The next day was heralded by a weak sun cresting over the icy landscape that surrounded the platform. The sun, obscured by another bout of rain clouds, dimly illuminated the assembled mages of the dig team preparing the cables to Renaud’s instructions. Mara interceded often to help the addled man keep himself steady. Renaud had emerged from his caravan that morning clinging to a walking stick. He’d waived any attempted medical advice and simply grit his teeth with that stubborn zeal he often got when it concerned his pet projects. The preparations had consisted of excavating the trenches outwards, following Mara’s former red flags and scorch marks to create a network of earthworks. The sun had already risen to its zenith by the time the digging was complete. It was as the three elvish mages took their lunch that Renata saw fit to discuss an unusual find.
Upon an overturned crate, Renata spread a map of the dig site she’d been drawing up to reveal a network of trenches that snaked their way outwards from a central conflux of conduits in the centre. Whilst on the ground, neither Mara nor Renaud had noticed what they were truly standing on. Only now, from the bird’s eye view of their architecture, did they see the sunburst carved into the platform for what it was. It was the banner of the last empress.
“At the start of the week I was convinced this place was nothing more than a quaint rock formation. But this being here is astounding. A locking mechanism in the shape of your own flag is grandiose, I’ll give her that.” Renata mused, her cheek dimpling with a lopsided smile. She’d sustained some bruising from her fall yet seemed no worse off for it. Mara returned her smile and looked politely at the map. Renaud, on the other hand, gasped audibly and placed his hand upon the map as if he were dreaming. His eyes flicked across the page, searching for any modicum of a mistake, any grain of salt to be found. He sat down, both to avoid vertigo from his injury and from sheer disbelief.
“It’s real. Fair Sirona, it’s real.” Renaud whispered, as if afraid the universe might hear him. Mara turned to see her sora in tears. They traced down his cheeks and fell upon the map beneath them. He could not smile. Such a small gesture could not convey his bliss. He looked up at his comrades with true satisfaction before laughing to himself. Empty gestures kept possessing his hands yet the words to accompany them never came. For the first time in his life, Renaud found himself truly speechless.
“It turns the legend into reality, doesn’t it?” Renata grinned at her companion, tapping her fingers on her folded legs in thought. Renaud could do naught but giggle giddily and hold his hands up in resignation. “The woman who invented necromancy and ruled for nigh a thousand years. Who wrought miracle and horror alike.” Renata purred, taking her map and rolling it up as she finished the meagre dregs of tea that were the remains of her lunch. Renaud reached out as if to take the map but shook his head. He fell back into his chair, cursing his injury. Both Renata and Mara shared a look but knew that asking Renaud not to enter this sacred place was akin to asking him to cut off his own arm.
As the preparations finished, Renaud was ordered to recuse himself from the opening, lest he agitate his injury. Instead, Arthur had been drafted to turn his considerable devotion to the effort. A device had been set up which linked every conduit within a snaking maze of aulind wire procured from the trees on the ridges around the platform. It was this device which called for the strength of three mages. Arthur, Mara and Renata had busied themselves with this task. At Mara’s request, they had decided upon a longer channelling with far lower power levels to preserve their bodies should anything go wrong.
That left Solvi and Fred to sit expectantly with the medics in preparation for the worst. Solvi had busied herself whittling a small carving of one of her native land’s curious faunas. Fred could find no respite in soothing tasks and seemed swallowed by his anxiety as he watched Mara pour more power into this cursed place. If it wanted to be opened, Solvi reasoned, then this empress wouldn’t have made it so damn difficult in the first place.
“Terrifyin’ ain’t it?” Fred grunted. Solvi’s knife slipped yet another sliver of sawdust from her project. She didn’t answer immediately, prompting Fred to elaborate. “Took everyone givin’ it hells and leather to make it do somethin’. Now our Mara and ‘er two flunkies are doin’ it on their lonesome. Makes you wonder what she’s got under all that clobber.” Fred elaborated, pointing to the young mage who, strangely, didn’t seem to need her staff on this attempt. Solvi snorted derisively, leaning back against the rock the pair had found shelter under, lest the sky open.
“Mara’s not what most people think of when they think strong mage. They think of Renaud or Merddyn or Lorana. People who can summon hordes of fey and shoot lightning.” Solvi spoke with her arms folded, tilting her head to rest on the cold stone behind her. “My tutors always taught me that a spell is subtle when done well. It performs its function then stops. The way that man casts is like a thunderclap in the dark.” Solvi motioned with one of her fingers surreptitiously towards Renaud, who had busied himself looking important around the Army contingent of the security. He seemed to be congenial in speaking with them, laughing at some unheard joke. Solvi allowed herself some small satisfaction when he staggered from induced vertigo. The stubborn old man was too proud to let others have the glory of this discovery.
“Yer a mage? Gangrene’s gold I thought you were as thick as me, eh?” Fred nudged Solvi with his elbow, attracting a small exhalation of amusement from the large woman. Then she seemed melancholy for a moment. Fred arched his one good eyebrow, causing Solvi to relent once more.
“Not a word of this to Mara. She’d only lecture me.” Solvi began, shifting her stance away from the central ritual and engaging in a conspiratorial whisper. “I was taught the basics. My mother is a shaman after all. But I don’t practice.” Solvi uttered as if afraid of her words. As if mentioning her past would call it forth like a dreadful phantom or demon. She’d rather fight a demon, Solvi thought ruefully.
“Aye, I know all too well what it’s like being good at somethin’ and not wantin’ to do it. But ‘ere I am, eh?” Fred shrugged, looking out over the platform as if it weren’t there. Solvi knew where the skitti had gone in his mind. Though he hadn’t participated directly in the Wildfire War, Solvi knew there had been some form of violence on the Steppe many years ago. Violence, it seemed, that Fred had escaped from.
“Leaves a mark, doesn’t it? Didn’t fight much. But I fought enough.” Solvi grunted, placing a reassuring hand on Fred’s shoulder. He gave her his best approximation of a smile yet only succeeded in a toothy grimace that didn’t fit a skitti face all that well. He noticed his mistake and merely flicked his ear at her in appreciation. But his mood soon returned to darkness as he looked out at the grey sky.
