3. Ilaris
Ilaris
Music woke me. The sound of wind moving through rocks, or breath through wood. It stirred a strange yearning, and I woke with wet eyes, a longing thick in my blood.
Last night, after a hot bath and multiple mugs of mead, I’d fallen into bed, feeling as though I were floating on air. I hadn’t slept so well in weeks.
Now I dressed slowly, and at the last minute, tugged on the armor.
It settled cold against my tunic, the weight of it pressing the bruised length of my ribs.
It fit me perfectly, even though it had been made for my grandmother.
The silver and gold edges shone in the light, and the metalwork braided around the edges looked like lace.
It was armor meant for ceremony, not for battle, and certainly not for a stroll around the ruins.
Yet I felt safer in it, my ribs secured against whatever might come.
I shouldered my bag and went downstairs.
The tavern was quiet in the morning, and I helped myself to a biscuit and an apple, leaving a few bronze coins behind as payment.
As I let myself out into the damp air, a golden shimmer winked around me before fading into the mist. A man leaned against the tavern wall, playing a flute.
He paused when he saw me, then held up a bony finger for me to wait while he finished his ditty.
I studied him while he played. Neat brown hair tied at his back, mostly hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat, tilted back to reveal his weathered face, sunken eyes, and a dusting of white hairs across his chin.
He was shorter than me, loose clothing hanging off his wiry frame.
I guessed him to be twenty years my senior.
At last he took the flute from his lips and tucked it into his bag. “You must be the scholar?”
He eyed my armor, the question hanging between us. Scholars weren’t supposed to arrive in armor crafted from silver and gold. I supposed people imagined scholars walked around in flowing robes, with ink-stained fingers and scrolls in hand. I adjusted my bag. “Are you my escort to the ruins?”
He touched two fingers to his forehead and settled the hat more firmly on his head. “Harlan, at your service. I’ll take you across.”
I fell in step with him. “So you know about the ruins? Do you visit them often?”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “I assumed the previous scholar filled you in and you came to complete his work.”
I pressed my lips together, wondering what I’d missed. “Previous scholar? Wasn’t that decades ago? Surely you weren’t his guide too?”
Harlan chuckled. “As though I look young. Aye, it was me those years ago. Scholar Benjamin, older fellow, very serious, intense. But you’re not his apprentice?”
I pondered my next words. I’d never heard of Scholar Benjamin, nor seen his work in the archives.
But that meant little. If his focus had been on giants and ancient ruins, I’d ignored it because it wasn’t a field I was particularly interested in.
I truly doubted there was anything left to discover, but Harlan’s words piqued my curiosity.
“No, I’m not his apprentice, nor am I familiar with his work. There are many scholars and libraries full of their books. I admit, I did not have time to conduct an in-depth study before taking the train here. I’d appreciate anything you know about the ruins, the giants, and Scholar Benjamin.”
“He seemed troubled, that’s all I know. He was focused on his studies, and we exchanged few words. I am surprised to see you, because he suggested no scholars would come here again, or at least he did not recommend it.”
I nodded slowly. In my mind it made sense. I wasn’t here because there was anything new to discover. I was here as punishment. But Harlan didn’t need to know that.
We walked in silence until the morning mist parted, displaying the dock that stretched into the gray water like a finger pointing.
Barnacles and salt clung to it. Boats were tied on both sides, bobbing in the water.
Otherwise, it was still, no one around aside from us.
The fog hovered like grasping fingers over the water, only showing a few feet in each direction.
A cold clamminess came over my skin. This was the kind of mist that swallowed people and never let go.
“Mind your step,” Harlan called.
He led the way down the dock and held out his hand for my bag before helping me into the boat. I lowered myself down, clinging to the damp sides as it rocked under my weight. I peered down at the water while Harlan loosened the rope and climbed in. Grabbing the oars, he pushed off.
“How do you know which way to go in the mist?” I asked.
“I’ve been rowing back and forth across the bay for decades. I could do it blind. But it’s the scent, smells different this way, although I don’t have the words to explain it. If you close your eyes, you might catch it.”
Stilling myself, I closed my eyes, letting my other senses work.
The rhythmic splash of the oars. The brine of salt and water.
The musty scent of grass. A wetness clinging to the air and.
. .there. A hint of something ancient. It was peppery, almost spicy, and tickled my nose.
But that wasn’t all. Sound rolled up from underneath the waters, a melodic whisper, something like music but not quite.
When I opened my eyes, the buzzing inside my head ceased.
A moment later, sunlight burned through the clouds and my mouth fell open.
I angled my head up, then leaned back as a massive island rose before me.
We were headed for the sandy beach, warm-toned and bathed in sunlight, a smattering of seashells, starfish, and crabs lay upon it.
The inlet we headed toward was open, but craggy rocks rose on either side, making it impossible to land a boat anywhere aside from the open beach.
The ground slanted sharply upward into weaving grass and distant trees.
Beyond them, a bare mountain reared its naked head above all else.
My throat went dry, not from fear, but from awe. This was wild land, desolate and lonely, and I was sent to find its secrets.
A multitude of questions rose in my mind, and I struggled to organize them as Harlan steered the boat to the beach.
