20. Chapter Twenty

Walking along the dimly lit corridor, my fingertips brush against the rough, icy surface of the stone wall. A cloud of dust fills the air, tickling my nose and causing me to sneeze. The sound echoes down the empty hallway, bouncing off the walls and fading into silence. The musty smell of old stone and dampness permeates the air, making me feel as though I have stepped into a forgotten place. Despite the chill in the air, the wall is oddly comforting beneath my fingers, as if it holds secrets waiting to be discovered. Each room contains a single, large, white marble coffin. The air seems to twirl with an otherworldly energy.

Do the dead still haunt these passageways?

"How much further?" I ask, watching Nero guide our passage through the catacombs. The echo of our footsteps as we rush from room to room, our only companion.

"We're almost there." Nero glances back at me. He pauses before the entrance of the room, narrowing his eyes in concentration, ready to confront any possible trouble that could be waiting for us. As soon as the room passes his inspection, he steps in, waving me to follow him.

I instantly notice how unique it is compared to the rest. I pause, my gaze dragging from the meticulously clean floor, up the walls to the dark blue ceiling dotted with hundreds of painted constellations. Walking into the room gives the sensation of being transported into the night sky itself. I approach the white marble tomb and the coolness of the stone as I run my fingers over its smooth surface, pristine and gleaming in the torchlight is a stark contrast to the warmth of my hand. The magic here has a distinct energy that I have never felt anywhere else, and I can't help but wonder who was laid here to rest.

Who is buried here?

As my fingers run along the edge, I notice that the lid of the tomb sits askew. Nibbling at my bottom lip, I lay my palm against its flat surface. Kings and queens of old do not just wake up and climb out of their forever resting places. Shaking my head as my folly, I cast my eyes across the room. Intricately woven tapestries depicting lush forests and vibrant fields decorate the wall.

The designs are a feast for the eyes, with shades of green, brown, and blue blending together seamlessly to create a serene and peaceful atmosphere. I can almost hear the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds, transporting me to a tranquil, natural haven. A faint scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers lingers in the air, bringing a sense of freshness and vitality. Hand-stitched creatures seem to crawl across the weaving, giving it a sense of movement and life. My eyes settle on a small herd of what are unmistakably unicorns, their coats in different shades of white, brown, gray and black. I blink repeatedly in shock.

Why are my ancestors depicted in this tomb?

I lean forward to examine the artistry closer, and the faint scent of jasmine fills the air. My eyes close, my body swaying involuntarily. The scent is revitalizing after the tumultuous series of events settle on my shoulders. A lavish bed fit for royalty now lies before me where a cold and lifeless stone coffin once rested. The plush mattress is covered in midnight blue satin sheets, glimmering in the dim light of the room. The lush pillows are thick and overstuffed with down feathers, offering a soft and comfortable resting place for a weary head. The air is still and quiet, where no sound will disturb the peaceful atmosphere. As I approach the bed, I can't resist from running my fingers over the smooth fabric of the sheets, reveling in the luxurious texture. The stark contrast of the soft plush bed to the rough and unyielding stone that was there moments before eases my weary soul. My eyelids droop with the weight of exhaustion, as if they are being pulled down by a heavy blanket. My body is heavy and sluggish, as if I am moving through molasses. I sigh with content, knowing that I can finally rest.

"Welcome, child of Alpheaia," a woman's gentle voice says, which reminds me of my mother's soft lilt as she would start one of my healing lessons. The memory is a shock deep enough to flutter my eyelids open. "I have waited a long time for you. Come, rest for a moment. There is much I have to tell you, but I don't have much time."

Who is Alpheaia? Where is Mother?

A faint brush of wind runs over my hair, and I settle into the comforting gesture. I rub at the heavy ache in my chest as the recollection of my mother leaves. Taking a brief break can't hurt. I deserve it after all I've been through.

"Who are you?" I ask, stifling a yawn. I see nothing in the room but the luxurious bed and decorated walls. Where does that voice come from? I must be so tired that I'm hallucinating, or I have hit my head harder than I thought. I ignore a nagging sensation that I need to continue on.

"Sweet Sybil." The warm, familiar tones of the voice soothe me, amusement dancing in her voice. "I have gone by many names, but that is not important. You may call me Rose. There is something important you need to know."

"Sybil!" The sound of Nero's voice is faint with worry. But it's coming from a distance, and I ignore him, turning back to Rose's voice. I feel safe sharing the burden with her.