“That’s the problem. I didn’t fight enough. Not for me.” Fred spoke cryptically, leaving Solvi unsure what exactly the skitti meant. She sat in silence for a moment, trying to parse the meaning before opening her mouth to offer words of encouragement. A resounding thunder in the depths of the platform cut it short.
All at once, the dig site became a chaotic hive with archaeologists and medics running about. Solvi and Fred got to their feet as the earth beneath them shivered against something moving within it. They both ran with all haste to Mara’s side, Renaud and his posse bringing up the rear. In awe, they watched as the platform immediately before them buckled upwards. A great slab of dark stone was being pushed skyward by two walls beneath it. When the shuddering of the ground stopped, the archaeologists were dumbfounded to look upon a tall, rectangular door that contained stairs leading to darkened depths below. All around, the dig team erupted into cheers and hollering, even a jig or two. But the mages did not dance or shout. Each of them in turn felt a horrifying shift in the air about them. A ghastly breeze from within the temple like the gasp of a dying man. A baritone anthem of death, riding on quiet wings.
All at once, the mages of the troupe raised their staves, wands and hands against this tide. Several screamed incoherent protection charms while Renaud struggled to formulate even the gestures. Renata and Mara shared a look in the split second they had and silently agreed on a single spell. With concerted effort, the two mages threw their magical might against the onrushing tide. Arthur saw their efforts and leant his own considerable strength, chanting prayers of protection and negation as he held aloft his armlet.
The temple roared its answer. A tide of blackened mist impacted their protective measures with the sound of a tidal wave hitting the cliffside. It roiled and slithered and writhed against their magic, seeming to almost lash out in anger it did not feel. Fred, who had no understanding of what was happening, knew that the tide would have killed them all in that moment.
“Is it some form of defence mechanism? A trap?!” Renaud roared over the din, staggering over to the collected mages. Arthur seemed to be struggling, the radiance of his spells simply being swallowed by the darkness before them. Renata had bared her teeth with exertion, cracks forming in the barrier she’d erected. “This was a place of worship, of solace! Why is it doing this?” Renaud added, seeming to remember his spells enough to add his own might to the effort. Renata collapsed to her knees, causing Renaud’s eyes to go wide with worry.
“This is no trap. Something inside is giving off enough necrotic energy to wither a forest!” Renata yelled over the roar of the energies being exerted. “Without a countermeasure you can forget a survey! You can forget a side of the mountain!” Renata added, pushing against her exhaustion to stand once again. Taking her wand from its holster, she drew magic from it to continue her casting. There was nothing to do but fight the tide and pray that their power could outmatch it, she mused. Fighting the tide was an apt idiom for it. She knew how this ended.
“I have an absurd idea!” Mara panted, her mask streaming with the same dark energy that was intent on consuming them. Renaud laughed almost hysterically, practically held up by a scowling Albrecht. Solvi had propped herself against Mara as the onslaught of whipping winds continued in its attempts to unseat them from the mountain.
“I am very much in the market for absurd ideas right now!” Solvi shouted over Mara’s shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze of the arm. Looking to Renata for assurance, Mara heaved a deep breath and ended her spell.
At once, a flood of energy surged forth like effuse from a dam. Yet Mara stood there, resolute whilst the other mages shouted incomprehensible condemnations at her. The voice was there, guiding her once again. She raised one hand aloft, the other below and subtly changed her stance. In the space of time between heartbeats, between the fluttering of an eyelid, Mara found her moment. The solution had been within the basics that she’d mindlessly repeated to her students. Only now did she see the true application.
She felt it first as an all-consuming tide. Now she saw what it truly was. She would direct this most fearsome of rivers. And she would use its own power to do it. She drew the magic into herself, enough to power a spell. It was like fighting the ocean itself, yet the voice told her to persist. To find the current and go with it. Every time she grappled with something, it slipped from her grasp. She committed her whole self to it, focusing every inch of her body and soul on that whisper of control. With her grip barely maintained, she attempted to shift the flow. The effort drew screams of pain from her body and a searing cold that couldn’t be abated. Her throat was raw from the shouting of her spell. Yet as she struggled in what she thought was her doomed task, she found another there. And another. Renaud and Renata had discerned her efforts and split the flow with her. Then came Arthur, pitting his strength against the tempest.
With their collective, tenuous grip Mara shouted her desperate command to the tide. At first it convulsed, tearing against her binding as if it were a personal insult. Mara, almost brought to unbridled terror, desperately attempted to bargain with it. She’d dug the canal and, with a final stomp of her foot, saw the river turn its flow. Coming back to herself, she saw the necrotic typhoon coil skywards violently before erupting into a crown of blue, almost black flames that spread the length of the entire platform. Mara, Solvi and all her cohorts gave a mighty cheer, the fountain of fire illuminating even the darkest shadows of their little ravine. The whirlwind of blue flames only petered out after minutes of incredulous mortals staring at it, lost for words.
“What did you do?” Solvi asked, her eyes remaining fixed on the final few flames at they faded from view. Mara, swaying in place, sat on the ground. She held her head in her hands and seemed to be concentrating on her breathing for the moment. Renaud similarly exhausted used Albrecht as a crutch. He wore the most ridiculous grin.
“Necrotic energy is just like any other magic. So, I channelled that magic into a flame wall spell of the kind my sora is so fond of.” Mara grunted, audibly panting beneath her mask. It had since stopped billowing with mist. “It didn’t want to lower its frequency, so I asked it to just become a fire wall without changing frequency. And it worked!” Mara added, falling backwards with exhaustion and staring up at the less bombastic sky. Such a thing was theoretically possible, of course. But Mara had never seen it done, much less with such an extreme volume of magic. She whispered her gratitude in elvish, a gesture many around her took for prayer. It was not uncommon, for Arthur and others had been muttering their heartfelt thanks for the last two minutes. If the gods still heard prayers, they had certainly heard them today.
“I taught you well, my sana. And to say I am proud would be an understatement.” Renaud laughed, giving Albrecht a fraternal kiss on the cheek before wandering off to share his jubilation with others. Renata rolled her eyes, seating herself next to Mara for some rest. They remained there for some time, Solvi fetching the haggard crew drinks and some food to replenish their already dwindling energy reserves. It was after some time that Renaud returned to Renata outlining her misgivings about the tomb.
