7. Ilaris
Ilaris
My ribs ached as I followed Killian back into the ruins, but I ignored the discomfort because he’d agreed to give me what I wanted. The searing, white-hot agony that encompassed my body when I attempted to leave still lingered in my mind, leaving me raw. Weak.
Armor couldn’t protect me from a blood oath, or was it a curse? Why, oh why hadn’t I paused before reading the scroll?
It now rested in my bag, and the horned dog trotted beside me. I appreciated having a protective companion, even if he could do nothing more than bark and bite.
When we reached the first set of stairs, I stopped. “It was here.”
Killian’s steps slowed. “Explain.”
I pointed. “This was a slab of rock with no access down below, where I found you. But the ground shook and I fell, scraping my fingers against the stone. It was only a few drops of blood, no more than that. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but then this opening appeared.”
“As if it recognized you,” he finished. “Even one drop of blood would have been enough. Your actions set this into motion.”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I whispered.
He didn’t reply, just kept walking. His stride was sure, more confident now as though he were getting used to movement again.
A low dread hummed in the pit of my belly, especially when we passed the archway where I’d freed him.
The chains still hung, swaying in the wind, while in the distance black smoke rolled out of the volcano.
He pivoted away from the archway, heading toward the volcano while I tried to make sense of what was happening. Killian. Prince of the Giants. Royalty. The question tumbled free. “Why were you chained?”
“I was a prisoner awaiting execution.”
The way he spoke, matter-of-factly, bothered me, as though he had no emotion to add to his predicament. Awaiting death was cruel. What had that knowledge done to him? Was he relieved to be alive?
“But you were their prince. Why?”
He slowed his steady pace, falling in step with me. “You are the scholar. You claim you came for truth, but if you only hear my side of the story, that’s not truth. It’s perspective. I can tell you why I was imprisoned, but it skews your perspective.”
“Anything you give me will be much more than I would be able to discover on my own. This is your story. You lived it.”
“Is it my story you want to tell? If so, that is different.”
I huffed out a breath. “What do you propose?”
“I know what I have to do, that fact is undeniable. The story you want to tell is up to you, but you have to choose: do you want truth or do you want a perspective? What will meet the expectations of the House of Scholars?”
He was quick, well-spoken, and it was a relief not to have his ire pointed in my direction.
“The House of Scholars would like to be historically accurate,” I confirmed. “But who is the judge of accuracy? It would be you. And of course, I’m curious about your story. What your life was like before?”
“And I am curious about you. Why are you here? Alone?”
“You assume I am alone, but if I disappear, people will come looking for me.” I wanted the lie to make him pause, to alter his motivation and persuade him to release me from the blood oath.
His golden gaze flickered toward me, a look that confirmed he’d caught my bluff and didn’t believe me for a moment. “Liar.”
My cheeks heated, and I was glad my brown skin hid the flush forming across my neck and shoulders. But from the way his mouth curved—barely, just the ghost of something that might have been a smile—I suspected he knew anyway. His intense gaze felt more dangerous than any blood oath.
The armor was uncomfortable, and we walked downhill, slowly descending while the air grew warmer. Drier. Still, his words stung, causing a slow confession to rise, unbidden. I wanted him to think well of me.
“I’m not officially a scholar yet,” I explained.
“But I am an apprentice. I was sent here because I embarrassed a wealthy family by exposing the truth about their dealings. The House of Scholars wanted to hide the scandal, so they sent me here. To study runes and rocks. When I return, they will reinstate me and, hopefully, promote me to scholar.”
The words came easier than they should have. I’d never talked to anyone about the exile, and the shame of being sent away was too embarrassing to speak out loud. But he didn’t know the customs; it meant nothing to him.
“And this is important to you? Becoming a scholar?”
Words bubbled up, a longing I didn’t know how to express. “Yes.”
He made a sound in his throat, and then we were at an opening. It was a hollow darkness, an arid breath emanating from it. The horned dog stood at the edge, sniffing.
“What do you smell, Jasper?” Killian asked, his rich voice low.
“Jasper?”
