4. Ilaris
Ilaris
Harlan led me to the hut and pressed a key and a map of the island into my hands. The walk to the ruins would take only an hour or two, but he apologized that duty called him elsewhere. With a promise to return in the morning, he strode back to the beach while I surveyed the hut.
One room held everything: a tidy bed tucked in a corner, firewood stacked by the door, cabinets full of food, and a table under the window. An optimal place to write my notes. It was cozy yet lonely.
Rather than dwell on my isolation, I packed a small satchel, locked the door, and followed the path toward the ruins.
The dirt trail slithered into the colossal trees, their shade almost too cool. The fragrance of wood and heather awakened my senses. I took my time, careful not to irritate my healing bruises.
The wood ended abruptly, and the tang of salt had long faded from the air as I stepped into a clearing. Gray stone thrust up from the lush grass, a polished pillar carved with runes. I caught my breath, recognizing an artifact from an ancient world. A signpost.
Excitement surged through me as I unfurled the map and confirmed I was halfway to my destination.
The spirit of the scholar rose within me, reaffirming my determination to find answers.
The armor, however, was growing heavy. I tugged at it, wondering if I should have left it behind.
But no, I still didn’t know what I’d uncover out here. It was folly to ignore wisdom’s advice.
A soft, keening sound cut through the silence.
I froze, listening.
It came again, the whimpering cry. Rolling up the map, I tucked it back into my bag, hesitating only a moment before abandoning the path for the grass.
A flock of butter-yellow butterflies flitted out of white flowers, brushing past me with wings as gentle as silk.
Their slight hum reminded me how unique this remote world was from the vibrant city I’d left behind.
The whimper came again, louder this time.
There, tangled in brambles at the roots of a great redwood, was a small dog. As I neared, its movements grew more frantic. It yelped, shaking its shaggy black coat. I knelt and held out my hand to let it sniff me. “I’m here to help,” I cooed.
A tiny pink tongue licked my fingers. Deciding I tasted like an ally, it whimpered again.
Working methodically, I found the bramble that ensnared its paw and gently tugged it free.
The pup took a tentative step, then shook itself.
Only then did I notice the curved black horns on its head.
They were small, confirming my assumption that the dog was a puppy, yet I’d never seen a wild dog with horns.
I studied it closely, inclined to take out my sketchbook and draw it. Were there pictures of this creature in the archive? If I’d made a discovery, I needed proof to take back with me.
“There you go, all better.” I stood, dusting off my knees. “What are you? I’ve never seen a beast like you before.”
The little dog wagged its tail, barked, then nosed at my boot. It had claws like a cat, yet it was friendly. I laughed. “You look too young to be alone. Where’s your family?”
Liquid brown eyes stared up at me, and my heart went soft. But I was here to work, not to adopt a strange horned dog. It turned and started sniffing around the tree. I watched, but only for a moment before backing away and returning to the path.
The signpost rose before me, a reminder of why I was here. Perhaps I should stop and copy down the runes, but I wanted to get to the ruins first and confirm whether I truly had six months of work in front of me. Then there was the issue of translating the runes.
I hoped Harlan could help, especially because I had no intention of spending six months on the island.
Alone. Surely Yonnie would rent me a room.
I’d take some provisions from the hut with me so I wouldn’t be a burden, and perhaps I could help around the tavern in exchange for board.
My coin wouldn’t last long since the House of Scholars did not pay field workers for their time.
Then I felt it. A presence. Something was following me.
A bead of sweat ran down my spine. Why hadn’t I brought a walking stick to defend myself? It would be better than my bare hands, and I was certain wild beasts still prowled the island.
With a shudder, I peeked over my shoulder. Shaggy black fur caught my eye. The little horned dog scampered up beside me, then stared up at me as though waiting. I took a step, and it followed, tail wagging.
I smiled, my heart feeling lighter. “So you’re coming with me then? I could use the company.”
The ascent grew steeper, and the landscape shifted. Though groves of trees still blocked my view, a rotten undertone made my eyes water. I wrinkled my nose. “Do you smell that?”