“We’ll have to wait for the residual energies to clean themselves out. I’m sure the University faculty wouldn’t protest another week’s wages when we tell them what we’ve discovered.” Renata spoke confidently, lifting her cup in celebration. But Renaud’s mood shifted upon hearing that, shaking his head almost violently. For once, it seemed, he was using his staff. A resplendent metal-wrought item that bore a crystalline orb in its filigree head. Along its length, the formulations of Renaud’s favourite spells had been carved into it.
“Absolutely not! Do you think Ankou’s Beggars will ignore that announcement of the temple’s opening? They’ll be upon us like flies! And I do not much fancy a month’s siege. No, we enter today!” Renaud spoke with a cavalier confidence that was somewhat undercut by him grasping the side of his head in pain mere moments after. Renata sneered up at him, appalled by the very suggestion they push the crew any harder.
“As much as I disagree with my sora’s method of delivery, I agree with the sentiment.” Mara sighed, soothing her aching muscles. She then got to her feet, hobbling around to take a more concerned look at the entrance to the ravine. Solvi followed her gaze to see the Army still standing guard and drew her conclusions accordingly. She had to agree. They couldn’t be trusted around this find, bandits aside. The moment Renata closed her eyes, they’d be ham-fistedly pilfering anything they could to venerate in their dens. To these people, the faintest whiff of Miran artifacts would send them feral. Renata, gripping her chin in thought, made a noise of disquiet.
“Not a formal excursion. We’ll take you two, some security and Arthur as a medic. Just to get notes on context and log any artifacts. Also disable any further traps the good Ir might have left us.” Renata acquiesced, having performed the same arithmetic Solvi had it seemed. She called her aide over and instructed him to retrieve the protective suits. With a nod and swift gait, he ran towards the carts that held the needed materials. Renaud affixed his colleague with a curious gaze, tinged with incredulity. “We’re unearthing ancient Elysian ruins. You’d have to be deluded to think there wouldn’t be strong ambient magic.” Renata added over her shoulder, taking a box of ammunition for Fred’s rifle and pocketing it. While useless as ammunition without his rifle, mages could still use them to fuel spells. Mara felt confident she had some strength to cast should it be needed. Looking over at Renaud, she surmised he’d be too proud to even show weakness. His safety, then, depended on whether he had the forethought to store some energy in his staff’s head.
The aide returned with a trolley bearing two crates which he opened for Renata whilst she delivered instructions to the Army and other security personnel. They were to stand watch for any external interference from the bandits. Albrecht bore this command with contempt, receiving his orders with a swift inclination of his head. Those chosen to enter the temple being Solvi, Fred, Arthur, Renaud, Renata and Mara began to don their protective suits that would hopefully insulate their bodies against the harmful magic within the ruins. Even after their display, that vicious black mist still clung to the stone steps of the entrance. They were meant to be baggy with a helmet that cleaned the air through a filter of nullstun. Mara kept her mask in place, explaining to an irate Renata that she had built such functions into it for this exact purpose. She seemed sceptical but there was little she could do in that regard. Mara had proven herself capable whilst Renaud had proven himself incompetent due to his injury. Yet still he was there, holding his thumbs aloft due to his obscured face.
Each of them picked up lamps, rope and all manner of devices for exploration as they filed past the other members of the team, the cambion man going so far as to cheer them on. The dark depths of the temple looked no more welcoming the nearer they got. The stairs were slick with meltwater from the ice surrounding them. As they trod carefully, kicking up black dust as they went, they saw the lightest of friezes carved into the walls of the stairwell. Renata shone her light upon them with awe, prompting the others to look at these most excellently preserved elements of elvish history.
“Superlative propaganda by the Miran reign. It recounts the civil wars and her building of the Black Tower.” Renata gasped, scribbling notes in her pocketbook. Her attempts were somewhat clumsy due to the thick gloves that she was forced to wear. “They must be later additions. There are attestations of this temple existing before the civil wars.” Renata spoke almost to herself as the rest of their party gazed upon the carvings of elves at war. Legions of soldiers and mages casting spear, spell and sword against each other. Great flying creatures used as mounts to attack the monolithic floating tower Mira had made her fortress towards the end of her reign.
“If she was such a great leader n’ that, what she start three bloody civil wars for?” Fred called from the rear, taking in this history with a somewhat grounded view. Mara smiled behind her mask, amused at Fred’s antics and quite relieved her filtration system worked. Said filtration system being a cobbled-together spell at the last second. Solvi seemed intimidated, shifting uncomfortably as the grand entrance slowly closed into smaller proportions. Mara gripped her companion’s forearm, hoping her presence was enough to calm the large orsan down.
“Have some decorum, Fred! She merely had a vision for the empire whilst others wished it to stagnate.” Renaud shouted back at the skitti, who grumbled in response. Renata looked physically pained by Renaud’s words. If she felt aggrieved by them, she made no comment on it as her light fell upon an archway in the depths. Its zenith was carved with an elegant, glowing script that reminded Mara somewhat of the modern elvish alphabet. It must be the ancestor of theirs, Mara thought. “What does it say?” Renaud breathed, barely able to contain himself. Mara felt happy for him. This was perhaps one of Renaud’s most cherished moments. To walk amongst his heroic ancestors, as he called them.
“What, the great Professor Renaud doesn’t read Elysian?” Renata taunted as she inspected the base carvings. Mara leaned to look at them and saw beautiful reliefs of serchis flowers, which were known to be Arawn’s favoured plant. A flower that bore bountiful beneficial unguents when prepared correctly, potent poisons when prepared poorly. “It’s written from the perspective of the temple’s owner and says, ‘whether slave or empress, all are equal before me.’” Renata translated with a wry look, causing several members of the party to look confused before Arthur turned pale with realisation. Renata laughed at the poor man, walking through the archway with reverence.
“Lord of the Dead, I beseech your clemency at arriving unannounced.” Arthur breathlessly whispered, bowing before he entered the halls of Arawn. Fred seemed confused as he followed the others, catching up to Arthur and tapping his shoulder with a little hop.