Killian pointed at the horned dog. “That’s his name.”
I gaped in astonishment. “How do you know that?”
“He seems to like you,” Killian said, not answering the question.
“I’ve never seen a creature like him, with horns. What do you call him?”
“He’s a hellhound. A young one, but he doesn’t have his wings yet. He’ll grow to be ten or twelve feet tall.”
My eyes went wide. “That’s huge.”
“We used to ride them. It’s too bad he’s so young. Our journey would be much faster.”
I watched him for a moment, surprised at his manner. The way he spoke felt comfortable, familiar. It took me a moment to recognize it. “You use the same measurement system. Inches, feet, miles.”
“We came up with the measurement system. It’s only natural that you still use it.”
Ah, but so much time had passed. How did he know what was natural?
I pointed to the darkness. “What’s down there?”
“Truth,” he replied, and started to descend.
Runes flickered to life, glowing as he passed them, as though they recognized his nobility. I studied them as I passed, wishing I had time to record everything. Later I’d write in my journal all that had happened today, for now, I stored it up in my memory.
The halls were wide, stone statues guarding them, the ceiling an arched vault disappearing into shadows. There was a presence about it, quiet and heavy, that stole my breath away and any words I might have spoken.
Jasper trotted ahead, leading the way as though he knew where he was going.
The runes flickered, lighting our path, but when I glanced behind, there was nothing but darkness as they winked out.
It was unnerving, like descending into the depths of the earth.
I caught glimpses of open rooms, treasure chests, carved statues, and it made me wonder about their civilization, what treasures they hoarded.
Were the gifts of the gods here? The Rod.
The Heart. The Stone. Were endless power and magic just a step away?
Just out of reach of my grasping fingers?
We descended for what felt like an eternity, down long halls, twisting through tunnels, walking down staircases. My legs were shaking, and the words burned on the tip of my tongue. How much longer?
It was warm, the armor too hot, my breath too shallow.
And then I heard it.
A muted thud, as though something far away were banging, chipping away at stone. My pulse kicked up, and that sensation of dread uncoiled, growing. “What is that?” I whispered.
I wanted to reach out, to touch him, to hide behind his power for safety. I reminded myself that he controlled fire. If anything came at us, he would stop them.
Wouldn’t he?
“This is what I want you to see, so that you understand. They are coming.”
The staircase ended abruptly, opening into a wide hall. Columns rose, holding up what I assumed was an arched ceiling, but it soared high above us, lost to shadows. The lights flickered, displaying carvings across the walls. Masterpieces of artistry and craft.
Giants strode across the stone in frozen procession, each figure twice the height of a man, their faces stern and terrible.
They carried weapons that gleamed: axes, spears, swords that could cleave mountains and pierce the skies.
There was something else at the head of each procession.
A giant with a clear element. Fire. Stone.
Ice. Wind. Water. An inkling of understanding poked at my mind.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed. “This passage, it’s a chronicle of your people?”
“It is the essence of us,” he said. “My people. We had everything. Knowledge. Power. The treasures of the earth. It was all ours.”
I remembered the story of the door Harlan had shared with me. “Then what happened?”
“This.”
His voice drifted away, lost as he came to a stop.
I followed his movement, and in the vastness of the space, I finally discerned what flickered at the end.
A distant gloom, hundreds, no, thousands of runes covering every surface.
They emitted a low glow, pulsing in rhythm with a dread so potent I could feel it deep in my bones.
The proud accounts on the walls, the writing that covered every surface shifted and changed.
The procession no longer depicted giants in victory, dominating the world.
Terrible things fought them, beat them down.
My lips trembled. I could not explain what I was seeing, but I understood it.
The giants were brought low by something powerful.
I didn’t want to move forward anymore, didn’t want to see what lay at the end of the hall, through that tunnel. But Killian kept walking, leaving me no choice but to follow him or get lost in the darkness. Even Jasper seemed to have disappeared.
My entire body trembled as I joined him and looked up. A door rose from the stone like a tree, massive and growing. It was obsidian black, covered in runes that flickered. Ancient script spiraling across it in an outward pattern.