Chapter 3

Under the Forest the Secret Lies

> "When Breelland woods in stillness lie,

>

> Deep roots hold whispers, shadows long,

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> The mountains hum a thread so slight,

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> Of tears and woe, a silent song,

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> Heed the calm, let breath not sigh,

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> For ancient graves their secrets keep."

>

> —Old Brellan Poem

Godfrey walked beside Elara, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The surrounding forest was alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and chirping birds, but Godfrey’s focus was entirely on the girl at his side. Elara moved with a confidence that both thrilled and intimidated him, but he couldn’t help becoming more uneasy as they strayed further and further from the village.

“You’re awfully quiet, Godfrey,” Elara teased, glancing at him with a playful smile. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

Godfrey flushed, trying to muster a response that didn’t make him sound like a fool. “Nothing. Just thinking about what you might need my help with, and also what torture Uncle Hawker has planned for me this evening,” he said, his voice wavering slightly before slipping into a mask of confidence.

Elara laughed softly, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine, as she turned to Godfrey and winked. “Oh, that’s precisely why I asked you, my brave thief. What with you training all day, I’m sure you have strong hands for…well, you’ll see soon enough.”

Her words made Godfrey stumble, before playing it off as if he had tripped over a root. Elara’s eyes glanced behind to the flat, empty forest floor, and back up at Godfrey. As intimidating as Elara’s presence was to him, he sometimes forgot just how small she was. Godfrey himself was on the shorter end of the boys in the village his age, and she barely rose to his shoulders.

He didn’t let her words get to him, however, and he didn’t let himself look at her for too long. Godfrey was sure she was just teasing him, like she did all the boys in the village.

They continued walking until they reached a part of the forest where the trees grew thicker, their branches intertwining to create a canopy that blocked out much of the sunlight. Elara led him to an overgrown patch of underbrush, her movements deliberate as she began pulling away the foliage. Godfrey stepped forward to help, but she waved him off, her focus intense as she revealed the object beneath.

What lay before them was the crumbling remains of an ancient structure. The blackened bricks, barely visible beneath the moss and vines, formed the corner of what must have once been a home, now lost to time. Nestled in that corner, almost hidden by the decay, was a trapdoor, its surface worn and weathered but, oddly, made entirely of a grayish metal that did not show the passage of time. Despite the smooth surface and lack of any visible locking mechanism, the door bore numerous marks—scratches, dents, and other signs of failed attempts to force it open.

Godfrey knelt beside it, running his fingers over the burnished metal, feeling the roughness where tools had bitten into the door. “This is what you wanted to show me?”

Elara nodded, her eyes gleaming with excitement and frustration. “There’s something down there, I know it. But it’s sealed tight, and whatever it’s made out of is strong as all hell. I thought... maybe you could help me get it open.”

Godfrey’s heart swelled with pride, though a part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. His gaze drifted to the tools scattered nearby—blacksmithing tools, well-worn and familiar. He recognized the tools instantly as belonging to Liam Wren, the blacksmith’s son and apprentice. He glanced back at the trapdoor, noting the marks left by the failed attempts to open it. A knot formed in his stomach as the realization hit him: Elara had asked Liam first.

As if reading his thoughts, Elara quickly added, “Liam wasn’t able to do it, so I thought... who is stronger than Liam? Why, my handsome thief, that’s who!”

Godfrey forced a smile, trying to push down the sting of being the second choice, although he appreciated her comments on an almost primal level, but didn’t succeed at keeping the hurt out of his voice. He had always competed with Liam, since childhood when they and Jeromie…no use dwelling on that. It had stung all the more when Elara and Liam had begun seeing each other publicly. “Of course.”

But before he could move, Elara’s expression shifted, her eyes narrowing as she noticed something. She stepped forward, her gaze fixed on the tools, her brow furrowing. Godfrey watched as her hand clenched into a fist, her knuckles whitening with sudden, intense anger.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, startled by the change in her demeanor.

Elara hesitated, the flash of rage quickly masked as she turned back to him with a forced smile. “Nothing. It’s just... the tools aren’t where we left them. Liam must have come back and tried to open it on his own.”

Godfrey saw through her calm exterior, the anger still simmering just beneath the surface. He could almost feel the heat of it, like a spark waiting to ignite. But as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, hidden behind her usual charm.

Elara waved off the moment with a casual shrug. “No matter. I’ll deal with that later. It’s still sealed, so he didn’t get far. Let’s see what you can do, Godfrey.”

Despite the unease gnawing at him, Godfrey nodded, stepping forward to examine the trapdoor more closely. As he set to work, his mind raced, trying to focus on the task at hand while pushing down the bitterness he felt.

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Godfrey focused intently on the trapdoor, his mind honing in on every detail of the smooth, cool metal beneath his fingertips. Without thinking, he began to hum a familiar tune, a habit he had developed whenever he needed to concentrate. The melody was simple, almost instinctual, something he’d done countless times before.

As his fingers traced the edges of the door, his humming seemed to resonate, as if the metal itself was responding to the sound. The subtle vibration that followed was so faint that Godfrey barely noticed it, his mind too engrossed in the task at hand. But then, as his tune shifted to a slightly different note, there was a sudden, soft click.

Godfrey paused, blinking in surprise. The leftmost door, the one he had been groping, moved under his hand with an almost oiled grace. Despite its apparent weight and the centuries that had passed, the door showed no sign of rust or resistance. It swung open freely, with far less effort than he had expected.

He stared down at the now open door, his heart beating rapidly with a fusion of disbelief and excitement. Whatever he had just done, it had worked. He looked up at Elara, whose eyes had widened—not just in excitement, but with a flicker of confusion, even suspicion. She shot him a sharp glance, then her gaze darted to the tools scattered on the ground. Her lips parted as if to question him, but whatever she was about to say was swallowed by the surge of excitement that now lit up her beautiful, freckled face.