“Why d’you care what he thinks? He ain’t yer god and he ain’t alive.” Fred opined, passing an obsidian statue of a dog with its teeth bared. Curiously, its ears were made of pure rubies which Fred found himself sorely tempted to chisel. With a look back at Renata, he huffed with frustration. Probably cursed anyway. One tap with the mallet and it takes your hand off, most likely.
The archway led to a large domed atrium that was perhaps under the peak of the mountain, its roof studded with twinkling silver imitations of the night sky. Carved from the black stone of the mountain were rows upon rows of simple benches all stepping down towards a dais at the rear of the chamber, barely visible in the light of their lamps. Renaud made a noise of irritation and swept his staff above them. Several balls of light flung themselves free from it, hovering above equidistant points throughout the chamber. Renaud seemed pleased but had to sit himself down upon the benches as his injury plagued the exertion. With his help, however, the room’s true majesty was revealed.
The walls were engraved with murals that were once painted depictions of stories from Arawn’s life. His defeat of the primordial chaos, his imprisonment of the Aberrant Lords and bequeathing long life to mortals. Behind the chair, which was more of a throne in Renaud’s lights, a titanic sculpture of Arawn’s holy symbol was depicted. It was a semicircle through which five lines had been thrust. They represented his tenets, the middlemost being longest to signify its importance. Either side of this edifice, two doors led to the temple proper from what the party understood to be some form of amphitheatre. An audience chamber for the god himself, perhaps?
“To think that our people could worship and speak to their god directly. Inconceivable.” Renaud breathed, eyes taking in every inch of this sacred place. He had walked down the steps between benches to the dais, eyes fixed upon the throne carved of solid black stone. It had stylized symbols upon it that, to Renaud’s trained eye, depicted a most fearsome spell. Should a mortal sit upon this throne with ill intent, their folly would be punished by the servants of Arawn. Curiously by Renaud’s reckoning, the spell seemed to have been formulated by mortal hands. The gods had no need of such quaint things as arcanography.
“Seems a bit thick t’me. Always heard that the voices of the gods would fry yer potato.” Fred interjected, tapping the side of his head with a finger. The skitti had busied himself prodding the statues of the hounds. They were miniature versions of the large ones either side of the entrance yet had the ruby ears so quaint to these peculiar statues.
“The Gods created artifacts through which they could speak to their flock. Arawn, if the sources are to be believed, used a staff or rod of some kind. He viewed himself as the shepherd of the dead, not their Lord. But many of the living considers him Lord of the Dead.” Renata shrugged as she made notes about the various murals on the walls, making sure to sketch an approximation. Arthur pulled a face as he explored the monumental arch that was Arawn’s symbol, making sure to show as much deference as he was capable. Fred was right in that Arthur did not worship this deity. The gods were gone, their essence remaining only to continue their anointed tasks. But all gods, no matter their position in the canon, were worthy of respect in Arthur’s mind.
“What is the shepherd to the flock but their lord?” Renaud opined argumentatively, though in a false pious voice that caused a flash of irritation to pass Arthur’s usually calm disposition. The older elf had occupied himself by standing before the throne, contemplating its height. The seat alone was level with his chest, its back towering over even Solvi’s head. Renata had arrived on scene to take measurements of it, determined to work out the exact dimensions of a god.
“You reckon they were made of flesh or space stuff?” Fred pondered, eyeing the murals which depicted Arawn and his seven siblings. They were approximately the shape of mortals. Some bore horns, elvish ears or the tails and height of coblini. Yet each one had been silhouetted and merely given colours to identify them. Fred eyed the primordial chaos beneath them with concern. It had been depicted not as a creature like a dragon but rather a shapeless mass of mouths, eyes and grasping claws. Like a cuttlefish. Fred never saw a cephalopod he liked the look of.
“Depends on who you ask, Fred. Sometimes they appear wearing beggar’s clothes which suggest flesh. Other times people talk about being blinded by their radiance.” Arthur smiled over at the skitti, his glasses balanced on his nose as he took to gawking at what appeared to be tablets. Arthur knew that they were Elysian and thus illegible to him yet hoped Mara, who also showed an interest, would translate them to him. To that end, he sidled up to her, looking at a tablet that had a promising skull carved into its metal surface. “Would you mind imparting some of his wisdom, if you can?” Arthur asked serenely, hoping that the Lady wouldn’t get jealous of his fascination with this place. He was sure Mira had erected one for her somewhere!
“It’s not his wisdom. It’s hers.” Mara breathed, prompting Renata’s head to snap up. It wasn’t long before the older elf woman was at her side, reading furiously. Renaud had abandoned his exploration of the throne to suddenly appear next to Arthur, leaning on him as he arrived. “These tablets are how she did it. How she created necromancy.” Mara breathed, her hands shaking with awe. The woman’s own hand explaining in clearest detail her secrets. As if anyone could have simply walked up to this treasure trove and taken for themselves the secrets to commanding the dead. Her mask puffed black mist in pure excitement.
“Don’t touch them! Don’t even read further. That is cursed knowledge that almost destroyed a nation.” Renata barked, attempting to usher the group away from the tablets with all haste. Though even she couldn’t resist looking back at the pure poetry of Mira’s formulations. They even had narrative asides that could give a clearer picture into her mind. An archaeologist’s dream- primary sources from one of the most famous and powerful mages to ever exist!
Mara found her hand moving on its own. She tried to withdraw it to no avail. With a growl, she grabbed her own wrist and attempted to throw her body weight backwards. Yet she found her legs paralyzed as well. Panic gripped her as her hand continued to move forth, taking the modestly sized tablet from its pedestal.
“Fedan Revi!” Mara cried out in elvish, prompting Renaud to look away from his argument with Renata. He saw his sana holding in her hand the Miran tablet, attempting to slip it into her robes. The older elf roared a spell, leaving his lips with such venom that Mara didn’t even notice her body locking up before going completely numb. She fell to the ground, tablet falling onto her chest. Regardless of his intervention, the statues of the hounds began to crack loose from their mounting and stalk forward with hollow, haunting growls. “They’re actual Hounds of Arawn?!” Mara demanded from the floor, as the stone dogs began bounding towards the group.
“I knew they were bloody cursed!” Fred howled, whipping out his rifle and chambering a round.
