The climb from the Hall of Echoes back to the upper terraces felt endless. The black river's hiss faded into a low hum, replaced by the whisper of thousands of bells and the murmur of unseen mouths. The Market never slept; it just changed keys.
Aric moved quickly, one hand inside his coat, fingers brushing the warm little bell. Lyra stayed a step behind, her eyes flicking nervously to every shadow. Above them, a stairway curved up like a spine of brass. Beyond that: the exit gate, if it still existed.
They emerged into a wide plaza lit by hanging lanterns filled with slow-burning glowmoths. Stalls lined the edges like teeth in a ring. Carriers of every shape passed: some human, some stitched-together things, some pure echoes of sound. All wore marks of trade: bells, clappers, threads, jars of silence.
Lyra pulled her hood lower. "Everyone's staring."
"They're listening," Aric murmured. "This place trades in stories as much as coin. We just made a loud one."
She grimaced. "I hate being famous."
Aric smirked faintly. "Then don't do anything interesting."
"That's rich coming from you."
He slowed as they reached the center of the plaza. At its heart stood a low dais carved from grey stone. Around it burned five braziers of blue fire. Thin ropes of sound hung from each, fluttering like banners. Carved into the dais were three words in the Market's script: LEAVE, BUT PAY.
Lyra folded her arms. "This is the exit toll?"
Aric nodded. "Every Market takes its due. This one prefers the currency of voices."
"I don't like the sound of that."
"That's the point," he said dryly.
A figure rose from behind the dais. It wasn't the Keeper from below. This one was slender, draped in black veils threaded with faint silver chimes. Where its face should be was only a polished black surface like a mute mirror.
It inclined its head. When it spoke, its voice was like a dozen people whispering at once. "Carriers. You rang the Hall. You have taken a Name-sign. You must give sound to go."
Lyra whispered, "Sound?"
Aric nodded. "Not noise. Something personal. A piece of yourself. A confession, a secret, a word you've never said. That's the Market's price."
She blinked at him. "And if we don't?"
The veiled figure turned slightly. Behind it, a row of doors materialized along the air, each marked with an ear carved in bone. Beyond them, nothing. "Then you stay until you can pay."
Lyra swallowed. "You've done this before?"
"Once," Aric said. "I traded a memory. Didn't miss it until much later."
"That's comforting."
He stepped forward. "We'll pay."
The veiled figure lifted a hand. Its black palm shone with faint lines of silver. "Who speaks first?"
Aric exhaled slowly. His thought flickered: 'Always better to go first. Control the tone.' He touched the little bell in his coat once more, then pulled his hand out and stepped onto the dais.
The ropes of sound overhead trembled. The blue braziers burned lower.
Aric spoke. "I offer… the name I almost took."
Lyra tilted her head. "What?"
He didn't look back at her. His voice was steady, but his eyes were distant. "When I was a boy, I wasn't supposed to be Vale. I was supposed to be someone else. I had another name. I buried it. No one's heard it since."
The veiled figure's mirror-face rippled faintly. "Speak it."
Aric hesitated, then murmured a single word.
The ropes of sound coiled downward like serpents, wrapped around his throat, and drew the word out. He felt it leave him — not as pain, but as a faint emptying, like a room going dark. The ropes rose again and vanished into the braziers. Blue fire turned white for a heartbeat.
Lyra watched, wide-eyed. "You just… gave them your name?"
"One of them," he said quietly, stepping back.
The veiled figure inclined its head. "Paid."
Lyra's throat was dry. She stepped forward slowly. "And I have to do that too?"
"Yes," the figure whispered. "Something unsaid."
She bit her lip. Her eyes darted to Aric, then down. "I…"
Her mind raced. 'What do I give them? What if they take too much? What if I regret it?'
She took a shaky breath. "I'll give a promise."
Aric blinked. "Lyra—"
She cut him off. "I've been carrying it anyway. Might as well trade it."
The veiled figure's mirror-face leaned closer. "Speak it."
