THE NINTH DEBT

Chapter Four: The Price of a Dead Man

The monstrosity that wore Mara's face lunged without warning. Tavian barely had time to let out a strangled cry before the stranger slammed into him, shoving him sideways. They crashed together into a rotting wooden shelf, sending splintered timber and ancient debris cascading around them just as five black fingers tore through the space where Tavian's throat had been a heartbeat earlier.

"Move!" the stranger shouted, his voice harsh against the echoing dark.

Tavian scrambled frantically across the stone floor on his hands and knees. Behind them, the creature struck the far wall with enough brute force to make the entire shop shudder. Its borrowed face twisted into a grotesque sneer, Mara's familiar features stretching beyond natural limits into a smile that no human mouth could hold.

"Why are you running from your mother?" the thing asked, its tone sickeningly light.

"Because my mother doesn't float!" Tavian yelled back.

The stranger cast him a startled glance as they scrambled up. "That is your primary concern right now?"

"I would say it is a fairly important one!"

They burst through a narrow rear door and tumbled into a slick, shadowed passage. Tavian's boots skidded over the wet, uneven cobblestones. Somewhere behind them, heavy wood splintered with a thunderous crack, followed immediately by the dreadful, wet sound of something heavy dragging itself through the ruins of the shop.

The stranger shoved a rusted iron gate wide open and gestured wildly ahead. "Through there, quickly!"

Tavian squeezed through the narrow gap, stone scraping against his clothes. The stranger followed instantly, slamming the heavy gate behind them. He rapidly wound a heavy length of rusted chain through its bars, pulling with all his weight until the cold metal groaned under the tension.

"Will that actually hold it?" Tavian gasped, struggling to catch his breath.

"No, it won't," the stranger admitted candidly.

"Then why bother doing it at all?"

"Mostly to make myself feel better."

Before Tavian could respond, the iron gate buckled violently under an immense impact.

Without another word, they turned and ran.

The passage sloped steeply downward, carrying them rapidly away from the abandoned marketplace and plunging them into a dark district Tavian did not recognize. Strange, luminescent white flowers sprouted through the cracks in the cobblestones beneath their feet. Their pale petals unfurled as he ran past, revealing inner rows of tiny, unnervingly human teeth.

He forced himself to keep his eyes fixed firmly ahead, refusing to look down again.

"Who are you?" Tavian demanded between ragged breaths. "And why does that horrific thing back there know my name?"

"I am Ordan Vey," the man replied.

"Well, that answers one of my questions."

"I am a former Treasury archivist, a current fugitive, and an occasional coward."

"Good to know," Tavian said, his lungs burning. "I am Tavian Rook. I am a current fugitive, an occasional coward, and apparently the sole reason the entire world has gone completely mad."

Ordan did not laugh at the remark.

They soon reached a broad stone staircase descending directly into pitch darkness. At its foot stood a heavy wooden door marked with nine distinct symbols: eight of the circles were carved deeply into the aged oak, while the ninth had been burned black into the grain.

Ordan came to a sudden halt on the steps. Tavian noticed the sudden shift in the older man's posture immediately.

"What is it?" Tavian asked.

"It is nothing," Ordan replied quickly.

"That is the second time you have lied to me today."

"And yet you are still breathing," Ordan countered smoothly. "Perhaps my lies are the very thing keeping you alive."

Ordan leaned his shoulder against the door and pushed it open.

The stench hit Tavian before his eyes could adjust to the shadows: a sickening mixture of damp earth, dried blood, and a sharp, bitter odor that reminded him of burned hair.

Beyond the threshold lay a vast chamber cluttered with broken stone statues. Their faces had all been systematically chiseled away into smooth, featureless slates, yet their hands remained perfectly intact. Each stone figure held a different object in its grasp—a tarnished crown, a rusted sword, a forgotten child's shoe, and a cracked bell.

At the center of the chamber lay a giant.

Tavian had never seen anything so terrifyingly enormous. The creature's massive body stretched across the cold floor, its shoulders broader than a merchant's cart and its legs buried beneath heavy mounds of fallen rubble. Its skin resembled cracked grey marble, veined beneath the surface with a faint, pulsing blue light. Long iron spikes protruded jaggedly from its spine, and a massive, ragged wound split its chest open.