The next day was heralded by a weak sun cresting over the icy landscape that surrounded the platform. The sun, obscured by another bout of rain clouds, dimly illuminated the assembled mages of the dig team preparing the cables to Renaud’s instructions. Mara interceded often to help the addled man keep himself steady. Renaud had emerged from his caravan that morning clinging to a walking stick. He’d waived any attempted medical advice and simply grit his teeth with that stubborn zeal he often got when it concerned his pet projects. The preparations had consisted of excavating the trenches outwards, following Mara’s former red flags and scorch marks to create a network of earthworks. The sun had already risen to its zenith by the time the digging was complete. It was as the three elvish mages took their lunch that Renata saw fit to discuss an unusual find.
Upon an overturned crate, Renata spread a map of the dig site she’d been drawing up to reveal a network of trenches that snaked their way outwards from a central conflux of conduits in the centre. Whilst on the ground, neither Mara nor Renaud had noticed what they were truly standing on. Only now, from the bird’s eye view of their architecture, did they see the sunburst carved into the platform for what it was. It was the banner of the last empress.
“At the start of the week I was convinced this place was nothing more than a quaint rock formation. But this being here is astounding. A locking mechanism in the shape of your own flag is grandiose, I’ll give her that.” Renata mused, her cheek dimpling with a lopsided smile. She’d sustained some bruising from her fall yet seemed no worse off for it. Mara returned her smile and looked politely at the map. Renaud, on the other hand, gasped audibly and placed his hand upon the map as if he were dreaming. His eyes flicked across the page, searching for any modicum of a mistake, any grain of salt to be found. He sat down, both to avoid vertigo from his injury and from sheer disbelief.
“It’s real. Fair Sirona, it’s real.” Renaud whispered, as if afraid the universe might hear him. Mara turned to see her sora in tears. They traced down his cheeks and fell upon the map beneath them. He could not smile. Such a small gesture could not convey his bliss. He looked up at his comrades with true satisfaction before laughing to himself. Empty gestures kept possessing his hands yet the words to accompany them never came. For the first time in his life, Renaud found himself truly speechless.
“It turns the legend into reality, doesn’t it?” Renata grinned at her companion, tapping her fingers on her folded legs in thought. Renaud could do naught but giggle giddily and hold his hands up in resignation. “The woman who invented necromancy and ruled for nigh a thousand years. Who wrought miracle and horror alike.” Renata purred, taking her map and rolling it up as she finished the meagre dregs of tea that were the remains of her lunch. Renaud reached out as if to take the map but shook his head. He fell back into his chair, cursing his injury. Both Renata and Mara shared a look but knew that asking Renaud not to enter this sacred place was akin to asking him to cut off his own arm.
As the preparations finished, Renaud was ordered to recuse himself from the opening, lest he agitate his injury. Instead, Arthur had been drafted to turn his considerable devotion to the effort. A device had been set up which linked every conduit within a snaking maze of aulind wire procured from the trees on the ridges around the platform. It was this device which called for the strength of three mages. Arthur, Mara and Renata had busied themselves with this task. At Mara’s request, they had decided upon a longer channelling with far lower power levels to preserve their bodies should anything go wrong.
That left Solvi and Fred to sit expectantly with the medics in preparation for the worst. Solvi had busied herself whittling a small carving of one of her native land’s curious faunas. Fred could find no respite in soothing tasks and seemed swallowed by his anxiety as he watched Mara pour more power into this cursed place. If it wanted to be opened, Solvi reasoned, then this empress wouldn’t have made it so damn difficult in the first place.
“Terrifyin’ ain’t it?” Fred grunted. Solvi’s knife slipped yet another sliver of sawdust from her project. She didn’t answer immediately, prompting Fred to elaborate. “Took everyone givin’ it hells and leather to make it do somethin’. Now our Mara and ‘er two flunkies are doin’ it on their lonesome. Makes you wonder what she’s got under all that clobber.” Fred elaborated, pointing to the young mage who, strangely, didn’t seem to need her staff on this attempt. Solvi snorted derisively, leaning back against the rock the pair had found shelter under, lest the sky open.
“Mara’s not what most people think of when they think strong mage. They think of Renaud or Merddyn or Lorana. People who can summon hordes of fey and shoot lightning.” Solvi spoke with her arms folded, tilting her head to rest on the cold stone behind her. “My tutors always taught me that a spell is subtle when done well. It performs its function then stops. The way that man casts is like a thunderclap in the dark.” Solvi motioned with one of her fingers surreptitiously towards Renaud, who had busied himself looking important around the Army contingent of the security. He seemed to be congenial in speaking with them, laughing at some unheard joke. Solvi allowed herself some small satisfaction when he staggered from induced vertigo. The stubborn old man was too proud to let others have the glory of this discovery.
“Yer a mage? Gangrene’s gold I thought you were as thick as me, eh?” Fred nudged Solvi with his elbow, attracting a small exhalation of amusement from the large woman. Then she seemed melancholy for a moment. Fred arched his one good eyebrow, causing Solvi to relent once more.
“Not a word of this to Mara. She’d only lecture me.” Solvi began, shifting her stance away from the central ritual and engaging in a conspiratorial whisper. “I was taught the basics. My mother is a shaman after all. But I don’t practice.” Solvi uttered as if afraid of her words. As if mentioning her past would call it forth like a dreadful phantom or demon. She’d rather fight a demon, Solvi thought ruefully.
“Aye, I know all too well what it’s like being good at somethin’ and not wantin’ to do it. But ‘ere I am, eh?” Fred shrugged, looking out over the platform as if it weren’t there. Solvi knew where the skitti had gone in his mind. Though he hadn’t participated directly in the Wildfire War, Solvi knew there had been some form of violence on the Steppe many years ago. Violence, it seemed, that Fred had escaped from.
“Leaves a mark, doesn’t it? Didn’t fight much. But I fought enough.” Solvi grunted, placing a reassuring hand on Fred’s shoulder. He gave her his best approximation of a smile yet only succeeded in a toothy grimace that didn’t fit a skitti face all that well. He noticed his mistake and merely flicked his ear at her in appreciation. But his mood soon returned to darkness as he looked out at the grey sky.
