Deeper and Deeper Down

    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?”

    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 large tiles, each one embossed with a simple, runic-style letter on a quilt-like background. He crouched, running a hand over the edge of 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. The understanding I’ve been granted, 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 ‘words’. Or maybe ‘reading’? Something like that.”

    Corvane flew over the pattern of the floor. “I believe your instinct is correct. I can make out the runes for the word ‘letters’ on the floor. It is only one possible combination, however. There would still be a risk.”

    “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I always say.” Flick interjected. “They don’t tell stories about cautious kings, after all.”

    “That is because the stories would be lengthy, and they would end with them dying happily in their beds.” Corvane countered. “But it is up to you, Successor.”

    Sean squinted at the floor. “Corvane, you can see more clearly than we down here, can you guide Flick and I along the right path?”

    “Certainly. As long as you are sure of this, 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. Once the group had passed each row, the runes on the tiles faded away leaving only the punched out pattern.

    As they approached the end of the grid, 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.

    “Successor, pause for a moment.” Corvane suggested, a note of hesitation in his voice.

    Sean did as he was asked and looked down towards the final set of tiles. The problem was immediately apparent.

    “Wow, this couple really was a nasty piece of work, wasn’t it?” He said, half to himself, as he looked at a line of identical runes. “Are they all the correct rune at least, Corvane?”

    “Yes,” the raven replied, “they have changed from my initial review. All of them now appear to be the final step to our solution and I can see no indication of which will allow you to pass.”

    Sean nodded, turning to Flick. “Any chance you can smell a difference? Maybe oiled mechanisms or something under the ‘wrong’ ones?”

    Flick shook her head, “No lad, at least nothing I can smell in this form.”

    Sean’s mind raced. The way back was closed to them and the way forward was nearly as dangerous. A tiny voice in his head suggested he send Flick test the next tile ahead of him, maximizing his own chance of getting to safety. After all, the spikes probably wouldn’t hurt her as a fox, would they? And there was still, what, a thirty percent chance that she’d pick the right one?

    He banished that thought almost immediately, although he was ashamed that it had even occurred to him in the first place. That wasn’t the kind of king – no, the kind of man – he wanted to become in this new life.

    “Try turning back into a fox, Flick. Maybe you’ll smell something then.” He said, settling on a different course. She did as he asked, shifting back into her smaller form and sniffing the air.

    “I still don’t catch anything lad, sorry.”

    “That’s alright, Flick, you did your best. Sorry about this.” Sean said. Without warning, he leaned down and scooped the fox up, throwing it across the last tiles and onto the presumed safety of the floor beyond. Corvane scrambled off of his shoulder, launching himself into a tight circle above.

    Flick landed on her feet, whirling around. “What are you doing lad?”

    “I echo her question, Successor.”

    “This is the best way, guys.” Sean shrugged apologetically. “If I pick the wrong tile and… get hurt, then you and Flick should still be able to get the kids out of here. If not, then no harm no foul, right?”

    “I must protest,” Corvane replied, the reproach clear in his voice, “you are to be King of Aiane, you cannot risk yourself foolishly like this.”

    “Yeah, I thought you’d say something like that.” Sean answered, stepping forward onto the tile in front of him. It sank into the ground with a click that made him wince.

    He waited, eyes closed. There wasn’t any pain. No spikes shot themselves into his body. There was nothing at all, except the protests of long neglected gears beneath the plate.

    Sean opened his eyes and looked down at the tile. In the holes, he could see the tips of sharp bronze spikes moving up at a glacial pace out of the floor. He let out a breath and looked up at Corvane.

    “See? I told you it would be alright.” Sean said as he took a step forward towards Flick.

    As if in protest of his escape, something beneath him tore free of its moorings. With a tortured shriek of metal on stone, Sean plummeted out of sight with a startled yelp.