The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs)

by D. W. Hawkins

  He was certain there were eyes observing him. He could feel them as surely as if someone were staring at him from across a crowded taproom, a sense of being watched that just wouldn’t go away. He felt a malicious haze in the air, and he suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable. He stepped quickly for the entranceway.

  Once outside, he was sure the feeling would go away, but it didn’t. The entire time he was walking, he felt that someone was right behind him, dogging his steps. When he turned to look, though, he was alone. This place had long been rumored to be haunted by the ghosts of the people slaughtered here, and Dormael knew for a fact that ghosts existed, even if the matter was debated by Philosophers and people who’d never seen them before. Dormael had, and he knew a haunting when he saw it.

  Suddenly, as if the thought had brought the event on, he felt something usurp energy from his Kai, and he felt himself being pushed. It had been a distinct feeling, two hands planted into his shoulders and pushing him off balance. He stumbled a bit but was able to keep his feet, surprise and fear rushing through him in equal turns. He turned toward the source of the feeling, but again he saw nothing, and he backed away slowly. His hair was standing on end and he felt a cold fear washing through his guts. The knowledge that ghosts existed didn’t help with the fear of them – something about their presence seemed to inspire it no matter what.

  “Leave!”

  It had been a whisper, and directly in his right ear.

  Dormael jumped nearly out of his skin, and ran unabashedly for the gate of the low stone wall that ringed the place. He could feel something right behind him, as if it were chasing him from the temple, and Dormael began to grow a little frantic. His heart beat hysterically, and his legs pumped harder as he tried to get out of the temple.

  He passed the gate and slowed to a stop, breathing hard and turning to look up the low hill at the temple. It lay deceptively silent in the morning sunlight, a gray stone sentinel against the passage of time. The faces of the Gods on the columns suddenly looked different to him, more malicious and foreboding. Dormael shivered. He didn’t feel embarrassed about his craven departure from the temple, not in the slightest.

  Dormael hated ghosts.

  ****

  Around three hours later, Dormael alighted on the ground before D’Jenn’s horse and changed back into his own form.

  “It’s close. Turn a little toward the east and keep straight, we’ll be there by nightfall,” he said before D’Jenn could ask.

  “What’s it like?” Shawna asked as she moved Charlotte forward to talk to him.

  “It’s large, and pretty expansive from what I could tell from the sky. I didn’t venture too far inside, but the grotto is there, just like in the dream. It’s Orm, alright,” Dormael answered as he stretched a bit.

  D’Jenn nodded and gazed off in the direction that Dormael had come from, “Good. If we ride a little harder we’ll get there sooner. We can camp inside the walls tonight; maybe even find some good shelter.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, coz,” Dormael said.

  “Why not?” Allen asked before D’Jenn could.

  “The place is haunted. Very haunted.”

  ****

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Echoes of a Tragedy

  Orm was just as forbidding on the second morning as it had been on the first. The day had turned out overcast and chilly, and thunder rolled in the distance as Dormael and his friends made their way slowly toward the outer wall of the place. No one said a word as they approached, and it seemed that everyone glanced around with wary expressions. Dormael himself felt a little apprehensive about returning to the ancient temple, but it had to be done.

  Bethany scrunched up her face as they passed the low stone wall and clenched Dormael’s hand a little harder. He imagined that she could feel the menace that permeated the air here just he did, and it was indeed an unsettling feeling. Allen already had one hand on the large sword at his belt, and Dormael noticed Shawna’s hands hovering above her own. It seemed that everyone was feeling the oppressive resonance.

  “What do you think we’ll be looking for?” Shawna asked as they made their way slowly up the overgrown ground toward the temple itself.

  “I’m not sure,” D’Jenn said, “Old records, perhaps. Maybe something as simple as a mural that gives us some clue as to where the pieces were located, or where they came from. Hells, anything would be nice.”

  “Are we going to be cursed by coming here? I don’t relish the thought of being cursed, you know,” Allen muttered.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe the spirits here will spare you,” D’Jenn said, a smile turning up one side of his mouth.

  “Likely they’ll be afraid of me. I am sort of imposing, you know,” Allen said.

  Everyone grew quiet again as they passed beneath the glowering statues of the Gods. They seemed more malicious to Dormael after his encounter on the day prior, and the verdigris staining the stone of their carved faces seemed like tears. He found himself unconsciously cowering from them slightly, and made himself stop.

  “I don’t like this place,” Dormael grumbled.

  “Me either,” Bethany agreed.

  When they reached the courtyard where the old stone grotto sat, Dormael heard the alien song of the armlet began to sing out slowly, as if it were awakening from a deep sleep. D’Jenn stopped suddenly and looked back at Dormael, who shrugged in answer. Dormael felt trepidation growing in his gut, but he reached down and took the silver box from Bethany, who handed it to him reverently.

  “Well,” Dormael said, “here we go.” Fearfully, he unclasped the tiny catches that held the jewelry box closed and opened it. His Kai awakened again as the armlet’s song gained an excited tone, and he had to arrest his own magic’s echoing enthusiasm before he could move on. With some effort, he succeeded in getting his Kai under control, reached down into the box and removed the armlet.