Lyra's voice was soft but clear. "I promised my sister I'd come back for her. But I knew when I left that I wouldn't. I still left."
The ropes of sound slithered down, brushed her lips like cold fingers, and drew the confession out. She gasped as if losing a breath. The ropes rose, carrying a faint shimmer of light, and vanished into the braziers. Blue fire flared purple.
The veiled figure stepped back. "Paid."
Lyra stumbled off the dais. Aric caught her arm. "You okay?"
She nodded quickly, eyes glistening. "Yeah. Lighter. But also… worse."
"Price of doing business," he murmured.
The veiled figure's mirror-face flickered once, like a drop of ink in water. "You may leave."
Behind it, one of the doors swung open silently, revealing a narrow stairway rising through grey mist. Faint daylight glimmered at the top.
Aric and Lyra exchanged a look. She forced a smile. "After you."
"Generous," he said.
They started toward the door. As they passed the veiled figure, it spoke again, almost conversationally. "Carriers."
They stopped.
"Another listens," it whispered. "Your toll fed more than the Hall. You are remembered."
Aric frowned. "Who?"
The figure tilted its head. "The one whose silence breaks bells."
Lyra shivered. "That's not cryptic at all."
The figure said nothing more. The braziers guttered out one by one.
Aric muttered under his breath, 'This just keeps getting better.' He guided Lyra toward the stair.
They began to climb. The Market's murmur faded behind them. With each step, the air grew cooler, clearer, more like the surface world. But the weight of what they had traded stayed in their chests, a hollow echo.
Halfway up, Lyra said quietly, "Vale?"
"Yeah?"
"When you gave them your name… do you still remember it?"
He smiled faintly. "Yes. But now it's like looking at a picture of someone else. I can't wear it anymore."
She nodded. "I hate this place."
"Same."
They climbed in silence for a time. The stair twisted upward like a helix of bone. Ahead, the mist parted, showing a round stone door etched with a single bell symbol. Light leaked around its edges, warm and golden.
Aric paused a few steps below it. His fingers brushed the little bell in his coat. It pulsed faintly, as if aware of the exit.
Lyra glanced at him. "What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinking."
"About?"
He smiled thinly. "'The one whose silence breaks bells.'"
"That's not ominous at all."
"Exactly."
He pushed the door open. Daylight spilled down the stair, blinding after the Market's glow.
They stepped out onto a narrow ledge halfway up a canyon wall. Wind rushed past, clean and cold. Below, a river of white mist flowed between jagged rocks. Above, the sky was a pale, bruised blue.
Behind them, the stone door slid shut with a soft chime. Its bell-symbol dimmed.
Lyra hugged herself. "Fresh air. Finally."
Aric scanned the canyon. "Enjoy it while it lasts. Next Path won't be so polite."
She shot him a sideways look. "You're terrible at pep talks."
He grinned faintly. "I try."
She hesitated, then asked, "What's next?"
He glanced at the little bell again. Its glow had shifted from blue to faint green. He felt it tug gently, like a compass needle.
He pointed down-canyon. "That way."
Lyra groaned. "Of course. More walking."
"Better than falling."
She rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."
He smiled, started down the narrow path. "And yet, you're still here."
She snorted. "Don't remind me."
They walked along the ledge, the wind tugging at their cloaks. Far below, the mist shifted, forming vague shapes like faces looking up. The canyon walls trembled faintly, as if a deep bell had been struck somewhere far away.
Lyra glanced down uneasily. "Is it just me, or is the canyon ringing?"
Aric's eyes narrowed. "Not just you."
He touched the bell again. It pulsed once, harder, then went still. In the distance down the canyon, a low tone rolled like thunder.
Aric muttered under his breath, 'Someone's tolling a new Hall.'
Lyra asked, "Friend or foe?"
He didn't answer. The wind carried the tone to them again, lower this time, almost a growl.
He smiled faintly, but there was no humor in it. "Looks like we're about to find out."