Just as Meg suggested, the space reminds me a lot of the hidden shrine we encountered a few weeks back, after we fought the spiders, only instead of an angel statue ringed by others, the statue at the center is a massive representation of the dragon in its true form.
At least, I assume it’s meant to be Zendriel. I have several effigies of her in this exact pose, which mirrors that of the original angel: standing on her rear legs, one front claw reaching toward the sky, the other toward the ground. In my effigies, the downward facing claw holds a depiction of the Stone of Ylaura. Maybe this one has the real deal.
Would we get that lucky?
If any of my theories about what this world is and how it works are near correct, it feels like we have to. As ridiculous and convenient as it is, this is how it would happen in a game.
The statue’s back faces the entry point, but it’s the sheer size of it that made me gasp and stop short. It must be at least twelve feet tall, and it stands directly on the stone floor, not on a base or pillar. I reach forward and touch it lightly—it’s cool and smooth under my fingertips—then I move around so I can look at it head on.
That’s when I notice the desiccated figure crumpled between the statue’s legs. I can’t help but recoil before sense catches up to me. I crouch, inspecting it carefully, looking for any sign of a trap. I don’t see anything.
The figure appears female, though it’s hard to tell for sure under the adventuring garb she wears. The clothing is stained from where the body rotted underneath it, but everything is dry now, more mummified than anything else. Her hair is long and dark brown or black, done in tiny braids that are then pulled away into one singular plait that drapes down her back.
Her pose is slumped. There’s a knife in one hand, and I realize that the darkness in the front of her tunic is likely blood. It looks like she cut her own throat. Her other hand is clutched to her chest, holding what looks like a piece of paper.
My hands tremble as I reach forward to ease it out of her death grip. I don’t want to tear the paper, so I gently clasp her arm with my other hand. This eases the tension and her mummified arm loosens.
Something drops, thudding onto the stone floor and rolling a couple inches toward me. It’s round, about the size of a tennis ball, and it gleams in the low light.
It feels like my mind goes hazy for a moment and I blink to find myself picking it up. The tips of my fingers go fuzzy for a moment, an almost electric hum making them tingle as I make contact.
The object is warm, and I clasp it tight in my fist, studying it, the paper and skeleton all but forgotten. A sound I didn’t realize was there silences, and I look up to find the room cast in a pale green hue, the statue and walls glittering with what I instinctively identify as magic. The effect is more obvious on the wall I came through and in the downward-reaching claw of the statue.
“Interesting,” I murmur, staring around the room as I slip the object into my bag.
The hue disappears and I frown. What was that?
There’s a tug on the rope around my waist, which brings me back to the present. I return the tug and peer around the statue, watching as Tyrus slowly emerges through the wall.
“You’ve been in here for a fifth a bell,” he whispers. I’m not sure why he’s whispering. “There are several worried people on the other side of that wall. Didn’t you feel the pulls?”
“Only just now. That’s weird. Maybe there’s a time delay?”
He frowns. “There isn’t usually.” He yanks on the other side of the rope, presumably to tell the others that we’re both okay. “What have you been doing?”
I look around the room confused for a moment. What have I been doing?
“I found a body. It looks like she cut her own throat.” I stand away from the woman and study the piece of paper. There are long dried brown blood stains on the parchment. It’s old, and it crackles as I unfold it. “She’s been here for a while.”
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“What’s that?”
“I found it on the body.”
“You inspected it first, right?”
“Of course I did. I wouldn’t just touch something without knowing what it is.” I’ve played too much D&D for that. “It looks like a suicide note.”
“What does it say?” Tyrus pulls my arm down so he can get a closer look at the paper.
“Hang on, don’t make me rip it.”
“Is it safe?” Flynt’s voice asks, also whispering as he appears through the wall.
“Yeah, get everyone in here,” Tyrus says, waving them forward. “It’s just a massive Zendriel statue and a dead Stormbringer.”
“What?” Flynt sounds confused.
“Just come here.”
I skim the letter as the others gather, and then Tyrus does a more careful inspection of the broader space as I read it aloud.