“That’s the problem. I didn’t fight enough. Not for me.” Fred spoke cryptically, leaving Solvi unsure what exactly the skitti meant. She sat in silence for a moment, trying to parse the meaning before opening her mouth to offer words of encouragement. A resounding thunder in the depths of the platform cut it short.
All at once, the dig site became a chaotic hive with archaeologists and medics running about. Solvi and Fred got to their feet as the earth beneath them shivered against something moving within it. They both ran with all haste to Mara’s side, Renaud and his posse bringing up the rear. In awe, they watched as the platform immediately before them buckled upwards. A great slab of dark stone was being pushed skyward by two walls beneath it. When the shuddering of the ground stopped, the archaeologists were dumbfounded to look upon a tall, rectangular door that contained stairs leading to darkened depths below. All around, the dig team erupted into cheers and hollering, even a jig or two. But the mages did not dance or shout. Each of them in turn felt a horrifying shift in the air about them. A ghastly breeze from within the temple like the gasp of a dying man. A baritone anthem of death, riding on quiet wings.
All at once, the mages of the troupe raised their staves, wands and hands against this tide. Several screamed incoherent protection charms while Renaud struggled to formulate even the gestures. Renata and Mara shared a look in the split second they had and silently agreed on a single spell. With concerted effort, the two mages threw their magical might against the onrushing tide. Arthur saw their efforts and leant his own considerable strength, chanting prayers of protection and negation as he held aloft his armlet.
The temple roared its answer. A tide of blackened mist impacted their protective measures with the sound of a tidal wave hitting the cliffside. It roiled and slithered and writhed against their magic, seeming to almost lash out in anger it did not feel. Fred, who had no understanding of what was happening, knew that the tide would have killed them all in that moment.
“Is it some form of defence mechanism? A trap?!” Renaud roared over the din, staggering over to the collected mages. Arthur seemed to be struggling, the radiance of his spells simply being swallowed by the darkness before them. Renata had bared her teeth with exertion, cracks forming in the barrier she’d erected. “This was a place of worship, of solace! Why is it doing this?” Renaud added, seeming to remember his spells enough to add his own might to the effort. Renata collapsed to her knees, causing Renaud’s eyes to go wide with worry.
“This is no trap. Something inside is giving off enough necrotic energy to wither a forest!” Renata yelled over the roar of the energies being exerted. “Without a countermeasure you can forget a survey! You can forget a side of the mountain!” Renata added, pushing against her exhaustion to stand once again. Taking her wand from its holster, she drew magic from it to continue her casting. There was nothing to do but fight the tide and pray that their power could outmatch it, she mused. Fighting the tide was an apt idiom for it. She knew how this ended.
“I have an absurd idea!” Mara panted, her mask streaming with the same dark energy that was intent on consuming them. Renaud laughed almost hysterically, practically held up by a scowling Albrecht. Solvi had propped herself against Mara as the onslaught of whipping winds continued in its attempts to unseat them from the mountain.
“I am very much in the market for absurd ideas right now!” Solvi shouted over Mara’s shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze of the arm. Looking to Renata for assurance, Mara heaved a deep breath and ended her spell.
At once, a flood of energy surged forth like effuse from a dam. Yet Mara stood there, resolute whilst the other mages shouted incomprehensible condemnations at her. The voice was there, guiding her once again. She raised one hand aloft, the other below and subtly changed her stance. In the space of time between heartbeats, between the fluttering of an eyelid, Mara found her moment. The solution had been within the basics that she’d mindlessly repeated to her students. Only now did she see the true application.
She felt it first as an all-consuming tide. Now she saw what it truly was. She would direct this most fearsome of rivers. And she would use its own power to do it. She drew the magic into herself, enough to power a spell. It was like fighting the ocean itself, yet the voice told her to persist. To find the current and go with it. Every time she grappled with something, it slipped from her grasp. She committed her whole self to it, focusing every inch of her body and soul on that whisper of control. With her grip barely maintained, she attempted to shift the flow. The effort drew screams of pain from her body and a searing cold that couldn’t be abated. Her throat was raw from the shouting of her spell. Yet as she struggled in what she thought was her doomed task, she found another there. And another. Renaud and Renata had discerned her efforts and split the flow with her. Then came Arthur, pitting his strength against the tempest.
With their collective, tenuous grip Mara shouted her desperate command to the tide. At first it convulsed, tearing against her binding as if it were a personal insult. Mara, almost brought to unbridled terror, desperately attempted to bargain with it. She’d dug the canal and, with a final stomp of her foot, saw the river turn its flow. Coming back to herself, she saw the necrotic typhoon coil skywards violently before erupting into a crown of blue, almost black flames that spread the length of the entire platform. Mara, Solvi and all her cohorts gave a mighty cheer, the fountain of fire illuminating even the darkest shadows of their little ravine. The whirlwind of blue flames only petered out after minutes of incredulous mortals staring at it, lost for words.
“What did you do?” Solvi asked, her eyes remaining fixed on the final few flames at they faded from view. Mara, swaying in place, sat on the ground. She held her head in her hands and seemed to be concentrating on her breathing for the moment. Renaud similarly exhausted used Albrecht as a crutch. He wore the most ridiculous grin.
“Necrotic energy is just like any other magic. So, I channelled that magic into a flame wall spell of the kind my sora is so fond of.” Mara grunted, audibly panting beneath her mask. It had since stopped billowing with mist. “It didn’t want to lower its frequency, so I asked it to just become a fire wall without changing frequency. And it worked!” Mara added, falling backwards with exhaustion and staring up at the less bombastic sky. Such a thing was theoretically possible, of course. But Mara had never seen it done, much less with such an extreme volume of magic. She whispered her gratitude in elvish, a gesture many around her took for prayer. It was not uncommon, for Arthur and others had been muttering their heartfelt thanks for the last two minutes. If the gods still heard prayers, they had certainly heard them today.
“I taught you well, my sana. And to say I am proud would be an understatement.” Renaud laughed, giving Albrecht a fraternal kiss on the cheek before wandering off to share his jubilation with others. Renata rolled her eyes, seating herself next to Mara for some rest. They remained there for some time, Solvi fetching the haggard crew drinks and some food to replenish their already dwindling energy reserves. It was after some time that Renaud returned to Renata outlining her misgivings about the tomb.
