by Kim Wedlock
He pointed down at the pictographs he'd been studying, and her gaze dropped to follow. They were difficult to make out, but she soon began to notice people etched among them, then animals and plants, all arranged in lines like words on a page. She followed them towards the centre of the floor where they all collided, and there, set in an even lighter stone, was a depiction of a face - it was certainly a face, though it was made up from carven leaves. Curiously, though the incursion of the forest extended far, it didn't grow across this central image, as though even the Wildlands recognised and respected this face of the goddess.
"These pictures tell me what happened here, events of note, why this site was built upon..."
"Which was?"
He looked up at Petra, surprised by her interest, though she wandered over with disregard - feigned, of course.
He rose and moved to the centre, following the lines until he found the one he sought, and tracked slowly along its length. "'The roots that burrow beneath our feet reach to the depths of the world, where Feira's heart beats, connected to her by wooden veins, all trees, all plants, all bushes; her essence feeds all creature from insects and fungi to the beasts that feed upon them. Sylvan glades, hidden among tangles of Feira's tresses, offer protection for those pure and in need, whatever form they may take'." He looked across at the two. "Though in elven it would have rhymed."
Aria smiled. "I like it. What does it mean?"
"That this Feira protected animals," Petra guessed. "And she is also Vastal?"
"Yes. And it actually says she protects anything and anyone that seeks refuge in the forests," Anthis added. "Provided they mean it no harm." He cast his eyes over the surrounding woodland. "This is probably one such glade."
"And that's why it was built here?"
He nodded. "Which would also explain why the Wildlands are exactly that. This structure is elaborate, even for post-magic elves, and there are probably a few other pavilions hidden in here, too." He moved towards the edge and peered down at Rathen, who wandered around below with distant eyes, though he managed to avoid tripping over any roots even without such attention. "I wonder if there's anything different here..."
Rathen's eyes were still glazed in thought as he cast a glance to the golden light that brushed the stone, then up towards the deep grey, dappled sky. He sighed to himself a moment later as he stopped seeing once more. That was another theory nipped in the bud. He'd thought perhaps that the peace and affected weather were at odds with one another, that they couldn't both exist in one place, but the warm glow that dappled the ruins was not, in fact, natural. He should have realised sooner - for a start, it was light akin to evening despite not even being midday, and secondly, the sun barely had presence enough to cast such a strong glow even had the timing be right. But it had been too inconspicuous, too quiet, too calm for him or anyone else to notice.
He folded his arms, his face relaxing, so distant was his thought.
He could find nothing but puddles of magic, the usual beauty and peace, and, as it turned out, artificial sunlight. There was nothing else, nothing they hadn't already encountered, not even a spell fragment. And he was looking very closely.
He found his fingertips drumming the metal band clasped around his arm, and a frown pulled at his brow.
The last time he'd extended the reach of his magic, it had burned, and he still had no explanation for it. If it had been his magic that had grown hot in his veins, why had nothing else against his skin reacted in such a way? Was it simply because no other metal was in direct contact with him?
Though...it was true that he hadn't touched on his magic so deeply in years. He'd already been riddled by exhaustion from over-use once - though that 'over-use' would have been a typical Wednesday to any other mage.
His frown deepened in self-reproach. Had he really become so weak in his isolation?
A tinkling giggle caught his attention, drawing him out from his thoughts. He followed it up towards the top of the enchanting pavilion and found Aria climbing up a pillar, using the vines as footholds while Anthis waited below, watching her sharply with an expression torn between amusement and panic.
Rathen smiled and looked away. She'd be fine. And though Anthis was both a fool and really quite irresponsible, he found a strange trust in him, especially where Aria was involved. And anyway, he had other matters to think on.
Garon lingered impatiently near the treeline, trying to ignore the hairs that stood up on the back of his neck. The sensation was unfounded, this he knew, even in the Wildlands, and it certainly stemmed from the magic's haunting beauty. It unsettled him here just as much as it had everywhere else, and how Anthis could lose himself in the ruins as easily as he did, or the child play so carelessly, he just couldn't fathom. Perhaps it was youth.
He grunted to himself in what he assumed was indifference.
Petra caught his eye as she wandered over the crumbled stones of a ruined portion of the platform, and she stopped to scrutinise something within the knotted vines. She didn't seem as relaxed as the others. There was a rigidity to her form, tense, as though she was as expectant of trouble as he was, though she was likely just as unsure of what.
She rose a moment later, her eyes still glued to the ground, and called Anthis over to look at whatever it was that had captured her attention. He caught a few words - she asked what it was, and Anthis replied that it was some kind of story; Garon was disinterested as to what. Petra said something about it which he didn't catch, and Anthis smiled at her and nodded.
Garon felt a spark of something in his gut.
He turned his eyes away from them, and it vanished as his attention shifted.
Rathen stepped into view from the far side of the clearing, lost in thought, and Garon couldn't miss his troubled creases. But he couldn't rightly tell if he was simply touched by the same unease that he and Petra were. Being a mage, he probably interpreted it differently, inherently understood the nature of the magic and knew where there was a threat.
