Arc 4: Chapter 13: Burden
In a moment, I was back in the tower of Myrr Arthor. The wide surface of frozen stone set above the world vanished, replaced by the mosaic depicting the Alder Round, the high windows set within the domed ceiling, the silent statues of warrior-saints.
Beyond the windows, I could make out stars set amid a sparsely clouded sky. I’d been here for hours — long enough for the rain to stop, the sun to set, and night to fall. A faint mist of shimmering frost hung around me, and I shivered violently. Ice crept across the branches and roots set into the floor, washing out the amber into colder shades.
Father Alaric no longer knelt just outside the circle where he had before. I cast my eyes around, feeling a sudden spike of apprehension. I found him quickly enough, standing near the door. He no longer wore his veil, and his eyes were wide with some emotion — fear? Awe?
“You…” The old man’s scratchy voice trembled. “Who are you?”
My mind still reeled with what I’d just witnessed. The cosmic stage, that dreadful warrior, his pitiless words. Most of all, I remembered the task he had given me, the head I had been ordered to claim. I felt a chill which had nothing to do with the frosted air lingering in the chamber.
It had felt like I’d been there only a brief time, yet hours seemed to have passed. My legs had fallen asleep, and the desolate cold of the Empyrean Lamp had followed me.
“What happened?” I asked. My voice croaked out of a dry throat.
“I…” The old preoster swallowed. “I can hardly guess. It was like you were here, and yet not. I have never seen anything like it. Certainly, the Choir has made its presence known in this place, but this… Who are you?”
I stood, wincing as the blood found its way back into my legs.
“Best you not have a name,” I told him. “For both our sakes. Where are the two who came with me?”
Alaric turned his head slowly from side to side. “I have been here with you. I imagine they are still below, if they did not depart.”