Chapter 11

Words in a Dark Place

> He confessed to me that he had loved two women in his life—one distantly, the other fiercely. His advice was clear: never let the follies of youth stand as a barrier to true happiness.

>

> — Interviews with the Emperor

Godfrey arrived some time later at the entrance to Elara’s hidden study, the concealed door now familiar after months of secret visits. The dense canopy above allowed only slender beams of sunlight to pierce through, casting shifting patterns across the forest floor as the autumn wind stirred the leaves. The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of wind or the distant call of a bird, creating a hushed atmosphere that seemed to demand silence.

He removed the branches Elara had draped over the entrance and descended into the chamber. The space had changed since they first uncovered it—Elara had added many homely touches, softening the ancient stone with draped fabrics and carefully placed candles. Yet despite these efforts, the room remained shrouded in darkness. The warmth of the flickering candlelight cast a soft glow, illuminating the shelves that had once held desiccated relics but now bore the weight of carefully curated supplies. The open portal to the library room loomed at the back, its door never having been closed since the day it was first revealed.

And there, in the center of the room, stood Elara.

She looked up as Godfrey entered, her expression inscrutable as she studied him in the dim light. The flickering candles cast shifting shadows across her face, making her appear both familiar and distant, as if she were straddling the line between the girl he thought he knew and something altogether different. In her hands, she held one of the ancient books, its cover adorned with the same metallic threads that had captivated her from the start.

“You came,” she said softly, her voice echoing slightly in the stillness of the chamber.

Godfrey nodded, his eyes drifting over the room before settling on her. “I need answers, Elara. You know something—something you learned in that library.”

He hesitated, his gaze falling to the floor for a moment. “I know you don’t…care for me. I know I’ve been foolish these years to pursue you, and for that, I apologize.”

His eyes found hers again, more determined now. “But I’m not so foolish as to believe you gave away that book out of sentiment. I think you need me for something, and it has something to do with that inscription we found, or these doors. And if you want me to help you, I will—but only if you tell me what is going on.”

Elara’s gaze softened, but her eyes held a hint of something more—reluctance, perhaps, or calculation. The candlelight flickered as she took a breath, clearly weighing her words.

Elara didn’t respond verbally. Instead, she simply looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable, before silently crossing the room to where he stood. Without a word, she took his hand in hers, her touch surprisingly gentle, and led him toward the library.

The ancient stone walls seemed to close in around them as they entered the library, the air cooler and heavier than in the outer chamber. The flickering candlelight cast long, wavering shadows on the shelves filled with ancient tomes and relics. Elara led him to the far wall, where the metallic threads of the inscription gleamed faintly in the dim light.

She released his hand and gestured toward the wall, her eyes fixed on his. “I want you to… sing… to the wall, Godfrey,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ll explain everything after, but I don’t think I’ll need to.”

Godfrey felt her nearness like he would a bonfire.

He looked at her, his brow furrowing in confusion as he tried to make sense of her request. Before he could voice his uncertainty, Elara leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a tender kiss. The warmth of her touch sent a jolt through him, and for a few moments, he was lost in the softness of the moment, the connection between them sparking to life in a way he had never imagined.

But then, as if waking from a dream, Godfrey gently broke away. “Elara… don’t,” he whispered, his voice tinged with both longing and hesitation.

Elara’s eyes, still holding that mysterious intensity, didn’t waver. She took his hand once more and pressed it firmly against the cold metal of the inscription. “Sing, Godfrey,” she urged, her voice insistent now. The seriousness in her tone left no room for argument.

Godfrey chuckled softly, trying to lighten the heavy air between them. “What do you want to hear, Elara?” he asked, a teasing note in his voice.

Elara’s lips curved into a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She glanced at the wall, then back at him, the urgency in her gaze unmistakable. “Just sing,” she said, her voice steady but filled with an intensity that made it clear this was no ordinary request.

Godfrey's gaze locked onto the inscription, and as his hand pressed against the cold metal, a strange sensation washed over him. He could feel the smooth grooves of the inscription beneath his fingers; they intertwined seamlessly, running through and into each other in a fluid dance that defied the rigid structure of any written text he could comprehend. His fingers moved along one of the characters, tracing its looping form as it flowed into a phrase, then into a sentence, and on into something far beyond simple language.