“We’ll have to wait for the residual energies to clean themselves out. I’m sure the University faculty wouldn’t protest another week’s wages when we tell them what we’ve discovered.” Renata spoke confidently, lifting her cup in celebration. But Renaud’s mood shifted upon hearing that, shaking his head almost violently. For once, it seemed, he was using his staff. A resplendent metal-wrought item that bore a crystalline orb in its filigree head. Along its length, the formulations of Renaud’s favourite spells had been carved into it.
“Absolutely not! Do you think Ankou’s Beggars will ignore that announcement of the temple’s opening? They’ll be upon us like flies! And I do not much fancy a month’s siege. No, we enter today!” Renaud spoke with a cavalier confidence that was somewhat undercut by him grasping the side of his head in pain mere moments after. Renata sneered up at him, appalled by the very suggestion they push the crew any harder.
“As much as I disagree with my sora’s method of delivery, I agree with the sentiment.” Mara sighed, soothing her aching muscles. She then got to her feet, hobbling around to take a more concerned look at the entrance to the ravine. Solvi followed her gaze to see the Army still standing guard and drew her conclusions accordingly. She had to agree. They couldn’t be trusted around this find, bandits aside. The moment Renata closed her eyes, they’d be ham-fistedly pilfering anything they could to venerate in their dens. To these people, the faintest whiff of Miran artifacts would send them feral. Renata, gripping her chin in thought, made a noise of disquiet.
“Not a formal excursion. We’ll take you two, some security and Arthur as a medic. Just to get notes on context and log any artifacts. Also disable any further traps the good Ir might have left us.” Renata acquiesced, having performed the same arithmetic Solvi had it seemed. She called her aide over and instructed him to retrieve the protective suits. With a nod and swift gait, he ran towards the carts that held the needed materials. Renaud affixed his colleague with a curious gaze, tinged with incredulity. “We’re unearthing ancient Elysian ruins. You’d have to be deluded to think there wouldn’t be strong ambient magic.” Renata added over her shoulder, taking a box of ammunition for Fred’s rifle and pocketing it. While useless as ammunition without his rifle, mages could still use them to fuel spells. Mara felt confident she had some strength to cast should it be needed. Looking over at Renaud, she surmised he’d be too proud to even show weakness. His safety, then, depended on whether he had the forethought to store some energy in his staff’s head.
The aide returned with a trolley bearing two crates which he opened for Renata whilst she delivered instructions to the Army and other security personnel. They were to stand watch for any external interference from the bandits. Albrecht bore this command with contempt, receiving his orders with a swift inclination of his head. Those chosen to enter the temple being Solvi, Fred, Arthur, Renaud, Renata and Mara began to don their protective suits that would hopefully insulate their bodies against the harmful magic within the ruins. Even after their display, that vicious black mist still clung to the stone steps of the entrance. They were meant to be baggy with a helmet that cleaned the air through a filter of nullstun. Mara kept her mask in place, explaining to an irate Renata that she had built such functions into it for this exact purpose. She seemed sceptical but there was little she could do in that regard. Mara had proven herself capable whilst Renaud had proven himself incompetent due to his injury. Yet still he was there, holding his thumbs aloft due to his obscured face.
Each of them picked up lamps, rope and all manner of devices for exploration as they filed past the other members of the team, the cambion man going so far as to cheer them on. The dark depths of the temple looked no more welcoming the nearer they got. The stairs were slick with meltwater from the ice surrounding them. As they trod carefully, kicking up black dust as they went, they saw the lightest of friezes carved into the walls of the stairwell. Renata shone her light upon them with awe, prompting the others to look at these most excellently preserved elements of elvish history.
“Superlative propaganda by the Miran reign. It recounts the civil wars and her building of the Black Tower.” Renata gasped, scribbling notes in her pocketbook. Her attempts were somewhat clumsy due to the thick gloves that she was forced to wear. “They must be later additions. There are attestations of this temple existing before the civil wars.” Renata spoke almost to herself as the rest of their party gazed upon the carvings of elves at war. Legions of soldiers and mages casting spear, spell and sword against each other. Great flying creatures used as mounts to attack the monolithic floating tower Mira had made her fortress towards the end of her reign.
“If she was such a great leader n’ that, what she start three bloody civil wars for?” Fred called from the rear, taking in this history with a somewhat grounded view. Mara smiled behind her mask, amused at Fred’s antics and quite relieved her filtration system worked. Said filtration system being a cobbled-together spell at the last second. Solvi seemed intimidated, shifting uncomfortably as the grand entrance slowly closed into smaller proportions. Mara gripped her companion’s forearm, hoping her presence was enough to calm the large orsan down.
“Have some decorum, Fred! She merely had a vision for the empire whilst others wished it to stagnate.” Renaud shouted back at the skitti, who grumbled in response. Renata looked physically pained by Renaud’s words. If she felt aggrieved by them, she made no comment on it as her light fell upon an archway in the depths. Its zenith was carved with an elegant, glowing script that reminded Mara somewhat of the modern elvish alphabet. It must be the ancestor of theirs, Mara thought. “What does it say?” Renaud breathed, barely able to contain himself. Mara felt happy for him. This was perhaps one of Renaud’s most cherished moments. To walk amongst his heroic ancestors, as he called them.
“What, the great Professor Renaud doesn’t read Elysian?” Renata taunted as she inspected the base carvings. Mara leaned to look at them and saw beautiful reliefs of serchis flowers, which were known to be Arawn’s favoured plant. A flower that bore bountiful beneficial unguents when prepared correctly, potent poisons when prepared poorly. “It’s written from the perspective of the temple’s owner and says, ‘whether slave or empress, all are equal before me.’” Renata translated with a wry look, causing several members of the party to look confused before Arthur turned pale with realisation. Renata laughed at the poor man, walking through the archway with reverence.
“Lord of the Dead, I beseech your clemency at arriving unannounced.” Arthur breathlessly whispered, bowing before he entered the halls of Arawn. Fred seemed confused as he followed the others, catching up to Arthur and tapping his shoulder with a little hop.
