Tristan woke up to complete darkness and more importantly on his own. There was always someone to rouse him from his sleep usually followed by some mild scolding afterwards but with no real force behind it. Slowly, he got up in a sitting position. There was complete silence; as much as he tried he couldn't hear anything or anyone at all. A tremble ran through him shaking him to his core and he carefully got out of his bed.
He felt goose flesh under his palm as he rubbed his upper arms despite not feeling any cold. His bare feet gripped the stone floor as he trailed towards the door by memory alone. After a couple of painfully slow steps he placed his hand on the old wooden door and pushed on it. It didn't budge and he felt his heart sink. He trembled again, not just a wave this time. He pushed on the door harder, his trembling hands making it difficult to gather any significant force. He didn't call out, he didn't shout, something deep down told him not to.
He took a step back and looked into the darkness in front of him. He realized he was breathing hard, and his heart ran like a bunny chased by a mountain cat. He put his right hand on where his heart was and pushed, trying to calm and took a long shuddering breath.
*What was going on?* Nothing made any sense; there was never such complete silence inside the temple. For a moment he thought he was still in the caverns, looking for Olean. But he recognized the temple, even without sight or sound, by feeling alone. He thought back, last thing he remembered was running from confronting Ava and into his chamber and close the door behind him and fall onto his bed. He was so tired, he fell asleep right then. He didn't know how much time had passed since, but it couldn't be long.
He for the first time wished there was a window in his room, at least it would tell him the time. He didn't see the strip of light coming through under his door like he would usually and tried to listen again. Only pure silence reached him.
With another deep breath and feeling much more stable he willed himself and weaved his spell. A small fist size ball of dim light appeared in front him, floating in between the palms of his hands. He looked around the room, everything was as he remembered. Not a single thing out of its place, not that there were too many to begin with, that was why it was easy to remember if anything came misplaced.
He looked at the closed door, 'he wasn't getting out of this room'; he somehow knew that even before pushing on it. He just didn't know why and neither did he understand. He reached out to a jar and gulped what little water was left in there down his dry throat.
The ball of light he made dimmed and soon died out and darkness enveloped him once again. Tristan listened, stretching his senses to as far as he could and when he didn't hear even a hint of anything moving anywhere nearby he kneeled on the floor. The old wicker carpet, flattened by who knew how many years of trampling, he rolled it to the side, slowly, careful as to not make even the tiniest of sound. He didn't make light, not sure he could anymore, so he trailed his hands on the floor previously under the carpet and felt the warm wood distinct from the cold stone ground. He slid his hand over it until it reached the tiny gap that separated it from the rock then moved his fingers along the gap away from him.
His hand went around the opening and stretched his thumb toward him as he kept trailing the tiny crevice. Tristan's thumb touched the rough iron hitch and he stopped. He dug his nail and lifted the chapped iron ring from its sheath. Painfully slow.
He felt his hand tremble as he started to pull it up, and the cold he felt on his skin told him he had been sweating. He took slow but deep breaths to calm himself and again pulled on the iron ring. It rose without much effort but the ancient joints of that equally ancient trapdoor moaned just as he was halfway done.
He froze. His heart in his mouth as he waited for any following sound and much to his relief nothing returned.
The rest of the way was nerve wrecking. He climbed down the small square hole on the ground and hung from the edges. He couldn't see below but from what he could remember, he was hanging above some storage room that no one used. Swallowing, he let go and fell on the ground with a soft tap of his feet.
The room was huge, compared to his, and the small holes on the wall to the far side showed darkness. It was night.
Tristan took another deep breath and tried to cast another ball of light through his hands only this time it was pitifully small and dull, but enough to illuminate the chamber. It lay completely empty, except for the boxes and wracks on the corners. The doorway out was just to his left and he headed there. With a small pull it unlocked and another flight of stairs stood in front of him. He walked out and stood on the small hallway of the first floor.
Outside in the open, the silence was even more evident. Tristan felt sick in his stomach as he tried to see or hear anything. He did not feel alone, there was something lurking nearby.
Slowly, he snuck along the hallway toward the prayer hall, eyes sharp in the dark.
Turning around a corner he saw movement, flickering yellow light that covered the whole wall on the far side, and shadows of the parapet danced as if a big fire had been lit in the prayer hall. He snuck closer and a strange but familiar scent hit him that he couldn't recognize. As he grew closer to the light he heard the cackle of fire and something dragging ahead.
He paced slightly, but slow enough that he wouldn't make any noise, and hugged the walls that shielded the Hall from him. He paused, panting as if he had been running throughout. Slowly, he leaned, and peeked behind the wall, the big fire like he thought, burning over something dark. He leaned even farther and a sharp gasp escaped his open mouth. He dropped on the floor wasting no time and covered his mouth with both his hand. 'It couldn't be.' Tristan peeked again to make sure but he had been right the first time.
It was Madam Nicola unmoving in Ava's arms as she walked near the fire. Tristan watched horrified as Ava threw Nicola into the fire and stood there emotionless. For the first time he realized the smell he got was of burnt meat, and in the fire he could see others, Kolte, Elder Behut and by the size of the charred pile under the fire, he was sure the unrecognizable bodies were of the rest of the villagers,
His hands were still pressing against his mouth as he took irregular and short breaths. He crawled back behind the wall and sat leaning against it. His hands still clutched against his mouth as he took sharp, struggled breaths through it. He needed to get out of here, to get away.
Tristan got up and ran the way he came from, toward the darkness. One hand he kept on his mouth the other scratched the wall to his side. His feet slapped against the stone floor as he moved faster. His eyes didn't see anything but his body remembered. It turned in corners when needed, leaped and skidded over holes and stairs. He felt his chest burn and his legs wavered and he ran even harder. He knew if Olean was there with Ava, she would catch up to him in no time. The fear drove him far, farther, and deeper than he had ever been into the temple.
He stopped only when it became impossible for him to run any more. He was sprawled on the ground, head swimming, legs on fire, heart about to burst. He was trembling, and reaching his face to wipe out his sweat told him he also had been weeping. Everyone was dead and he was alone now, the thought finally hit him. He bit his lip until he tasted copper and only then he seemed to calm a little. Slowly he got onto his knees, 'what had happened?' Ava had said there was nothing to worry anymore; she was to cure the folks off the plague. The monster was dead and everything was looking better, he should have known better than to hope.
He felt himself welling up and didn't stop himself this time. He didn't care much for them, the villagers. Seeing someone die every day made him numb to death. But still when it happened before they were always together facing it. And now that everyone was gone, he knew what it felt to be truly alone.
--
Tristan woke up on the cold stone floor, his skin felt flaky with dry tears and spit, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. He didn't know where he was, still in the dark. He tried to will light but only managed to make himself dizzy. There was a sound that he didn't notice before; water flowing over rocks. There was a well deep inside the temple but it was always silent and in all his exploration he had never heard this sound. He was somewhere he had never been.
Another wave of fear passed him but failed to shock him. Gingerly, he headed toward the sound, if nothing else at least he would satisfy his thirst a little.
The last thing he remembered before his foot slipped on the cobles was the wave of water washing over him and cold, utter cold that enwrapped him.