The Warlord

Chapter 26: Lorelei

The curses have not found me in the three days that I have been here, but I still set up wards and protection runes around me each night. I also move about the ruins, as much as it scares me to do so. There has to be some sort of connection between here and the Gods. I might be able to ask my godly patron, the divine voice that guides me from time to time, for help. I have been surviving off of my own magic, growing plants and fruit trees with the little power that I have. But if I do not find a way to get out of here, my magic will not replenish itself as quickly as I am using it, and the period between me hitting rock bottom and reaching a decent amount of power is too long. My food supply will wither away without my magic, and I will starve, perhaps succumbing to the curses before my own hunger.

And then, on the fourth day, it happens. I arise with the sun, carefully packing up the gemstones into my satchel and wiping away the runes scratched on the ground around me. I bite into half a peach, saved from last night's dinner, and make my way to the temple that I stumbled upon. I have been visiting it ever since, as well as exploring the ruins, hoping to find out more about the possible existence of the Primordials here.

As I force open the ancient wood door, a whisper floats past my ear. A worshipper. For a moment I believe that my ears have played tricks on me, that it was the breeze flying by, but reluctantly, I turn around. Panic seizes my chest as I see a wispy figure in the distance, flickering in and out of reality. I back up against the door, my fingers trembling, my knees locked together. Is it a curse? But as I look closer, my eyes burrowing into the strange and terrifying sight before me, I make out the shape of a looming horse. A young boy with desolate eyes, carrying a bundle of hay in his arms, stands by the animal's side. You are not the first. He does not open his mouth, but the words can only come from him. But will you be the last? Then he and the horse dissipate, their forms diffusing into air, as if being blown away by the wind. The last glimpse of him is his eerily hollow eyes, caved and dead inside, looking as if he was seeing a doomed world.

What did he mean? How am I a worshipper? Perhaps it was because I was standing in front of the temple, but I am not worshipping the Katacrisian deities, and I have a feeling a being like that would know where my beliefs truly lie. He said, "You are not the first." There were definitely others stranded here, but were there truly witches like me in the past that had come across this place? An idea begins to dawn on me. Maybe I can find some of their supplies, some of their runes... But oddly enough, I have not seen any bodies or skeletons since I got here. Maybe they are in the unexplored parts of the ruins, but the situation is still perplexing. "But will you be the last?" What did he mean by that? Is there a way to stop people from winding up here? I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. What is important is that I have not been harmed, that I have been granted more time. Words from a wordless being will do me no good if I dwell on them.

I straighten my posture, but the prickling sensation of fear does not leave my spine, and my heart still thumps against my chest, pounding enough to burst. "Let not the shadow-dwellers run amok, let not the gods' boundaries be undone. Barrier towards the forgotten, align." I trace a line in the air with my finger, a brilliant golden flash following the movement. I do not know how well my shield will hold against beings such as the boy and his horse, but I cannot afford to waste time cowering on the earth, waiting for the curses to find me. Hope is dim, morale is low, but I hate to sit and do nothing. If I am to die then I must make use of the time that I still have left. Maybe a clue will appear, maybe something will show itself. A kingdom built upon slim chances is better than a cage of cowardice.

Even though the encounter with the boy unnerves me, I take a deep breath and walk into the temple. Light streams in from a few cracked windows, showing gray columns of stone with sand-filled cracks. The wooden benches are all rotten and broken, but the mosaic that I am studying gleams like a gem, the dust completely gone thanks to me. The two figures that I saw when I first stumbled upon this place are Chaos and Harmony without a doubt; all of their symbols have been painted onto the two figures. I have deduced that three more could possibly be Mischief, Evil, and Good, but there are too many tiles missing to be certain. I move on to the last six figures making up the pantheon. They are painted in a less vibrant light, almost as if the artist wanted to shun them.

Three figures resembling Chaos and three figures resembling Harmony stand side by side. The Chaos-lookalikes each have a different object in their hand, one with a helmet, one with a sword, and one with a scythe. The females are the same, one with a sapling cupped in her hands, one with an apple, and one with a bundle of flowers. I recognize the symbols immediately, and relief, but also deep confusion, sings through me. The six most powerful gods are painted right alongside the other figures, meaning the other figures must be the Primordials. Yet why are they in less vibrant colors, and why are they there in the first place?

I back up, taking a step or two away from the mosaic to clear my mind. A representation of the gods means I can establish limited connection to them through worship, which also increases my magic. I can hold out here for longer, and eventually, I might be able to build up enough magic to find a way back home.

The back of my leg touches the altar behind me, and I instinctively turn. For the first time, I notice that a square has been carved on the altar. Using my fingernails and my strength, I wedge the tips of my hands into the thin cracks and lift away the square. It was acting as a lid. I look inside and see a bundle of ancient scrolls, barely intact, each tied together with string frail enough to fall apart at the first touch. Frowning, I pick out a random one and unfurl it. The title reads: The Fall Of Katacris, 1000 XE. I know enough about Katacris to decipher the date as 1236 BG; 1,236 years before the appearance of the gods. What does this mean?