The horned dog picked up speed, trotting ahead just as the last few shrubs dropped away.
I gasped, my feet slowing to a stop as I gazed up and up and up.
Gray shapes rose on a hilltop, polished stone set in symmetry.
Even from a distance, the runes were clear to make out, not rough or crudely chiseled, but perfected in the stone itself.
I fumbled for my sketchbook, dropping my bag on the ground as I approached.
Each footfall felt sacred, each step slow and intentional.
I was seeing this—the gateway to the ancient city of giants—for the first time.
Wind moved through the stones with a low, hollow note, like breath. I’d never live this moment again, never feel this bone-shuddering awe. I relished it, letting it sink into my soul.
Here is where they once walked. Giants. The great intellectuals of that day.
As close to gods as any race could be. My thoughts returned to the legend Harlan had shared, of how they dug too deep and discovered something hidden underground, which led to their demise.
A burning fever of desire came over me: the need to know, to discover the truth.
My fingers trembled as I clutched my pencil.
The stones rose on either side like soldiers, leading to a grand arch.
A golden glow wove between them, glittering like a visible wind.
Something white lifted and blew like snow, sending a shiver down my spine.
Even though the giants were gone, their spirits lingered, giving the area a hallowed aura.
I suddenly understood why the villagers stayed away, but their reason for staying was my reason for coming.
I wanted to understand the unknown, find buried secrets, and expose the truth. Other scholars had missed this opportunity, but perhaps something good would come of my punishment. Right now, it felt like a gift.
I set to work while the horned dog trotted around, sniffing at stones, pausing with ears up, tail wagging as he made his way deeper into the ruins.
I took my time copying down the runes, which followed a pattern.
Long dashes and square shapes, followed by more lines.
They weren’t crude signs of an ignorant culture, but detailed ones, each matching the others in symmetry. An important distinction.
Two schools of thought competed to explain ancient civilizations and how they shaped the known world. One party believed that those who lived near the time of creation were primitive, like children. As the world aged, so did their intelligence.
The opposing party believed that creation was the work of superior beings who wished to inhabit a world of their own making.
Beings far more intelligent than the people of today will ever become.
Unfortunately, the created became uncontrollable and, eventually, the superior beings argued and split ways.
Some suggested that was what caused the Great Sundering, but it was all speculation.
I believed in the latter school of thought, and if I hadn’t before, simply seeing the runes would be enough to persuade me.
Intelligence had built such majestic feats.
They had walked in power, be it their own or gifts given.
Magic was rare, but occasionally someone with unique abilities appeared, often to be taken and controlled by the government.
As I finished tracing the runes, clouds rolled over the sunlight, and the hillside darkened.
I stood, wondering if it was about to rain.
Weather on islands was temperamental, at least according to the records.
But the sound of music compelled me forward.
The same tune I’d heard this morning and assumed it was Harlan’s flute.
Drawn by curiosity, I stepped under the archway.
Air vibrated as though I’d stepped across a sacred threshold.
Tightness squeezed my chest, dots spun around my vision, and words burst out of my mouth.
“I’m Ilaris the Scholar, and I come in peace to study the city and ensure your history is recorded.
I seek the truth, and I have no nefarious agenda, no ill intentions. ”
The air settled, the tightness vanished as the music faded.
I took a deep breath to settle my nerves and studied what lay ahead.
The land dropped into a valley, wide stone stairs leading down.
Where greenery had surrounded the archway, the slope below descended into barren patches of brittle ground and sand.
Pillars and towers rose from the desolation.
Whatever had happened here had devastated everything, for nothing grew except stone.
I followed the barren ground to the stairs, great slabs of rock, as much a part of the earth as the dirt and the grass.
Each one took three strides to cross, and stepping down sent a grunt of effort from my lips.
I counted fourteen steps—every other one intricate with swirling designs, the rest plain.
At the bottom, a ring of mountains rose in the distance, and a rumbling purred through the air, like a giant beast sleeping. I stilled.
