Spellscribed: Provenance

by Kristopher Cruz

  The water rippled in the darkness, and near the center of the reservoir a small ripple began to swell larger. The disturbance of the water swirled, and began to spiral up into the air, forming a waterspout. It was at first thin, but increased in width and speed as more of the reservoir’s mass was drawn up into its power.

  The waterspout carried up higher and higher, until it seemed to reach the limit of its growth. From there, the water that continued to pour up the spout started spilling out from the top, spreading across the air above the waterspout. As the water floating above filled out, the water of the reservoir emptied. The water swirled up, and it took only a few minutes until the only water that remained were from small puddles from the uneven surface of the reservoir floor.

  The bottom of the waterspout, having run out of water to absorb sucked itself up into the airborne pool of water. From the shore of the reservoir, The little amounts of light the night sky cast was reflecting off a perfect sphere of hundreds of thousands of gallons of water hovering a few dozen yards in the air. In his mind, he heard Gullin ruffle his feathers as the bird looked up at the sphere of water in the sky.

  Perfectly cast. Gullin observed. I will remain above ground and monitor the spell’s duration. Nonetheless, I would advise more haste than caution.

  Endrance tilted his head to Joven. “Go.” At the command Joven nodded and tromped into the reservoir basin, his boots sinking several inches in the sediment on the bottom before he stepped out unhindered with a loud Shhluuck shluuck noise. The barbarian made his way carefully across the surface to the stone cap that lay in the center.

  He examined the circular stone that marked Rothel's tomb. The markings and the seal of Rothel glittered faintly despite the lack of ambient light. Joven grabbed a torch he had strung on his belt and with quick practiced strokes of flint and steel, lit it. The light from the torch seemed a beacon in the dark night. The light illuminated the backs of the four outside the reservoir, as they had spread out to look for anything approaching.

  They had chosen to come at night for several reasons. Endrance's reasoning was that they could get in, find the book, and get out. Then return the reservoir to normal while all the farmers who relied on this water source were asleep. That way they wouldn't be aware that he had been using magic on their reservoir. The last thing he wanted to deal with was complaints of ‘cursed’ water. The Draugnoa insisted that the tomb should remain secret, and they should do as much as possible to prevent others from finding the location of the tomb. Joven's reason was simple: The enemy uses the darkness to gain the advantage, why shouldn't he?

  The torchlight illuminated a stone cap nearly a man and a half across, with three rings of ancient text encircling the seal of Rothel. Several black iron bolts rimmed the seal. They bore no rust from the centuries of immersion in water, and it was likely they had been treated by some method. The muck around the base of the seal had mostly been washed away from the water spout, and Joven now stood on somewhat grimy stone, the same quality as that which composed the outer walls of Balator. Joven noted each block of stone he could see had some kind of symbol carved in the center, though it was unreadable, being of the shifting language that Endrance's spellbooks bore.

  He set the torch on the seal, and stripped off his gauntlets. With bare hands he felt along the damp surface of the seal. Surprisingly the stone had not accumulated even the smallest amount of moss or algae during its multi-century existence. He eventually found the inconsistencies that Endrance had instructed him about. The center seal of Rothel had several square grooves in its surface, each half a hand span square. The seal was five squares by five squares, making a grid of 25 evenly cut squares in the seal. Joven closed his eyes, thinking hard. Endrance had told him the sequence of buttons to push, but it had been very complicated, and he had to concentrate very hard to remember the first six steps.

  Joven carefully pushed the stone tiles in a seemingly random order, at first confident but swiftly becoming hesitant as he found his memory trailing off no matter how hard he thought about it. He struggled through it, but came up short on the last button. He glanced back to see if Endrance was watching. The mage wasn't. He furrowed his brow, trying his hardest to remember. The wizard had been reluctant to grant the task to him, insisting that one of the Keepers would be better suited to trigger the opening, but Joven had asserted that he would be the one best able to handle anything that might come out of the tomb immediately upon opening.

