It was distressing in its absolute command, not manufactured at the hands of mages but complete in its natural totality.
Pain followed, covering the entirety of his body. It was surprisingly dull, as if it were merely the lingering remnant of perpetual, all-encompassing abuse.
Risens opened his eyes, shuddering as he blew the breath from his lungs. In response, a cloud of dust floated in the darkness in front of him. The tiny, amber-colored particulate hung in the still air until his inhale pulled the fragments in. The air tasted stale as he drew it into his lungs.
The familiar pressure and cold convinced him that he yet lived. Risens lay flat on his stomach, his face resting on the hard ground. Gingerly, fearful that his muscles wouldn’t respond or that his arms and limbs wouldn’t bear the strain, he pushed himself up. Rising to his knees, he squinted in hopes it would give him better sight.
The ground was the first detail that came to light. The avalanche had wrenched him from his shelter, tossing him over the edge of the precipice. The pain in his shoulders, while localized and distinct, was lost amid the wash of dull agony. He rubbed his hand against his shoulder, feeling tears in the fabric but no wounds on his skin.
His clothing was in shambles. There were no hems unfrayed. Rips and tears riddled the garments as if he had been stabbed repeatedly all over his body. The pack that carried his supplies was gone. He dusted himself off as he rose, stretching out the soreness in his muscles.
That he was alive, he was certain, though how he lived and where he had landed were a mystery. Without thinking, his hand brushed the hilt of the Ravens Talon, the blade that had severed Orio’s hand. The feel of the feathered hilt was familiar. He had thrown the blade, understanding full well that it would return to its home within its sheath.
That neither insults, laughter, nor an insatiable thirst for bloodshed rang through his mind was shocking. Still, the silence was alarming.
He stood on a flat surface paved by wide stone tiles. There were no torches or mageLights to illuminate the darkness. High above, a long, jagged strip of sky slashed through darkness. A wide shaft of light stabbed downward at an angle so that it only struck the upper portion of the impossible heights that stretched overhead. He had no way to confirm his guess, but he expected the opening was thousands of meters above.
Though the light only struck the upper section of one of the walls, its glow was bright enough to reveal much of the chamber before him. The man-made tiles stretched out in a long, straight line in either direction. Ahead, the gap narrowed, the natural faces of the sheer cliffs constricted, though where they met was obscured by the shadows. To his rear, the distance between the mountains widened gradually until both sides vanished into darkness.
There was no end in sight.
Risens rotated slowly, scouring for any details beyond the rough natural wall and stone tiles. The light that filtered down from above was barely bright enough to unveil the floor. The undisturbed coating of dust beyond where his body had lain illustrated that nothing had traversed this hidden crevice for ages. Along the edge of the cliff, a vast pile of snow stretched up into a cone a few meters taller than him. Several fat snowflakes dithered. Far overhead, nothing more than minuscule smudges against the blue firmament, he watched a flock of birds circle, soaring serenely on the wind. From this distance, it was impossible to tell their kind, though he had his suspicions.
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Seeing the snow, his confusion mounted. The avalanche had dragged him over the edge, yet the accumulation was only a tiny fraction of the deluge that battered him. There was no chance he’d fallen such a great distance and survived. The stinging pain, the sensations of claws—or more appropriately, talons—against his skin made sense. He didn’t just fall into this cavern at random.
He was delivered here.
The peculiarity of his arrival aside, he felt nothing amiss about the cavern. In fact, quite the opposite, the space imparted a regal sense of natural beauty and strength that he’d only experienced in one other location.
The Roost.
Hundreds of miles separated him from the Raven’s Court and the Shrine of the Appraiser. He failed to see how the two could be connected. Then again, hadn’t he taken passage through the windSteps to arrive hundreds of miles north?
With only two ways to proceed, he chose to wander along the center of the pathway toward the broader section of the crevice. With the loss of his supplies, finding a means of egress would be of greater importance. Even with his skill set, strength, and endurance, the vertical cliffs were far beyond anything he could scale.
It only took a few dozen paces for him to reach the end of the cavern. Though the walls on either side of the central paved track were disguised in the shadows, the boulders blocking the path were clear, as if a massive landslide had sealed off the chamber in ages past.
Shaking his head, he headed back in the opposite direction. Retracing his steps, kicking up dust, he stepped over the clearing where his body had been sprawled out on the floor. Passing the pile of snow, he continued following the dimly illuminated walkway onward.
The narrowing of the ravine gave off a troubling sensation. It was as if the walls themselves were moving, trying to crush him where he walked. From the width at the opposite end, where the chamber was blocked, it continued forward until, at last, he could see the end.
The two walls pinched together, forming a flat surface that ran vertically until it disappeared into the darkness above. Risens stopped a dozen meters from the end, his eyes tracking to the floor of the cavern. The straight line of the paved surface of neatly inset stones stopped as it formed a large ring that stretched out to meet the narrowing walls. The surface inside the feature was naturally constructed, though it was far from unblemished.
A thick swatch of char covered much of the floor. Beneath the dark smudge, the typically rough, natural stone of the mountain was smooth. It spread out from a central focal point like ripples on water, with cracks coruscating outward.
Something had struck the ground here with terrifying force. Hard enough to shatter the very mountain and hot enough to turn stone to liquid.
Risens kneeled, placing his hand on the even stone.
The air in the crevice was chilly, yet the stone was warm to the touch. It felt as if he was running his hand over perfectly carved marble.
A shooting pain hammered into his chest, tossing him back from the stone circle like he had been kicked by a colossal force. His sternum felt bruised as if what had cracked the rock of the crevice did the same to his chest. He gasped for air as he hit the ground, sliding to a stop on the paved pathway.
The agony shifted, feeling almost like the strange knitting of bones that Tawny had performed on him just the other day. This time, the pain blossoming from inside paled when compared to the searing anguish on his upper chest.
It was an excruciating discomfort that he had come to relish and accept, for he knew the purpose and the cause.
Another Brand had now been added to the others on his chest.
Risens patted gently at the raised markings. He withdrew his hands quickly as the heat that radiated through his clothing was still startlingly hot.
This was the beginning. Hidden away from the prying eyes of those who would seek to usurp its glory for their own means. You will be tested. There will be no second chances. Fail, and all will have been for naught. All you have accomplished to this point, you have done on your own.
You are not alone.
Risens opened his mouth to raise a question, though he clamped it shut just as quickly. He knew he would receive no answers. The voice, while still overbearing, had sounded somehow different this time. It was almost as if a touch of reverence was infused with his thundering tones.
As the words echoed in his skull, the distinct sounds of shuffling reached his ears. They were not the constructs of a mind still reeling from the domineering tone and volume of the mysterious voice. These were tangible, belonging to something, or somethings with a shape or form.
High above, the birds still circled, watching his plight from the winds.