23. Twenty-Three #2
The lantern vanished from his hand, reappearing an instant later at Nova’s feet. She bent down and took it up, holding it aloft in a silent gesture of thanks. She made to enter the mound, but the childlike voice halted her steps.
“Beware the cursed souls that dwell within. They won’t take kindly to you disturbing their final resting place.”
Nova nodded once then trained her eyes on the darkness ahead.
Before she could question herself, she entered the mound.
The faint blue light from the lantern illuminated towering walls on either side of her.
The stone corridor was narrow, and the floor slanted downward.
Nova moved slowly; the light only reached so far, and she wasn’t eager to come upon anything by surprise.
Occasionally, she glanced back over her shoulder, but there was no way of knowing how far she was from the entrance.
Time dragged as she continued her descent.
No turns. No markings on the walls to gauge her progress.
All the while, an uneasy, prickling sensation clung to the back of her neck, soon joined by an uncomfortable tightness in her chest, constricting further each time she allowed herself to consider the fact that she stood an unknown depth underground.
She forced the thought of the mound becoming her own tomb from her mind, willing herself to breathe deeply and focusing on her quarry: the next piece of Kinslayer.
As she brought the weapon to mind, a spark of pain flickered in the palm of her right hand.
Like a seed taking root, it bloomed as she ventured on, a searing heat creeping like vines into her fingers.
Distracted by the pain, she didn’t realize the narrow stone corridor had ended until she stood a handful of paces inside a large chamber.
The ring of light from the pitiful blue flame reached only a few paces around her.
Nova navigated the space slowly, her steps noiseless on the moss-covered floor.
Before long, she came upon three raised stone slabs.
As she neared, she saw each one had a cover with a likeness chiseled into the stone.
Nova leaned over the one closest to her and marveled at the care and artistry that had gone into creating the carving depicting a being similar in appearance to the Fae.
Elves.
Excitement coursed through her at beholding something never before seen by anyone else.
The part of her that had relished faerie stories as a child urged her to get an even closer look.
To examine the strange markings engraved along the edges of the lids.
But the sprite’s warning about disturbing the resting place sprang to mind, and she quickly backed away without touching anything.
Returning to her reason for being in the tomb in the first place, Nova turned in a slow circle, scanning the chamber, her vision somewhat adjusted to the low light.
Her eyes climbed the walls of stacked stones, some sections crumbling with water having found its way in through cracks over time.
Ivy scaled the walls and clung to the ceiling.
Several open archways led out of the main chamber.
She wondered how many elves were buried within.
Nova wandered a handful of paces farther into the chamber, passing a second stone box, nearly identical to the first. Had Bryn called them caskets?
As she passed the third one, the searing pain flared in her palm, as if she’d gripped a brand of hot iron.
She doubled over, dropping the lantern on the moss-covered floor, and lost her balance.
As she grappled for something to keep her on her feet, her hand settled on the third slab, and the pain surged anew.
Nova groaned through her teeth, incapable of remaining quiet.
She forced several deep breaths in and out through her nose.
Though they did nothing to ease the burn, the measured breaths strengthened her ability to withstand it.
Bending down, she picked up the lantern once again.
As she rose to her full height, continuing to breathe through the pain, the glow of the blue flame illuminated the third carving.
Nova leaned close to the final casket. There, clutched in the carved hand of the elven likeness, was a shard of her father’s broken sword.
As soon as her eyes fell upon the blade, a desperate need to hold it consumed her, and she hastily set the lantern on top of the cover.
For an instant, she hesitated, her hand hovering a breath away as she considered the sprite’s warning.
Steeling herself, she pressed her lips together.
It’s mine by birthright, a low, sneering voice whispered in the back of her mind.
Nova shook her head against the voice, a mimicry of her own, at once familiar and entirely foreign. Gathering her resolve, she gripped the blade.
Pain blossomed in her hand, oozing along her fingers to her palm and then her wrist, like she’d dipped her hand in a pot of scalding water.
