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> Reborn

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> In the catacombs, they do creep.

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> What found makes souls weep.

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> In the deep a forgotten power.

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> Finding truth will tear it free; trapped in a restless sleep.

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> Once praised, now thought with scorn.

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> Free me, help me, can I be reborn?

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>  

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Soon, lots of chatter from people merged with excited whisperings and the occasional happy shout. Meryn lagged behind Opial as a couple a few feet away blocked the way.

She kept busy inspecting many long hanging calligraphy, landscapes, flower, and bird scrolls hanging from racks in front of a shop.

"Why do you balk?"

"Not so! Quit being daft! You want me to kick the bucket like the others?"

"You truly believe that? It's just rumors, Jatad! We could pay off all your debts; no more having the Merchant's guild harassing you every week. You would be free."

"I don't care, nothing is worth going there."

"You're so testy with me." The woman sobbed.

"It's impure, you want us shunned?"

The woman hung her head as he led her away.

Opial had stopped two-three feet away and glowered at a food stall that sold some sort of hot, red, bumpy, sticky portage of some sort.

"That's what you're asking to happen to me if I go in there! I've been lenient with you. This discussion is over."

From under her lashes, Merryn peered at them. I really shouldn't eavesdrop. Still, a merchant's guild—wonder what that's like? I shouldn't say that. Too late. Words held a special kind of magic at times, and not always to a positive result.

The woman bowed to the man—maybe her husband and clung to his arm as they moved along.

Nearby a droning chirp came at ground level. This quieted as she stepped over. Crickets must still be around.

A drunken man shouted behind.

And again, only louder. Guess he's yelling at me?

Opial turned about. "Are you all right?""

Lex must have run all this way; his face was bright and sweaty. "Ladies, how could you leave? it's my duty to treat such honored guests." He bowed again. Truly, it's a piddling thing that needs to be done."

Now I feel like a heel, he really is an alright man, maybe even kind. I could have misjudged the situation. What was I thinking? She looked at her shoes, the street, the ends of their robe, and anywhere else.

"I see your point."

"Yes?"

She nodded, "I was in error."

He led them back to his shop and took out a small map from inside his sleeve and handed it to Opial. "A trifling task. Head east to the outskirts of the large tomb and find the catacombs nestled near it. Do not enter the tomb, as that is forbidden."

That won't be a problem, tombs are cave-like, even if I do want to see what's inside. But... I ought to keeping my head on my shoulders too, so had better stay away.

"The item is desiccated and grizzled, so take care not to damage it and place it in this. It's shrouded by a glamored cloth, look for a faint hazy spot inside, it'll be in a mostly empty room." He pulled out a wooden box about three feet long and not terribly high, easy enough to carry, and handed this too to Opial.

"This is for you to help you both make it back." All humor and playfulness now gone. He took both her hands and turned them palms up, he took out a flat jar, dipped his fingers in it, and then drew a solid purple imbued circular double layered rune onto her palms.

She tilted her head, blinking at him.

"Please wait, quietly."

What to make of this?

It glowed and pulsed as the symbols rearranged, the edges became thicker and lifted off her palm as forces of light. While rolling it into a short pipe shape, it then thinned out becoming compressed. The runes burst away, revealing a stout double-headed viable hammer with thick rice leaves wrapped at the end of the hilt.

Understandably, she might have shrieked—just a little. Weapons normally weren't delivered nearly out of nothing, even with runes. "And this is?" Her voice held and didn't quaver, thankfully.

"A gift. Its name is the Brazen Mallet. It'll protect you both and is practically unbreakable."

"And for you, my treasure." He dipped into a pouch on his hip that wasn't there before and took out a smooth, teeny black stone, and placed it into Opial's palm. "Is this what I think it is?"

He nodded. "Exactly such."

They both bowed and thanked him.

I do wonder what he gets out of this. Weren't most merchants greedy?

"Why are you hav—?"

"Listen, I and other citizens can't enter there, but with your being here, the timing is fortuitous. Opial, cloak yourself, and you'll escape any... scorn."

Stolen story; please report.

He went back into the shop and placed one comb along with a set of ornate hair sticks into a wooden box and placed it into a cloth satchel, handing it to Opial.

"Payment?"

"A gift."

Merryn smiled, her cheeks shoved way up, while ignoring a fancy to squeeze his hand. It wasn't polite to touch strangers.

####

They headed back to the inn and informed Parcival and Han about the Orb ringer contest and the task. Parcival's gave Opial a loud—almost shouting drunken lecture before they left for the catacombs.

Merryn's ears burned at some of the shocking cusses. He never talks that way, ever! He's in a snit over nothing. It isn't a big deal, I've done far harder tasks.

She rubbed her wrist. The boots were still tight. Should have kept wearing the older ones, leather takes forever to soften. Well, I think it should be fine if we don't have to go in too far. Half a mile away from the tomb, a T-shaped red and black Torii Gate loomed over the recessed entrance to the catacombs, which was sunken into a large grassy mound choked with a growth of trees.

Much of the engraving work on the wood crowning in an arch. Rotted and cracked, vines sunken in dangled their red spotted leaves, which curled open.

In the fading light, she inched forward, the gate seemed even taller, like a stilted giant guarding the entrance to the underworld. I bet a life stone, it's chill down there.

Opial gulped, opened her mouth, and swallowed hard. "Do you think any torches are down there?"

