Chapter 19 Theron
THERON
The Choir Causeway stretches before me like a tunnel carved from the throat of some ancient beast, its walls lined with hundreds of open mouths carved into the stone.
Each mouth is perfectly rendered—lips parted in eternal song, teeth gleaming white as pearls, tongues frozen mid-note in what might be ecstasy or agony.
The craftsmanship is breathtaking and terrible, each face unique, each expression caught at the moment of releasing some perfect, silent note.
The water here vibrates with anticipation, as if the very liquid waits for me to make a sound.
I understand instinctively that this is a test of a different kind—not of strength or cunning, but of pure vocal control.
The carved mouths seem to watch me with eyeless sockets, waiting for the slightest waver, the smallest mistake.
I study the passage carefully, noting how the mouths are arranged in precise patterns along the walls—bass notes carved larger and deeper, soprano mouths small and delicate, with tenors and altos filling the spaces between.
This was once a place of music, I realize, where the living dark elves came to practice their choral arts before death claimed their city.
"I must hold a single tone while crossing," I murmur to myself, understanding the trial without being told. "Any waver, any break, and those stone teeth will become real enough to bite."
I position myself at the entrance, feeling the weight of the shell-bell around my wrist and the blessed warmth of Eurydice's presence somewhere beyond this trial.
The winter stag's blessing still flows through my veins, and I draw upon that sacred strength as I fill my lungs with the strange, breathable water of this drowned realm.
I choose my note carefully—a deep, resonant bass that will fill the entire passage without requiring me to strain.
The tone must be pure, unwavering, sustained for the entire length of the causeway.
I think of the great bells of Milthar's temple, how they ring out across the harbor with voices that never crack or falter, and I let that image guide my choice.
Taking the deepest breath I can manage, I begin to sing—not words, but a single, perfect note that emerges from my throat like liquid bronze. The sound fills the causeway instantly, and I see the carved mouths respond, their stone lips moving slightly as if trying to echo my tone.
I begin to swim forward, my powerful strokes carrying me through the water while that unbroken note pours from my lungs.
The mouths on either side of me seem to lean in closer, their carved features becoming more animated with each passing moment.
Some begin to harmonize with my bass note, adding their own stone voices to create an otherworldly choir that reverberates through the passage.
Halfway through the causeway, a powerful current suddenly buffets me from the side, threatening to knock me off course and break my concentration.
The water slams into me like a physical blow, and I feel my note waver for just an instant.
Immediately, the carved mouths snap to attention, their teeth gleaming as they prepare to become something more than stone.
I close one nostril with my thumb, using an old sailor's trick to deepen my resonance and strengthen the tone.
The note becomes richer, more powerful, filling the passage with such authority that the hostile current seems to recoil.
The mouths settle back into their stone silence, satisfied that my voice remains true.
As I near the end of the causeway, I catch sight of something that causes a flood of joy—a flash of red ribbon caught in a crack in the wall, bright as a piece of captured sky against the dark stoneEurydice's festival ribbon, the red silk she threaded through my mane with whispered wishes, somehow torn free and lodged here as a sign for me to follow.
I want to reach for it, to press it to my face and breathe in her scent, but I dare not break my tone or alter my course.
Instead, I smile without opening my lips, letting the warmth of recognition fill my voice with new strength.
The note grows even more stable, more beautiful, and the carved mouths seem to sigh in appreciation of such perfect control.
I swim past the ribbon, noting its position so I can retrieve it on my return—for I will return, I tell myself, and when I do, it will be with Eurydice at my side.
The thought fills me with such determination that my voice takes on an almost supernatural power, the single note ringing through the causeway like the voice of the sea itself.
As I reach the far end of the passage, I let the note fade gradually, diminishing it with the same control I used to sustain it. The last echoes die away, and the carved mouths settle back into eternal silence, their test completed and passed.
I turn back briefly to look at the causeway I've conquered, and see the red ribbon still fluttering in its crack like a flag of victory.
"I found your sign, my love," I whisper to the water around me.
"I followed your voice and found your heart's message.
Nothing will stop me from reaching you now. "
The passage ahead opens into deeper chambers, and somewhere in their phosphorescent depths, I can hear Eurydice singing our lullaby with renewed strength, her voice calling me home through the halls of the drowned.