Her chest seized at the blinding sting. Though she tugged with all her strength, the blade refused to budge.
Adding her other hand, she pulled once more, bending her knees and leaning back for leverage.
Sweat beaded on her upper lip, and she clenched her jaw so tightly, she feared her teeth might crack.
Just as the pain nearly grew unbearable, the blade came loose, and Nova fell backward, landing on the mossy floor with a muted thud.
She struggled to release her hold on the blade as she had in Tundara, but she finally managed to pry it from her fingers, securing the fragment within her pouch.
Drained, she lay flat on her back for a moment, arms spread wide and chest heaving, when suddenly, over the sound of her ragged breaths came the unmistakable grinding of stone.
Nova held back a gasp, clapping a hand over her mouth and silently scrambling into a low crouch.
Taking up the lantern once again, she waited, counting the rapid beats of her heart.
A few moments passed with no other noise.
Cautiously, Nova stood, extending the lantern to inspect the stone caskets once more.
The lid covering the one farthest from her sat ajar with four bony fingers, shriveled flesh still clinging to them, curled around the edge.
The grinding noise sliced through the quiet once again, and she watched as the decaying hand forced the stone cover open further.
Nova backed away, glancing to the doorway from which she’d entered the burial chamber, now on the opposite side of the great room, with the three caskets blocking her path.
The grating sound of stone on stone came again, and a second hand emerged through the opening, joining the first in its task of dislodging the lid.
When the slab covering the second grave groaned open as well, she spun around and sprinted through the nearest arch, no notion of where it led or what horror might lurk within.
The light of the blue flame bounced off the low ceiling as she raced along a narrow corridor.
When the passageway angled left sharply, Nova barely made the turn.
Wet moss carpeted the floor, softening the sound of her footsteps but causing her to slip every few strides.
As she grappled along the walls to keep herself upright, she struck the lantern against a stone.
The glass shattered, and the flame went out, leaving her in complete darkness.
Nova continued to move, though at a snail’s pace, bracing herself on the walls and shuffling her feet over the uneven floor.
A sharp cry, like that of a hawk, rang out behind her, echoing in the burial chamber.
Fear flooded her veins, and she increased her pace, no longer concerned with catching her toes on lumps of sodden moss or raised stones.
A moment later, the passageway widened enough that she could stretch her arms fully from one side to the other; it seemed she’d stumbled upon an alcove.
Backing into the recess, she pressed herself against the cold stone and fought to catch her breath.
Trying to remain silent while desperate for air was an unbearable task. Nova went rigid, her breath halting all together, when the same cry assaulted her ears again, louder. Closer. The creature had entered the passageway behind her.
Without the lantern, she was sightless, her vision unable to adjust to the utter darkness.
Nova closed her eyes, one hand reaching into the pouch at her hip and fumbling for her moonstone.
Once she closed her fingers around the charm, she yanked it out, wary of touching the Kinslayer shard.
In her haste, the stone flew from her trembling fingers and landed on a bed of moss, bathing the corridor in pale light.
Fear cut through her like ice water in her veins, and she dropped to her knees, quickly snuffing out the moonstone’s light beneath her cupped hand.
In the instant before the corridor went dark, she saw it: a horrid creature that had once been an elf haunting the tunnel like a wraith.
The flash of the moonstone should have been her death sentence.
She braced herself, expecting the creature to descend upon her any second.
But a moment passed with no attack, and the creature continued to move along the passageway with slow, shuffling steps, emitting an eerie chirping sound every so often.
Perhaps it didn’t see me, she thought. Didn’t see the light.
Fighting every instinct warning against it, Nova lifted her hand, allowing a sliver of silvery light into the space.
She bit her lips against a gasp. The once-elf stood mere strides away.
She pressed her cupped hand to the ground once more, releasing a shuddering breath.
When, again, the creature didn’t immediately come for her, Nova tested the theory, lifting her hand a second time.