Chapter 105

In Light We Trust

The boy was silent, his short, rapid footsteps confident despite the fact that they walked through the village directly, down its main roads. The solitary source of light was the one of the moon, occasionally brighter, though mostly dimmed as it had begun to snow once again. Though Sylas didn’t know whether following the strange boy who used Sylas’ own thoughts to communicate was the best idea he ever had, he was too curious. Furthermore, his sense of danger was a paradox--both fine-tuned like clockwork and non-existent at the same time.

In the meantime, Sylas inspected the village. It was supremely ordinary, he mused, though not quite as perfect of a match as to what he had in mind. Nonetheless, straw-roofed houses held up by old wood, several wells scattered about, a few buildings that seemed slightly different than the rest--one of which was actually a half-brick building with a chimney of sorts in the back, likely specialized for some job or another.

Halfway through his musing thoughts, he saw that the boy took a sharp, left turn and he and the woman followed, leaning toward the outskirts again. They drifted behind one of the houses where they saw a cellar door of sorts lying open on the floor. The boy headed directly toward it, and, a shrug of the shoulders Sylas followed.

“Close the doors,” the voice, his own, once again spoke. Following the instructions, Sylas stayed at the rear and closed the doors, darkening the stairway-laden tunnel completely. “Mind your steps,” the voice advised. “There are sixty-two steps. Don’t fall.”

Sylas grabbed to rock on the side, holding onto it as he slowly made his way downward. The rock was wet and damp and cold, as was the air itself, though with the added spice of sogginess. Their footsteps were silent, as though the stairs themselves absorbed all sound, to the point that it was easy to think he was alone there, abandoned in the dark.

Nonetheless, they quickly reached the bottom that spilled out into a set of corridors, all of which were luckily alighted with strange, embossed gems. Sylas gasped inwardly, realizing that the gems had runic characters inscribed on their surface and behaved like talismans. The magic, he reckoned, was far more wide-reaching and intuitive than he initially suspected.

“This way,” the voice guided them to the leftmost corridor, a winding, narrow, and ever-warming road that lasted some hundred yards before expanding into a rectangular opening, akin to a room, with several doors embedded in the walls. The room itself was decorated with furniture, all old and rotting, though, with cracks in the floor and in the walls prevailing. “Wait here,” the boy said before walking away.

Sylas stood frozen for a moment before shaking his head. It was pointless to dwell on it. As such, he began to saunter about the room, inspecting it for anything strange. As was the case with the corridors, the room was lit up by the very same gems. Inspecting them closely, Sylas recognized all the characters, though the way they were bound was different. He realized that a good deal of ‘power’ was lost with this method, reckoning that it was in lieu of granting it far greater longevity than ordinary talismans.

“Ingenious...” he mumbled, stroking his chin.

“What is?” the woman approached him suddenly and asked.

“The way the characters are written,” he said, pointing at the gem embedded in the socket within a wall. It was hued in sun-yellow of sorts, likely done so to mimic the natural light as much as possible as to trick the eyes and the mind into believing in the existence of a day and the night this far underneath the ground.

“You’re good with Runes?” she quizzed.

“Hmm... I wouldn’t say good,” he said. “Decent, I think. Ryne’s always beating me down, though. She doesn’t want me to develop an ego, it seems.”

“Smart girl.”

“Really? I wouldn’t say so. My ego is already sky-high.”

“Ugh...”

“Beyond that,” he pulled back. “Are we gonna continue avoiding the central issue?”

“That a small boy who spoke to us by using our own thoughts led us here?”

“Yup, that’s the one. Ever heard of anything like it?”

“No,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I understand that you have a very, very, very hateful idea of who I am inside of your head, but I’m not all that well-versed in magic, especially the kind that I can’t use.”

“This isn’t just the question of magic, but the world you live in,” he said. “You seem to be more clueless than I am.”

“Oh, shut up.”

"What a lovely scene," a calm, quaint voice interrupted the two suddenly. Sylas turned slowly, facing the group of people that was not there just a moment ago. The boy that led them here stood to the side, playing with the doll, while three others stood to the front--two elderly women and a young man. The latter seemed to be the guard of a sort, draped in scrappy, leather armor, sword in hand. The two women were identical, slightly hunched, appearing to be in their late sixties, white-haired, with half-closed eyes and white robes that dragged along the floor slightly.