As his touch lingered on the gray metal, an instinctual hum began to rise from deep within his chest. The sound was soft at first, tentative, but as it filled the quiet chamber, he could feel it resonate through his hand and into the wall. The vibrations rippled outward, splashing against the metal and running like water through the intricate grooves of the inscription. It was as if the wall was drinking in his voice, absorbing it into its very being.

The wall responded, emitting a sonorous, ephemeral note that reverberated through the chamber. Godfrey's hum shifted to match the note, the vibrations flowing through him in a way that felt both alien and natural. The wall sang back to him, and he answered in kind, his voice a mirror of the wall’s growing song. Another tone emerged, deeper and more resonant, and once again, Godfrey’s voice instinctively followed, matching the sound as if they were old friends.

This strange, harmonious exchange continued, the tempo gradually increasing as the wall and Godfrey became one in their melody. The connection between them deepened, and a powerful sensation of unity suffused his body, his very heartbeat aligning with the gathering storm of the song. The vibrations intensified, coursing through his veins like a current of energy, building toward something greater, something unknown.

The song was no longer just a hum; it was a conversation, an exchange between Godfrey and the ancient metal. Each note brought with it a new layer of understanding, a deeper connection that bound him to the inscription, to the chamber, to something far beyond his own understanding. The grooves in the metal pulsed with light, the characters glowing faintly as if awakening from a long slumber.

And still, Godfrey sang, his voice and the wall's intertwined, weaving together a melody that transcended time and space, pulling him ever closer to the truth hidden within the ancient chamber. The air around him thrummed with power, and the very ground beneath his feet seemed to tremble in anticipation as the song reached its crescendo.

Suddenly, the feeling of unity and connection he had with the wall coalesced into a single, sharp focal point in his mind. It was as if all the separate threads of the melody, the vibrations, the resonance between him and the inscription, had woven themselves together into one cohesive force. The sensation was overwhelming, but not in the way he expected. It wasn’t as if a flood of knowledge had been poured into his consciousness; instead, it was as if an ancient cistern, long sealed and forgotten, had been unleashed.

The knowledge didn’t surge forward like a torrent but rather bubbled to the surface, rising slowly and steadily, as if it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to be unlocked. Fragments of understanding, memories that weren’t his, thoughts that felt both foreign and intimately familiar, began to take shape in his mind. He could see the inscription on the wall not just as a series of characters, but as a map—a guide that connected him to something far older and deeper than he had ever imagined.

The song he had been singing was no mere melody; it was a key, and the wall was the lock that had been waiting for his voice, for his resonance, to set it free. The characters he had traced with his fingers were not just symbols; they were part of a larger structure, a lattice of knowledge encoded within him, within this chamber, within the very metal of the inscription.

“This…this was a vault.” Godfrey stammered, overwhelmed.

“Yes!” Elara exclaimed, eyes locked onto Godfrey’s, “What else did you learn? Tell me!”

“I wasn’t able to learn much of anything, the song is…unfinished.” Godfrey stated with a confused look.

“What does that mean, Godfrey? You’re not making any sense.”

“This vault isn’t for me, at least not yet.” As his thoughts re-ordered themselves, he looked at Elara, who was glaring at him angrily. “It’s…how do I explain this…I have a key, the song. But it’s not the only key, or at least, it’s not the correct key yet. I need to get…better at singing, I think?”

Elara’s frustration bubbled over, her voice rising. “What do you mean, ‘get better at singing’? This isn’t some village performance, Godfrey! This is ancient knowledge, a vault of secrets we’ve uncovered, and you’re telling me you’re not ready? That you need to improve?”

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Godfrey’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step back, his confusion deepening. “No, I mean…wait, how do you know it’s a vault?”

Elara hesitated for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Godfrey to catch the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She quickly masked it, her expression hardening. “Because I’ve been studying this place for months, Godfrey. I’ve pieced together the clues, deciphered what I could from the texts and inscriptions. I’ve spent countless hours down here while you were off training with your uncles or chasing rabbits in the woods.”

Godfrey didn’t respond immediately, his mind racing. He had always known Elara was intelligent, but this…this was something else. “You’ve been holding back on me,” he finally said, his voice quiet but edged with suspicion. “You’ve known more than you’ve let on, haven’t you? You’ve known about this vault and about me, about whatever is happened to me in this room, and you didn’t tell me.”

