Page 136 of Heart Cradle
Chapter Sixty-Two – Runekeepers
The transport stone released them in a pulse of warmth and wind. Maeve stumbled slightly as her boots hit soft ground, the forest spinning for half a second before steadying herself. The air there was different, thin and alien. Yendel straightened beside her, already composed, robes falling into place without a crease. “We’re outside the final ward perimeter. The house lies beyond the trees.”
Branfil adjusted his sword and gave Maeve a quick glance. “You okay?”
“Still hate the feeling,” she muttered. “Like being popped through a keyhole.”
“Better than flying for three days.” Branfil countered.
“Debatable…”
Waiting just ahead, half-shrouded in mist, were three saddled horses. The smallest of them, a dappled mare with long lashes and suspiciously intelligent eyes, lifted her head and observed Maeve and she did not look thrilled.
“Ah,” Yendel said mildly. “I forgot you dislike horses.”
“I don’t dislike them,” Maeve said tightly, eyeing the mare like it might lunge. “I just don’t trust anything that has that many opinions and no ability to debate them.”
Branfil snorted and handed her the reins. “I’m sure she’s well trained.”
“You may laugh, but I’ve been thrown before,” Maeve retorted, rolling her eyes.
“You ride dragons now!” Bran said, hands outstretched in mock appeal.
She laughed. “Dragons warn before they throw you.”
Still, Maeve mounted up without further complaint, though the mare gave a subtle toss of her head, like she was testing her. They rode for just under two hours through a veiled forest, the path narrowing and blurring the deeper they went. The trees leaned close, their trunks furrowedwith age, rune-marked in places that made Maeve’s skin prickle. Sunlight filtered in strange, slanted patterns, shifting and always just behind them.
She leaned forwards slightly, murmuring to Branfil, “Are you getting a weird déjà vu feeling?”
“Like the forest is folding behind us?” he murmured back. “Yes.”
Even the Chain had gone quiet. Not inert, or dim. But alert… as if it was focused and coiled to strike. Then, beneath a low arch of a living root, the path ended, and the mountain opened up before them.
The House of the Magicers had no proper door or windows. The structure rose like a spiral crown carved against the cliffside, part temple, part library, part living structure. Shimmering sigils and runes floated lazily in the air above its towers, slow-moving and weightless, like glass leaves on invisible wind.
“Shit.” Maeve said, entirely awestruck.
“This place wasn’t built,” Yendel said, dismounting. “It was found.”
Maeve slid from the saddle, legs tense. “How long has it been here?”
Yendel smoothed his robes. “No one knows, long before Melrathen had monarchs or written word.”
They were greeted inside by silence and ink, the corridors were high-ceilinged, walls ribbed with living root and cold crystal and light came from no visible source. Runekeepers moved in slow patterns, robed in grey and white, many barefoot, their skin painted with soft lines of glowing ink.
They bowed slightly as Yendel passed, but few spoke. One figure emerged from deeper shadow, a tall, robed fae with dark, stone-coloured skin and eyes so milky they looked sculpted from cloud.
“High Runekeeper Vaelwyn,” Yendel said quietly. “We’re here to see you.”
Vaelwyn nodded once, their voice low and strangely melodic. “I know, the Chain arrived well before you all.”
Maeve tensed. “You felt it?”
“We heard it, echoes in the stone.” She replied gesturing to the wall.
Branfil moved subtly closer to Maeve’s side. She didn’t flinch, only looked to Vaelwyn with calm defiance. “And what exactly is it echoing?”
Vaelwyn smiled faintly. “That’s what we hope to learn.”
