Chapter Twenty-One: The Crone
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They took off, their breaths ragged as the pounding of heavy footsteps behind them reverberated like a war drum. Jace risked a glance over his shoulder, his heart lurching at the sight of the hulking figure closing in. Each crunch of boots on gravel was louder, heavier, until it felt like the earth itself recoiled beneath his weight.
“Maybe he just wants to talk!” Ell shouted breathlessly, darting around a corner.
“Yeah, sure,” Marcus snapped, his voice strained but dry as ever. “I’m sure he’s just dying to compliment our sprinting form.”
Dex, panting hard, hissed, “Can we save the banter for after we’re not getting crushed into paste?”
They weaved through the carnival’s labyrinth of trailers, but something was off. The narrow gaps they’d seen before were gone, the pathways warping and twisting into a maze that had no business existing. Jace’s stomach turned as realization dawned.
“He’s gaining on us!” Dex barked, panic creeping into his voice.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious!” Ell shot back, though the tension in her voice betrayed her usual bravado.
Through the swirling haze, a tent emerged, its dark canopy sagging as if buckling under the weight of time itself. Smoke seeped from its seams, curling into claw-like tendrils that clawed at the air. The fabric glimmered faintly, its surface etched with jagged, unsettling letters: The All-Seeing Eye. Oddly, the entrance faced them, turned away from the carnival’s bustling heart, as though it had been waiting just for them.
“Oh yeah, this doesn’t scream ‘bad idea,’” Marcus muttered.
Jace didn’t hesitate, his instinct overriding the knot in his gut. “This way!” he called, his urgency leaving no room for argument.
The group slipped through the entrance, the fabric parting with a reluctant shudder.
Inside, the air turned heavy, thick with smoke that clung to their skin and lungs like a second layer. Shadows writhed on the walls, stretching unnaturally, their edges fraying and bending like they were alive.
“Ow!” Jace looked down, and his hand was bleeding next to the White Raven ring. “What the—did you bite me?” He asked the ring. There was no response.
“Cozy,” Ell murmured, her voice flat as her eyes darted to the circular table in the center. It was draped in black velvet, scattered with glowing cards that pulsed faintly, as though waiting for them to make a move.
“Right,” Dex muttered, his chest still heaving. “Because this feels like a better option than being pulverized.”
The oppressive silence of the room swallowed their voices, leaving only the faint rustle of the cards and the strange, uneven flicker of light. The chase was over, but the unease was just beginning.
From the shadows emerged a figure—part menace, part myth. The crone hunched forward, her twisted frame somehow more commanding than her height suggested. Wild, knotted braids tangled with beads and shards of bone framed a face as weathered as old parchment. Her single, cloudy glass eye churned like a storm trapped in crystal, locking onto them with an unsettling precision.
“Fortunes for the bold,” she rasped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the tense silence. “But only for those who pay.”
Jace skidded to a halt, his instincts screaming to bolt, but the crone’s gaze snagged the group like a hook, keeping them rooted in place. Marcus tugged at his sleeve, his jaw tight. “We don’t have time for this.”
The crone’s crooked grin widened, revealing teeth that gleamed too white, too perfect against her cracked lips. “Time is a luxury you don’t have,” she purred. “Not without my help. I protect my customers. Their business stays… private.” Her glass eye flicked past them, catching something unseen in the smoke curling at the tent’s edge. “There’s nowhere safer than here.”
Ell scoffed, her hand twitching toward her blade. “She’s stalling,” she snapped. “We need to move—now.”
But as they turned, the way they’d come was gone, replaced by a swirling wall of smoke that wrapped the tent in an impenetrable cocoon. Jace’s stomach dropped as his eyes darted to the others. The crone’s grin widened, as if she could taste their fear.
“What do you want?” Alice demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of defiance and dread.
“Just a fair exchange,” the crone crooned, gesturing to the table behind her. Draped in black velvet, it seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, its surface scattered with glowing cards that pulsed faintly in the dim light. “A single coin for a glimpse at what’s to come. And in return, your privacy.”
“How much?” Alice asked, her hand already hovering near her inventory.
