Deeper he went, and the corridor branched off to his left and right. But the call was straight ahead and he continued, past stones engraved with writing he could not read. Another odd custom, not to return the flesh to the elements, but encase them in hard rock. He paused at one, running his fingers over letters seemingly freshly cut. Was this—?”
“Come.”
Joden dropped his hand and obeyed, going deeper within the mountain, following an urge he could not deny. Here the stone felt older, the carved letters worn, more symbols than words. Crowns, swords, horses, and airions that reared up, their wings spread wide.
The corridor narrowed, the walls rougher, the graves more frequent and the steps more worn in the center. Joden walked on until he reached a doorway, and stepped down into a round room with a domed ceiling. There was an elaborately carved stone box in the center, its side covered with robed figures, clearly weeping. On the ceiling, circling airions were carved.
Beyond the stone box, a man sat on a throne, formed from the very rock.
“Welcome, Joden of the Hawk.”
The voice had an empty, echoing quality to it. The man wore a kind of armor Joden had never seen. Pure metal that encased his entire body, with a helm that framed his face. On his lap, over his knees, was a sword of crystal glimmering blue.
“Do not think to disturb the others that sleep here, wise one. They will not rouse to your call.” The man had the same grayish light to him as did the surrounding stone.
“I do not seek to disturb them.” Joden stepped forward. “I do not seek—”
The warrior chuckled. “Such as you always seek.” His voice was a dark rumble against the stone. “It is your nature, your very breath.”
“Maybe,” Joden admitted, feeling his questions all start to pile up behind his tongue.
“A Seer, newly come into your power.” The man regarded him with flat eyes. “No control, no understanding. Who says the powers have no sense of humor?”
“What do you call me?” Joden demanded.
“You are with us, but not of us,” the man continued.
“The dead,” Joden said.
“The dead.” The eyes closed for a moment, then re-opened. “The dead, unseen and unknown, yet knowing and seeing.”
“Those are ritual words of the Plains,” Joden said. The cold stale air filled his nose and throat.
“Are they? Are you certain?”
“Who are you?” Joden demanded.
“Xyson.”
Joden frowned. “Lara, she read to us from a book.The Epic of Xyson, she called it.”
“The same.” the stone corners of the man’s mouth quirked. “That Warprize of yours, she has quite the temper. Gets it from me, I suspect.”
“So all these,” Joden gestured back behind him. “They will all—”
“No,” Xyson said. “The dead of Xy that lie within have gone beyond the snows, leaving only echoes. Only I remain.”
“You are of Xy,” Joden said. “How do you know the way of the Plains?”
“You walk in two worlds now, Joden of the Hawk. You speak with the dead, but the dead do not always speak the truth. You should always wonder about the dead’s reasons.”
Joden narrowed his eyes. “What are your reasons?”
The specter laughed but then grew solemn. “To put right a wrong I created.” Xyson glanced up, as if looking through stone. “We have little time,” he said. “Even now, the stones suck the heat from your flesh and life from your heart. Even now, the guardian seeks the snows, one who has not kept to their oaths.”
“There is time,” Joden said trying to ignore the cold creeping into his feet and legs.
“Two things I will tell you, Seer. Long ago there were two sisters, who loved as all women do, with their hearts and not their minds. They fell in love with two brothers, both powerful warriors within their tribes. But for the complications of their people, all would have been well. But conflicts arose and one of the brothers died and the other… broke two kingdoms for his love.”
