1

Bloodstone

Oydd paused at the brink of the clear water. All the silt had settled to the bottom, forming a soft layer a few inches deep—along with a tan, spongy substance.

The rudra hesitated before stepping into the shallow water. It soaked greedily into the hem of his dry robes.

"We're going through that?"

"Why not?" Oydd asked.

"It may look clear, but we'll stir up all sorts of filth," Jeshu responded.

Oydd sighed, but pressed forward without addressing the dryad's concerns.

Jeshu followed after the rudra. The mouseling climbed inconsequentially higher on his shoulder, warily eyeing the now clouded water that swirled about the dryad's feet.

After a few minutes of wading through the flood, Jeshu commented, "Actually, I thought it would smell worse."

"This temple was abandoned hundreds of years ago. The smell of death is long dissipated."

"And no one has been here since?"

Oydd shrugged. "The worshippers of Vidine were slaughtered—mostly arachane, I believe—by the worshippers of Serinyes. Some say the goddesses themselves fought here and Vidine was struck down. Certainly Serinyes' followers have no reason to return."

"And Vidine's?"

"Mostly dead. Scattered to worship in other places. Looters picked the place clean afterward. Anything left behind is likely cursed." With this, Oydd glanced at the mouseling, and emphasized the final word.

"We should have brought Cricket just in case. With Scorpion gone, we could really use his... expertise."

Oydd sighed again. "I don't disagree, but honestly I had to get away from him for a bit. Until he molts at least. I can't stand another minute of his questions. Questions he can't hear the answers to, mind you. But that doesn't stop him." Oydd picked his way around a ruined column protruding from the waters.

Jeshu tried to hide a smile. "I can't say I blame you. But you can't avoid him forever."

"And I won't. Like I said... just until he molts. Then I'm willing to put up with him." Oydd reached a set of steps leading up from the flooded corridor and waded onto dry ground. He wrung the water from his robes, then waited for the druid to join him.

The black stones of the temple spread out in five hallways, like a fan—the center corridor somewhat wider and more pronounced. The keystone of the archway featured the symmetrical emblem of a spider, demonic in its proportions, with a horned abdomen and spiny, spindly legs.

"Spider worshippers," Jeshu said with disdain.

"You would think so. But more likely snake worshippers! Vidine though is usually depicted as an arachane..."

"Usually?" Jeshu asked, surprised.

Oydd forced a laugh. "Sometimes as nothing more than a spider, sometimes as a winged dhampir, and... even as a man. History is inconsistent." Oydd walked along the five archways, studying the symbols etched on the stones. "You know, it's funny you think they would worship spiders. It would be like the dhampiri worshiping bats. They view themselves as superior to bats. But I realize it's not absurd. Honestly, I almost asked, would the dryads worship trees? But we both know the answer to that."

Jeshu opened his mouth but said nothing.

"Regardless, Vidine's followers worshiped serpents, which is why serpents are yet a symbol of revenge."

"Revenge, betrayal. I get them rightly mixed up."

"Really? I see them as more of opposites. You know Bale was enticed to betray Serinyes at Vidine's urging."

"So his betrayal was part of her revenge," Jeshu countered pointedly.

"I still don't see them as similar, because one means to strike the first blow, and one means to retaliate."

"Semantics," Jeshu stated.

"Yes, we were debating semantics," Oydd snapped, then took a calming breath.

Jeshu peered down one of the smaller tunnels and saw nothing but more tunnel stretching ahead. "I didn't know Bale fought alongside Vidine. But they still lost?"

Oydd nodded. "Bale, Vidine, and her sister Vellasay. Combined they stood no chance against Serinyes. This way, I think. Patches, I want you to... damnit!"

Oydd looked at the dryad's shoulder but the mouseling was already gone.

*****

Patches entered a small chamber lit by a luminous moss, with three sarcophagi—two of plain, smooth stone, and a third, more prominent, on a raised dais, with sockets to inlay jewels. Though any such jewels had long ago been pilfered. The mouseling tried to lift the lid, but it was far beyond her means. She placed her eyes level with the crack as if to peek through, which also proved a futile effort.

Be careful, child, the rudra's voice echoed in her head. Do not touch anything!

Why would I touch anything? Patches thought in annoyance as she wiped the dust from the lid of the sarcophagus, revealing an etched partisan—a symbol of royalty.

The mouseling hopped down and inspected a nearby wall where the cracks looked unusually deep. Something seemed off about the wall, so she stuck her knife between two small bricks and began to chisel away at the old mortar.

Stolen novel; please report.

*****

"You're not going to call her back?"

"Do you think that would work?" Oydd asked. "I decided, rather, to convey my own apprehension. I let her feel it. I thought, perhaps, that might make more of an impression on her than barking an order." Still, the rudra seemed resigned.

"Is this it?" Jeshu asked, pointing at a thin lattice of crimson minerals crawling through the stonework.

"Yes," Oydd answered, tapping his plain metal staff against the wall. "But let's press on a bit and look for a higher concentration."

As they continued down the central hallway, the lines of red streaking the wall grew thicker and thicker, until each strand was as wide as a finger.

"I need a solid piece at least as big as my fist. Ideally much larger, to ensure there are no cracks."

Jeshu reached out and felt the smooth, glossy material. It bulged from the wall like a vein. "This is godsblood?"

"Well, I mean... not literally. But yes. It tends to form decades, if not longer, after the casting of powerful sorceries, or some other magical trauma."

"Look at this? It has to have grown over the years! Almost like it's living."

"Almost?" Oydd asked with the crack of a smile. "We're almost to the source." He pointed ahead with his staff.