“One gold per soul,” the crone said, her tone sweet as poison. “The gods wouldn’t accept less.”
Marcus bristled. “That’s extortion!”
The others turned to glare at him, their expressions a mix of irritation and disbelief. “Keep your voice down,” Ell hissed.
“Just pay her,” Jace said, his voice low and firm. He reached into his pouch as the others reluctantly followed suit, Marcus muttering under his breath as he handed over his coin last.
Jace collected the gold and extended it toward the crone. Her gnarled fingers snatched the coins with a speed that belied her frail appearance.
The moment the last coin disappeared into the folds of her robes, the air seemed to thicken, pressing against their skin like an invisible weight. With a swift, almost impatient flick of her hand, the crone sealed the tent’s back flap, but not before Jace caught a glimpse of massive fingers curling through the opening—thick, gnarled, and too large to belong to any human. His stomach twisted as the flap snapped shut, cutting off the sight.
The smoke surged, coiling like a living thing, swallowing the world outside the tent in a suffocating haze. The crone’s smile widened into something grotesque, her teeth unnaturally bright against the dim light. Her glass eye spun faster now, the storm within it churning violently, as though it drew strength from the rising unease in the room. Shadows writhed along the walls, growing bolder and more sinister with each passing moment, until it felt as though the tent itself had come alive.
The air grew colder, heavier, as if the very atmosphere recoiled from their presence. The faint hum of carnival merriment had vanished, replaced by an oppressive silence that wrapped around them like a shroud. Inside, the tent seemed to stretch unnaturally, its walls receding into shadows that devoured the flickering light of a single, weak lantern. Black grew and slithered in a vortex around them. At the center of it all sat the crone, her gnarled frame now impossibly still. Her glass eye spun slowly, the storm within it churning as if in warning.
“Sit,” she commanded, her voice low and guttural, a sound that resonated in their bones. Something unseen tugged at them, invisible strings pulling them forward until they found themselves seated around the table, unable to resist.
“One question each,” the crone rasped, her skeletal fingers hovering over the deck of glowing cards spread across the table. Her sharp gaze swept over them, daring defiance.
Marcus, arms crossed, let out a scoff. “This is a scam,” he muttered, his words thick with disdain.
The crone’s real eye snapped to him, her glare sharper than any blade. “The cards do not care for your doubt,” she said, her voice cutting through the thick air. “Speak, and they will answer.”
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“What could she possibly say that’s worth a gold coin?” Marcus muttered, his tone dripping with skepticism.
The crone didn’t bother answering with words. Her skeletal fingers swept across the deck, plucking a card with deliberate, theatrical precision. She slapped it down onto the table, and as if on cue, thunder cracked through the swirling storm of smoke around them.
The card revealed the image of a child cradled in a man’s arms, both figures cast in shadows. Her voice dropped, heavy and resonant, carrying more than just sound—it struck the air like a tangible force. “Your father’s fate is not your own. But only you can undo what he has done.”
Marcus staggered back as if the words had physically struck him, his face paling. He blinked rapidly, rubbing at his watering eyes as though trying to shake off the disorientation. “What… what does that even mean?” he demanded, his voice shaky and unsure.
The crone’s face twisted, her human visage melting into something monstrous and otherworldly. Her mouth stretched unnaturally wide, her teeth jagged and sharp, as her voice rose into a shriek. “One question each. Price paid. Service rendered!” She licked her lips.
The smoke surged, the winds howling as if summoned by her rage, whipping through the tent with a feral energy. For a brief, gut-churning moment, she was more beast than woman—her form shifting and writhing, shadows flickering across her contorted features. Then, as quickly as it came, the horror receded, leaving her once again the crone, her gnarled hands resting on the table.
“Ask your next question,” she snapped, her voice sharp and demanding. Her glass eye swirled faster, its storm now a maelstrom.
Alice took a shaky step back. “I think this was a bad idea,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “Guys, I think we made a really, really terrible mistake.”