I was on my feet before we stopped moving, boots splashing in the shallow water as I climbed out, eager to explore.
Behind us, a wall of mist surrounded the island, obscuring it from the mainland.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Harlan huffed, tugging the boat ashore.
The peppery scent had faded, replaced by sea salt and wild grass. My gaze drifted to the mountain, almost invisible among the canopy of trees, now that we’d entered its domain.
“Does anyone live here?” I asked, slinging my bag over my shoulder, wincing as my ribs protested.
Harlan shook his head as he started across the sand. “Not that I am aware of. Some come to fish or hunt, hence the huts. The trip across the water is treacherous at night.”
“But not for you, because you can do the trip blind.”
“Even I don’t attempt it at night.”
“Why?”
“The water is peculiar. I’m sure you’ve heard the music, the wordless song.”
“I heard you playing the flute when I woke.”
“Perhaps you did, perhaps you didn’t. But the music of the waves is harmless enough, unless you give in and slip inside. Once you do, you belong to them.”
“Them?” I eyed the waves, which seemed harmless in the sunlight. “Is this a tale that has to do with the giants?”
“How could it? They are long dead and gone. No, there are many tales, but some say old spirits live at the bottom of the sea, dragging the living down to keep them company.”
“Mermaids?” I asked, racking my mind for fables.
Harlan chuckled. “No one believes in mermaids. Leastwise, we’ve never seen them either. They are only a tale from forgotten times.”
I closed my mouth as we walked uphill, keeping my focus on my breathing, my ribs throbbing with each step. Harlan waited for me at the top, and I joined him, turning to face the water. “You don’t believe in mermaids, yet you believe in giants.”
“The ancient city is right here, it’s hard to ignore the truth when the proof is in our faces.”
“Will you tell me what you know?” I asked carefully. “Your version of the Great Sundering?”
He nodded, brushing a hand over his face, fingers scraping the white hairs on his chin. “Oh, aye, although I’m not sure how they tell the story in the land you hail from.”
“That’s why I want to hear it from your perspective, in your words.”
He was quiet for a moment, eyes on the path ahead as we climbed.
The grass grew tall around our legs, and somewhere in the distance came birdsong.
The tension in my shoulders softened at the awareness that this island still felt normal.
Humans might not live here, behind the wall of mist, but animals did.
“The giants were great builders, obvious from the ruins. They built vast cities, but legends hold that they weren’t simply intellectual and creative, they were also hoarders. Greedy. They refused to let anything go, not gold, or knowledge, nor even the bones of their dead.”
I listened, the weave of his voice more captivating than the tale he spun.
How could I blame the giants for their greed when we were just like them?
We hoarded knowledge. We built great monuments and—my thoughts went to my grandmother’s bones—we only buried our dead if we believed they wouldn’t be punished in the afterlife.
“The giants dug deep into the earth,” Harlan continued.
“They found jewels, precious metals, and other things that should have stayed buried. They built great cities that scraped the heavens and filled vaults that went down into the darkness. Rumor holds that as they dug, they found something unspeakable. A door deep under the earth. Some say it led to the realm of the dead, others say it was where the gods buried the magic that wrote this world. Regardless, when the door was opened, and whatever was within escaped, the Great Sundering began.”
A door. This differed from the tales I’d heard before.
All I knew was that their greed caused the Great Sundering and the age of the giants ended.
The humans rose in power and wealth, and strength.
We didn’t make the same mistakes, we didn’t dig deep into the earth and open doors we had no business opening.
Had Scholar Benjamin heard this tale and taken it seriously?
Had he searched for the door, curious to discover what lay on the other side?
Cold touched the back of my neck. “What came through that door?” I asked.
Harlan shrugged. “The truth is, no one actually knows if the door was even opened. It makes a convincing story, but the truth is lost to legend, just like the giants. Regardless, the ground shook, a volcano spat up fire and ash, and this island was split from the mainland, a cursed, haunted place that serves as a reminder of what happens to those who displease the gods. In the early days, many came, snatching relics, hunting for treasure. But rumor holds that those who took from this place were cursed, bound to the same fate as the giants themselves. Treasure hunters soon gave up. Even though there’s no proof, just tales now, I caution you against taking anything from the ruins.
Go, walk among them, catalog what you see, take notes, transcribe, but do not take so much as a piece of dust.”
So then, if I found treasure, I shouldn’t take it in case it was cursed. Did I believe in curses? I wasn’t sure, but it dampened the idea of finding magical relics and returning to the House of Scholars for notoriety and praise.
“Do you think they found the treasures of the gods: the Rod, the Heart, and the Stone?”
Harlan shrugged. “Anything is possible. All we know for sure is that whatever they found, the giants paid the ultimate price. Some doors, once opened, can’t be closed again.”
I fell silent as we rounded the bend. A hut lay before us, tucked into the hillside, with a view of the beach below.
Another path led onward, winding into the woods, climbing toward the summit.
Wind stirred my hair, a glimmer of gold rushed through the air, and voices whispered around me, calling, beckoning.
I stood still, letting the eeriness of the story settle in my mind.
Something here called to me. Truth that no one had uncovered.
But I was here now.
I would discover it.