  Still drawing a blank, Joven growled in frustration, raising his fists as his irritation grew into anger. He slammed his arms down in a two fisted hammer strike, his muscles rippling in the torchlight. The stone seal hardly shuddered from the impact, and the torch barely rolled a finger width in response. He grunted, raising his arms and shaking out his hands. He would have to figure out the last button.

  One square that had been struck under his fists as he let out his frustration clicked and depressed. The whole seal shuddered much more than when he had struck it and Joven quickly snatched up and put his gauntlets back on. Grabbing up the torch, he looked back out to the rim of the reservoir and whistled sharply. The four keeping watch gathered together as Joven turned to look back at the seal.

  The outer rim's black iron rods started extending out, one at a time. They rose to just over a man's height and stopped. Joven could see now they were octagonal rods, and along their surface many ancient symbols had been carved upon them. He watched all of them rising and muttered, “What do they say?”

  “They are tales of his deeds.” Endrance replied, his voice right next to him. Joven jumped and whirled around. Somehow all four of them had already made it to the stone around the seal. Endrance continued saying, “There is one rod for each year of his reign, and each rod is inscribed with the summary of his deeds for that year.”

  Joven looked over the fifty-four rods total as the last one rose into place. He grunted in appreciation. “He led a full life.” he concluded as the stone circle in the center, as well as the iron rods extending from it, slid aside noisily. The capstone grated aside, and rancid air whooshed out of the egress, causing everyone to hold their breath as fresh air rushed in. Years of bad air and pressure from above had made the air inside sickening, and the group had to wait several minutes before they felt it was safe enough to descend the water slick steps inside.

  Endrance glanced at everyone. “Alright, we go in, get the book, and get out as fast as possible. The spell I cast uses power at a faster rate the more volume it is holding. If the spell collapses before we get out, the water will flood the tomb and drown us.” He drew an affirmative nod from each person present. As if reminding them, the sphere of water above made a slight gurgling sound.

  Joven stared at the water orb, and frowned. “That really bothers me.” He stated. Bridget nodded silently, agreeing.

  With Joven leading and the three Draugnoa following behind Endrance, the group cautiously went down the steps into the entry way of the tomb. Joven's torch illuminated only a short distance from his position making the dark seem a hungry beast, its jaws just waiting for the light to diminish so it could devour its prey. The floor under their feet glistened with a faint sheen of stagnant water.

  “So...” the barbarian began. “What do we have to be careful of?” he asked, a short sword in his right hand and the torch in the left. A big ax or great sword like he preferred to use was far too unwieldy in tight stone quarters so he took weapons that would be dangerously effective in such an environment. Short swords, daggers, hand axes, cudgel, and a pick were strapped to his hardened leather armor. He even slipped the dangerously lethal punching spikes on, granting him weaponry even if he were to lose the rest of his weapons. He was prepared for almost any kind of indoors engagement.

  Each of Endrance’s Draugnoa bore their weapons as well, in order to support Joven in combat. Anna, by far the best trained of the three, wielded a short hafted spear, and a round shield on her off hand. Bridget carried a single curved blade in her hands, the
blade was too wide to be a scimitar, and it had no point much like a cleaver and it was more than sharp enough to slice through a man's arm as easily as a stalk of wheat. Selene carried perhaps the most fearful of their weapons. It was a curved dagger, designed for reaping necks and not grain. The weapon was attached to a slender long chain, nearly twenty feet in length. The chain was coiled in her left hand, and from what Endrance had seen of their practice sessions with their weapons Selene definitely knew how to strike with the bladed head anywhere within the chain's reach.

  Each of them wore their armor and their cloaks. Endrance wore his heavy silk robes, a cloak, and his soft leather boots. He had the chain shirt on, as well as a small silver dagger on his belt and the pair of antler-handled daggers Joven had crafted for him. He also had a cheap pair of cloth gloves on, a pair easily replaced. He was the lightest armed of the five of them, unless they considered his spells or the lightning upon his fingers.