“... it is?” Sylas cracked a faint smile while, surprisingly, the Prophet moved to the side and hid behind him.

"Of course," the women spoke at the same time, though it didn't sound like two voices. And, unlike the boy, the two did actually speak. “Young love in full bloom is always a beautiful thing to see.”

“Old age might have curved your sight, I’m afraid,” Sylas said. “If you consider that a scene of the blooming love.”

“... indeed, it is possible,” the women replied, faintly smiling. What was unnerving, even for Sylas, was the fact that the two moved perfectly in sync. “For now, would you like to take a seat? We’d offer you something to eat or drink, but I’m afraid everyone but us is fast asleep.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sylas said, dragging the woman by her arm and sitting down.

“Thank you for your understanding,” they said, sitting opposite of him while the young man remained standing by her side. “Now--who are you?”

“Travelers.”

“We can be deceitful,” they said. “And spin stories and tales and weave whatever nonsense we desire... but it is best we be truthful.”

“We really are travelers,” Sylas persisted with the story. He didn’t want to reveal too much without understanding this place.

“Travelers do not try to sneak into a village,” they said. “They just... arrive.”

“And villagers don’t use telepathy and live in eerie, strange rooms beneath the ground,” Sylas fired back with a smile. “So, it seems we’ve got things in common.”

“... indeed we do,” the two women said, smiling. “How about we start with names, then? That will be simple enough.”

“Fair,” Sylas said. “You can call me Himoff. Jack Himoff. Ugh,” Sylas grunted as he felt an elbow into his ribs, causing him to glare sideways where he saw her shoulders shaking. “Fuck you. If you’re gonna laugh, at least do so without elbowing me. Tsk. I knew I should have left you out in the snow.”

“His name’s Sylas!” she exclaimed angrily. “He was lying to you!”

“... she’s... quite unique, isn’t she?”

“You don’t have to be so sympathetic,” Sylas sighed with a bitter smile plastered on his face. “I chose this fate.”

"We are Tina and Tema," the two women said. "This young man is Hakeen, our strongest warrior who insisted on pointlessly escorting us."

“It’s--it’s not pointless! What if he is a dangerous man?!”

“And if he were, would you be able to stop him?”

“I--I could... I could buy you some time!”

“I see we both have our ills,” Sylas cracked a faint smile, one to which both women replied by smiling themselves. “Who’s the boy?”

“An’vureed’saabeen.”

“... a what?”

“Ha ha,” the two women laughed momentarily. “You can call him An. He doesn’t mind. He’s... not from here. A traveler, like you.”

“An interesting traveler,” Sylas said.

“Yes, we seem to pick up the most interesting ones.”

“... I’m a traveling Exorcist,” Sylas made up a believable lie that he suspected would buy him some points. “And she’s my little sister. I’ve heard rumors of the attacks of the dead and we were headed to the far north when the winter set in. My sister heard of a village somewhere around here, but as we weren’t certain exactly where, it took us a while.”

“An... Exorcist?” the two exclaimed, and even the boy looked up from his doll. “Are you telling the truth?!”

“Hm,” Sylas nodded. “I was just admiring the runic lines on the gems when you interrupted us. But I am far from an expert, I’m afraid. My training is still... incomplete.”

“... we would like to buy your services,” the two women suddenly plastered their heads against the table, with the man completely kneeling next to them, shocking both Sylas and his little ‘sister’. Juuuuust play along...

“Explain,” Sylas easily maintained his composure, immersing himself in the role. Right now, he truly became an Exorcist, exuding the air of one.

“It... it will take some time. Would you like to rest first?”

“It’s fine,” he said. “We’ve rested plenty. I’m assuming it has something to do with the fact that you’re living underground and that ‘they’, whoever they be, that the boy over there mentioned.”

“Yes,” the women nodded. “It is... difficult to explain. For that, we have to go back.”

“How far back?”

“To the founding of the village,” the women said. “And the first hymn of In Light We Trust.”