He wondered what he was thinking, but trusted if there was anything to share, he would.
With a sigh, he turned his back to the group. All he could do was keep watch and give him time. He didn't wish to linger anywhere, especially in this place, but it was along their path and, he hoped, it could only do good. And while he greatly preferred to find the artefact, this at least gave him some sense of progress - or at least reduced the feeling of standing still.
Rathen wandered around the ruin for some time, and Anthis wasn't about to complain. He seized the opportunity to study this new site with gusto; it was entirely unknown to him, surely seen only by dead historians, so he was making the most of it before he was inevitably called away, which was sure to be right in the middle of the most exciting discovery. But despite his zeal, he hadn't forgotten where he was, and a small part of him actually wanted Garon to give the order to leave.
But all of that hinged on Rathen, and he seemed to be taking more time than usual. He wondered what that could mean, though his mind didn't dally on the thought for long. He was absorbed in sketching out stories and pictographs.
He'd found, as he'd suspected, that it was a secluded site by intention, highly revered - a fact which only sent the butterflies in his stomach into somersaults - and had been used for the most part for small but intense ceremonies to the goddess: consumption of poisonous or hallucinogenic plants, either to prove their worth to Vastal or raise their minds to another plane to speak with her - he couldn't honestly decipher which - and pledges of their life and efforts to the protection of the wild. Though, just what that meant, he couldn't decide upon either. 'Become one with the wilds' could mean anything where religion and elven contexts were involved.
His eyes drifted towards the sky in his pondering, and he set the time at just past noon. His blonde eyebrows rose. Had they really been there for two hours?
He quickly looked about himself, wondering for a moment if the others hadn't actually set off and left him behind. But no. There w
as Garon, pacing slowly around the perimeter, staring into the forest, and he spotted Petra on the other side of the clearing doing much the same. Rathen was sat upon a stone bench nearby, the only one of five that circled the pavilion which was still recognisable, and the unfriendly expression upon his face which Anthis had come to realise was one of caution and thought only deepened in his engrossment.
It seemed he still had time.
He assessed again the ruin which had now become quite familiar to him, and folded his arms in consideration. Such hallowed sites weren't usually so bare. It was true that things of value to the present world were used in ancient ceremonies, but they weren't so dearly coveted back then that they needed to be under constant guard, and so countless sacred relics had been uncovered from unassuming sites - scrolls, ceremonial artefacts, even ancient tea leaves. He wondered if there wasn't perhaps a small, concealed storage chamber here, too. If there was, it would surely be untouched - unless of course those that had come before him had cleaned it out before getting themselves killed...but the place seemed intact aside from the obvious rigours of age and the relentless force of nature...
His veins buzzed at the thought.
He turned frantically away from the etchings, his fascination of their stories and teachings forgotten, and hurried towards the broken steps that ran down the back of the structure, skipping over the mess of foliage in barely contained excitement.
The pale stone of the foundation's walls could only be peeked at between the overgrowth, so he forced his pace to slow as he made his way around it, peering carefully between the vines and roots for tell-tale cracks and crevices, where he pushed and pressed any loose-looking stones. None gave way, but he continued along, unconcerned, confident that he would find something. He might miss it the first time around, but so grand a monument simply couldn't be without a single one-foot cubby hole.
He'd not gotten far when rustling close by froze his feet, and he spun around to stare into the forest. The trees were still thin, leaving his sight unhindered, but he could see nothing out of place at all. It was true he hadn't been paying very much attention, but he was absolutely sure none of the trees had moved.
The sound came again, followed by the crumbling of small rocks, and he realised that it had come from behind him, within the ruin itself.
His heartbeat jumped before its pace began to hammer, and he looked towards a particularly thick knot of green and brown a short ways along his path. He could see that the stone had given way behind it; while the platform was whole directly above, something had undermined the foundation. It could have been what he'd been looking for, or it could have been weathering - or it could have been hollowed out by something in search of a home.
He swallowed hard. He knew he should call for the others, but he didn't, and stepped tentatively, foolishly towards it instead.
Again came the falling of dust from broken stone and the snap of dried roots, but as he stopped just a single step away from the knot, a small voice uttered a childish curse.
He frowned and leaned inside. "Aria?"
The young girl turned and looked at him from the other side of the tangle with innocence flooding her eyes, but as she recognised Anthis rather than her father, it was replaced by a great, beaming grin. "Good! Help me!"
His frown deepened, but he looked for a way through. She'd wriggled between the roots and found her way into what was a short, descending tunnel, but though it first seemed to have collapsed, in the little spot she'd nestled herself he noticed the stone was far too smooth for it to have been chance.
He squeezed his slender form through the gap as Aria shuffled aside to make room, then clambered over the fallen stones that he guessed had once blocked the way. There was barely enough space for the two of them in there, but he found that there was enough room to stand. Whatever it was, it was made for one.
"What are you doing in here?" He asked her in a whisper, though he wasn't sure why.