  Joven tromped down the stairs cautiously, moving the torch about and peering into funeral alcoves along the way as they descended. Coffins filled these spaces, all closed firmly and covered with fungus. Their ornate casings of detailed and molded black iron lent to the rumors that king Rothel's most faithful soldiers, upon their liege's death had buried themselves alive in his tomb to become the king's vanguard in the next life.

  They came across a spiraling stair, heading further down. Every two flights Joven found a sparsely placed torch bracket with rotted splinters of wood left within it. Taking a moment to bracket the torch he brought in, he dug into his pack, producing a dozen more small torches. Shouldering his pack again, he lit the new torch and moved on down. At each bracket he replaced the crumbling torch from the bracket with the lit one he carried, lit a new one, and moved further down.

  Several hundred steps down they emerged from the stairs to a long walkway where the dark was so oppressive and deep that Joven's torch could not pierce the darkness more than a few feet across. If there were walls, they were pitch black and did not reflect any torchlight. The group carefully advanced into the hall, and after a while Endrance felt a difference in the pressure of the air.

  “Joven,” he stated, and the barbarian stopped. “Hand me a torch, please.” he asked, holding his hand out while peering out into the darkness.

  Joven grumbled, but shuffled his short sword, current torch, and new one until he was able to safely light the second torch without setting his chin on fire. He placed the handle in the mage's hand, and Endrance swept the torch into the darkness. The torch passed though, visibly burning and shedding off light, but the light fell on nothing.

  Endrance looked down at the floor. The light still cut off at exactly the same place as the torch Joven held. He dropped to a knee, and felt along the floor out over the black line. There was no floor beyond it. He ran his hand along the edge, and was able to determine they were standing on a stone walkway over nothing. He rocked back slowly, standing after finding his balance again. “Let's stay on the path we can see.” he stated, shaking his head. “There’s a long drop with an indeterminate stop if you walk out of the light.”

  Joven and the Keepers nodded, ushering Endrance back into the center of the path and following the bridge across the void. The expanse seemed to be endless on all sides, even though the young mage knew that they had only descended a few hundred feet under the earth. Their progress was slower than he had wished; they had to carefully advance across the bridge for fear of falling off.

  After nearly five hundred feet the bridge fed into a wall, with a door of unbelievable proportions. Made entirely of Balator's black iron, the portal was over forty feet tall and fifteen wide. Across the surface of the door as if they had pushed their way out of the surface of the metal while it was still hot but remained forever coated in black iron, was dozens of twisted and contorted skeletons. Their postures were bent, their hands clawed, and mouths agape, lending the impression that they were in great torment when crafted. A chill ran down Endrance's spine as he looked up at the barrier.

  The shifting light of the torches made every jumping shadow, every flicker of bright in the dark seem like movement across the door. Made it seem like perhaps, the people whose skeletons were trapped across its surface were still somehow alive, and twitched and twisted in pain whenever someone wasn't looking. The chill spread to the others, who also held their torches up to see the door. The three Keepers gathered closer to their husband, wary.

  “This is definitely not what I was expecting down here.” Endrance said. “I thought your people refused to use magic.”

  “We don't like it, generally.” Joven grunted, the only one apparently not bothered by the door’s decorations. Prodding one of the closer skeletal arms with his short sword, he was searching while the mage continued to stare up at the door. The metal on metal clink was satisfying enough for him, and he continued to search around the door. “There should be a way to open this, right?”

  “So, I may ask” Endrance stated, “Why in the world does your legendary, heroic, barbarian king have a door that says ‘I’m evil’ so badly that I feel like running and crying in a corner?”

  Joven shrugged. “Maybe he liked the style?”

  “Likes.” Endrance corrected. “It's becoming increasingly possible the correct term is 'likes'.”