Elara’s eyes flashed with a mix of defiance and something else—something that looked like fear. “I’ve been trying to figure it out, Godfrey! I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure. This is bigger than both of us, don’t you see? I had to be certain before I brought you into this fully.”

Godfrey’s gaze didn’t waver. “I was terrified for months, Elara! I didn’t know if I had been…been possessed, or something! So, are you certain now? Or are you just desperate because things got out of control?”

Elara’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t back down. “Maybe it’s a little of both,” she admitted, her voice firm despite the tremor of unease that ran through it. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re in this together now. You’re tied to this place, Godfrey, whether you like it or not, whether you hate me or love me. And if you’re not ready, if you’re not in tune with this vault yet, then we need to figure out why. Because we don’t have the luxury of time anymore, thanks to your little performance.”

Godfrey looked at her, trying to read the emotions behind her words, but Elara’s face was a mask of determination. Then his thoughts darkened. “Why did you kiss me, Elara? Why do you play these games? Why can’t you just be honest with me?”

Elara's expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of guilt passing over her features, but it was quickly replaced by anger. “I’m being honest with you now,” she snapped, her voice sharp. “Isn’t that what you wanted? You should be happy about that. And you should be grateful that I saved your life with that book forgery, a book which could have priceless secrets contained within it.”

Godfrey was stunned, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. Somehow, in the whirlwind of events, he hadn’t fully grasped the gravity of what she had done for him. It was true—Elara had saved his life. If not for her quick thinking, he could have been imprisoned and tortured, or worse.

Elara saw the change in his face, the dawning comprehension, and she pressed her advantage. “And now I’m being honest with you, Godfrey,” she continued, her voice firm and unyielding. “But you still haven’t told me what you learned from the inscription. Tell me what you learned. Tell me now.”

Godfrey took a deep breath, trying to organize the torrent of information and emotions swirling in his mind. “There wasn’t much…information, at least not at my level of access,” he began, searching for the right words. “It’s like…I was only allowed a glimpse, a message from whoever created this chamber. But to unlock everything, I think I need to…sing more than one song? Maybe two, three, even four at the same time, which doesn’t make any sense.”

Elara’s eyes narrowed, absorbing this new information. “And the message you did receive?”

Godfrey nodded, his expression darkening as he recounted what he had learned. “The message was a warning, from the person who made this chamber, or maybe a letter left behind. It seemed like a report at first. They spoke of the Sea Folk, who had crossed the waters with ships in the thousands. Even with all the might of the Thaliric Empire, they weren’t ready. The Sea Folk brought heavy cavalry, siege weapons, and ocean-worthy navies that overwhelmed the Empire’s defenses. The flood was washing over even the most remote outposts, and there was little time left.”

Elara’s face remained impassive, but her knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the ancient book she was holding. Godfrey continued, his voice tinged with sadness as he relayed the messenger’s final words.

“The creator of the message wept for the loss of the Thaliric culture, for what she called the ‘barbaric practices’ of the Sea Folk. They, the Sea Folk I mean, believed that the Gifts of Nature—whatever that means—should only be taught to those with ‘noble’ blood. That concept was completely foreign to the messenger, and it disgusted her.”

He paused, his voice growing quieter, more somber. “The message ended with her signing off to what I assume was her husband or lover, saying goodbye. She could hear the bells ringing in the keep, and she was sealing this Library for good.”

Elara’s expression shifted, a mixture of awe and horror crossing her features as she processed the weight of what Godfrey had just revealed. She looked at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he might be holding back.

“This…this is incredible, Godfrey,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “If what you’re saying is true, then we’ve uncovered something far more valuable than I ever imagined. But it also means we’re dealing with knowledge that was meant to be buried forever.”

Godfrey wasn’t listening, still reeling from what he had experienced. "It wasn't just the words," he began, his voice shaky. "I didn't just hear the message—I felt it. I felt the sadness, the desperation, the love... everything the speaker felt as she spoke. It's like the emotion was burned into the message, and when I unlocked it, it hit me all at once."

“What? Who cares, Godfrey! Don’t you understand?” Elara was near-manic now, her hands grasping and jerking at the spine of the book in her hand. “We can learn it, Godfrey!”

“Learn what? The Tongue? Elara, are you insane? Rinthess threatened to have me tortured in a hole in the ground for the rest of my life for singing a song.”