The dead don't need torches. How could I agree to doing this? It's the same as a cave! What if it caves in? Will we get lost? Will I get lost? "Elaema help, for I am lost..." Are there monsters? It's too tight, too deep, and too dark!

"Merryn?"

"You're going to rip your nail off if you keep doing that."

"Huh?" That bad habit didn't often resurface, I thought so anyway. She let her hand drop and smoothed out a ragged nail with another. The malicious gods—thankfully few—must have set this up, my luck couldn't be this lousy.

Opial examined the entrance, which had two double doors carved with miniature worn-down runes.

Ah, dark spaces, love them. I wish that it was tomorrow.

Clumps of scattered, discolored old salt on the walkway lead to the entrance. On both sides, withered—what once may have been—white chrysanthemum flowers, turned mostly tan; leaned to the sides of countless urns. Wedding flowers at a catacomb, must mean the opposite here. Were these imbued with memories too? She touched a petal, and it crumbled away. Her hand shot back. Peeking inside, thick curtains of cobwebs clung the tunnel walls, eaten by the shrouded hole. Dulled chirps came from off in the distance.

"Here is a great idea, let us go back, and tell him no." She turned about broke into a fast walk. The farther we get away the better, they can have some other fools do it!

Opial ran past her then blocked her way while holding both arms out. Without a single comment, she shook her head. "We already agreed. At least we can go together instead of alone." She rubbed her arms. "It is cold here."

"Though I do wonder why there's a catacomb here as we don't often bury the dead..." That last word was spoken so softly as to make it disappear.

"Don't give up before even starting." She clamped on to her hand, dragging her into the entrance, and took an unit torch from a pile inside the entrance.

"But humans do."

"Humm?"

"Need torches."

"Ah." Merryn's abdomen upturned, and her heart belted hard, drumming in her ears. I should laugh, but I can't bring myself to.

The air was thick and musty, and her nose wrinkled. "Why only us? What the hell is in there? It's dark in there!" More chirping the crickets liked it in here for sure.

Opial stopped, lit the torch with a finger wiggle, and handed it to her. The light cut through the murk.

"All that worrying. Look around, you're already several feet inside."

Merryn's hand slipped free, and she sank against the wall, "did someone cast a spell on me? How is everything flying by so fast?" It feels so small in here. Or way too big. Ugg, I can't get my bearings.

Opial shrugged. "I don't think so, I just kept you moving. Even if you were walking like a stork,"

A loud, unsettling feral burble ground along the walls, sending vibrations through the temple, followed by clicks and chirps. I don't recall crickets making clicking sounds.

Opial whipped her head, her face taunt. "This is supposed to be empty."

Young-one do not falter, what resides within will end your sorrows.

What do you know of my sorrows?

I'm in your mind, your doors are open.

Unnamed, stay out of my head!

You can trust me to try. Go. Find the item.

This is a waste of time, I need to go home.

There may be no home left if you follow the mission.

Merryn growled, stood, and shadow boxed the wall. Quit trying to confuse me, evil spirit! Begone!

The elders lack information.

She ignored him.

Opial was right beside her, and her breaths warmed her cheek.

Damp stone chilled her fingers, as they feathered on the wall. Around the right corner, a lingering slosh reverberated far off.

"Let's go left instead."

"Left? We need to leave!" Flicker; some animation that caught the corner of her eye, before stopping. Something rolled past, ensued a blaring squeal, and smacked into the wall. She stopped. Off ahead the gloom it was thicker in some places than others.

She jumped back and yelled together with Opial. With shaky hands, she held the torch out, illuminating it. "Oh, drowning tears! What is it?"

A waterlogged weasel—or perhaps a ferret—wobbly got up and skittered away.

No wonder he didn't want to come here—not just being treated with scorn, but something is in here. He has some explaining to do.

A low, wet burbling, and pop pops of suction came closer.

Rarrg! Nine vices this is rotten! What hells grotesquery is let loose now? Muscles gone ridged, her very bones cried, for the faint outline didn't register to anything known. An evil lingered in here, suffusing the air with its magics. Old, yes, very old, and not something to be trifled with; it spoke of the old ways around the fire when people knew that what lay in the dark was best left alone.

Squish; she lifted up a foot, angling it. Sticky glop stuck to her boots. Moss? Nope, that's not sticky. She jumped. Vines? It wrapped around her foot. A tentacle. Three of them. Her leg went numb as it squeezed. She lurched backward—and was hauled forward by another, attached to a bulky mass.

Using incredible fleetness, one reached for Opial, and Merryn barely managed to push her, sending her stumbling back.

“Eeep!”

Time extended to an alarming degree. Another tentacle stretched out of the dark. Another chirp, then more loud clicks.

One blink, two; and it shot past, catching Opial's neck, tight. Her face turned bright, and her eyes expanded. Thoughts slogged off before building again, tangled and fragmented. She twisted her wrist—hard. Do something! She grunted and tugged on the tentacle.

Opial crashed into the lateral wall, falling on her side, she placed both hands on the tentacle and crooked out a bunch of ineligible worlds. Fire engulfed her hands. she cast into the creature, burning part of it to ash. She pulled off the now slack tentacle.

It responded by becoming tighter. She swallowed a yell. No, don't lose control. That's when you lose. Don't let fear win.

"Opial. Could you—"

The tentacles tightened, and yanked Merryn off into the dark.

The torch spun out of her hand.

This time—she shrieked.