With lightning-quick reflexes, Shaeala soared through the air, executing a graceful somersault before landing deftly on her feet, saving Christine from the perilous shards of the collapsing floor. Ismeth stood there, his mouth agape, witnessing the monk's agile display with sheer awe.
"Well, well, my dear, you move like a feline blessed by the gods, always landing on its four paws," the dark-skinned knight commented as she descended smoothly to the ground.
Unperturbed by Ismeth's playful remark, Shaeala carefully assessed Christine's well-being before casting her vigilant gaze upon their surroundings. They found themselves in one of the concealed chambers beneath the White Fortress, a labyrinthine network of ancient tombs and catacombs. The elliptical chamber seamlessly connected with a corridor leading to the north. Dominating the center of the chamber, directly before them, stood a majestic mausoleum. Atop a cylindrical pedestal, an imposing granite sarcophagus rested.
"Whom have we disturbed in this hallowed place, I wonder?" Caleb pondered aloud, his words abruptly silenced by the eerie sounds emanating from the sarcophagus.
Little did he know that those would be his final words. In the blink of an eye, Caleb vanished into thin air, leaving behind an unsettling void.
Christine glanced at the monk woman and whispered, "They've vanished, Shae."
Unsettled by the anguished cries echoing from the depths of the mausoleum and the relentless pounding upon its lid, Shaeala nodded, conveying her shared unease. Nonetheless, she honed her inner strength, seeking a heightened attunement to the life energies permeating her surroundings. Yet, the presence of Ismeth or Caleb eluded her senses. The only discernible entity was the unyielding force relentlessly assailing the mausoleum's lid. Curiously, its aura lacked the malevolent taint.
"Can you perceive or sense it?" Shaeala inquired, her voice laced with concern.
The young girl shook her head, indicating her inability to do so. This response brought a measure of relief to the monk, recognizing Christine's expertise lay in perceiving the ethereal body, not the flesh and bone, even if concealed behind a stone measuring thirty centimeters in thickness. Instructing the girl to remain in place, Shaeala swiftly advanced toward the mausoleum. Inside, a man struggled to fracture and hoist the colossal stone, weighing well over half a ton.
Shaeala inquired, her voice filled with curiosity, "Pray, reveal your identity."
"I am Brad Silverhilt, an Illuen Knight. I implore you to aid my liberation from this place. The searing pain... it consumes my back," the imprisoned man responded, his voice heavy with anguish.
"Stay thy course," Shaeala commanded, ascending the lid of the ancient mausoleum and assuming a crouched position.
Drawing in a deep breath, the monk exhaled with deliberate slowness, her fist clenching as she enacted a sequence of martial motions, stopping just shy of striking, repeating the pattern with each subsequent breath. With each iteration, her focus intensified, her diaphragm expanding in harmony. Finally, mustering her entire reservoir of inner strength, she unleashed a single, decisive blow upon the heart of the stone.
The granite yielded, splitting in twain, as Brad forcefully cast aside one fragment, emerging from the shattered tomb. Once defiant fists now lay maimed and shredded, his leather armor and shirt reduced to tattered remnants, and crimson rivulets cascaded down his back. Utterly drained and fatigued, he cast a searching gaze upon Shaeala, his countenance an enigma. Determined to persist, he descended from the sarcophagus with the aid of Shae, his steps unsteady and reminiscent of an intoxicated dance. Yet, his advance halted abruptly upon catching sight of Christine.
"It is you," he croaked, his voice strained. "Speak, dear Christine. This holds paramount importance. Can you perceive any spectral being that plagues my existence?"
The frightened girl scrutinized the knight, his form marred by wounds and contusions. "Nay," she replied timidly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Excellent," Brad muttered through great effort, before succumbing to the weight of exhaustion and finally collapsing upon the unforgiving ground.
* * *
As Brad roused from his slumber, his body bathed in perspiration and a cry of agony escaping his lips, he took solace in the realization that he lay upon a bed, despite the undeniable torment coursing through him. His injured back contorted to the side, a desperate measure to shield it from any contact with the surface. Sunbeams cascaded through the window, casting their radiant glow upon the room, indicating the arrival of midday.
"It appears the analgesic salves have finally relinquished their potency," Lady Illaine commented from the chair adjacent to his bedside, her visage adorned with a bittersweet smile.
Brad turned his head, his gaze settling upon the lady, compelled by an unspoken impulse to graze her countenance with his fingertips. The cold, creased texture of her skin greeted his touch, and he could discern the intrusive assault of acrid balms upon his hypersensitive nose.
"At long last, it seems I have regained my foothold in reality," he murmured, his parched throat producing a raspy, anguished growl.
The exertion of speech had exacted a toll upon him, manifesting in a fit of dry, rasping coughs.
"Indeed, you have finally returned," Lady Illaine replied, extending a glass of water towards him.
"Pray tell, how many suns have set since my awakening?" Brad inquired, savoring the water's coolness as he took slow sips, mindful of the exacerbation of his pain with each movement.
Lady Illaine drew in a deep breath, her voice carrying a weight of the passing days. "By my account, seven moons have graced the sky. Five nights passed when you were traversing the astral planes, while two harrowing days I watched you locked in a struggle with the veils of death on this infirm bed."
