The sudden solitude of the hidden court was unnerving.
The perpetual feeling of unease that had surrounded his earlier visits was gone, leaving only the hushed whisper of the wind as it pulled through the ragged gate. He was alone, yet he had no doubt as to the task at hand. The void, the doorway that had opened before him, beckoned him onward, the lure of answers and potential drawing him forward.
Without hesitation, he stepped into the darkness.
He’d traveled the windSteps countless times throughout his years in Windwake. He’d grown accustomed to the disconcerting sensations and expected a similar feeling to persist as he traveled through the portal.
The instant shock to his system proved how tragically wrong his assumption had been.
The utter chill was the first to assault his senses as the void enveloped him. The constriction of his lungs as the breathable air was sucked from his surroundings was terrifying. A sensation of unquestionable speed pushed against him, though there was no wind. His clothing remained idly at his sides. Fear and panic set in. He was crushed and frozen.
Radiating from the center of his chest, the warmth spread like wildfire over the drought-ravaged plains. The deadly chill that threatened to turn the moisture in his body to ice thawed, and unbearable heat overtook him. He gasped in a deep, steady breath, feeling the increased effort it took to fill his lungs as the air passed through the Shadows Shroud. The reasoning behind Mother Raven’s apprehension was clear.
Without the mask or Brand, none would survive passing through the portal. Though similar to the windSteps, it was startlingly unique. Dangerous. No sooner did he reconcile the phenomena than images of a structure blinked into view.
Beyond the deep shadows that covered the expansive space, the chamber that resolved before his eyes was entirely disparate from the decay of the Raven’s Court. The court he had just left was rife with the abuse of age and general neglect. Stones, crackled and soiled by time, surrounded by stagnant water and dead plants. It had been dark, dank, and foreboding.
This was not that.
Darkness did nothing to disguise the majesty of the space beyond the portal. The structure was massive—a long,hollowed-out chamber supported by evenly spaced black columns that were eerily similar to the white ones in the king’s throne room. Tracing the stone skyward, their tops and the ceiling they supported were entirely lost in the void of inky blackness high above. The floor was constructed of tightly fitted black tiles, though along the center of the hall, a wide path, highlighted by lighter charcoal-colored tiles, stretched into the distance. His breath caught in his throat as the faint outlines of a massive figure loomed. Through the distance and darkness, it toyed with his vision and his mind.
Along either side of the central track, a row of waist-high pedestals was capped with round pools of liquid. Reaching up from the center of each were statures of ravens, nearly a meter tall. As far as his eyes could resolve, each held a varying pose, though the attention of all seemed to be focused on him. Floating in a bowl below them were several small amber flames, burning low as they swayed as if pushed by an unseen wind. The shadows they produced were wild and disfigured.
The walls of both sides of the chamber were uniform, lined with dozens of darkened portals. Even with his eyes trained and refined over years of lurking in the darkness, he couldn’t resolve if they were doors hidden in their inset shadows, or merely open tunnels leading elsewhere in the structure. At least five levels of doors were spaced evenly up the walls, though there was neither ramp nor stairs by which one would be granted access to those above the ground level. Only a narrow perch, the width of the opening itself extended outward into the hall. Even as athletic as he was, he knew merely jumping to reach even the second level would prove an impossible task. Looking back over his shoulder, he confirmed what he expected. The rounded top of the portal remained, the undulating center awaiting his inevitable return.
As when he left the Raven’s Court, Risens knew he was alone in the room, though the rapt attention of each of the stone birds sent shivers through him. Their lifeless gazes, though perplexing, produced no feelings that he was being watched. The continued pull that had drawn him to the Raven’s Court was even stronger here, like he was being pushed from behind. Without a thought, he found himself moving slowly along the central aisle.
Every step he took forward, the birds, centered atop the pools of liquid, pivoted silently. Their bodies maintained their still forms, yet they tracked him as he moved. After a few meters, a sudden crackle caused him to pause his progress. Like the noise of tinder abruptly taking to flame, it echoed in rapid order from both sides of the room. Between the first pair of portals on every floor, a small flame erupted from a sconce set into the wall. Each flickering light produced a small halo of illumination, though none were bright enough to uncover the secrets hidden within each darkened passage.
Every few steps, the process was repeated as another line of flames exploded into life along the walls, following his movement just as the stone ravens continued to watch with their beady stone eyes. The ever-moving, distorted shadows cast across the room did little to deter the ominous presence that lurked at the end of the great hall. Though he knew it was merely a towering stone statue, his emotions fought with logic. Dim light and shadows danced macabrely over its form. It wasn’t until he was mere footsteps away that the full details were revealed.
The shrine that dominated the Raven’s Court was a crude mix of bird and man. The statue here was inextricably a raven. Like the shrine that had opened, granting him access to this place—whatever it was—it stood with its wings spread out wide, ruling over its empty domain. Curiously, seated comfortably on its head was a simple, yet elegant crown.
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Risens studied the intricate designs, noting the small lectern cleverly disguised to blend into the base of the statue. A tome lay open on its angled face. The design etched upon the page was clear. He recognized it in an instant—it was the Brand that marked his chest.
The Brand of the Avowal.
Risens hastened the last step to the tome, scouring over the open page as if his mind was starved for the information. The layout was identical to the configuration of the Raven’s Guide, though it was far more detailed. A mirror image of the Brand was seared into the top of the page, the details written carefully below.
Brand of the Avowal
The first of the key Brands. To the bearer belongs the Shadows Shroud, the true form and image of the Raven. To the fledgling, control is limited, defined by even intervals which shall decrease with experience. Mastery is limitless. Entrance to The Roost will be permitted to the worthy.