> “The stone calls to me, always, especially in my dreams. It’s shown me the power it has to build and create, but I have also seen how it can destroy. It’s the destruction that I fear. Were I less learned, or perhaps even another member of my line, I may only look at the power it promises. We could end our conflict with the giants with a single sacrifice in the right place. This is what it whispers to me at night. But I cannot help but wonder the cost. One sacrifice always begets another. Did we not learn that during the Dragon Wars when Zendriel fell to this same artifact?
>
> “We should never have dug this out of the mountaintops.
>
> “I am no one of consequence. I am the fourth daughter of a powerful house, but my name will become dust even to my family in a few short generations. I do not pretend otherwise. But if I can bring this stone somewhere that none will think to look, perhaps I can leave an impression on this world even if there is no witness. I choose here, at the Old Ones’ shrine marking Zakaria’s resting place. This is a place of ill-omen, one few will dare to tread or even, I hope, remember for too much longer into this age.
>
> “But not even a hidden, forgotten resting place will conceal an object such as this forever. Magicks like these want to be found. That’s what the mages say. To you who discovers this when my bones are all but dust, I entreat you to move onward. Forget that which you’ve found. Let this object and the horror it wrought fall to weak memories and be lost to legend. Let it remain entombed here. It will come to you as a solution to the ills you face, but I tell you, it is not that. It will multiply them ten fold and lead your people to despair. Do not even touch it. Let it remain in the dust.
>
> “If you cannot let it be forgotten, I plead to the lost dragon herself that you are here to bury it deeper than I ever could. Or, best yet, that you know a means to destroy it.
>
> “I fall here beside it to keep the secret safe, one more sacrifice to its horror. My blood, fortunately, is of too little consequence to power it for more than a moment, and with no one’s will to guide it, that power will be meaningless. Small mercies.
>
> “Signed, Ariah Stormbringer.”
“Well that’s cheery,” Jonas murmurs, shuddering.
“Did you actually find the stone?” Meg asks.
“No,” Tyrus replies, and I shake my head. “The place is fairly empty. The thing was probably discovered half an age ago. Who knows where it is now.”
Flynt sighs. “I’m not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.”
“A little of both, frankly,” Meg says.
“Well. Good experience, right?” Tyrus nudges me and I blink away from the paper toward him. “You okay, Keira?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” I fold the letter back up and tuck it into my bag before crouching again in front of the figure, inspecting her more closely. There’s a pin on the front of her tunic that I reach forward and carefully undo. It’s a variation on the Stormbringer sigil, and I slip it into my bag as well. “I’m fine, just feel a little off balance.”
“It’s probably the magic,” Flynt says, untying the rope around his waist and beginning to wind it back up, coaxing Tyrus and me to unknot our lengths. “Places like these can be a little disorienting for people not used to them. I’ve even heard of people getting lost in them for days.”
“That seems like an exaggeration,” Jonas says. “I’m terrible at directions. Even I wouldn’t get lost in a round room.”
It makes me chuckle and I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I know how to get out.”
“This way?” Jonas points back toward the far wall.
“That’ll bring us back where we came from. We already have a good idea what’s there, and it doesn’t seem like it’s the Stone. So why not take a short cut and avoid a confrontation I don’t think any of us really want? We can clasp the hand, just like last time.” I motion toward it and I can feel Meg frown.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Don’t you want to see Zakaria’s resting place?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, that’s Zendriel.” I point up to the statue. “So unless this Stormbringer woman was horribly confused, this isn’t where she meant. I have to assume that the teleportation enchantment will take us to the other dragon. We’ve come this far. Shouldn’t we at least pay our respects?”
“Was Zakaria one of the good ones or the bad ones?” Jonas questions.
“One of the particularly ancient ones,” Meg replies. “He died long before the Dragon Wars. Some stories say he was defending his territory from the hill giants. Others say he was defending the human tribes of the east from the same threat. Depends who you believe.”
“So I ask again, don’t we want to pay our respects?” I hold out my hand toward her. Meg hesitates.
“We don’t really know where it goes.”
“It can’t be any worse than going back to an inevitable clash with the necromancer.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Tyrus says, grabbing Jonas’s hand and then mine. Jonas takes Meg’s before she can protest and she in turn grabs Flynt’s.
I clasp the outstretched stone claw. Blinking, I find myself in a still and quiet grove.