Read Online Valkwitch (The Valkwitch Saga Book 1) by Michael Watson - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Watson
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covered the walls in long, rambling panels, covered in more of the
alien script that was on the spire, as well as other symbols and designs that
defied explanation. It all felt unknowably ancient.
Tyrissa ran the fingers of her free hand along
the wall, seeking meaning through touch if not sight. There was no conceivable
order or logic to the work, script mixed with shapes and icons at random. As
she passed, the occasional face or recognizable animal would emerge from the
chaotic crowd of foreign symbols, but they only further obfuscated any meaning
in the expansive mural.
Enchanted by the eerie frescos, she was well into
the hall before realizing that, despite the enveloping blackness of the
stonework, the interior of the ruin wasn’t entirely dark. She carried no light
source and the sunlight from the entrance seemed to stop a few feet into the
hall, as if hitting a wall. Yet there was a clinging luminance within the
hallway, degrees of shadows rather than light, that caused the strange carvings
on the walls to twist and contort as she passed. A few narrower halls split off
from the main passageway, but many of those were filled with rubble from
collapsed ceilings and fully darkened in every case.
If the silence above ground was unnerving, here
it was overpowering. The scrape of her footfalls upon the stone floor took
shape as whispers in her ears, speaking in sinister tongues of unknowable
syllables, the language of the twisted art on the walls. Tyrissa shook her head
to clear away the doubts and fears of an overactive imagination. Every few
paces she would step onto a softer patch of floor and saw flecks of that black
ash clinging to the sides of her boots. At each muffled footfall, she would
quicken her pace until she stood upon clear stone again. She pressed on,
heartbeat rising with each step.
At the end of the hall, what appeared to be a far
wall in the distance was merely the black ceiling descending into a deep
stairway. To her eyes, the dim light and steep angle made each step merge into
a smooth slope. Furtive sunlight crept into sight at the base of the stairs far
below, perhaps an entry to the large cavern she had seen from above. The light
was inviting and despite the heat weighing in and the sweat running down her
face, Tyrissa wanted nothing more than the warmth of that light.
Steadying herself with one hand on the wall, she
started to descend the inky black stairwell and entered a void. Each step
echoed away from her to be swallowed by the darkness. The stairway stretched on
forever, hundreds of steps, as if she wasn’t moving at all. She was utterly
isolated, an island of life in a place devoid of it. She used her staff as a
guide, feeling out each step before taking it, making sure there were steps to
take and not a sudden drop into an abyss. Either seemed equally likely, equally
rational. The whispers returned, louder but still indistinct, alien. The
thought of turning around and running never occurred to her. Tyrissa could only
see the light below drawing closer and resolutely marched downward. She would
not be afraid. If she reached the light all would be well. All would be well.
As her feet landed at the base of the stairway,
the whispers stopped, the heat dissipated, and relief washed over her like a
cool rain. She stood in a plain hexagonal chamber, built of the same black
stone but the floor clear of ash and the walls free of murals. A grand arched
doorway, fifteen feet tall, stood before her. One of the stone doors lay
crumbled on the other side of the threshold, torn off its unseen hinges as if
it were paper. Tyrissa stepped around the still standing door and into yet
another scene from the tales.
Within lay a massive chamber, hundreds of feet
long and half as wide, a cathedral of stone. Both sides of the room curved
sharply upward to the roof, mimicking the shape of the doorway. Giant frescos
covered the walls, dwarfing the ones above in their sinister grandeur.
Afternoon sun poured
alien script that was on the spire, as well as other symbols and designs that
defied explanation. It all felt unknowably ancient.
Tyrissa ran the fingers of her free hand along
the wall, seeking meaning through touch if not sight. There was no conceivable
order or logic to the work, script mixed with shapes and icons at random. As
she passed, the occasional face or recognizable animal would emerge from the
chaotic crowd of foreign symbols, but they only further obfuscated any meaning
in the expansive mural.
Enchanted by the eerie frescos, she was well into
the hall before realizing that, despite the enveloping blackness of the
stonework, the interior of the ruin wasn’t entirely dark. She carried no light
source and the sunlight from the entrance seemed to stop a few feet into the
hall, as if hitting a wall. Yet there was a clinging luminance within the
hallway, degrees of shadows rather than light, that caused the strange carvings
on the walls to twist and contort as she passed. A few narrower halls split off
from the main passageway, but many of those were filled with rubble from
collapsed ceilings and fully darkened in every case.
If the silence above ground was unnerving, here
it was overpowering. The scrape of her footfalls upon the stone floor took
shape as whispers in her ears, speaking in sinister tongues of unknowable
syllables, the language of the twisted art on the walls. Tyrissa shook her head
to clear away the doubts and fears of an overactive imagination. Every few
paces she would step onto a softer patch of floor and saw flecks of that black
ash clinging to the sides of her boots. At each muffled footfall, she would
quicken her pace until she stood upon clear stone again. She pressed on,
heartbeat rising with each step.
At the end of the hall, what appeared to be a far
wall in the distance was merely the black ceiling descending into a deep
stairway. To her eyes, the dim light and steep angle made each step merge into
a smooth slope. Furtive sunlight crept into sight at the base of the stairs far
below, perhaps an entry to the large cavern she had seen from above. The light
was inviting and despite the heat weighing in and the sweat running down her
face, Tyrissa wanted nothing more than the warmth of that light.
Steadying herself with one hand on the wall, she
started to descend the inky black stairwell and entered a void. Each step
echoed away from her to be swallowed by the darkness. The stairway stretched on
forever, hundreds of steps, as if she wasn’t moving at all. She was utterly
isolated, an island of life in a place devoid of it. She used her staff as a
guide, feeling out each step before taking it, making sure there were steps to
take and not a sudden drop into an abyss. Either seemed equally likely, equally
rational. The whispers returned, louder but still indistinct, alien. The
thought of turning around and running never occurred to her. Tyrissa could only
see the light below drawing closer and resolutely marched downward. She would
not be afraid. If she reached the light all would be well. All would be well.
As her feet landed at the base of the stairway,
the whispers stopped, the heat dissipated, and relief washed over her like a
cool rain. She stood in a plain hexagonal chamber, built of the same black
stone but the floor clear of ash and the walls free of murals. A grand arched
doorway, fifteen feet tall, stood before her. One of the stone doors lay
crumbled on the other side of the threshold, torn off its unseen hinges as if
it were paper. Tyrissa stepped around the still standing door and into yet
another scene from the tales.
Within lay a massive chamber, hundreds of feet
long and half as wide, a cathedral of stone. Both sides of the room curved
sharply upward to the roof, mimicking the shape of the doorway. Giant frescos
covered the walls, dwarfing the ones above in their sinister grandeur.
Afternoon sun poured
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