The Secret of the Seven Doors – Part 4 The Lighthouse Beyond the Second Door

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The Secret of the Seven Doors – Part 4 The Lighthouse Beyond the Second Door
Clara Vane stood in the mist long after the stranger had disappeared. And you’re twelve years late, Clara Vane. “I’m beginning to dislike sentences that end with my full name,” she muttered. The black stone in her hand remained warm. Somewhere beyond the graves, a bell rang twice. Not two bells. The same bell, twice. Clara looked toward the path where the stranger’s footprints vanished between the monuments. “Second door,” she whispered. The black stone pulsed once, almost as if correcting her. She followed. The footprints climbed away from the circular clearing and passed the ancient monument with its two glowing marks. The first still burned bright gold. The second flickered faintly. Clara stopped beside it. “He has the second stone.” The light strengthened for a heartbeat. “Thank you. At least somebody around here answers questions.” She continued uphill. The cemetery changed as she climbed. The graves became fewer, while the symbols carved into them grew larger. Mountain beneath three stars. Forest. Bridge above black waves. Island surrounded by seven circles. Then Clara found the lighthouse. The gravestone was narrow and tall, its upper edge carved into the shape of a tower. A tiny golden point glowed where its lantern should have been. Beneath it someone had scratched a single word into the stone. CLOSED. Clara touched the carving. The world vanished. There was no flash, no falling sensation, no warning. One moment she stood among wet grass and graves. The next, wind struck her face. Clara stumbled backward. Behind her stood a door. Not a gravestone. A real wooden door set directly into a sheer wall of black rock. A thin golden border surrounded its frame. Clara stared at it. “That seems unnecessarily dramatic.” She reached for the handle. There wasn’t one. The door had already closed. Ahead of her, a narrow stone path followed the edge of an enormous cliff. Mist filled the abyss below. Across the chasm stood another cliff, and upon it rose a lighthouse. Its lantern burned with warm golden light. Between Clara and the lighthouse stretched something that almost resembled a bridge, except no stone or wood supported it. Thin golden lines crossed the emptiness like glowing roads drawn upon the air. Far beyond them, half concealed by fog, floated the silhouette of an old sailing ship. Clara stared at it. The ship hung above the clouds. No sea lay beneath it. “Of course it does.” “You’re taking this remarkably well.” Clara spun around. The stranger stood several steps behind her. His dark coat moved in the wind. “You!” “Yes.” “You left me in a cemetery full of faceless riddles.” “You followed me.” “Because you said my grandfather spent twelve years trying to stop you.” “He did.” “And now we’re standing beside a floating ship.” The stranger glanced toward it. “That is unrelated.” Clara stared at him. “Somehow that makes it worse.” He almost smiled. Then Clara saw what he held. A second black stone rested between his fingers. Unlike hers, a narrow silver line crossed its surface. “The second stone.” He closed his hand. “Yes.” “You opened the second door.” “No.” “You’re going to tell me that’s the wrong question again, aren’t you?” “No. This time it’s simply wrong.” Clara pointed behind her. “I touched a grave marked with a lighthouse and appeared here. There’s a door in the cliff. You have the second stone. I’m comfortable with my conclusion.” “Then your conclusion is twelve years out of date.” He walked past her toward the edge. Clara followed cautiously. The golden paths across the abyss brightened beneath his approach but did not become solid. “What is this place?” she asked. “Greyhaven.” Clara remembered the symbol. “One of the buried places.” “The first one Edward and I found.” “You and my grandfather worked together?” “For eleven minutes.” “That sounds like him.” “Then he discovered what I intended to do.” “Open the doors.” The stranger nodded. “All seven?” “Eventually.” “Why?” He looked toward the lighthouse. “Because somebody closed them who had no right to.” Clara removed her stone. “You told me the stones close the doors.” “They do.” “Then what opens them?” “A traveller.” Clara waited. “That explanation could use several additional words.” The stranger stepped onto the first golden line. His boot did not fall through. Light spread beneath it, forming a narrow road across the chasm. “The doors were never locks, Clara. They were exits.” She looked at the impossible road. “Exits from where?” “Places that were removed.” He took another step. More of the road appeared. Clara remained on the cliff. “Removed by whom?” The stranger stopped. “Your family.” For once Clara had no sarcastic answer. “My grandfather?” “Long before Edward.” Wind swept through the gorge.