Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 by Galvin, Aaron (top 5 books to read TXT) 📗

the dead broke down this newest of doors too. For each renewed attempt from the opposite side, Kellen convinced himself that he had escaped the ghoulish Selkies.

Then, as suddenly as they had followed, the thumping from the dead on the other side ceased their noise entirely.

Kellen’s breath caught in his throat as he awaited the return of the noise, swearing he could hear his heart thumping in the deathly quiet. And if I can hear it, the catching fear within him whispered. The dead can too.

Waiting . . . watching . . . Kellen’s gaze narrowed on the door and the wood beam bracing.

Nothing came against the dungeon door, nor sounded from the other side; the whole world gone silent with exception of the flickering torch that Kellen held.

Don’t stop. He told himself then, his hands trembling. Kellen summoned the courage to look away from the door and turn to inspect the chamber he stood within. Find a new way out.

His eyes rounded at what he found – not any chamber of Orphan Knoll he had ever seen, nor even one that resembled the slaver’s den.

The ceiling was domed and marbled, black as the night sky he often looked upon from the loft of his barn at home when he went there to escape his father’s drunken wroth and beatings. Then, as now, Kellen saw no stars in the above, nor even a hint of light that his torchlight did not offer up. As the torchlight flames danced over the domed ceiling in mirrored movement, the combined, twin illumination of his torches above and below revealed to Kellen that he was yet to be alone.

A kindly, thin voice Kellen remembered from his dreams called out to him. “Hello, child.”

Kellen met the gaze of the withered and sickly one he had only ever spoken with in the dream-like worlds of the Sancul’s own making. The same monster that Kellen had called to and begged for answers ever since his maiming and coming into the Sancul world of abyssal darkness. “Hypnos . . .” Kellen thrust his torch toward the voice in the darkness, illuminating the one who had called to him, even as the Sancul winced under the light cast upon him. “Is that really you?”

Hypnos managed a weak nod. His eyes held barely an ounce of the blazing Kellen remembered witnessing in them before, both during his healing ceremony and then again when Hypnos fended off his brother, Moros, from reaching for Kellen in yet another dream the two had shared. Unlike those other times, Hypnos appeared far more diminished than Kellen had last seen the sickly Sancul during their journey toward the Cavern of Somnus and their subsequent arrival. Then, as now, Hypnos lay upon his bed of ebony make, his tentacles flat and lifeless as they hung over the edge like wilted plants in desperate need of watering.

Hypnos raised his trembling left hand, motioning Kellen over. “Come to me,” he urged. “Please.”

Kellen held his ground. “No,” he said, refusing to move an inch closer, despite the seeming appearance of weakened creature before him. “Not until I get some answers.”

“K-Kellen . . . please . . . listen.”

“No,” Kellen interrupted. “For all the times I’ve called out to you . . . you never listened to me. Never answered my questions. Why should I hear you now?”

Kellen jumped when a loud knock banged against the door and bracing behind him.

Hypnos looked past Kellen, toward the locked door instead. “M-Moros,” Hypnos called out when the bracing clanged louder still in its ancient holds. “Stop this, brother. Please. Let you stop this, Moros . . .”

Kellen’s head acted like a swivel, looking between the door and Hypnos, not knowing which was more deserving of his attention as the wood beam clattered in its bracing for every renewed pounding from the opposite side. From the corner of his eye, Kellen noticed a pair of twin lights in the darkness. Their origin came from Hypnos upon the bed of ebony make, the dimness in his gaze flickering to life as Kellen had witnessed them do before. As the flickering in them began to catch and strengthen, Kellen noted the clanging of the door relented until all were silenced once more. And when the quiet returned in full, the brightness in Hypnos’s gaze had diminished too, his head lolling to the side. The slow rise and fall of his chest signaled the mystic Sancul yet lived, but the labored, wheezing breath gave Kellen little doubt that Hypnos would do so for much longer.

Kellen inched closer, yet kept his distance all the same.

Hypnos blinked as Kellen approached and then held off. “Forgive me,” Hypnos whispered, a single tear streaking down his withered cheeks. “His strength outmatches my own . . . I cannot hold my brother any longer, child.”

“What do you mean?” Kellen asked. “What does he want, Hypnos? What does Moros want?”

“Everything,” said Hypnos, his voice quivering with the admission. “Y-You must help me, child. You must save us . . . save us all from him.”

“How?” Kellen asked. “How can I?”

Hypnos smiled weakly. “R-Rise,” said he. “You . . . you must rise, Kellen. Or . . . or . . .”

“Or all shall fall,” Kellen interrupted. “I know that part already. I remember what you said, but tell me how, Hypnos! How am I supposed to rise when I’m trapped in here? What does that even mean? How am I supposed to rise!?”

Hypnos’s eyelids fluttered, the light behind them dying as he let out a deep sigh.

“Hypnos!” Kellen shouted, running forward then to grab hold of the Sancul and shake him awake lest Hypnos never speak again. “Tell me what to do!”

Hypnos blinked like one lost in a stupor. “Choose, Kellen . . . you must choose.”

The banging from the dead resounded from the opposite side again.

Kellen tensed at the noise, glancing back toward the door when the bracing splintered under the continued pounding that grew louder for each and every ramming