But Ell didn’t hesitate. Despite the unease curling at the edges of her usual confidence, she leaned forward, her bravado holding strong. “Ell, wait!” Alice shouted, trying to grab her arm, but Ell was already speaking.
“What’s the fastest way to the top of the Tower?” she asked, her voice steadier than it should have been, though the cockiness it usually carried was gone.
The crone’s grin widened, sharp and knowing, as her fingers hovered over the deck. The tension in the air grew thicker, suffocating, as if the tent itself anticipated the answer to come.
With unnerving precision, the crone plucked a card from the deck. She flipped it, revealing an image of a jagged mountain wreathed in storm clouds. “To climb you fall,” she intoned, her voice cold and unyielding. The words hung in the air, their weight pressing into Ell like a hand at her throat. She leaned back, muttering a curse under her breath, but the gravity of the answer lingered.
“I’m so sorry—I should have seen this earlier!” Alice shouted, her voice barely carrying over the howling wind. The tent quaked around them, lightning crackling through the thick, swirling smoke as the storm intensified.
“What the hell is happening?” Dex yelled, his words nearly drowned out by the chaos.
Alice turned to them, her voice urgent and edged with fear. “We have to keep asking questions, or this entire place will collapse and take us with it. She’s not just a crone—she’s a Soulrender. This is her domain, her trap. Every deal she makes, every question she answers, feeds her. She’s stealing pieces of our fates, growing stronger with every answer. If we let her finish, she’ll devour us—mind, body, and soul.”
The crone let out a low, guttural laugh, her jagged teeth gleaming as she leaned closer. “And such sweet fates they are,” she hissed. “Ripe, delicious… perfect for me and my children when you perish.”
The smoke swirled tighter, forming sinuous shapes that slithered through the air like serpents. Jace’s heart pounded as he finally noticed their menacing presence—how had he missed this? His senses felt dulled, his instincts failing him. Even the White Raven had tried to warn him, its faint hum against his skin growing frantic.
“What?” Dex stammered, his voice breaking. “You mean… she’s going to kill us?”
Jace’s jaw clenched as the weight of Alice’s words settled over them like a stone. They were out of time—and options.
Alice nodded sharply, her hair whipping around her face in the gale. “Exactly. Unless we stop her. We need to ask questions she can’t answer—ones that stump her. It’s the only way to break the deal and survive.”
Jace’s jaw tightened as the truth of Alice’s words sank in. The crone—no, the Soulrender—watched them with an unnerving calm, her glass eye spinning furiously. She knew their game now, and she was waiting, her grin daring them to try.
“Then we better think fast,” Jace growled. “Because she’s not giving us much time.”
Alice hesitated, her fingers gripping the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her voice, quieter now and tinged with an almost fragile courage, broke the silence. Then, as if struck by sudden inspiration, she leaned forward. “Where can I find the Lost Book of Rita Nutkins, the Book of Mostly Harmless Prophecies?”
The crone’s glass eye spun violently, her gnarled fingers pausing mid-air before slapping down a card with unnatural force. Thunder cracked overhead, shaking the tent as if the realm itself recoiled at the question. The card bore the image of a hooded reaper clutching a golden chest, and as they watched, her fingers began to elongate, curling unnaturally. Her smile stretched wider, revealing jagged teeth as her features grew monstrous.
“The answers you seek,” she hissed, her voice venomous and low, “will only be found in your death.” The finality of her words struck like a physical blow, and Alice’s breath hitched. The image on the card seemed to burn itself into her mind, dark and inescapable.
“Ask your questions!” The crone’s head snapped toward the remaining group, her voice rising into an almost animalistic growl. Her gaze locked onto Dex first.
Dex swallowed hard but forced himself to speak. “Will we ever go home—to Earth?”
Her response was swift. She threw down a card, the movement mechanical yet deliberate. The card displayed two fractured planets split at their cores, glowing with clashing blue and red light. “Yes,” she snarled, the word laced with something cruel, as though the answer was more punishment than promise.
Dex’s eyes widened. “How? When?”
The crone’s face twisted in fury, her voice exploding into a guttural roar that shook the tent. “ONE QUESTION EACH!” she screeched, her form growing darker and more grotesque, her body convulsing as it shifted further into something barely human. “ASK YOUR NEXT QUESTION.”
