The Heirs of Death

19. A Hiss of Darkness

A HISS OF DARKNESS

The place reeked of death.

The inside of the house was burning like the heart of a volcano, adding to the stench. I craved the cold air of the autumn nights outside those walls, craved the soft and cool earth on my skin that was better than the chairs we were seated on. Sitting on bones was better than those piece of wood grunting and groaning when I barely budged.

Prickles of dust filled the air, glinting over the candles and coating almost everything. The place was not as small as it seemed from the outside, but there were so many trinkets and statues and old books and magical items filling every corner there was hardly a place to sit. Which led Aedis and I to rest around a glass table in the middle of the place--the most decent piece of furniture--that had as much junk than what was on the floor.

I didn't particularly pay attention to the bones tied like a stack of herbs on one side, or the small boxes filled with dust and ashes. Not even the wooden statue carved like a dog with three sticks stuck in its stomach picked my curiosity as hard as the crystal sphere resting in the middle. And the scroll behind it.

It was the sealed wax that made me queasy, Lysithea's insignia clear on the red substance. I had to use my magic to be able to pull the ink out, removing letter after letter from the white paper and lining it in the air in front of me. It was written in an old language, not as old the Fallen's nor the one the Book of Astazan used, but it remained ancient in it's own way. And dark.

The content wasn't better.

I hadn't quite read enough to grasp the entire gist of the deal inked and signed in that letter when I felt two presence getting out of a room two floors below ground. I broke the spell, making do with the bits and bits I was able to pick, shared one, long look with Aedis that was enough to tell him that message was bad news, and turned my attention to the ball.

If that witch placed foot in Eziara, if she had full access to the magic and potions and deadly spells, I anticipated the worse.

The footsteps echoed closer and I placed my head on the arms crossed on the dirty glass of the surface. One hand adorned with long and sharp claws--the carvings on their iron enough to tell who I was--traced the sphere that was the only clean thing in this house.

Magic throbbed in it, pulsing as though it was the very heart of this place. Everything around us was tied to it, every spell and potion pulling its strength from the powers seeping from it. I ran my fingers around it, brushing it slightly, making the magic pulse harder. Even Leon could see the landscapes locked inside the sphere, the places that fell inside the barrier we crossed while running. There was more in it that I couldn't seem to pull out entirely; something else and different than everything I knew. Something powerful.

The steps fell closer and closer and I counted the heartbeats until I felt them both, mother and daughter, standing on the threshold of the supposed living room. We didn't turn back to great them, didn't make a move to acknowledge their presence. I only rubbed on the crystal sphere harder, earning a warning hiss from the witch we traveled so far to meet.