The Scion and The Squire - {solangelo au}

4. Officially Sealed

The meadow was eerily quiet as we briskly walked through the thin, tall grass. This definitely wasn't as peaceful as the forest was—sadness seemed to hang in the atmosphere like clouds. I snuck a daring glance at one of the soul stealers and a bubble caught in my throat.

Its face was starkly white compared to its dark eye holes. Its lips were the color of its skin, but were chapped and peeling. It didn't have eyebrows, but the bone beneath seemed to be expressing complete and utter depression. A cloak was draped over the floating being, as if that did anything to make them seem more human.

Jesus. I thought my life was bad.

It approaches a flower, raising its long, spindly fingers to the petals. Oddly, the being lifted its' head up as it sucked the color from the plant. The brow bone seemed to relaxed, the lips had pulled into a smile, and the skin was turning darker, more tan. Most shocking, however, were the black pits. They didn't change to regular, beautiful eyes.

Right before me, I saw as the changes came. And as quickly as they came—they were gone again. The being slowly reverted back into its hermit-like appearance. For some reason, my heart began to hurt, like I had been stung. For a second, I had thought it saw me, but it seemed to not care.

"What are they?" I whispered to Will, slightly horrified.

"Dad called them Sisyphians," Will simply states, looking back at the Pegasus slowly trotting behind us. "after the myth of Sisyphus."

I wouldn't admit it, especially not to Will, but Sisyphus wasn't in my vocabulary. In these moments, I'm reminded why I ache for wealth—Will has been taught by the best professors in the world. At age 14, he was awarded The Young Royal Mathematician Award. At age 14, I was polishing Hades's shield. That was my education.

"Makes sense," I lie.

As we come up to the building, I began to feel the vibrations leaking from the small square structure. We stop in front of the hut, looking at the intricate details. From this close, it seemed to be built with thousands of small pebbles meticulously glued together. An old, rickety wooden hung loosely from hinges. Moss grew in every crevice it could squeeze into, and vines hung from the grassy roof. A large gust of wind could send the building crumbling to ashes.

Yet, it seemed purposeful. I guess anything is possible in the realm of magic.

Will turns to face Blackjack then ties her to a wooden post just outside. "Keep a look out," he tells her. She neighs a triumphant response. He looks at me. "Lay low and don't speak to anybody. We just need a few clues. See if dad's been here or not."

"What are they doing?" I ask, staring out into the field. The stinging sensation returns until I peel my eyes away.

"It's a cemetery," Will grimaces. "the forest has them in a form of hibernation. It's how they dispose."

I gulp, my heart pounding louder with every step. The stillness of a building so frail was unnerving. "Dispose of people like us?"

He doesn't reply, which answers more than his convoluted responses ever did. He goes to gently push the door, but it hardly budges. I press my hands against the thick mahogany. The both of us push, grunting and sweating by the time it budges just far enough to catch momentum. It swings on its hinges, almost weightless, as if it were taunting us. 

Will smooths and dusts off his pants before snapping into perfect posture. I take a step in front of him, entering first with my hand wrapped tightly around my dagger. Instantly, I'm hit with a familiar, harsh scent: beer.

The room was large, much larger than its outside appearance, and was completely carved from wood. It was filled with people - no, not people, monsters. Creatures I had only ever read about when I was stuck with library chores. Women that looked like women, but were the shades of primary colors, threw back shots at the long, large bar. A large brute with one eye manned it, filling drink after drink. A snake with heads on both ends of its scaly body slithered to a piece played by the pianist, a monster with the head of a mutt. We stuck out like sore thumbs.