is leading me in endless circles, when we’re finally spit out into a great cave.
    There’s light here. It shines high and silver, like moon rays off water. Stalactites dance in its waves. Queen Titania stands in the center of the room. Mercury hair flows down her back and her long lace gown drips to the floor. She’s as magnificent as she’s always been, but that doesn’t erase the worry under her paper-fine skin.
    All around her are Ad-hene. If the queen is the beauty of starlight and air, then the Manx spirits are the earth. Raw, brooding strength. Fifteen of them stand before Queen Titania in a filed queue. Chess pieces waiting to be moved.
    “Your Majesty.” I curtsy. At the same time Kieran bows low. Not even this movement stirs his night-spun curls.
    “Thank you, Kieran,” the Faery queen says to the bowing spirit before she catches sight of my ruined dress. “Forgive me for summoning you on such short terms, Lady Emrys, but I’m afraid it was necessary.”
    Her sharp chin turns back to the row of Ad-hene. “Alistair, show Lady Emrys what you showed me.”
    One of the spirits steps forward. His hair, white as shock, sheathes his brow, nearly covering his beetle-black eyes. His face—like Titania’s—is both young and not.
    He is the group’s leader. I glean this and much more from his aura as he draws closer. Age . . . old, old age. This is what Alistair is. Older than sea cliffs and dust. Older than the cavern itself.
    He doesn’t smile. His words are flat, almost bored. “Shall we?”
    We follow Alistair into yet another tunnel. All around our footsteps echo: hollow and empty. The walls change. They’re no longer solid stretches of earth, but pocked with cells. The scar on Alistair’s arm blazes white into their emptiness.
    “Yesterday morning we came to check this wing. The Corridor of the Forgotten,” Alistair speaks slowly, as if he’s about to nod off to sleep. “We found the empty cell and sent a messenger to Queen Titania immediately.”
    The Ad-hene’s steps fade, come to a stop. He lets out a great heave of weary breath and points. I follow his stare into the vacant cell. Its bars are warped—their iron dripping like spent wax candles. The shallow rock walls behind it are covered in scrawling runic symbols. A language so long out of use I’ve forgotten how to read it.
    Whoever languished in this cell was just as old. And powerful. The aftertaste of their aura buzzes the air: bitter and burning, filled with rage. Unlike any magic I’ve felt before. Not the black pepper bite of the Ad-henes’ surly spells. Or the tingling glow of a Frithemaeg’s magic. It’s a strange mix: rust and gleam. Old and new. It washes through me, like déjà vu, just out of reach. Leaves me dizzy and grasping.
    I try to ignore the pit in my stomach and move close to the bars. The runes stare back: scrabbled, frantic, and white. “Who was kept here?”
    “We were hoping you might know,” Titania answers.