“These books, Godfrey! It’s why I knew I needed your help! Look here, I’ve been translating.” She pointed to the table strewn with parchment and some of the ancient books. “Bits and pieces, and the prose is more metaphor than fact. It’s a science, Godfrey. The Tongue, the Hand, what they can do. I always thought it was some innate skill, or hereditary in the noble bloodlines and kept that way, but it’s not.”

Elara’s eyes narrowed as she caught the shift in Godfrey’s expression and body language. “What, Godfrey? What aren’t you telling me?”

Godfrey hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s... it’s not my secret to tell, not really.”

Elara’s frustration flared visibly. “I saved your fucking life, Godfrey. You owe me. If you tell me, I’ll consider us even. How about that?”

Godfrey looked at her, her words bearing down on him. He took a deep breath, then nodded slowly. “Alright... but this stays between us.”

Elara’s gaze remained steady, and she waved her hand dismissively. “Of course. Now, tell me.”

Godfrey swallowed hard, glancing at the door as if to make sure no one else could hear. “Hawker, John, and Tarlow... they’ve been teaching me. Already, I mean. For as long as I can remember.”

Elara blinked, taken aback by the revelation, confusion evident. “Teaching you what?”

Godfrey hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The arts of the Hand. Focus, Control... everything.”

For a moment, there was silence, the weight of Godfrey’s words hanging in the air between them. Then, Elara’s expression darkened, her confusion quickly turning to anger. “You’ve been learning the Hand? For years? Your uncles are ex-Hand? And you didn’t think to tell me? After all this time, all these secrets you’ve demanded from me, and you’ve been hiding this from me?”

Godfrey took a step back, sensing the storm brewing within her. “Elara, it’s not like that. I couldn’t—”

“Couldn’t what? Trust me? Share something so integral, so essential, about yourself? You have the audacity to question my honesty, to accuse me of playing games, and yet you’ve been hiding this all along?” Elara’s voice rose, each word laced with venom. “You hypocrite!”

Godfrey opened his mouth to respond, but Elara cut him off, her anger boiling over. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’ve risked by keeping this from me? I’ve been poring over these books, trying to unlock their secrets, and all the while, you’ve been holding the key, the very foundation of what I’m trying to understand!”

“Elara, please,” Godfrey tried to interject, but she wasn’t listening.

“You’re not just some village boy with a gift, Godfrey. You’re a danger—a liability. I could turn you in. I should turn you in.” Her eyes flashed with fury, her hands trembling as she clenched them into fists. “Do you understand what you’ve done? You’ve put me so behind. If you had told me I could have been a year and a half ahead in my studies, studies which now clearly implicate the future freedom and safety of the population of this Empire. So, not only are you a danger to the Empire, you’ve been a danger to us all!”

Godfrey’s own anger flared in response, but he kept his voice calm, almost cold. “You could turn me in, Elara. But do you really think that would change anything? Someone has already placed me on the board, like a pawn. Do you think Rinthess will care about some farm girl’s report? She’s already got her claws in me, and whatever her plans are, I doubt anything you say will change them.”

Elara stared at him, her breath coming in short, furious bursts. For a moment, it seemed as if she might strike him, but then she let out a bitter laugh, her expression twisting with a mix of anger and despair. “Get out.”

“Elara—”

“Get. Out.” She pointed to the door, her voice shaking with emotion. “Get out of my study, Godfrey. Now.”

Godfrey hesitated, but the look in her eyes left no room for argument. He turned and walked out, the heavy door closing behind him with a dull thud, leaving Elara alone with her anger and the bitter taste of betrayal.

Outside, Godfrey slammed the metal door shut—or tried to. The door, indifferent to his fury, glided down smoothly and silently, sealing the entrance with a finality that mocked his anger. A raw scream tore from his throat, the sound reverberating through the trees. Without thinking, he channeled every ounce of strength, every drop of blood, and every inch of bone he could freely move into his right arm, smashing it against the last remaining corner of the ruined basement entrance. The dark brick crumbled under the force, ancient mortar bursting into the air in a cloud of dust, the shattered remnants scattering into the forest like the splinters of his broken rage.

His broken hand hung uselessly by his side, a testament to his impotent fury. He turned away from the destruction, the pain in his hand a dull throb compared to the turmoil inside him. Without a backward glance, he began the long walk home through the silent forest, each step heavy with the weight of what he had learned—and the consequences he now had to face. He could hear the song of the forest, softly. He did not answer.