A thick black fluid seeped continuously from the wound, gathering in a dark pool that unnaturally defied gravity, creeping slowly against the slope of the stone floor.

The giant's eyes slowly opened. One iris was a solid, brilliant silver, while the other socket was nothing more than a hollow, scarred void.

"Ordan," the creature rumbled, its voice vibrating deep within the floorboards.

Ordan bowed his head low. "You remember me, then."

"I remember the man who led armed soldiers directly to my door."

"I was much younger then," Ordan said softly.

"You were a coward," the giant corrected smoothly.

Ordan accepted the bitter accusation without a single word of protest.

The giant slowly shifted its solitary silver eye, focusing its piercing gaze upon Tavian. "And now you have brought me a child."

"I am seventeen years old," Tavian snapped, bristling under the heavy stare.

"Then you are simply a child with expensive opinions," the giant replied calmly.

Under any other circumstances, Tavian might have taken the time to appreciate the insult. Right now, however, he was far more concerned with the steady stream of black blood pooling beneath the creature's chest.

"What happened to you?" Tavian asked, stepping closer.

"The world happened to me."

"That isn't a real answer."

"Neither is the question you asked."

Ordan moved cautiously closer to the massive form. "The Hollowing has officially begun. The collectors are hunting the boy as we speak."

At those words, the giant's stoic expression broke. It made a desperate attempt to rise, its immense palms slamming down against the floor. Stone cracked beneath its weight, but its shattered chest gave way immediately, sending the massive creature collapsing back to the ground with a thundering roar that shook clouds of dust from the ceiling.

"That is impossible," the giant gasped, its breathing heavy and labored. "The ninth payment was sealed forever."

Tavian stepped forward into the giant's line of sight. "Everyone keeps talking about some payment. What on earth am I supposed to have done?"

The giant stared down at him in silence. For several agonizing heartbeats, Tavian felt a strange, invasive sensation inside his mind, as though cold fingers were flipping through memories he had never known he possessed.

Then the giant lowered its gaze and whispered, "You haven't done anything at all." Its single silver eye welled with profound sorrow. "That is the real tragedy of it."

A heavy, reverberating crash echoed from the staircase above them.

Ordan immediately drew a curved short blade from his belt, his knuckles turning white on the hilt. "They have found us."

Tavian turned back toward the staircase, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Is it the thing wearing my mother's face?"

"No," Ordan murmured grimly. "That creature was merely a scout."

A sharp metallic sound scraped loudly against the outer door.

Before Tavian could retreat, the giant's massive stone fingers closed tightly around his ankle. "Listen to me very carefully, boy. There is a way for you to survive what comes next, but it will carry a terrible cost."

"Everything seems to cost me something!" Tavian yelled.

"Then you already understand the nature of this world far better than most kings do." The giant coughed heavily, thick black fluid spilling over its stone lips. "My name is Avar. I was the last living guardian of the Unburied Gate. My people were completely erased from history long before your distant ancestors ever learned to speak."

Tavian tried to pull his leg free, but Avar's grip remained unyielding.

"I can grant you a weapon," the giant continued, its deep voice resolute. "A small fragment of what I once was. It will give you strength enough to tear a collector apart with your bare hands."

"And what is the price for this?" Tavian demanded.

Avar's silver eye shifted slowly toward Ordan. "The living will forget."

Ordan went completely still, his blade dipping slightly.

Tavian frowned, looking between them. "Forget what?"

"They will forget something they cannot truly afford to lose," the giant warned softly.

The outer door groaned loudly under sudden pressure, the wood beginning to split. A smooth, haunting voice drifted down the narrow staircase.

"Tavian Rook. We know that you are hiding inside."

Tavian froze. It was Hadrik's voice echoing down the stone steps, though this time it sounded curiously exhausted.

"Come out quietly," the voice continued, "and your mother may yet be returned to you unharmed."

Tavian's heart lurched violently in his chest. Avar watched his expression with a look of terrible, ancient understanding.

"Do you actually believe his promise?" the giant asked quietly.

"No," Tavian whispered. "I don't."

"Good," Avar said. "Then you may just survive this night."

