A Battle of Blood and Stone (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 4)

I lean in toward Carrick and whisper, “Are we on a spaceship?”

Carrick smirks. “Let go of the alien thing, Finley. I promise you that they don’t play a part in your life.”

“Welcome to the Hall of Histories, Nuesh,” the man says with a slight bow. “What may I do for you today?”

I frown because I don’t understand why he’d call Carrick that, and then it hits me… that was his original name in Sumer when he was created. Perhaps he doesn’t know Carrick by any other name, or perhaps demi-gods are most often referred to by their original names.

Regardless, Carrick is recognized. Because the man before us is not a human, fae, or daemon, I have to conclude he’s also a demi-god.

Which is interesting.

He doesn’t look anything like what a demi-god should look like, but, then again, I only have Carrick, Maddox, and Lucien to compare to.

While he’s very handsome with pale blond hair cut short, denim-blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and near-perfect bone structure, he doesn’t have the brawn Carrick and his brothers have. He also doesn’t have the same vibe that sort of radiates off them—the type that says I’ll seriously hurt you if you get in my way.

No, this demi-god is mild-mannered to the core, and I’m starting to understand the gods didn’t create their progeny to all be warriors.

“We’d like to peruse some memory crystals,” Carrick replies.

The demi-god nods, his eyes cutting to me. “For you or for your friend as well?”

“Both,” Carrick replies, then introduces me. “This is Finley Porter.”

“Hello, Finley Porter,” he says, holding his hand out to me to shake, which, in my experience, is an anti-demi-god kind of thing. I take it, though, and he says, “I am Temen, the overseer of the Hall of Histories.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I reply formally. “Do you record the memories here?”

“Oh my, no,” he exclaims with an amused smile. “The gods have created a legion of demi-gods who are responsible for memorializing events and histories. I just manage the crystals that are the medium by which they are stored.”

“And every event that’s ever occurred in any human’s lifetime is recorded?” I ask curiously.

“Not just human,” Temen corrects me as he turns and starts for the vault door. He walks with the most perfect posture I’ve ever seen, with his hands clasped behind his back. “It includes fae, daemons, demi-gods, angels, and the like.”

“I can’t even fathom the amount of information that encompasses,” I murmur.

“It’s more than the human mind can conceptually perceive,” Temen says, not in an unkind way.

“I’m curious,” I say hesitantly, not wanting this to come off rude. “But to what purpose?”

“Why does anyone memorialize anything?” Temen counters, but he doesn’t expect me to answer because he provides it for me. “We write in journals to record our experiences so we can remember; we write for others so they can learn; and, just as importantly, we write for entertainment. It’s why we keep our favorite movies so we can watch them over again for enjoyment.”

An image of the gods sitting on couches, popcorn bowls in hand, watching their most favorite crystal memories flashes before me. It seems ludicrous.

But I can also envision Rune coming here to watch the crystal where he killed me—most likely from Carrick’s point of view—so he can relish the pain he caused over and over again. The thought is awful, and I banish it at once.

Focusing on why we are here, I pry, “And anyone can access these memories?”

As Temen reaches the vault, he shakes his head and grabs hold of the wheel. “Only demi-gods and the gods themselves are allowed to access these histories. You’re here as a guest of Nuesh, so you are allowed in with him.”

Whoa. I hadn’t realized the club was so exclusive. But then again, what human would ever know about this place? Or have the ability to travel here?

“Other immortals aren’t allowed here?” I ask just to make sure I understand.

“Correct,” Temen replies, then releases the wheel. He doesn’t pull on the door, merely steps back to let it slowly swing open with a slight rasping noise. A tiny breeze hits me, several degrees cooler than the room we’re in, and I shiver.

Carrick notices, and his arm comes around me. I wonder if the vault we’re about to enter has to remain cold for the crystals?

Yet, when we step inside, I realize it’s the same temperature as the room we left. The vault is no different than the outer space with the same black flooring and white walls. It’s positively sterile looking, and the only thing of note is a square door in the far wall that has a simple knob on it. It sits in the middle of the wall, no more than a foot-by-foot square, and reminds me of the dumbwaiters that could be used to send meals upstairs in large homes.