A shape rose from the ground, a giant hand, large enough for me to climb onto, fingers spread wide as though it had been buried alive.
I glanced back at the stairs, wondering where the horned dog had gone. But nothing moved except for that odd golden shimmer. It coiled around the stone fingers, then faded, as though my eyes were playing tricks on me.
The music returned, as if someone plucked an instrument.
Curious. Was it the wind moving through the stones to create it?
Such a phenomenon would be worth recording.
I moved toward the music, skirting the giant hand, until I came to a sheer wall of rock.
It rose like an impregnable mountain, towering out of sight. I pressed my palm against it.
It was cool to the touch. Hollow?
The mountain rumbled as though responding to my touch. Then it shook so violently, I lost my balance.
Stone scraped across my hands as I fell, cutting them open. Shallow cuts that bled all the same. I lay flat as the shaking continued, grasping for something stable to hold onto.
Was this punishment? Were the spirits angry I’d reached this forsaken place?
At last it stopped.
I lay still, holding my breath, waiting, grateful I’d worn my armor so that I wasn’t too bruised.
Something soft and wet nudged my fingers. The little horned dog licked my hand, then panted, tongue lolling out. He wagged his tail and then trotted away.
I lifted my head, and the sight stripped me of words.
Reverence came over me as I pushed first to my knees, then to my feet. This was the gate to their land, and somehow the spirits had chosen me to see the ruins in all their beauty. The stone wall had slid back, opening into a square.
I stood on a slab of alabaster shot through with a glittering hue.
More stairs led down into a valley, a path full of statues, archways, and crumbled towers.
More giant hands stuck out of the rust-red ground, but my attention was drawn to a statue chained to an archway.
Green vines curled around it, and in the distance, the tip of a mountain caught fire.
I wanted to study it all—to look at everything, capture it, write it down, understand the mystery of the giants and what had happened to them. What caused the Great Sundering? Were they as wicked and greedy as the tales claimed?
But first, before I documented everything, I’d see about the statue.
Something about it compelled me.
I climbed down the steep stairs, walking among the fallen stones. Beyond the hands lay round stones, some spiked like crowns, others like weapons. Yet the music haunted me, pulling me forward to find its source, and somewhere in the distance, a persistent thunder rumbled.
The chained statue was carved in the shape of a man with long hair and bulky muscles straining against bonds.
Except the chains were real. Cracks covered the stone, as though it were a shell about to crumble.
It would be a shame for such a work of art to be destroyed.
I wondered who had carved the giant and why they’d fixed real chains to an archway.
A sharp bark drew my attention. The horned dog had wandered off and was digging furiously near a fallen pillar, tail wagging. I hesitated, torn between the statue and what had captured his interest.
He yanked at something, then sat back on his haunches, looking up at me expectantly.
Something white flashed among the ashes.
I dusted away the debris, my fingers closing around a hard, circular object. As the ash fell away, it revealed a scroll, protected by some kind of rigid yet bendable material I didn’t recognize. Ancient. Preserved.
I turned it over and opened it, catching my breath as words embossed in gold filigree appeared. Written in a language I understood.
I’d studied elder tongues when I made my bid to become part of the House of Scholars. It took a moment, but slowly I recognized the words. An instructional guide. Some sort of spell.
The words seared into my mind, and a strange compulsion made me open my mouth.
I read aloud, words of a spell or a song. Words of freedom. Release. As I spoke, something foreign came over me, welling up, layering over my voice. A command gushed forth. I stood straighter, facing the arch where the chained giant waited, my lips moving, reading almost without comprehending.
For one dizzying moment, the words appeared like fire on the scroll, and a vision flashed before me—chariots racing, horses with flaming riders, and the roar of a terrible crowd, their skin burned black, fused to their skulls.
The last words rolled off my tongue.
Wind whipped up, tearing at my hair, unfurling my cloak. Heat surrounded me, tugging me closer, swelling, heightening. A deep, booming roar came from behind me.
Rocks exploded.