  The barbarian turned to him and frowned, still poking the door with his left hand as he spoke. “What do you mean 'likes'? The guy's been dead for over a thousand years!” he knocked on the iron with his knuckle. “No way Rothel is still alive, everyone would know, right?”

  Endrance sighed, his shoulders slumping. “There are ways you can be dead but still ‘be’ around, Joven.” he held up a hand, closed except his forefinger which he held up. “First, there are incorporeal undead like ghosts, wraiths, et cetera,” he held up another finger. “Then there are corporeal undead like zombies, vampires, ghouls, litchdom, revenants...” he trailed off, seeing that Joven understood his point.

  “Okay, okay,” Joven acquiesced. “I get it!” he folded his arms across his chest, twisting the sword around in his right hand and tapping the flat against his side as he spoke.

  A close examination of the door proved fruitless, as the five of them spent several minutes running their hands and their scrutiny across its surface. The Draugnoa could offer no suggestions from lore, and Joven's favored option of just bashing it in seemed too impractical. Endrance knew no spells that could open the door, and even if he knew how to teleport like his master could, it wouldn't work if he could not see the end destination.

  “Look for those secret switches in the door.” he requested, looking along the door's frame. His gaze followed up one side of the portal. He did not have nearly the light to see anywhere more than a dozen feet above him, and he realized at that point the trigger may be as far up as the top.

  He examined the face of the door again, this time trying to see any pattern to the way the sea of bodies rising from the surface was arranged. He began to pick out an odd pattern in the positions of the skeleton's hands. Despite being contorted and in poses best left to those who are dying an agonizing death, their limbs were arranged, or propped in such a way as to make a somewhat zig-zag path up the face. Quite literally 'hand' holds, they would allow someone to scale the face of the door with little difficulty.

  Endrance turned to his Draugnoa. “Well, I think I figured it out.” he stated flatly. “But I'm sure one of us is not going to like it.”

  They turned to look at him as he looked back at the wall and pointed at the lowest skeleton. “See how these skeletons are all bent in strange angles?” he asked, waggling a finger at the first one. The flickering light of the torches made it seem as if the skeleton's jaw was waggling back at him. “They are arranged in a back and forth pattern. By using their outstretched hands, you can climb up the face of the door, up to where the switch that opens the door is.”

  Joven nodded, sheathing his short sword. “All right.” he said. “I'll go up.”

 
Endrance held out a hand, stopping him. “Wait, Joven.” he interjected. “You're both too big and too heavy. I think it would be safer if one of the more nimble people here took on this challenge.”

  Selene stepped forwards. “I'll go!” she volunteered, smiling at Endrance. He felt a slight warming of his cheeks as she beamed at him. “I'm light, and I can climb pretty quickly.” Endrance nodded, and she clipped away her blade at her hip and tucked the chain into the folds of the sash around her waist. She walked right up to the door and looked up at the first skeleton.

  Selene put up a brave face. She was frightened of the ominous metal portal and its deathly guardians, but she had promised herself she would be brave for the man she loved. The other women had noticed Endrance's tentatively building affection for her. Selene was certain that Endrance wouldn’t want her to be afraid. Practicing with one's weapons in a training yard and with familiar opponents was one thing, but this was real, and she was terrified. Trying desperately not to give away her emotions, she reached up and grasped the hand of the closest skeleton to the ground.

  The hand did not move, as she half expected it to. It was however strangely warm. As if the black iron never truly fully cooled. It wasn't hot, so she continued pulling herself up. Soon she was clambering up the second, and then the third. Hey, she thought, this isn't all that bad. It’s kind of like climbing a tree.

  She had made it up a quarter of the way when it became too dark to continue on. Looking down, she called out to her companions. “It's too dark from here on! Bring up some light!”

  Joven went to toss the torch he held in his hand, and thought a second time about it. “Hey!' he called out. “How are you at catching flaming sticks?”

  Selene shook her head. “Not that great.” she replied. She was perched with one foot in the upheld arm of one skeleton, and the other in a hand twisted down below a higher up skeleton's body.