Chapter 12 Death’s Embrace #2
He headed towards the yawning doorway that led into the rest of the Temple of the Necrilem. The air was cold and stony. Even though he wasn’t heading down in any way, he felt he was descending deeper and deeper and deeper with every footstep. But the floor was flat and even.
At first, he searched his pockets for something to create light. The illumination from the outside was soon just a spark behind him. But he had nothing on him. Vex would have known that so he was meant to go forward into the dark.
Or I’m being a complete idiot. Isn’t all of this idiocy?
But, again, he flashed on the memory of the Leviathan perched above him, ready to end him, and all he had been capable of doing was cringing. He couldn’t go back to that way of living. He wanted something more. Vex wouldn’t have sent him on a wild goosechase.
So keep going.
And he did. One foot in front of the other.
Something started to change as he did this.
His heart should have been racing. His breath should have come in panicky gasps.
The darkness was thick and almost physical.
He swore he could have reached out and scooped it up.
That should have added to a sense of terror.
But it didn’t.
His heart rate slowed. His breathing was even and getting slower. He felt incredibly calm. Almost as if he were entering a meditative state. And despite the darkness he could have gathered to him like a set of velvet blankets, he walked forward without concern.
Something’s happening to me. The question is if it is bad or good.
But his other state of calm made it so he didn’t really care either way. He was going forward. He would see this through to the end.
This is meant. This is my story. This has been waiting for me all my life.
The floor beneath his feet remained smooth and flat.
He did sense that there were bits of stone and debris that had fallen and dusted the floor, but they did not impede his progress.
Nor did he stop and swish a foot out ahead of himself to check for bigger chunks even though he should.
He didn’t put his hands out to the side or the front of him either in order to stop from walking into walls.
Over the whispers, or perhaps because of them, he could tell that the space he was in was large. Vast. That was the real word. Vast. He imagined that he had entered into the main part of the dome and that it was simply one large open space. The echoey sound of the whispers seemed to indicate this.
The voices swelled in volume until they were almost deafening.
Screams. Shouts. Cries. He still couldn’t identify any words.
It was as if they were pure emotion put into sounds.
Finley stopped walking, bringing his hands up to his ears, but the moment he ceased his forward movement the voices were reduced to whispers once more so he dropped his hands to his sides.
And waited.
The whispers dropped away until they were just a background hum. The darkness remained absolute for long moments, but then the first torch burst into light ahead of him. He jerked back and the whispers swelled in anger once more. He quickly reclaimed his place. They dropped down again.
Another torch burst into life.
Another!
Another!
ANOTHER!
They surrounded him on all sides. His eyes stung and watered. He shaded them with one hand. Finally, through blinking and slowly letting his eyes adjust he was able to drop that hand and look around him.
He was in a pit!
That was his first thought. He slowly turned his head.
The room was circular with sheer sides going up and up and up with the ceiling behind lost in gloom that the torches did not penetrate.
There was a long winding stairway that led down to this space that hugged the walls, crumbling to pieces in parts.
There was no doorway to the outside here.
But I didn’t go down any stairs! How could I have jumped over those chasms where the stairs have fallen away? I couldn’t have! I didn’t!
But then Finley remembered the sensation he’d had of a descent. He hadn’t walked far enough to get here, but he’d known he was going down. Sensed it in his bones. And here he was.
Where is here?
He’d expected the interior of the bulbous tower to be smooth and metallic, but this reminded him of a mine, carved out of stone, drilled deep into the earth.
There were large, arched niches in the walls where the skulls of countless different species stared at him out of sightless eyes.
The floor was rough-cut gray stone. The grit he’d sensed before appeared to be chips of white bone.
Bones!
He caught sight of a figure that was crouched on the ground just twenty paces from him.
It was fully skeletonized. Maybe Kindreth?
It looked vaguely humanoid, but he couldn’t see the skull as the arms of the skeleton were curled over the body’s head, totally covering it.
And that was not the only one. Finley counted over a dozen of these crouched skeletons.
How are they made to stay in place like that? They appear as if they could simply stand up and start to walk. He contemplated a beat and then thought, Maybe they can. If I make the wrong move then maybe they will. But what is the right move? What was I brought here to see or find?
And then he noticed a skeleton in a far niche.
Unlike the others who were skulls sitting atop a neatly piled set of bones, this skeleton–or rather not quite a skeleton as there was tightly drawn flesh over parts of it–was standing.
Their back was to the shelf. They were pressed so tightly against it that it looked like they wanted to merge with the stone.
Finley frowned. On the ground around them was a semicircle of stained stone.
He took a tentative step forward, expecting the whispers to blast into screams once more, but they did not.
It was safe for him to go examine this body more closely.
He lightly padded over to the figure, careful to keep at least five feet of distance from himself and all the crouched skeletons. That became harder as he neared the body against the wall. It appeared as if the skeletons had been placed to appear to be converging on this figure.
Or the skeletons were converging on the figure, but then stopped. But why?