Molly stepped forward before anyone could stop her, her voice trembling yet resolute. “How do we get home?” she demanded, her gaze unwavering.
The crone stilled, her head tilting sharply as her milky eyes turned completely white. A strange light flickered within them, and suddenly, an image began to play in the air between them. No words left the crone’s lips, but the scene unfolding before Molly was vivid, haunting, and painfully clear.
Tears streamed down Molly’s face as she absorbed the vision, her shoulders trembling. She nodded silently, a solemn understanding passing over her expression. Without a word, she stepped back, the weight of the answer pressing her into silence.
The crone’s head swiveled unnaturally, her gaze now falling on Jace. “Your turn,” she hissed, her voice slithering through the oppressive air. “Your question!”
Jace caught it then—the hunger burning behind her glass eye, her real eye twitching with predatory intent. His Truthsense flared, peeling back the layers of illusion, and what he saw chilled him to his core. She wasn’t a person. She had never been a person. She was something monstrous, a creature born of this strange, oppressive realm. And she wasn’t just playing a game—she was feeding on them.
Every question they asked, every answer she gave, made her stronger, her influence over this pocket dimension growing tighter. Escape seemed impossible, and the rules of her twisted domain were absolute. But then, a thought struck Jace—reckless, desperate, and perhaps the only chance they had.
“Who am I?” he demanded.
Her fingers froze over the deck, trembling as though the very question burned her. The glass eye in her socket spun violently, the storm within it churning like a tempest. Slowly, she reached for a card, but the moment her fingers brushed it, she recoiled, hissing in pain.
“You…” she snarled, her real eye narrowing to a slitted glare. The glass one locked onto him, its intensity almost unbearable. She tried again, snatching a card from the deck and slamming it onto the table. The instant it landed, it erupted into flames, the fire consuming it in an instant. The crone screeched, clutching her hand as though the heat had seared her skin.
The air grew heavier, suffocating, the walls of the tent rippling as if they might collapse. The lantern flickered wildly, throwing distorted shadows that seemed to crawl toward the group.
Jace leaned forward, his voice sharp, cutting through the chaos. “Who am I?” he demanded again, louder this time.
The crone staggered back, her twisted form convulsing. Her lips twisted into a grimace, and her glass eye spun erratically, like it was malfunctioning. “I cannot see!” she shrieked, her voice cracking with desperation. “But your fortune…” She flinched, doubling over as if struck by an unseen blow. “Your fortune leaves ripples. Darkness. Terrible ripples. I must warn them.”
Jace’s voice sharpened further. “Warn who?”
“Them all!” she cried, her words ragged and wild.
Her breathing turned ragged, her bony hands clawing at the table as the cards scattered beneath her. Their glow dimmed, flickering like dying embers. “I must answer!” she screamed, her voice breaking as she reached for another card.
This time, as her hand touched the deck, flames erupted once more, brighter and fiercer than before. The fire spread instantly, consuming her robes, her gnarled frame writhing in agony as smoke and heat filled the air. She collapsed to the ground, her monstrous form barely visible through the inferno, her screams echoing like the howl of something far older and more terrible than they could comprehend.
The smoke surged, choking and relentless, snuffing out the lanternlight and blotting out everything around them. Darkness descended—cold, infinite, and suffocating. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, with a violent lurch, the world shifted.
They were outside again.
The garish lights of the carnival still glowed faintly, but the sounds of laughter and cheer had vanished. The streets were empty now, the once-bustling fairgrounds eerily quiet. The colorful tents stood abandoned, their vibrant colors muted in the dim light. It was late—far too late.
They checked their HUDs.
2:00 AM.
Time had slipped through their fingers in the crone’s pocket dimension.
Jace turned, his breath catching in his chest as his eyes scanned the spot where the tent had stood. It was gone, leaving nothing but the faint scent of smoke lingering in the still air. Somewhere in the distance, the faint echo of the crone’s final, haunting scream seemed to stretch out into the void.