Yew, and Returning to the Beginning [5/6]

In the pitch black of the stairwell, runes flared to life. More unfamiliar forms, so numerous there was hardly any spot without them. It sent shivers along Yew’s spine, driving doubt into her gut; this may have been a mistake after all. If something happened no one could save them in time; they wouldn’t be able to call for help, either, Yew suspected a humble message spell wouldn’t make it past the disruptive net of magic the runes were producing.

The only way left was up.

Ulma went ahead first, climbing each shallow step at a steady pace. Like Yew, she was studying the runes, looking for any sign of something they knew; or, any sign that they were activating. It wasn’t clear what they did, but Yew was really hoping for almost anything other than “blow up intruders”. For all they knew it was an archaic and pedantic fire tornado spell that would incinerate them if they stepped in the wrong place. Yew swallowed nervously, fear of injury welling up her urge to eat.

The tower had way more than three flights of stairs, she was sure. They had been climbing them too long. They couldn’t see where the spiral leveled out, but they had made enough revolutions that they should have arrived somewhere. Yew wondered if this was another trick, like the entrance had been. She was starting to calm down as nothing happened, growing increasingly bored. She sighed.

It wasn’t a matter of stamina, Yew’s wasn’t infinite, but it was fairly impressive. It was just that walking up an endless tower was an exceedingly boring thing to do. As she so often did throughout the years, she began to hum her song. It was Ulma that saw the runes responding to it. They started shifting around the walls, reorganizing themselves onto the steps. Once the walls were free of glowing script, a door revealed itself to them. Ulma pushed it open; it lead them to a floor of corridors.

There was a mosaic here too, but just of the sun. Every carving and image was one giant swirling fireball; they could only tell it apart from a random star by the sheer detail of it. Each curving ray at the edge extended far out and contained streaks of varying color, it seemed to be modeled after a flame; the center was white and blue instead of yellow or orange. Ulma used a floating light spell to illuminate the space around them. The stones here were all dark, unlike the reflective white of the outside. However, not dark enough so as to hide the rusty brown smears along the wall and floor.

Well, that looks rather disconcerting. They could follow the trail left behind by her blood. Ulma stared at it, still for a moment, as if only just putting a picture to the vague memories Yew had described about when she woke up here. She reached back and grasped Yew’s hand, feeling the strong urge to hold on and never let go.

Ulma had only been thinking of excitement and mystery when they set out on this adventure. The reality of it, and whatever horrible things had happened to Yew here had been left unconsidered. There was so much blood. Too much for any normal eleven year old child to survive losing.

They walked in silence, Yew lightly squeezing Ulma’s hand for comfort. Yew was fine, she had seen worse than her own blood. But she knew her sister didn’t like reminders that she had been severely injured in the past. One tail brought them to the window, where Yew gazed out on that first view she’d seen in the late hours of the day. She was tall enough to see through it without jumping now. She was struck by a thread of bittersweetness twisting in her heart. She wasn’t sure why this window felt so nostalgic, she had spent barely any time here in the scheme of things.

The other tail lead them to the room with the stone table. Looking at it with the eyes of an adult, she could see now that it was an alter. Apparently, for the sun. It was sized for an adult, if one were lay on it, so it was no surprise that it was so massive in her fuzzy childhood memories. This chamber too, held evidence of her being there in the form of old stains and rusty flakes. She could see the places where the rough stone had caught on her skin at its sharpest edges and torn her, then, fragile skin. The spots on the dais steps where she had rolled down and caught more sharp corners.

Yew came seeking answers, but there were only more questions here. Had she been some sort of sacrifice? One that was reanimated before she had fully died? Or perhaps she had been around as long as the ruins themselves, and only just awoke. Had she been in magical stasis, under the same foreign spells as the mosaics, and been changed by spending so much time neither dead nor alive? So many questions, but Yew had a feeling she wouldn’t find those answers today, possibly never.

She walked forward and placed a hand on the flat of the alter, it was tall for an adult too. A sure sign that whatever happened, she hadn’t climbed up onto it herself. However, she had woken up here alone. Whoever, or whatever, had placed her there was long gone with nary a trace. It didn’t feel special. It really was just a fancy table in a room. The mural of the sun on the wall behind it radiated more magic than the table.

They walked around the alter to inspect the giant blue sun closer, when Ulma touched it the mosaic flared to life. The swirling rays moved back and forth like a long flickering flame, the way they moved was sort of hypnotic and Yew struggled to tear her eyes away from the motion. It distracted her from the way the runes on every other surface of the room started lighting up one by one, faster and faster. It was like fire set to a puddle of oil, spreading outward from the sun it a great burning ripple. The room hadn’t felt like much before, but now the energy was intense.

Neither woman had ever felt such overwhelming magic before, just radiating from a rune. Something about it unsettled Yew; she wanted to leave now. Whatever these runes did, she didn’t want to be near when they did it. Yew turned, dragging Ulma away from the wall and off toward the door. Except, when they turned around they weren’t alone in the chamber anymore.