Page 136 of Cursed Dreams
She pointed to the bottom corner, where the edge of the map curved around an inscription, delicate, curling script written in a language none of them immediately recognised.
“That’s… not Fae common,” Thalia said, brows furrowing.
“No,” Nyla murmured, squinting as she traced the shapes with her fingertip.
“I think...” Marand stuttered, “I think it’s old high fae”
“Well,” Cellen said, resting his chin on one hand, “aren’t you just the full package?”
Marand snorted, elbowing him lightly without taking her eyes away from the script.
“Could I be of assistance?” Thalia jumped at the unexpected voice.
Standing in the doorway was an old, withered-looking priestess. Her back was hunched, bones pressing sharp beneath her heavy robes. Wisps of thin silver hair escaped the edges of her hood, her face a map of deep lines and sunken shadows. Her eyes, though clouded with age, held a strange sharpness.
“I apologise for the intrusion. My name is Merryweather. The high priestess Elara said when you arrived to make myself available to you.”
Thalia stared at the old woman, uncertain. There was something about her that set Thalia on edge. Something in her gut warned her not to trust her, but desperation pressed in. If there was even a chance this priestess could help, she couldn’t afford to her turn away.
“Do you by chance know the old high fae dialect?”
“My, my” the old woman said her smile was verging on cruel, sending chills down Thalia’s spine. “It’s been a long time since I've spoken it, I may be rusty, but in answer to your questing yes.”
“Can you read this for us?” Nyla asked, Thalia looked at her, she didn't want this woman anywhere near the map.
With surprising speed and grace for her age, the old woman crossed the room.
“Now let me see, “She lifted the map off the table, Thali made to reach for it, but Merryweather pulled it away out of her reach.
“Sorry dear, my eyes aren’t what they used to be, I need more light”
Something inside Thalia roared. She quickly sat on her hands feeling afraid her magic would burst from them any second. What was going on?
“Interesting, “She hummed to herself.
“What is it?” Cellen asked.
“Let’s see… this first part— ‘Veiled… entry’? No. ‘The entrance veiled… by the gods…’.”
“Yes, that’s better” she said turning herself closer to the candlelight, and further from the group than Thalia liked.
She fell quiet for a long moment, mouthing words silently. Thalia watched her intently, ready to rip the map from her the second she had finished translating for them.
Marand poured tea for everyone in the hush, Thalia kept her eyes locked on the old woman.
Finally, Merryweather spoke again, her brow drawn in quiet concentration. “This part I’m certain of. ‘To seek without truth is to invite the curse. The veil will turn them away, heavy as shadow, quiet as sleep. They will forget why they ever tried to enter.’”
Thalia sat back slowly, her thoughts spinning. “It’s hidden,” she said softly. “Not just physically… magically. It turns people away unless they know where and how to enter.”
“That’s some serious enchantment,” Cellen muttered, eyes wide. “No wonder no one’s found it in all these centuries.”
“And we have to figure out how to get through it,” Thalia said, staring down at the map.
Cellen leaned forward, drumming his fingers against the table thoughtfully. “We don’t even know what kind of magic is being used here. Could be glamour. Could be wards. Could be some ancient spell that fries your insides if you try the wrong thing.”
Marand shot him a look. “Very helpful, Cellen.”
He shrugged, grinning. “Just setting expectations.”