In that fleeting moment, a surge of agony coursed through Brad's sinews, causing him to clench his teeth in sheer resolve.
"Someone has visited untold torments upon your beleaguered frame, my cherished one," Lady Illaine murmured with empathetic tenderness, her grasp tightening around the knight's hand as she intoned a balm-like prayer, seeking respite for his afflictions.
With the soothing invocation, Brad found a measure of solace that had eluded him. "Where does Ismeth dwell? I beseech thee, and what of Caleb? Did he accompany me in this perilous plight?"
"They both dwell in a realm of relative well-being. Following your descent into the abyss of unconsciousness, Caleb and Ismeth embarked on a quest to find you," the high priestess commenced, her words flowing swiftly as she recounted the duo's trials and triumphs. "...And, as if stirred by the very tendrils of your awakening, they, too, emerged from their slumber," she concluded her tale.
"I comprehend," Brad replied, his voice tinged with a touch of resignation. "Yet, a tapestry of enigmatic details still eludes my grasp."
"Allow me to lend you aid in this matter, Brad. Unveil your experiences unto me," Lady Illaine proffered, her voice suffused with genuine concern.
With a semblance of relief, Brad delineated his ordeals through curt and detached phrases, consciously omitting his encounter with Maleckhie.
"So, you ventured through the subterranean sanctum, the ultimate chamber of the Sunken Palace, alongside this ethereal enchanter named Ilberius, in your quest for the Divine Light Portal," the venerable woman queried, her skepticism subtly infused within her words.
"I traversed the ultimate passageway unaccompanied," Brad rectified. "Subsequently, Ilberius vanished from my sight. Truly, an enigmatic apparition he proved to be."
"And did you traverse the Bridge of Sins and Virtues?" the elderly woman inquired, her gaze piercing like a sharpened blade.
Brad nodded in assent.
"And you did not encounter the guardian who stood watch over that bridge?"
Brad maintained silence, averting his gaze. A profound sigh escaped the High Priestess.
"In truth, I did not traverse the bridge, my lady. Instead, while standing upon its precipice, I made a daring leap into the unfathomable abyss," Brad confessed, his reluctance evident. "What bewilders me is why someone would target my vulnerable back, inflicting a grievous wound and leaving me for dead, while I was defenseless and unable to retaliate."
With a graceful motion, the High Priestess gracefully rose from her seat and retrieved several aged parchments from the small table nestled in the room's corner. "These delicate parchments bear a message meant for you," she uttered, extending the fragile papers towards Brad.
The young knight studied the parchments meticulously, one by one. The first parchment unveiled an intricate depiction of a twisted and entangled tree, its gnarled branches reaching for the heavens. The second and third parchments were adorned with Elven inscriptions, their elegant script dancing across the surface.
"I am unfamiliar with the Elven tongue," Brad confessed, his voice tinged with a touch of regret.
"Does the initial rendering hold any significance to you?" Lady Illaine gently probed; her eyes fixed upon him.
"I cannot say for certain," Brad responded, his visage betraying a hint of embarrassment as he endeavored to conceal the enigmatic secrets harbored within him.
The elderly woman heaved a profound sigh, her discontent palpable. Restlessly, she commenced a restless circuit, her steps filled with unease. "You place no trust in anyone, do you, Brad? Not in me, nor in anyone else. It has been this way since your very childhood," she lamented.
"Forgive me if my actions have caused you distress, my lady. These recent days have been fraught with difficulty for me. I find it arduous to gather my scattered thoughts," Brad replied, seeking to extend an apology. His attention once again fixated on the illustration before him. "I believe this portrayal represents the revered Tree of Life. In my perusal of ancient tomes, I have encountered tales of Gaia, the Earth Mother, and her hallowed arboreal presence."
"Indeed, you are correct," the High Priestess confirmed, a serene smile adorning her lips. "According to age-old legends, Gaia's Tree of Life spans the entire expanse of our world. Its roots intertwine with every tree, every rock, and every inch of soil. However, in exceedingly rare locations, these roots emerge and sprout above the terrestrial surface. Those who claim to have witnessed this extraordinary occurrence speak of it as a marvel, a miraculous spectacle."
Silently, Brad observed the fervor within the old woman grow, her pallid cheeks aglow with renewed vitality, as if the very essence of life coursed through her veins.
"Envision a tree that burgeons in a single day, ascending to caress the heavens, to touch the celestial surface of the Skydome," the High Priestess whispered, her voice trembling with a surge of emotion.
"I would have cherished the chance to behold such a spectacle," Brad responded, compelled to offer support. Yet, even as his words departed his lips, his skepticism and indifference lingered, evident to all.
Lady Illaine rose with an icy countenance, her demeanor unyielding. "I would have placed unwavering trust in it..." she murmured, releasing a profound sigh. "Yet, it seems you withhold something from me, Brad. Though it fills me with sorrow, I shall not press further. Weariness has taken hold of you. Rest now, I shall return in a few hours," she declared before departing the chamber.
The weary knight, depleted by his trials, succumbed to a profound slumber, devoid of contemplation.