He had to slide sideways between two of them to reach the body. He let out a whoosh of breath as he managed to do so without brushing them. He then turned his full attention to the standing figure.
He had been right about there being stains on the ground.
Splatters really. He crouched down and realized that it was blood.
Old blood. He glanced up at the figure and saw that one of their hands was open.
The flesh that still remained showed a deep gash across the palm.
In their other hand was a jeweled dagger.
They cut themselves and stained the stones with their blood. Forming a semi-circle around them. But why?
Finley got up and turned to see what the figure was looking at. It was clear when he did this what they had been seeing. The crouching skeletons were coming after them.
Did the blood form some kind of barrier? Keeping the skeletons at bay? But if it did, it also trapped the figure here. If they left the barrier these skeletons would have them. So they stayed and…
He tapped his chin as he slowly spun around to look at the figure more closely. They were wearing a long cloak with the hood pulled up. Black hair still clung to the skull that had gray, slightly moist flesh still attached to their cheeks. The lips were peeled away showing clenched white teeth.
Pain. Desperation. But they didn’t leave the circle even though they died here?
He couldn’t imagine the terror that must have held them frozen there until they perished.
Wouldn’t it have been better to have tried to get out?
Even if they were cut down, at least it would be a quicker death than standing here for however long.
At least that was what Finley would do. He wouldn’t give up like this to fear. He would die fighting.
Except I didn’t quite do that with the Leviathan.
But these creatures weren’t them. For all he knew the skeletons shambled and one could avoid them.
He realized that they carried weapons. One had a flail.
Another had a long sword. Some had daggers.
There was a bow or two as well. But they hadn’t tried to pinion the man here behind the semicircle of blood.
The blood must have done more than simply form a barrier they couldn’t cross.
He studied the dagger in the figure’s hand. Its blade glittered like frost with a blue-white gleam. The hilt was fitted with a single large dark jewel at the end. He couldn’t quite see what it was.
Is the dagger significant? Like a magical dagger?
But then he caught sight of something hastily tucked into the front of the figure’s pants. The top of it was visible. It was a book! The whispers suddenly increased in volume in his ears as he looked at the book.
Magical. That book is magical and so is the dagger. They go together, Finley guessed, but it felt like knowledge.
Had this person stolen the book and dagger from the temple?
Vex had mentioned something about him needing materials.
A book and a magical dagger would definitely quantify those.
He peered around the back of the man and realized that yes, there was a part of the shelf where clearly both book and dagger had been held.
So they took them and then… then the crouched skeletons began to walk. In a panic, they used the dagger to cut themselves and form the protective barrier. But they were trapped here. And if I were to take them from the figure…
He looked over his shoulder at the four skeletons that were only five feet away.
They could come to life and come after him.
But maybe there would be a delay before they did.
Creaking joints and tight, dried sinews might slow them down.
If he were very quick, maybe he could snatch the book and dagger and flee to the stairs.
But there are archers. Surely, it’s harder to hit a moving target though… But better to make sure these are the only things here first.
He turned from the standing figure and made a minute inspection of the entirety of the room. Nothing but bones. He followed the curves of the staircase with his eyes. There looked to be no rooms branching off of that stairwell either.
The book and dagger are it.
He returned to the strangely moist figure.
Am I really going to do this? After all, this fellow didn’t get very far. What if I join him?
If Declan were here, his best friend could have easily snatched the dagger, the book and lightly jumped to the nearest section of staircase and lifted himself up with ease.
Finley? Not so much. Though he didn’t have to get to the bottom of the stairs.
There was a section he could scramble up just to his right.
That meant he had to only get past the four figures surrounding the figure–assuming they really would spring back to life–dart to his right and then haul himself up onto the stairs.
Then he’d book it up the spiral staircase avoiding arrows and…
This is insane! You cannot do this! His logical voice argued. You’re going to get yourself killed!
But what if that book and dagger will allow me to perform magic? He pushed back. What risks am I willing to take for that?
If you’re dead, you cannot perform magic.
If I don’t learn magic then I might as well never leave Tyrael again, he said. Because it’s too dangerous. Even going to Hope is dangerous. And what happens when my friends are in danger and need me?
They’ll want you alive more.
If they’re in danger and I don’t risk this now, I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll remember that cowardice stopped me from being able to rescue them, he thought.
The logical voice had no answer for this, because it was true. He would never be able to look himself in the mirror again if he missed this opportunity. He wanted to become powerful. He wanted to protect himself and others. And magic was the only real way to do that in this brave new world.
Don’t fear death, Finley. Embrace it, his professor’s voice coalesced again for a moment. Embrace it.
Finley pushed his glasses up his nose. He was going to do this.
He was going to embrace death and magic and…
He reached for the book and dagger at the same time, prepared to snatch them away from the rotting figure and then pivot.
He would launch himself towards the lower part of the stairs and haul himself up.
Then he would run full out, leap over the chasms and make it to the top.
His fingertips brushed both. There was a cold, electrical snap. He gasped.
The figure’s head lifted and in a voice full of moist rot said, “Not dead yet.”