Across the bottom of the page was written a string of symbols, runes that were unmistakable in their design. Though he didn’t understand their individual meanings, he clearly recognized their context. His gaze focused on the last in the chain. It was the final symbol in the countdown that flashed into his vision as the Shadows Shroud was removed from his face.
Fiending for more information, he pulled gently at the page, attempting to flip to the next Brand. He found it curiously stiff, as if it were made of solid stone, merely a shape carved into the pedestal, and no amount of force could turn the page nor close the cover. He could see the delineation of the other pages, yet they were sealed together. Locked from him at his current state.
Risens worked to commit the images to memory, focusing on those in the middle first, resolving to bring ink with him the next time he entered the chamber. If he could at least recognize the middle runes for now, he would have a better gauge of the halfway point of his time without the mask.
Having investigated the shrine and the tome, he turned his attention to the darkened openings that lined the hall. The ravens turned with his movement across the room toward the edge. Even up close, the darkness inside the inset opening was thick, giving no hint of structure through the shadow.
It was unnerving—careful as he was—inserting his hand into the darkness of the doorway. His fingers disappeared first. Then his hand, and finally, his arm up to his elbow. Only then did he come into contact with a cold, stone-textured slab. Running his hand across it, the smoothed peaks and valleys of intentional design were evident, yet without the ability to resolve the details with visual confirmation, he was stuck guessing.
Risens took a step back, his mind lost in a mix of confusion and frustration. He’d found the tome that explained the Brand of the Avowal burning into his chest, that granted the Shadows Shroud. It was referred to as the first of the key Brands, granting access to the Roost, yet the purpose of the room was unclear. He could see into none of the doorways on the ground level or any of the others stretching upward into the darkness above. There were no ladders or stairs to reach the higher ones, and even with his agility, the lowest would still be several meters beyond his reach.
Mother Raven had claimed there were answers here, yet all he found were more questions. He still had no indication of why he was chosen to bear the Brand of the Avowal, or for what purpose.
He remained still, cataloguing the room, struggling to tamp down his mounting irritation. He snarled at the judgmental eyes of the dozens of stone ravens that tracked his movement to where he stood. He wasn’t sure what was more discomforting, their lifeless gaze or that of the flock that had surrounded him in the Raven’s Court.
The words of Mother Raven flitted back into his mind. “Worth is proven through experience. Value through trials and your ability to adapt. Mastery will not come without sacrifice.”
This was never meant to be easy. The doors on the first level were shrouded; the ones above seemed impossible, yet he knew solutions would be found.
Returning his questioning gaze to the room around him, he studied the space with a new sense of purpose. There was nothing mobile with which he could move into place to climb to gain access to the next floor. He’d only investigated one of the lower doorways, but the idea of blindly feeling his way over each of the dozens seemed a futile waste. For all he knew, there was a convenient lever to open each, one that he could see—if only he had light.
Light.
The shifting shadows that twisted and stretched across the room sparked the idea in his mind. The torches that had flared to life were too high, like the perch of the doorways were far too high for him to reach, though they were not alone in their illumination. With hope fueling his steps, he returned to the central aisle, stopping at the closest pedestal. He ignored the unenthusiastic look from the stone raven lording over it. His intention and focus were on the quiet flicker of the flames that floated on the water’s surface.
A quartet danced across the still liquid in the bowl before him. To his side, he counted six in the next. Though their numbers were seemingly random, none appeared to have fewer than three, while no more than seven crowded the pool at the base of the watching ravens.
Each of the lights was small, no more than the size of a candle’s flame. Passing his hand close over it, he was surprised to find that no heat emanated from the spark. He had no wick or tinder to transport the fire, though it was a solution he was determined to remedy before he returned to this space again. For a moment, he considered leaving and returning with one. He had a sneaking suspicion that all he needed resided in this room with him. Why would he be required to bring something in from the outside?
Risens touched his finger carefully to the liquid in the pool. He cupped his hand, bringing a small measure toward his face. Though black in the small bowl, it smelled crisp and fresh, as if it pumped from one of the natural springs that fed Windwake. It ran clear through his fingers, cascading back into the bowl. It made no splashes as it struck the surface. If the tepid water carried the disembodied flame afloat without the benefit of a candle, so could he.
Carefully dipping his hand beneath one of the flames, he scooped it up from the bowl. It flickered wildly, on the verge of extinguishing as the water sloshed through the gaps between his fingers, yet remained alight. He took a few tentative steps when the flame, running low on water, touched his skin.
Though he’d felt no heat, a spar of pain jolted fiercely through his palm. Splashing the remaining liquid on the floor, he shook out his hand as if the act would somehow rid him of the agony. He examined his hand. No physical mark was left, though the irritation persisted.
He tried again. And again, cursing as the small light extinguished for the third time. Though he had made it a few steps closer to the doorway, it wasn’t enough. His hand throbbed with the lingering traces of his failures. Only one light flickered across the first pedestal he’d chosen. He didn’t want to risk what might happen if none remained in the pool, so he moved to the next in line.
Risens paused, stilling offensive rumbles of agitation in his mind. This time, he layered his hand with fabric from his cloak. The back of his mind swarmed with worry that if the water soaked in, sloshed over the rim of his hands, or spilled in another unforeseen way, the flame would set his clothing aflame. But he had to find a way to keep the water from spilling through his fingers.
With a deep, steadying breath, he cupped the water under the next flame. With slow, purposeful, shuffling steps, he reached the impenetrable shadow of the portal.
As if daylight were burning off shadows, where the illumination from the small flame touched, the darkness cleared. From the single halo, it spread rapidly, revealing the intricate features of the stone panel.