  As he brought it out, the ruby that was set into the sinuous silver band began to glow with a twinkling red light, sending out tendrils of smoky radiance that dissipated into the air. The armlet sent him a welcoming, almost respectful feeling, as if it were greeting him. The red light seemed to cast everyone’s wondrous and fearful gazes in hard shades of crimson and shadow as Dormael paused for a second, looking to D’Jenn. D’Jenn’s face became resolute, and taking a deep breath, he nodded to Dormael.

  “Let’s go, then. Let us see if it leads us anywhere,” D’Jenn said.

  Dormael stepped out in front, trying to gain some impression from the artifact. For the time being, the armlet seemed content to twine its song into his Kai, pulling his own magic into a harmonious dance that seemed to be more frivolous than anything else. It wasn’t until his feet stepped into the grotto that the armlet responded.

  Suddenly fire leapt from the bowl on the dais, whooshing upwards toward the sky and burning white-hot. Dormael was startled, and backed away a bit, but the armlet seemed to be animated, and he felt the song begin to insistently pull him toward the grotto. Gritting his teeth and shooting a glance back to his friends, Dormael stepped up to the bowl.

  Suddenly he was hit with a barrage of impressions, just as he had been the first night he’d dreamt of the armlet, only this time the empathic messages weren’t so much painful as they were energized.

  He screamed from the Void, trailing fire as he parted the air and the clouds and the sky. He was confused, but elated. He couldn’t remember what had come before, though he knew there had been something he should’ve remembered, but then the bowl rose up and met him.

  He was so awake, so alive, and nothing could stand before the power of his fire. His purpose was fulfilled time and time again as men came before him and burned. Ships burned. Armies burned. Everything was devoured by him and it was right and all was as it should be.

  Dormael let himself be carried away by the memories, trying to discern something from them. The armlet’s song danced in the air around him, and his Kai danced with it, as if the
two were long lost relatives seeing each other for the first time in ages. Dormael was struck by a sudden feeling of déjà vu, and realized he had a memory of these same thoughts. An underlying feeling of surreal intensified as he pondered for a moment in an attempt to trace these vague and odd memories.

  “What do you see?” D’Jenn asked him.

  “It came from the Void,” Dormael said, opening his eyes and stepping away from the grotto. Those two memories were playing over and over in his mind, and he didn’t think it was going to show him anything else at the moment. “It was definitely used in battle. Still, it’s not anything too enlightening.”

  D’Jenn grimaced, “Right. Well, we should head down into the temple, anyway. Just keep it out for now. Maybe something will cause it to react.”

  “Its reactions in the past have been…a little extreme,” Shawna said, her tone worried.

  “I know,” D’Jenn said, “but I think it will awaken on its own regardless of whether we’re holding or not. It seems to do what it wants, to some degree.”

  Shawna nodded but gave Dormael a worried glance as he tied a leather thong through the armlet and looped it around his neck. Allen was peering into the shadows around them in the gray light, his face a concerned mask as D’Jenn stepped purposefully toward one of the temple wings.

  Orm was constructed in a box shape around the ancient grotto, and each wing of the place was built two stories above the ground. If the stories of the place were true, there were more levels underground, though it was unclear how many levels there were and how expansive the tunnels were. It was the only Holy Place – cursed place, now – of its kind in the Sevenlands, as all other temples and churches in the land were of newer construction and styles. The various churches of the Gods didn’t keep to any one plan or layout, so it was anyone’s best guess as to the most propitious point of entry.

  Dormael had a good idea, though, that the direction that they should go in was the one that he very much did not want to go – down. That malicious presence was still all around them; though the song of the armlet drowned it out a bit for Dormael. He could see the fear painted across his friends’ faces, as well. It wouldn’t be long before they started hearing footsteps, whispers, and a whole multitude of things that inhabited this cursed place.

  Dormael was definitely not looking forward to that, not at all.

  D’Jenn veered to the right, toward one of the side wings of the temple, and everyone followed him, Dormael in the rear with Bethany. There was a low stone railing running along a walkway as the grass and vegetation of the courtyard gave way to stone. The railing was supported at intervals by fluted stone columns, and the railing itself had a smooth, flowing design. It had obviously been beautiful once, but time had cracked the stone, stained it with moss, and choked it with creeper vines.

  There were three large archways set into the wall, and Dormael could see from the debris that lay around them that the doors had long since rotted away into dust and detritus. He expected to see spider webs, rats, coyotes or other creatures inhabiting the ruins and taking advantage of the shelter they offered, but there were none. It was abundantly clear to him why the place was so silent and oppressive. Those natural noises that one found everywhere in the world were absent in this place, and it was apparent that animals could sense the malicious presence.

  As they passed through an archway, the armlet’s glowing ruby cast vermillion light over the walls. The moss and water stains on the stone reminded Dormael of blood in that light, and in the instant the thought entered his mind, he received a flash impression of bodies strewn about the floor. Dormael stopped, dumbfounded with horror as he stared open-mouthed at the corpses. Wounds gaped, bleeding onto the floor. Arms and legs were splayed akimbo among the dead and sightless, horrified eyes all stared directly at him. Dormael thought that he could hear screaming somewhere from the courtyard, and the noises of violent men moving through the temple, cutting down everyone they chanced upon.