At that sight, the emotions coiling uncomfortably in his stomach vanished. Gone was the bitterness at being second best. If he had one wish in that moment, it would have been to capture Elara’s expression, to hold on to it forever, a memory to carry with him always.

“So,” Godfrey said as casually as he could, trying to mask the fact that he had no idea what he had done to open the door. He grinned at Elara, boldness rushing through him with the thrill of success. Without hesitation, he took a few confident steps down the smooth, perfectly cut steps that disappeared into the darkness below. “What are you waiting for? Scared of the dark?”

XXX

Apparently, Godfrey was scared of the dark. However, to show that to Elara in this moment would then require him to walk into the Frosmuth and let the current take him away. So, he forced himself to stride boldly down the steps. His confidence wavered when his feet met the flat ground at the bottom, stumbling slightly, some twenty feet below the surface. The air was thick with the scent of earth and damp stone, and though he could sense the confines of the space, the darkness was impenetrable.

He heard Elara finally stir from where she had paused at the top of the steps. There was the sound of muttering, followed by the rustling of fabric, and then the sharp, rhythmic strike of flint on steel. Godfrey cursed himself inwardly; he should have offered to help Elara light whatever she was planning to use to guide their way. Isn’t that what he was supposed to have done?

A soft glow began to filter down the steps, gradually growing stronger until Elara emerged, holding a small oak pitch torch in her left hand. Her steps were cautious at first, but as her curiosity took hold, she hurried down the remaining steps. The torchlight flickered across the stone walls, casting long shadows that danced in the dim light. As the full expanse of the basement room was revealed, both Godfrey and Elara gasped in surprise.

The room was a stark contrast to the ancient decay of the ruins above. The walls, though constructed of rough-hewn stone, were carefully fitted, with no signs of age or wear. The floor was an intricate mosaic of stone tiles, surprisingly smooth underfoot, but whatever image had been displayed on the tiles had worn to grays and browns over the ages. Shelves lined the walls, carved directly into the stone, filled with objects that gleamed dully in the torchlight—metal tools, strange devices, and small, tightly sealed jars. In one corner, a stone pedestal stood, covered in dust and cobwebs, as if the only thing in the room left untouched by time. The ceiling was low, making the space feel even more confined, and the air was dense, ancient earth and something faintly metallic mixing.

At the far end of the room, opposite the stairs, a large metal door loomed, crafted from the same strange, grayish metal that had sealed the entrance above. It bore no visible signs of rust or wear, despite the countless years it had remained hidden and the obvious decay of the rest of the room. The surface was smooth and cold to the touch, with a dull sheen that absorbed the flickering torchlight rather than reflecting it. The edges were seamlessly joined to the stone, as if it had been forged directly into the very foundation of the structure. The door, like the trapdoor, was featureless—no handle, no visible hinges, and no keyhole, just a solid slab of that strange, unyielding metal.

Elara approached the door cautiously, her curiosity piqued by its mysterious construction. She reached out to touch it, half-expecting it to crumble like everything else they had encountered, but the door remained steadfast, its surface cool and unyielding beneath her fingers.

"This metal... it's different," Elara whispered, more to herself than to Godfrey. "Whatever this is, it was made to last. It’s the same as the door on the surface."

Godfrey nodded, his curiosity and unease growing. "But why seal off a room with something so... permanent? What could be behind it?"

Elara didn’t answer immediately, and seemed to not have even heard him, her mind clearly working through possibilities. The contrast between the decayed remnants and the pristine door was stark, almost unsettling, as if it was protecting something that was never meant to be found.

“I don’t know,” she finally said, her voice tinged with excitement. “But that’s why we have to find out.” She turned to Godfrey, her eyes gleaming with determination. “Try again, Godfrey. If you opened the first door, you can open this one too.”

Godfrey felt the weight of her expectation, a pressure that grew as he stared at the door. He placed his hands on the door, trying to recall the same focus he had used before, but nothing happened. The door remained resolutely closed, its surface cold and unyielding under his touch. Minutes ticked by as he groped the edges of the door, flush with the ground. He hummed gently to himself as he failed to form the same connection with this door. He closed his eyes and pictured the door in his mind, analyzing it from every angle. More time passed.

Elara’s excitement, so vibrant moments ago, had dimmed slightly. She watched Godfrey with a mix of concern and expectation, her fingers idly tapping the torch handle. After a long stretch of silence, she spoke, almost to herself, “Maybe… maybe it needs a different approach. Something more precise. Liam’s pretty good with locks and mechanisms...”

Godfrey stiffened at the mention of Liam. He redoubled his efforts. He didn’t notice, but he was humming an aggressive rhythm, focused intently on the door, trying to tease out any details in its uniform surface.

‘Come on,’ Godfrey begged through his thoughts, ‘Open.’

In his mind's eye, the image of the door wavered, not with resistance, but with a sense of inevitability. It was as though the door existed as much in his thoughts as it did in reality, and he was the one in control. The rhythm of his hum softened, transitioning into something steadier, more deliberate. A sense of calm settled over him, banishing the bitter edge of competition with the blacksmith’s son. He felt it then—a deep, resonant certainty. This door was his to command, as if it had been waiting for him all along.

Godfrey stopped humming and stood tall, his breath evening out, the tension in his body melting away. His eyes opened, sharp and clear, his gaze locked on the door. He was no longer pleading with it; he was instructing it.

Open, he commanded, not with desperation, but with quiet authority.

And the door, as if recognizing its rightful master, obeyed.