"Just help me push!" She was already forcing all of her slight weight against a particular spot on the wall. At first Anthis could see nothing there that was worth her attention. It was only when his eyes had fully adjusted to the narrow shaft's diminished light that he noticed the slight shadows that lay within the face of the stone, a detail he recognised immediately as a carving, though its circular shape was unfamiliar - at least in this setting.
"Oh, Vokaad..."
Immediately, he added his efforts, focusing his strength upon the carving just as Aria did. With his help, the circle of runes began to shift, pressed back into the stone in which it was set. It gave an inch upon the first push, then another upon the second before Aria lost her footing. Anthis caught her before she could even graze her knees, but the heavy sound of stone scraping over stone continued without them, and they both looked up to see the disc pivot sideways in its setting before the distinct sound of released latches came from the other side.
Anthis hurriedly pulled Aria back and shielded her as dust fell from above and the stone around them shook, and he watched as the small, carved wall before them began to sink deeper into the rock before dragging itself heavily to one side.
They stared into the darkness that opened ahead as the movement drew to a slow, rumbling stop, straining their eyes to see beyond what little light reached in.
Anthis was the first to move. He did so cautiously, shaking the dust off of his back as he stepped towards it, holding his hand back to keep Aria where she was despite having been the one to discover it.
"You can't see in there," she reminded him curtly, folding her arms across her chest. "You'll need a torch."
He looked back towards her. Of course she was right.
Footsteps neared outside, and the already meagre shaft of light was shortly blotted out.
"What's happened?" Petra asked as Garon and Rathen arrived in due course behind her, but Anthis simply smiled broadly.
"We've found something."
Chapter 22
A small flame sparked into life, illuminating the tiny alcove from a torch made of a gnarled and broken root. The space grew and shrank in the dancing light, and restless shadows were sent skittering across the tight walls as Rathen peered in towards the black doorway, where the fleeing darkness seemed to gather. Tentatively, he stepped down into the tunnel, cramped already by Anthis and Aria, and stretched his every sense into the blackness.
But Anthis showed no such caution. He rushed ahead and eagerly waved him through after him.
It took only three and a half steps for the flickering light to find the encircling walls. The small, round chamber that had been shrouded in shadow was no more than eight feet across, and Anthis gasped as his eyes drank in the assortment of books, scrolls and oddities that were revealed around them, silent and undisturbed for countless centuries.
"What is it?" Rathen asked a little calmer as he looked around at the not so sinister room, but he received no answer.
"Torch," Anthis commanded instead, clicking his fingers unceremoniously in his excitement, and he peered closely at the back of the stone door as light flooded over it.
His fingers traced the intricate etchings of the rotated disc, perfectly smooth to touch, and chuckled gleefully as the others stepped in to join them. "This wasn't carved by hand," he said, turning wide, childlike eyes towards them for a fleeting moment before they were ripped back to the stone. "It was magic."
"And that's unusual?"
"No," he said giddily, his grin broadening. "Not for this kind of symbol. This," he stepped even closer to the door, all but pressing his nose against it, "this is a sign of anarchy."
The four watched him expectantly as he stared enraptured at the carving, but he made no attempt to elaborate.
"Which means?" Rathen asked, finally.
Anthis jumped and looked around at them all in surprise, then grinned once again with eyes as bright as Aria's. "Not all elves were of one mind," he explained quickly, "just like we're not. I believe there was a small faction of re
bels working against the rest on a moral level, disagreeing with the direction their culture was taking. To what ends, I don't know, but whatever their intentions or plans were, they didn't succeed. Every elf, including the rebels, are gone, and while the most virtuous or radical among them may have carried guilt by extension and believed they were just as deserving of death as the rest of them, I don't think even you, Rathen, will argue when I say that there's no way any elf or number thereof would've had the power to eradicate their entire race to the point of leaving no remains at all. Assuming they even sought such an aggressive solution."
"What does all this mean, Anthis?" Garon asked with well-tempered patience.
"It means that this symbol was put here long after this structure was built, and abandoned." He turned suddenly away from the stone and stepped towards the table in the centre of the room, upon which stood an array of pots, boxes and cloth wrappings. But it was the small wooden box that drew the eye, standing out for its stark simplicity. He stopped in front of it and looked across the group with sudden severity, though his passion lingered around the edges. "Which also means that not everything in here belongs."
Rathen sighed. "You're being cryptic again."
"I've seen this emblem pop up a few times in the past, only ever in late post-magic journals and personal letters when speaking of disgust or despair for their culture - especially alongside mention of the artefact in the context of a weapon. Which means that these discontented elves, or at least one of them, returned here for one reason or another, and hid this very box and its contents. Whatever is in it, it would have to have been important for them to go to these lengths."
"Hiding something in an old storage cellar doesn't exactly take much effort," Petra pointed out. "Or imagination."
Anthis was already shaking his head. "It took thought - spiteful thought. That door wasn't protected by any spells."
"I sensed no traces," Rathen admitted.
"See, to me, that suggests that it's nothing of any value."