“Why d’you care what he thinks? He ain’t yer god and he ain’t alive.” Fred opined, passing an obsidian statue of a dog with its teeth bared. Curiously, its ears were made of pure rubies which Fred found himself sorely tempted to chisel. With a look back at Renata, he huffed with frustration. Probably cursed anyway. One tap with the mallet and it takes your hand off, most likely.
The archway led to a large domed atrium that was perhaps under the peak of the mountain, its roof studded with twinkling silver imitations of the night sky. Carved from the black stone of the mountain were rows upon rows of simple benches all stepping down towards a dais at the rear of the chamber, barely visible in the light of their lamps. Renaud made a noise of irritation and swept his staff above them. Several balls of light flung themselves free from it, hovering above equidistant points throughout the chamber. Renaud seemed pleased but had to sit himself down upon the benches as his injury plagued the exertion. With his help, however, the room’s true majesty was revealed.
The walls were engraved with murals that were once painted depictions of stories from Arawn’s life. His defeat of the primordial chaos, his imprisonment of the Aberrant Lords and bequeathing long life to mortals. Behind the chair, which was more of a throne in Renaud’s lights, a titanic sculpture of Arawn’s holy symbol was depicted. It was a semicircle through which five lines had been thrust. They represented his tenets, the middlemost being longest to signify its importance. Either side of this edifice, two doors led to the temple proper from what the party understood to be some form of amphitheatre. An audience chamber for the god himself, perhaps?
“To think that our people could worship and speak to their god directly. Inconceivable.” Renaud breathed, eyes taking in every inch of this sacred place. He had walked down the steps between benches to the dais, eyes fixed upon the throne carved of solid black stone. It had stylized symbols upon it that, to Renaud’s trained eye, depicted a most fearsome spell. Should a mortal sit upon this throne with ill intent, their folly would be punished by the servants of Arawn. Curiously by Renaud’s reckoning, the spell seemed to have been formulated by mortal hands. The gods had no need of such quaint things as arcanography.
“Seems a bit thick t’me. Always heard that the voices of the gods would fry yer potato.” Fred interjected, tapping the side of his head with a finger. The skitti had busied himself prodding the statues of the hounds. They were miniature versions of the large ones either side of the entrance yet had the ruby ears so quaint to these peculiar statues.
“The Gods created artifacts through which they could speak to their flock. Arawn, if the sources are to be believed, used a staff or rod of some kind. He viewed himself as the shepherd of the dead, not their Lord. But many of the living considers him Lord of the Dead.” Renata shrugged as she made notes about the various murals on the walls, making sure to sketch an approximation. Arthur pulled a face as he explored the monumental arch that was Arawn’s symbol, making sure to show as much deference as he was capable. Fred was right in that Arthur did not worship this deity. The gods were gone, their essence remaining only to continue their anointed tasks. But all gods, no matter their position in the canon, were worthy of respect in Arthur’s mind.
“What is the shepherd to the flock but their lord?” Renaud opined argumentatively, though in a false pious voice that caused a flash of irritation to pass Arthur’s usually calm disposition. The older elf had occupied himself by standing before the throne, contemplating its height. The seat alone was level with his chest, its back towering over even Solvi’s head. Renata had arrived on scene to take measurements of it, determined to work out the exact dimensions of a god.
“You reckon they were made of flesh or space stuff?” Fred pondered, eyeing the murals which depicted Arawn and his seven siblings. They were approximately the shape of mortals. Some bore horns, elvish ears or the tails and height of coblini. Yet each one had been silhouetted and merely given colours to identify them. Fred eyed the primordial chaos beneath them with concern. It had been depicted not as a creature like a dragon but rather a shapeless mass of mouths, eyes and grasping claws. Like a cuttlefish. Fred never saw a cephalopod he liked the look of.
“Depends on who you ask, Fred. Sometimes they appear wearing beggar’s clothes which suggest flesh. Other times people talk about being blinded by their radiance.” Arthur smiled over at the skitti, his glasses balanced on his nose as he took to gawking at what appeared to be tablets. Arthur knew that they were Elysian and thus illegible to him yet hoped Mara, who also showed an interest, would translate them to him. To that end, he sidled up to her, looking at a tablet that had a promising skull carved into its metal surface. “Would you mind imparting some of his wisdom, if you can?” Arthur asked serenely, hoping that the Lady wouldn’t get jealous of his fascination with this place. He was sure Mira had erected one for her somewhere!
“It’s not his wisdom. It’s hers.” Mara breathed, prompting Renata’s head to snap up. It wasn’t long before the older elf woman was at her side, reading furiously. Renaud had abandoned his exploration of the throne to suddenly appear next to Arthur, leaning on him as he arrived. “These tablets are how she did it. How she created necromancy.” Mara breathed, her hands shaking with awe. The woman’s own hand explaining in clearest detail her secrets. As if anyone could have simply walked up to this treasure trove and taken for themselves the secrets to commanding the dead. Her mask puffed black mist in pure excitement.
“Don’t touch them! Don’t even read further. That is cursed knowledge that almost destroyed a nation.” Renata barked, attempting to usher the group away from the tablets with all haste. Though even she couldn’t resist looking back at the pure poetry of Mira’s formulations. They even had narrative asides that could give a clearer picture into her mind. An archaeologist’s dream- primary sources from one of the most famous and powerful mages to ever exist!
Mara found her hand moving on its own. She tried to withdraw it to no avail. With a growl, she grabbed her own wrist and attempted to throw her body weight backwards. Yet she found her legs paralyzed as well. Panic gripped her as her hand continued to move forth, taking the modestly sized tablet from its pedestal.
“Fedan Revi!” Mara cried out in elvish, prompting Renaud to look away from his argument with Renata. He saw his sana holding in her hand the Miran tablet, attempting to slip it into her robes. The older elf roared a spell, leaving his lips with such venom that Mara didn’t even notice her body locking up before going completely numb. She fell to the ground, tablet falling onto her chest. Regardless of his intervention, the statues of the hounds began to crack loose from their mounting and stalk forward with hollow, haunting growls. “They’re actual Hounds of Arawn?!” Mara demanded from the floor, as the stone dogs began bounding towards the group.
“I knew they were bloody cursed!” Fred howled, whipping out his rifle and chambering a round.
