Chapter 44 #3
The reflective surface rippled like liquid silver as they neared and faint, indiscernible whispers drifted through the chamber. Rune hissed. The shadows recoiled slightly, like animals scenting a predator.
“What is that?” Alora asked.
He stared at the mirror like it might lunge forward and bite him.
“Rune?”
“It’s a Scryglass,” he answered tightly. “Wrought from the In-Between, a plane between the Realms. All who look upon its surface receive visions, divinations, or speak with those who lurk in the Abyss.”
Alora stiffened, her throat tightening.
The skulls almost appeared to be watching them, waiting. Even the floor hummed with an undercurrent of energy, each step echoing with something like a heartbeat sagging under stone.
And worst of all, the platform itself was surrounded by spider lilies, growing from the barren earth, as if they had forced their way through.
Alora swallowed and whispered. “This is where she bargained.”
Rune’s reply was cold, absolute. “No. This is where she paid.”
Her heart shook as she imagined her mother coming to this place. It was clear Khar Avalen was evil. What desperation drove Salvia to bargain away her life merely to have a child?
To have her.
The shadows drifted among their feet as Rune paused to stare at the glyphs on the altar. Then he read them aloud in Hellspeech, his tone dropping with the unnerving guttural words that echoed around them.
KHAVA’RUN VEK’TAL ARESH.
VORA’TESH I’NARK.
SEVAK TOR SHA’RA.
“What does it mean?” she whispered.
Flames churned in Rune’s eyes as he looked at her. “Behold the mirror for your soul’s desire. Call to the abyss and heed who answers. What is granted, blood shall claim.”
Goosebumps formed on her arms.
Perhaps they should not have come here, but there was no going back now.
After a breath, Alora slowly climbed the steps, Nexus and Rune following closely. What was her desire?
She wanted to learn the truth. Who she was and the curse’s origin. But how would she call the Abyss?
Her gaze took in the Scry Mirror and the ancient glyphs at her feet. Something about the symbols was familiar, like the rhythm of a song.
Without thinking, her lips parted and a soft hum rose from her throat, melodic and haunting. A lullaby wrapped in warning.
Tread not where the sacred bled,
Where silence weeps and skies burn red.
Beneath the stone where light won’t tread,
The Devourer sleeps among the dead.
Rune’s eyes snapped toward her. “Where did you hear that?”
She blinked, startled by his sharp tone. “It’s a rhyme I saw in a book once. It was the original version of your song I believe.” She pointed at the glyphs. “I think… it must have originated here.”
He stared at her. “Perhaps it’s best not to continue…”
But the rest of the words were already rising again, unbidden. As if she could finally read the glyphs herself.
Speak your grief into the dark,
Lest darkness stir and echo hark.
He waits with teeth and hollow flame,
A thousand souls, a thousand names.
He gives no mercy, grants no peace
What’s once awakened shall never cease.
Blood shall bloom and time shall break
And gods shall fall in his wake.
But mark this heed, and hold your breath
For what you wake may hunger death.
The sky shall burn and storm shall rend
The cry you give may call your end.
A tremor rumbled beneath their feet.
A tempest rushed through the chamber like a creature exhaling a breath.
Rune grabbed her arm, the color draining from his face as the mirror rippled.
“Stop,” he said sharply, shadows recoiled again as he started to pull her back. “Or you will summon something far worse than I.”
She stumbled into him. “With a song?”
“Did you not summon me with a song? Music is a powerful thing. It can lift your spirit into a higher dimension or drag you into the Abyss.”
Coldness washed over her as she was hit with sudden clarity. This was exactly how she had called Rune to make a bargain.
Through a song and a mirror.
But she halted to a stop and removed his hold on her wrist. “I must know what bargain she made, Rune. The kingdom depends on it.” She took a breath. “And so do I.”
His expression creased but he no longer stopped her as she walked toward the mirror, her gaze falling to the pedestal holding up the frame.
Oddly, it reminded her of a spinning wheel.
Embedded in its stone on the left end was a cylindrical red crystal, severed cleanly at the base.
It hadn’t been placed there. It had grown there, fused to the rock itself, as if the chamber had birthed it.
And it was the same color as her spindle.
With shaking hands, Alora reached into her satchel and drew out the spindle. She removed the wooden handle, revealing the broken end of the crystal.
Her heart raced. Slowly, she pressed both pieces together.
It was a perfect fit.
A faint pulse of light traveled through the mirror, spreading to the glyphs at her feet. Cold air rushed inward, as if the chamber itself drew a breath.
Chills crawled down Alora’s spine.
Then the last two lines of the song fell from her lips. “So hush your voice and turn from stone. Or he will rise... and not alone…”
A sharp breeze blew. The lilies pulsed brighter. And something beneath the platform shifted, stone grinding on bone.
And Alora knew, whatever being this chamber served, she’d woken him.
But before she could run, the darkness swallowed her.