  “Dormael?” Shawna asked.

  He snapped out of his reverie, glancing at Shawna then looking once again around the hallway. It was dusty, overgrown, and silent.

  There were no bodies.

  “Are you alright?” she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “Fine,” he replied, “Just taking in the sights.”

  And what a lovely view it is, here at beautiful Orm.

  “Stay with us,” Shawna said, beckoning him forward.

  Dormael nodded and stepped quickly to catch up with his friends.

  The hallway ran back into a main wing that ran perpendicular to the two side wings, intersecting them at the rear of the building. D’Jenn turned in that direction and stalked quietly forward, though every scuffle of his and everyone else’s boots seemed to echo from the walls of the stone temple, and Dormael thought that it must be a great cacophony compared to what was normally heard here. They had to have been some of the only visitors this place had received since the slaughter during the Second Great War.

  The hallway was wide, and though designs appeared to have been cut into the stone at one time along the top border of the walls, time had worn them down as it had everything else here. Still, Dormael could see their faint impressions, and he tried to imagine them as they might have been, back when this place still thrived.

  He stopped himself. He didn’t want a repeat of the horrid vision he’d seen before.

  Creeper vines crawled up the walls everywhere, curling in from the open archways and worming into cracks in the stone. The floor here was made of wide paving stones worn smooth by boots and the ever-present decay that gripped this entire structure, but there was no vegetation growing up between the stones, which could only mean that underneath the floor they were now treading was most likely another level. Dormael took a deep breath, and heard it amplified by the silence.

  D’Jenn glanced at the walls and floor, and even the ceiling, as they passed by. He was undoubtedly searching for some clue as to where they should begin their search, but it appeared that these upper levels were mainly apartments of the clergy who’d made this place their home had stayed. When they turned left and headed into the rear wing of the temple, they came into a great room set directly in the center of it.

  The room was vast, and extended into the upper story of the building. There were carvings along the back wall of the room, and when he saw them D’Jenn hurried over, and summoned a magical light by which to read them. Dormael followed.

  “They’re hard to make out,” D’Jenn commented, running a hand over the worn lines of the artwork, “And they’re in a style I’ve only seen in books. There was text here, once, but it’s so eroded that I can’t make it out.”

  “They’re probably all like that, coz,” Dormael said, “This place has been uninhabited for almost one thousand years. Anything we find like this is bound to be unreadable.”

  “Perhaps,” D’Jenn agreed, “And then, perhaps not. You and I both know that Infused items don’t decay with time, unless the magic is somehow neutralized or pulled out of it. There could be something down in the vaults that will still be a valuable source.”

  “There could be,” Dormael nodded, “or we could be chasing a false lead, too.”

  “We have to try.”

  Dormael sighed, “Indeed.”

  Dormael and D’Jenn turned from the carvings at the same time and looked at Allen and Shawna’s expectant faces.

  There was a man standing between them, hair disheveled and blood leaking from a wound in his throat and staining the front of an old tunic. His eyes had the grayish cast of death, but they embodied a timeless rage as he glared intently at the two wizards. He smiled suddenly, the movement seeming to happen too quickly, as if in one moment his mouth was closed and in the next his blood stained teeth were gleaming wetly in the crimson light of the armlet’s glow.

  “Do you see that?” D’Jenn asked Dormael in a whisper.

  “Yes. I see it,” Dormael replied just as quietly.

&
nbsp; “See what?” Allen asked, suddenly tense with worry. Shawna looked to Allen in confusion, and they both shrugged and looked back to Dormael and D’Jenn. She’d looked right through the spot where the specter was standing, and had showed no reaction.

  “Nothing,” the wizards said in unison.

  “You two want to get on with it?” Allen asked. Dormael shook his head, and when he looked up the spirit had gone. He’d been too startled to feel fear when the phantasm appeared, but now he felt the after-effect of cold chills creeping up his spine.

  “Right. Down we go,” D’Jenn said, indicating a wide staircase that led down into darkness. Dormael didn’t relish the idea of going down there, but he knew there was no choice. Taking a deep breath and trying to loosen the tension in his shoulders, he stepped down onto the stairs, his boots scuffing the dusty floor as he made his way slowly lower into the basement of the ancient temple.

  The armlet cast its twinkling crimson light over everything, making Dormael a little dizzy with its harsh transition between light and shadow. There stones of the walls were crumbling and featureless here, and Dormael couldn’t see anything past the wall of gloom they were steadily pushing back with each step down. The sounds of their boots echoed up and down the passage, and Dormael felt Bethany’s grip tighten on his hand from fear.

  Dormael imagined that he should be able to hear water dripping somewhere in the dark. Wasn’t there always water dripping in the stories? But there was no sound save those that he and his companions made. The silence pressed against him, and he found himself almost holding his breath against disturbing it.

  “What was that?” Allen whispered behind him. Everyone froze.