"I am alone, hunted, and only half-trained." I yawn. "I've been taken away from all that I love and that's comforting. I don't offer much to anyone, so what could you possibly have been waiting for me for?" I mumble as I climb on top of the massive bed. A contented sigh escapes my lips, and I gently lay my head down on a plush pillow, the satin caressing my cheek. I can't remember the last time I felt so relaxed and comfortable.

"Child, now is not the time to sleep," Rose whispers urgently. "Sybil! Pay attention!"

"Huh?"

"Your journey has only begun. A great wrongness has been done to my kingdom. It needs to be healed." Rose continues whispering, deeply troubled. "You are the healer we have been waiting for. You must seek your training with the white witches in the forgotten library of Harpalyke."

Why is she tempting me with dreams I've long cherished?

"Sybil!" Nero's voice is louder, urgent. Why is he yelling? Doesn't he understand how weary I am? He's half the reason I'm in this place. The least he could do is let me languish for a few moments.

"Leave me be, Nero." Yawning, I curl onto my side.

"Wake, Sybil. You must not linger here," Rose urges as a gust of wind brushes my face. A warm fuzzy body moves along my side before tugging at my hair.

"Stop Lemon. I'm too tired to play. You need to hide before someone spots you." I move to push him away, but he nips my finger with concern. A rough arm shakes my shoulders and cold liquid splashes over my head. I sit up abruptly, blinking at Nero who is standing before me with a flask in his hand. I blink faster, my vision doubling as my sudden movement. Water is dripping down from my wet hair and my eyes widen as I take in the room once again. Gone are the rich tapestries. Shredded, moth-eaten strips of weaving hang in their place. The floor is thick with dirt, disturbed by our footballs, the ceiling faded and cracked, the paint peeling along the edges. My stomach drops and I squeeze my eyes closed, refusing to move.

"Nero." I pause, inhaling deeply before meeting his gaze. "Why am I sitting on top of the coffin, and what happened to the room?" Chills run down my spine as I push myself off the edge, my feet sending up clouds of dust.

"I was just about to ask ye the same thing." Nero replies, eyebrows raised in question. "We were moving through the room and one minute I was telling ye that the exit was a tunnel away and the next, I turned, and ye weren't behind me. When I found ye, ye had climbed on top of the tomb and the room started to glow and I could swear I smelled jasmine and the ocean."

"Jasmine? But wh–"

"Ye were just laying there, barely moving or breathing. What did ye expect me to do?" Nero crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm trying to help ye escape the castle, not fall under some spell meant to trap robbers. Ye left me no choice." He waves his arms in exaggeration at the tomb behind me.

"That can't be possible." I laugh with disbelief and shock. "How could it have been a spell to stop robbers? I don't think you understand. I heard this voice, a woman's voice." My head whips wildly around for any signs of proof of what I have just experienced. She was just here. I swear–she was. She had to be; it had felt real.

"There is no one here but ye, me, that thing." Nero points towards my pocket. "Ye wouldn't awaken no matter how much I or yer creature tried. I had no choice, don't ye understand? I had to douse ye in the water." He shrugs sheepishly, holding up the empty flask.

"My creature?" I scoff with annoyance. I glance down at Lemon who looks up at me from my overskirt pocket. Lemon nods his head in agreement, chittering his fears at me. He nuzzles his head into my palm and rests under my hand. "He's not a thing. He's a ferret." I frown down at his innocent face, whiskers twitching. A very long lived, too smart, for his own good ferret. Wait. Did he just—

"How did yo–" I narrow my eyes at Nero, studying him carefully.

"How did I ken ye stowed away a pet the whole journey to Shadowvale?" Nero laughs openly at me. "Ye weren't stowing meat strips away in yer pockets for yerself. Plus, that little beast snores terribly at night. I'm surprised ye sleep at all with him around." He lifts an eyebrow at me, like the thought of a drowsy ferret companion isn't a problem.

Heat creeps along my face. I push past him towards the doorway. "Let's get out of here. Whose tomb is this anyways?" I shiver, the linger of the magic tingling along my skin.

"This is where Aramis's mother, Queen Rosalind, goddess bless her soul, was laid to rest." His head dips toward the crypt before returning to meet my gaze. "We've come here to pay our respects for almost a hundred years, yet I've never seen a flicker of her magic here before."

"Rosalind." Rose. The name echoes in my head. "What do you mean, her power?" I turn around and face him in the doorway.

"Queen Rosalind was a wind elemental, but that wasn't her true power. Known for two great things, she possessed a loving nature and a magical art. Through her paintings, she captured the essence of both the past and the future, depicting prophecies of the time that was and the time that will be."

I stare at the stagnant coffin that had just given me so much warmth and life.

What in all of Craeweth is going on?