The heavy wooden door at the top of the stairs began to split down the middle. Tavian looked at Ordan, then down at the dying giant, and finally at the worn wool scarf clutched tightly in his fist. He had no weapon to defend himself. He had no clear path back to Veyr, and no real proof that his mother was even still alive.

Yet he knew with absolute certainty that he could not keep running forever.

"Give me the power," Tavian said firmly.

Ordan immediately reached out and seized Tavian's shoulder in a tight grip. "You have no idea what you are agreeing to!"

"And neither do you!" Tavian shot back.

For the first time since they had met, Ordan had no answer. He slowly let his hand slip away.

Avar opened his colossal stone palm. A brilliant, pale blue flame ignited silently above his skin. Deep within the heart of the flame, Tavian caught a glimpse of a distant, alien landscape filled with black trees under a night sky raining fallen stars. Something immense moved between those dark trunks, wielding a vast sword forged from the bones of a dead god.

"Place your hand directly into the flame," Avar instructed, "and formally accept the debt."

Tavian hesitated for a single breath. He thought of his mother sitting by the hearth, teaching him how to mend torn clothing. He remembered the long winter nights she had gone hungry just so he could eat his fill, and the resolute way she had smiled even when the collectors threatened her life.

He thrust his hand deep into the center of the blue fire.

An unimaginable cold ripped violently through his veins. It was not the mere chill of winter or the quiet numbness of physical death, but the terrifying cold of being forgotten. Within his mind, his memories began to flicker frantically like candles in a gale: his childhood home, the sound of his mother's laughter, and the rich smell of fresh bread baking on warm festival mornings. Each precious image trembled violently, threatened by the dark.

He panicked and tried to pull his arm back out.

Avar's voice thundered directly inside his mind, drowning out all other thoughts.

A DEBT ACCEPTED CANNOT BE REFUSED.

The pale blue flame surged aggressively upward, consuming his arm. His bones reverberated loudly like iron struck by a heavy blacksmith's hammer. Dark, ink-like markings spread rapidly beneath his skin, weaving themselves into nine interlocking circles spiraling around his wrist. For one impossible instant, Tavian felt the staggering weight of ancient mountains, the raw fury of forgotten storms, and the final, fading heartbeat of a civilization that had ceased to exist eons ago.

Then, suddenly, the chamber fell completely silent.

The giant's single silver eye dimmed into a dull grey stone. Avar offered a faint, peaceful smile.

"Now," the giant whispered with its final breath, "you can finally fight."

The reinforced door exploded inward in a shower of splinters and iron.

Three collectors glided into the chamber, their polished porcelain masks gleaming eerily white in the shadows. The first raised a long, wicked hooked blade. The second carried a heavy brass chain wrapped in tiny, silver bells that chimed softly with every step.

The third collector carried no weapon at all. It simply stepped forward and pointed a slender finger directly at Tavian.

"Erase him," it commanded softly.

The very air in the chamber grew suffocatingly dense.

Tavian instinctively lifted his freshly marked hand toward the intruders. Something deep within the earth answered his call. A tremendous, invisible wave of force erupted from his wrist and slammed into the three collectors, hurling them violently across the wide chamber. Stone shattered upon impact. The mask of the lead collector cracked completely open, revealing nothing beneath the porcelain but a swirling, endless void of raw darkness.

Tavian stared down at his trembling hand in complete disbelief. He had done that. For the first time in his life, he had the power to fight back.

Suddenly, Ordan collapsed heavily onto his knees behind him.

"Who..." the archivist gasped out, his voice trembling.

Tavian turned around quickly. "Ordan? Are you alright?"

The archivist stared up at him with wide, unseeing eyes, tears streaming unchecked down his pale cheeks. "I know you," Ordan whispered, pressing both hands tightly against his temples as if trying to hold his thoughts together. "I know I do..."

He shook his head in growing panic. "But I cannot remember why."

All the fierce triumph inside Tavian died instantly.

Across the ruined chamber, Avar closed his remaining dead eye for the last time.

"The first payment," the dying giant murmured into the dust, "has been collected."

Tavian looked down at the dark, ink-like circles etched into the flesh of his wrist. The ninth circle had begun to pulse with a faint, ominous light.

And somewhere far beyond the ruined walls of the forgotten city, an entire village quietly forgot the name of its oldest child.