Thick strands of the blood-red stone spread from the ceiling like branching lightning. Oydd followed the deposits to a chamber of worship, adorned with a pulpit, two rusty braziers and a sacrificial pit—a feature distinct to temples of Vidine, in lieu of an altar.

Oydd walked beneath the thickest mineral deposits and stopped before a cracked wall. "Strike here." He placed a pale hand against the crumbling stone, clutching his staff with Bale's claw.

Jeshu readied his great hammer with both hands, and made an overhead swing. The walls of the room shook, and red dust sprinkled from the ceiling.

The druid struck again, and this time the black stone crumbled away, revealing a vein of godsblood as thick as the druid's waist, with weblike branches extending in every direction through the wall. It resembled the massive termite hills the druid had once seen on the surface.

Oydd licked the lips of his beak. "I only really have need of so much. But let's take three pieces just in case. Can you break it off here?"

Jeshu reached in with his bare hand and grabbed a sizable chunk, breaking it from the lattice. "Like this?"

Oydd grabbed the piece. He ran his hand over the smooth red stone and inspected it for cracks. "Yes. Two more like this." He stepped back to allow the dryad room to work.

*****

Patches removed another brick and tried again to fit through the hole. Her ears squeezed through, which temporarily blocked out the dim light. She felt her ears pop back up in the darkness, and a moment later her entire body had slipped through. The light returned, falling upon another sarcophagus. This one had no lid. She scurried up the side and looked inside, then nearly screamed. Tucked in the bed of the sarcophagus she saw a gigantic, mummified spider. No, not just a spider—an arachane, like Damien. Four of its eight legs lay stuffed in the cracks between its abdomen and the stone rim. The other four folded across its waist, and its two arms lay in a cross against the humanoid torso. Magical runes were etched all along the edges of the container to preserve the body. At first, Patches thought they did a poor job, until she remembered how old the temple was meant to be.

A thin, rusted tiara sat atop its gaunt face, tangled in straggly locks of black hair. The mouseling sniffed the tiara, then winced at the acrid smell and stuck out her tongue. Other than that, the arachane wore no clothing, and the mouseling pouted in disappointment before noticing three ceramic vessels near the opening where she’d entered.

Based on her meager knowledge of arachane culture, two of the three were likely filled with precious organs. She knew, for example, that the arachane removed the eyes of the dead so that they could receive new eyes in the world beyond. The last vessel would contain the deceased's most valuable possession.

Patches hopped back up on the sarcophagus and counted eight holes on the corpse's face. Which meant one of the vessels likely contained eight eyes. They would be terribly old though, which made it less gross.

Still, only a one in three chance of stumbling upon a jar full of eyes, so she had to take the chance.

Patches looked over the first container and found no opening. Rather, it presented itself as an egg to be cracked. So she grabbed her knife by the tip, and rapped the butt against the clay a few times before deciding to rather lift the whole thing and dash it against the bricks.

The ceramic egg cracked and bits of tile flew in all directions, along with a flaky black sludge. Some spider organ, she guessed.

Patches grabbed a second vessel, and this time brought it up to her ear with a gentle shake. She heard something metallic scraping inside. Definitely not eyeballs.

Patches threw the clay egg against the bricks and it shattered. She hurried to clear the debris with her nose and found a bit of delicately thin silver chain. The mouseling slipped the nub of her amputated hand through the loop and lifted it from the dusty shards of pottery. A diamond shaped black stone hung from the chain. It rotated slightly as it dangled, sending the greenish light from the moss dancing around the tiny tomb.

Entranced by the amulet, Patches did not, at first, register the long, slow hiss coming from the open sarcophagus. When she did, she squeaked in alarm and dropped the amulet. Instantly, the sound stopped.

Patches flattened on all fours, trying to look as small as possible, eyeing the room for motion. She felt the tiny hairs standing on end all over her body. Gingerly, the mouseling reached out again for the pendant. No sooner had she touched the gleaming black gem, than the corpse twitched and a shaking hand rose from the sarcophagus with an unearthly moan.

Patches dropped the amulet and the mummy's arm fell still again.

The mouseling crouched for an eternity in the still, quiet darkness deciding what to do next.

*****

Mouseling! Oydd called out.

He knew the words reached her, but he heard no response. In irritation, he called out again. Mouseling, we have what we came for. If you wish to leave with us, come to where the five passages meet. We will not wait long for you.

Jeshu walked at the rudra's side with his hammer on his shoulder. With each step he took, a few of the frost crystals jostled loose from his barklike skin, only to spread again from the magical hammer. The ice no longer seemed to bother him at all. In his other hand, the dryad held a burlap sack bulging with rocks. He gripped the neck low to prevent the contents from moving, and took extra care to not swing that arm.

The bag smelled of struck flint.

Oydd muttered under his breath.

"Take your own advice," Jeshu said.

"Pardon?"

"Rather than tell her what to do, coax her with thoughts of her own wellbeing."

"What do you mean?" Oydd asked.

"Remind her of the flooded tunnel. If she wants to remain dry, it will be on my shoulder."

Oydd laughed and reached out again to the mouseling with nothing more than a clear image of the now murky water with all sorts of unseen bits floating beneath the surface.

Not a minute passed before the mouseling came scurrying from a side tunnel. But she looked oddly panicked. When she saw the others, she glanced behind, then quickly hopped onto the dryad's shoulder, cluthing her satchel to her side.

"Where were you?" Oydd asked, only slightly irritated.

Patches thought a moment, then said, "I don't want to tell you."

As they waded back through the flooded passage, Oydd noticed the mouseling trembling.

"Is everything all right?"

Patches jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Yes," she said, very quietly. "It's just that I didn't touch anything like you said."

"Oh..." the rudra mused. "Was it that hard on you?"

Patches nodded and took a steadying breath, her eyes never leaving the dark tunnel behind them.