Page 219 of Winter Gods & Serpents

My attention turned to the elderly sat outside a grand half collapsed temple just across the main square of the village, hidden by the large conifers and the mountain rocks. They had lowered to their knees murmuring prayers silently, their eyes tightly closed. Considering how unpractised faith was here, they looked like the only few of worshippers left in the whole of Isjord. A thin grey book clutched between their hands, Book of Eirlys, the thinnest holy script on the realm. What did these people pray? Hodr was just another snow crusted waste land and Krig…well, he was another smug story all together.

“Ner Krig’t khȏlda, zel Hodr khȏlin,” I greeted in old Ysolt, approaching them in holy sign.

“Ner Krig’t khȏlda, druval ȃt wȃlkya da,” they all responded in unison towards me, looking terrified.

“I am Captain Snow, inspecting for the vandal attacks. Do you have any given on what they might be looking for? These villages are your ground, you know them better than anyone.”

They hesitated taking in my words but in worry they moved forward towards me, an elderly woman grabbed my hands cradling them to her own, she looked older than time, probably as well if she was an old Aura, their powers, and lifelines stronger and blessed.

“We do not know, but they raid the temples worse than they raid our homes, whatever they are looking for is to be found in them. We never enter any, they are laced with strong dark crafter magic as old as a thousand generations to protect portals, objects and blessings left from our gods. Most are random objects, only a value to us believers, none that would matter to anyone else,” she explained, patting my arm gently before leaving.

No one could enter them. Was this why the villages were continuously attacked, because they could not get in? Their acts were fresh, it meant they still had not found a way in—my father too had not found a way. It looked as if attacking the rest of the village had only been a ploy to mask their true actions. Now the question was, why was Melathe’s magic stench reeking in patches particularly here? Memphis had ingested a potion by our crafter who had worked the way to trace Melanthe’s craft pattern. Immediately she had flown here above the temple directed by the potion, her sight had shown hovering red mist all around the village and spectacular traces of her craft practiced right here, by the temple. The crafter we visited on our journey in Arynth had told us that Melanthe was a known Potioner and Summoner back in Eldmoor. It brought me back to the conversation we had in Brogmere with Kilian and Mal, but what would she summon here, what would a gate and elixir do to help her with my father’s cause? Breaking another crafter's veil was impossible whatever skillset you bagged, especially when this one’s owner was probably long dead, not considering the wielding power elder crafters used to have. Melanthe was practically an ant heavy lifting a bull. Was it why father had brought her back from Caligo, to help him procure whatever this temple hid? But then, why Seraphim, Myrdur, Hanai and Solarya?

I ran my fingers over the faded rock carvings at the entrance of the moss and omen filled temple. I felt the old language lift in the air and almost whisper the words at the back of my neck like the breeze of a cave, hollow, echoing and hissing.

Khȏl gval, gral, glȃrda. Khȏl zul. Ȃr rhakili re wah, Khȏl balka. Ȃr rhakili re zǔl, ȃr rhakili re khar, wȏ ȃra din rhakili re khur.

“What does it say?” Cai asked, crouching down next to me.

“God came, left, remained. God gifted. Be aware of what god banished. Be aware of gifts, be aware of her, who was not aware of him.” A shudder went through my body as I repeated them aloud. “Cai—”

“It’s the same one written on the road to Valda Acme.” Valda Acme was the highest point of the Volants. Just about were the Isjordian soldiers were found heading towards.

“The veil affected Sam, it drove him mad…it wasn’t Melanthe, but—”

“You do not get affected by it and you will go. Sam, you made him a promise,” he finished for me before standing.

“Thank you, Cai.”

“Always.”

“I will enter alone, no one else,” I said to the grand crowd pacing behind me like goose younglings. My madness, my blame. I was not going to carry their lives in my guilt as well.

“That will not happen, anything but that. No one enters temples, they are all rounded and guarded by dark crafter magic,” Kilian pleaded worriedly, approaching me. The one who always dared to take doubt or challenge my decisions.

“There is nothing in them anyway, my raven,” Elias said, coming between me and Kilian, the latter frowned so deep a canyon formed between his brows.

“I will decide that for myself, Elias. Unless you know something I don’t.” He stood surveying me and then his soldiers for a moment before nodding and moving back. It was signal enough that he did indeed know something more, but we had watch. That was why my father had insisted someone accompany me. To spy on me.

“I don’t come in sixty heartbeats you send for me,” I said to the stern cold face of spring.

“With how fast it is beating right now, sixty heartbeats won’t even be before you take that first step. Can I plead you into changing your mind?” he asked in that soft irresistible stare, resting a palm on one of my cheeks but I shook my head. Surrendered he closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “I terribly want to stop you. I will come with then.”

“There is no stopping me and if something happens, I know you will be right here to come get me.” Everyone was looking towards us, including a bewildered Elias. I did not care, I never had this—this felt good.

“You don’t come back in sixty heartbeats, we tear that thing down,” Cai called as he, Nia and Mal approached, their swords drawn at ready. It was a temple, not a monster's den. Their steel was as useless as a fork when you got served soup.

Nia gave me a nod of reassurance. “You don’t come back in sixty heartbeats, we tear the whole of this land down.”

Mal glanced between us all, as if waiting for him to say something too. “You don’t come back in sixty heartbeats,” he said pensive. “Well…just return in those sixty heartbeats, those look like some tough walls, I’m quite partial to less work is the best work.”

I smiled at the younger brother and he threw me a wink as I backed onto the unknown.

The temple was dark, taking a torch fixated at the entrance I made my way in towards it dim halls. Walls were covered in drawn figures of battles, monsters and at the centre wall, the statue figures of our gods stood still and grand, father of all gods, Fader, at its centre. Moving past them, the air shifted warmer and my torch blew off leaving me in complete darkness. Navigating blindly ahead my fingers grew warmer as if approaching a flame and then a small spark lit in front of me. Moving toward the flickering light I stumbled and fell to a cold wet floor, I yelped at the impact and noticed my whole body soaked as well. The light grew bigger, slowly it lit the grand room little by little. I stood to marvel at the grotesquely drawn walls, not moments later water rose to my ankles. No, not water, something thicker. The razor-sharp metallic smell of blood hit me before I looked down at my clothes. My breath lost, and my mouth gaped open at the horror rising now to my knees. The floor and my body all drenched in crimson red thick blood, leaking everywhere, streaming, and filling the room.

I drew my attention away and towards the drawings on the ceiling, there was something in its centre, pushing forward I stood in the middle of the room. A white haired woman with wings and something I could not make out from the dim light stood at its middle along with a man’s drawings surrounded by chains and a circle of moon phases. Dozens of other drawings of maps, unrecognizable creatures, and weapons spread to each corner. Old Ysolt letters lined in circles around her. I spun on my toes to form the sentences while blood crawled up my body.

Har wȏ dorla, har wȏ baǔl, har wȏ sȃ. She who defied, she who betrayed, she who pays. Sor zir ǔ dȃ sverga, sor zir arȇ ǔ khila. Eight chains to the land, eight chains from the skies. Sor sǔl ndar har eto. Sor sǔl garta rȏ sat har arȇ eto. Eight souls part her living. Eight souls guarded to keep her from living.