Threads of Pale Fire

    The tomb’s passages wound deeper, revealing more damage the further the group travelled. Beyond being forced to squeeze through collapsed halls and duck beneath sagging beams, the rising water made it difficult to detect where floor traps might be hidden. Sean exhaled sharply through his nose, trying his best to clear it of the stale air. It was thick enough that even he was catching the smell of burnt tallow mixed with mildew and damp stone. Twice more they caught the faint outline of children – a boy peering round a corner, a girl darting just out of reach – each image melting into pale flame when approached. Wisps giggled and sang in stolen voices, mocking echoes that danced around the stone.

    “To Mother Mog we give our thread, to fill their boots and arms with lead.”

    Sean’s nerves frayed further with every singsong note. “They’re trying to bait us into rushing.”

    “And they’re succeeding.” Corvane scolded, wings brushing Sean’s cheek as he lit onto his shoulder. “You’ve already forgotten what could happen if you don’t watch your step. Look down.” Sean followed the raven’s gaze to the floor beneath the dirty water. The bird’s eyes had caught something at first glance that it took Sean several moments to see in the gloom. Eventually, though, he did notice – a gap around the edge of a five-foot square set of tiles.

    “What do you think it is? A pitfall?”

    Flick inched closer, tail low. She pressed one of the tiles with her paw, putting some extra force into the motion. As if in slow motion the panel split open and folded down against the water filling the pit. The flaps acted like a pair of paddles, disturbing the thick layer of silt layered across the hole’s bottom. Sean made out corroded spear tips that danced through the water, their shafts long since rotted away.

    Thankful once again for his body’s immunity to disease, Sean lowered himself into the pit-turned-pool. The smell of the rancid water threatened to make him gag, but he did his best to breathe through his nose to avoid swallowing any of the murky brew. This attempt was foiled when Flick failed to jump across the pit, instead dunking herself a couple feet short of the other side. His involuntary snort of laughter turned into a bout of disgusted coughing as the water went up his nose and down his throat.

    Sean reached the other side just as Flick hopped out and was met with a face full of spray as she shook out her fur. He glared at her reproachfully, but kept silent. Beyond the pit, the tomb opened into a wide chamber supported by crooked pillars. The floor sloped up, trading dirty water for dusty floors.

    At the far side two pale shapes darted among the columns. Their mocking songs and the group’s breathing were the only sounds disturbing the quiet of the tomb. Behind the flame-wreathed children, two large stone sarcophagi stood silent witness to the wisps’ dangerous game.

    “To Mother Mig we bow our head, to curse their hearts to drown in dread.”

    Flick let out a shrill bark, her hackles up. “The smell’s even worse this close. Now I remember why I always hated going hunting around the bog.” Her body grew into her human form and she sniffed, nose wrinkling. “Better, but still not very pleasant.”

    “I can see the tethers more clearly here, now that we’re close to their source.” Corvane whispered in Sean’s ear. “Each one links a sarcophagus and a wisp.”

    Sean nodded, forcing himself to focus. The ground between them and the columns was patterned with tiles, each one embossed with a simple, runic-style letter on a quilt-like background. He crouched, running a hand over the closest one. “Looks like someone supersized a game of Boggle.”

    “If it is a game, then it is a dangerous one,” Corvane said. “Note the holes that form each tile’s background pattern. I would say they are just the right size for a rather unpleasant spike to spring from.”

    Sean shook his head. “Doesn’t this seem a little overkill for a tomb in the middle of an empty bog? You know, the magic, the traps, all of it?”

    “Aye, I agree with you, and it makes me wonder what kind of folk are buried over yon.” Flick said, pointing over to their tormentors. “See will-o-wisps are the spirits of particularly nasty folk who never wandered into the Trinity’s halls. Not murderers or thieves or the like, those can return as much worse than wisps, but bullies who delight in petty cruelty. If I was one of those folks, I might make a tomb like this hoping to have a bit of ‘fun’ after I shuffled off my mortal coil.”

    “So you think this is what, some miserable couple from two hundred years ago amusing themselves in their retirement?” Sean asked.

    She shrugged, “Or they really were worried about what folk would do to their graves given the chance. It might just be a case of bad luck and worse magic.”

    Sean looked around the hall. “Corvane, can you fly around and try to light the room up a bit? There has to be a clue here somewhere.”

    The raven lifted from Sean’s shoulder and did a loop around the entrance to the chamber. In the dim blue light, Sean just caught an inscription on one of the pillars. He moved to it and brushed the dust obscuring it away.

        If you can understand us, you’ve already won
        We’re afraid if you can’t, you’re already done.

    “I take it you’ve found your clue?” The raven asked as he completed his flight and settled back onto his perch.

    Sean nodded. “In your day, Corvane, how many people could read?”

    “Only the nobility. The occasional merchant or trader as well, although they mostly dealt in sums and figures. My understanding of the island as it stands suggests things haven’t changed much in that regard.”

    “Well then, I believe we have the answer to both the floor and Flick’s curiosity. I think the word we have to spell to cross is ‘letters’.” Sean squinted at the floor. “Corvane, you can see more clearly than me down here, can you guide Flick and I along the right path?”

    “Certainly, Successor. As long as you are certain of this path, then you may simply step where I tell you.”

    With Corvane croaking each correct step, Sean and Flick picked their way across the lethal mosaic, sweat beading on Sean’s brow despite the tomb’s cool air. As they approached, the frolicking children dissolved into a shimmer of pale flame. Two small fiery orbs shot up and through the ceiling, leaving one final line of song to linger in the air.

    “Till all the world is stained in red, and none remain who haven’t bled.”

    Well, Sean thought to himself, that’s not exactly a cheery line. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so eager to accept the goddesses’ terms.

    Pushing the thought aside for the moment, Sean walked towards the sarcophagi with Flick in tow. If they’d had lids at some point they were gone now, leaving their contents exposed. The sight made Sean shiver. Each held a young child, no more than ten years old, embraced by the stiff cold arms of an ancient corpse. The children were unmarked, but their skin was ashen and their sleep clearly troubled.

    “So,” Sean asked, “how do we wake them up? Are the threads connecting to the corpses, or the children, Corvane?”

    “Both.” the raven replied. “I believe the solution, however, is a simple one with the tools at hand. Take out your hatchet and strike hard beneath where I land. Cold iron is anathema to spirits, especially weak ones such as these. A sharp blow should suffice to sever the incorporeal thread that tethers them to their former shells.”

    Corvane hopped from Sean’s shoulder and onto the edge of the girl’s sarcophagus. As directed, Sean swung his hatchet at the stone. The loud clang of its impact was drowned out by an unearthly screech that filled the air as the skeleton’s skull burst into cold blue-white flame.

    Sean moved to pull the girl away, but stopped short. The fire was confined to the skull, charring it black even as it spared the child and the surrounding stone. The shriek and the flame both quickly subsided, leaving a headless skeleton and a girl whose color looked to be returning.

    He repeated the process for the boy’s captor, achieving the same result. He quickly bundled the child up in his arms, leaving the girl to Flick. She smiled at him as she took the girl into her arms.

    “Well look at you, you’re a proper hero now, lad. You’ve even rescued your first damsel!”

    Sean gave her a smile in return. “Seems so, Flick. How about we go see if heroes eat for free?”