Page 50 of From the Myths of Kings

Rook went cold. So they were being held captive then. He ground his teeth together, gripping the hilt of his sword even tighter. He had to do something.

“Maybe the rebels came to their senses,” said the man. “They realized it’s a lost cause, just like we did. No one will come for them. Grivur will have to be content to play his games with a limited number of tributes.”

Tributes? Rook didn’t know what they were talking about, but the mere word ‘tribute’ sent nausea roiling through him.

“He’ll still have his fun. Come on, let’s head back. We’ll check tomorrow, but I doubt anyone will come looking for them. It’s been days now.”

Rook fought to keep his ragged breathing in check as the stone-singer turned back toward the tunnel opening with a shrug. Aurelia’s voice rang through his ears: Vow to me that you will not try and save them on your own. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t try to be a hero.

As much as it pained him to leave, he needed to let Aurelia know that Saoirse and her companions had been captured. He couldn’t face this on his own. He was half-dead, fighting a cursed wound that wouldn’t heal, and completely exhausted after two days of non-stop flying. He would only get himself killed if he searched for them alone.

Rook held his crouched position as the pair of Terradrin underguards slipped back into the tunnel. The female stone-singer started to close the cavity, her pale fingers willing the stone into submission like a craftsperson shaping clay on a potter’s wheel. It began to seal itself up under her guidance.

Rook let out a shuddering breath and slumped against the wall.

He was abruptly transported to another world, the murky cave walls vanishing as he closed his eyes. Gone was the thick scent of salt in his nostrils. The howling winds outside transformed into another storm that took place a century ago:

Hundreds of candles flickered on the steps of the Auran Temple.

The sea of twinkling flames cast shadows that danced along the elegant marble columns. Outside, a fierce storm blew through the city of Coarinth. Deafening thunder rumbled through the dark sky as though Deinos himself clapped his palms together in the heavens. The circular pavilion was cloaked in shadow, momentarily lit by flashes of violent lightning every few minutes.

Standing like the clusters of candles on the steps, hooded figures in the center of the chamber swayed in time to an archaic chant. Their robes of deep purple pooled on the marble stone like crushed grapes. The chorus of voices chanted in a language long lost to time, echoing between the columns like dust off an ancient page. They conjured magic through their music. Songs could break curses, create new life, sentence someone to death, and bestow magic where there was none. Their lilting words spoke of release and of unbinding, a direct contrast to the song that once banished their goddess to the Underworld thousands of years ago.

The tallest of the hooded figures strode toward the center of the room, robes billowing behind him. He held a bronze decanter in his palms. Mythological creatures were etched into the vessel’s surface, including several humanoid figures that possessed tails like fish. Within the decanter was a concoction made of salt water collected from melted glaciers in the Northern Wastes, the scale of a siren ground to dust, and the acidic venom of a hydra. In lieu of having the blood of a god and the blood of a dying innocent once used to lock their goddess away, the purple-robed acolytes had to make their own potion using the resources they’d painstakingly collected over centuries.

The chorus of voices crescendoed when the male Elder tossed the brew onto the polished marble floor. The frothy dark liquid splattered against the pristine white stone and stained the robes of those standing nearby. A bolt of lightning lit up the pavilion, revealing faces bright with anticipation.

“Great One, hear our plea!” All the voices sang as one, mingling into a warbled melody. “With this song, we call you from the depths of your dark prison! Like the voices that once banished you from our world, let our song free you from your confinement once and for all! For centuries you have suffered, sentenced to a horrific fate by those you trusted the most! From the mouths of sirens you were cast out, but from the mouths of your servants shall you rise again!”

The frothing elixir began to bubble on the ground like a pot of water over open flames. As it began to sizzle, wisps of sulfuric steam floated up from the liquid puddle. Another crash of thunder made the floating pavilion shake like a heaving breath.

Emboldened, the hooded figures continued to chant: “So it was foretold, the Titans shall return to punish their creations and rid Revelore of their corruption! Great One, we call you now! You are the only one with the power to resurrect our makers! Guide us to victory! Reward our faithfulness! Remake the world!”

The spilled concoction now fully boiled on the marble floor. Large bubbles popped and hissed, sending sprays of acidic droplets scattering throughout the room. The liquid thickened and grew sticky, becoming a membranous texture. The group of Elders halted their chanting and waited with bated breath as the potion warped and buckled. The floor rippled like water.

They all gasped when a face pressed upward from the other side. Like a curtain hanging between two rooms, someone pushed against the thin, sticky liquid. The veil between worlds was thinning. The suggestion of a nose and a mouth grew more defined as the figure on the other side continued clawing up through the floor. The figure’s mouth opened and shut as though they were screaming, their open jaw coated in the dark potion like a thin membrane. Suddenly, claws pierced through the membranous layer and a roaring voice ricocheted through the chamber.

Spindly hands splayed against the marble, capped with sharpened fingernails as black as onyx. A woman pulled herself up out of the floor with a groan. As she passed through the gaping hole and fell in a heap on the stones, the floor sealed itself back up behind her with a sickening squelch. She writhed on the floor for a moment, limbs spasming in the wet puddle like a fish out of water.

Then she stopped.

The woman was drenched in a thick liquid, her stringy black hair clumped down her spine. Eyes as black as a starless sky peered up at them. She grinned, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth. The same dark liquid that coated her bare skin leaked out from between her teeth like ink. Despite the grotesque nature of her appearance, the woman possessed an otherworldly beauty as she looked around the room, kohl-dark eyelashes feathering on her cheeks.

“Great One,” the tallest male Elder breathed in disbelief. “You came.”

“Thank you for summoning me.” Her poisonous voice moved like smoke. “You were persistent over these many years, and for that I thank you. For many centuries I raged within the dark abyss of my prison, knowing that one day I would be set free.”

One by one, the Elders fell to their knees as she spoke. Some even lost consciousness at the shock of her voice, their heads thudding against the marble-like fallen grapes from a vine. Many pushed back their hoods and stared with wide-eyed adoration as the woman rose from the liquid.

“How long has it been since my siblings’ souls were sealed in the Stone Circle and their bodies banished under the Mountain?”

“Thousands of years, Great One.”

Something like horror passed over the woman’s face. Fury quickly replaced her shock and she bared her pointed teeth. “This should never have happened,” she hissed. “We were so close to victory. But then I was betrayed. I should’ve been there to protect them. I should’ve stopped those conniving, ungrateful mortals. After everything we gave them…”

“But you’ve returned to us now,” came the male Elder’s voice. “You can right the wrongs of Revelore’s past. Tell us what must be done, Great One.”

The unearthly woman strode from the center of the temple, the crowd of Elders parting for her as she walked up the marble steps. Several Elders reverently touched the stringy liquid that trailed in her wake. The woman knocked over several candles in the process, giving no indication of pain as the flames licked at her bare feet then sputtered out. She ignored the crowd of awed acolytes as she came to stand next to one of the outer pillars, claw-like fingers tracing up the concave curves sculpted into the stone.

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