I actually started this a year ago but was too depressed to finish after Zoot quit
The stone finally gave and slid sideways with a pained groan. It was afternoon and the blazing heat the sun cast down on the Spine of the World was already obscured on the Sharan side of the range. The cave opening was in darkness revealing nothing save a vaguely unpleasant odor.
“You’re sure this is the place?” Walden asked skeptically. He was wearing his armor for the first time in months and it chafed where poor diet and hard work had shed pounds, but there was no time to adjust it and you didn’t travel in these mountains without some steel to stop a scorpion from gorging on your guts. Sensible people didn’t anyway.
“Pretty sure,” replied the young woman beside him. She was lean and tall and wore the banded dress of an Accepted, even here in these mountains. A foolish practice that. The girl had an Aielman’s shoufa draped around her neck, protecting her skin but making her look ridiculous. The Accepted leaned forward peering intently at the crevice before her, then glanced back at Walden.
“Are you sure your going to fit, you have been hitting the rations pretty hard,” she observed with no hint of a smile.
“If you’d ever worked a day in your life you would know you have to eat when you work, you think lugging this armor through the mountains is easy?” The big Amadician retorted. Both of them were nervous, it had been a long journey and now they were so close to the end they feared what they might find.
“After you then,” The Accepted declared with an exaggerated bow. Walden pushed past her, sloughing of his pack to squeeze through the narrow gap into the dark mouth of the cavern. The fit was a tight one, despite his bravado, but no one who worked upon the sea grew fat, no one who who expected to live anyway. The cavern stank with half a dozen scents. Fungal spores, decaying meat, and the sweet rancid smell of slime that grew on indiffernet flows of water. There were other smells too, the sour reek of sweat and desperation, of unwashed bodies and fever. He unshuttered his lantern and lifted it high. The dancing light flared out illuminating the limestone wall of the cavern, spreading like flame over oil.
“What in the name of the deeps…”
The limestone cavern was perhaps fifty feet wide and twenty feet tall at its highest point. Millenia of running water had carved it into a great plum shape,at the center of which was a vast stone of uncertain type, polished smooth and etched with symbols. The walls and floor of the cavern were covered with variations of the same symbols, scratched into place with numerous fragments of rock that now lay abandoned, worn down smooth from constant use. Many were scratched out or redrawn over earlier renditions.There must have been thousands of them but at no point were the symbols more than six feet above the floor save where boulders and other detritus would allow a person to stand.
“Uh it wasn’t like this when we found it,” The Accepted observed, apologetic sounding, though for what Walden couldn’t imagine.
“She did all this?” Walden asked in amazement. The Accepted shrugged her shoulders, uncertain even if it really was a question, or just an expression of amazement. There were some signs of human habitation, mouldering blankets, the remains of a fire, though it was long cold. Walden knelt down beside a natural declivity in the rock, filled with a scummy stinking fluid. He touched his finger to it and sniffed.
“Spoiled soup smells like,” he pondered around.
“She must have put the bones of whatever she killed in here and channeled fire into the rocks to cook it,” the Accepted observed, sounding impressed. Walden shook his head. She did find ways to do things people didn’t anticipate. And didn’t appreciate.
“And what did you do here you crafty bitch?” he muttered. And more to the point, why?
They spent the night in the cavern. It was a better spot than most in these mountains. They built a small fire out of brushwood and the remains of a long abandoned crate, that smoked and smoldered as the rot cooked off. Walden sat with his sword across his lap, watching the opening. Outside he could hear the roar of mountain lions in the distance, and he knew there to be bears and scorpions beside. Nothing would approach the fire, least wise nothing would without getting a yard of steel through it for its troubles. Sour pipe smoke curled between as teeth as he watched the opening, the tabac glowing in the bowl and illuminating his battered face. He wondered what his niece had been doing here and why she had not sent word. All he had to go on was the cryptic message that had reached him at sea six weeks ago calling him back. It wasn’t her way to explain things ahead of time, or afterwards either but for the first time since he had taken her from her drunken father, he felt genuine fear for the girl.
“Where are you Erul…”
There was a sudden flash of light and a crack like a main mast snaping under too much sail. Bats and other animals flapped into panicky flight and dazzling purple after images danced across his retina. Zoot was on her feet in a moment, bleary eyed but arms raised as though to call forth fire at a moments notice. For a heartbeat there was almost complete silence, and then a groan that came from neither Zoot, nor Walden himself. A crumpled figure lay across the base of the stone, half covered in soot from the ancient fire she had disturbed. She was emaciated, almost skeletal and long bloody slashes and burns covered her nearly naked body. Her lips were dry and cracked as though she hadn’t eaten or drank in a long time. A bloody knife was clutched in her hand, just the way he taught here when she had been a curious girl of six. It was Erulisse.
He rushed over to her, sword clattering to the ground in his careless haste. Her body looked black in the firelight, the dark red blood appearing blacker than the night beyond the cave. Her hair, once a rich chocolate brown was a stark unnatural white and her ageless face was drawn and stretched across her skull like a death mask.
“Carry her clear!” Zoot yelled and Walden obeyed, though he didn’t know what the girl intended. The Accepted seized her mentor and the older woman suddenly convulsed with a gasp. The wounds vanished as the healing weave did its work and her ashen pallor returned to its natural olive, though the white hair gave it a jaundiced an unhealthy look. Belated Walden realised that Zoot had needed him to carry her clear of the stone before she dared employ the power. Smart woman, even if she had a smarter mouth. He looked down at the stricken Aes Sedai as she lay in his arms.
“You’re ok little one,” he said, using a name he hadn’t used since she was a girl.
“You’re alright.” Then, to his considerable shock, she did something she hadn’t done since they day he had taught her how to hold a knife. She began to cry.
I actually started this a year ago but was too depressed to finish after Zoot quit :(
The stone finally gave and slid sideways with a pained groan. It was afternoon and the blazing heat the sun cast down on the Spine of the World was already obscured on the Sharan side of the range. The cave opening was in darkness revealing nothing save a vaguely unpleasant odor.
“You’re sure this is the place?” Walden asked skeptically. He was wearing his armor for the first time in months and it chafed where poor diet and hard work had shed pounds, but there was no time to adjust it and you didn’t travel in these mountains without some steel to stop a scorpion from gorging on your guts. Sensible people didn’t anyway.
“Pretty sure,” replied the young woman beside him. She was lean and tall and wore the banded dress of an Accepted, even here in these mountains. A foolish practice that. The girl had an Aielman’s shoufa draped around her neck, protecting her skin but making her look ridiculous. The Accepted leaned forward peering intently at the crevice before her, then glanced back at Walden.
“Are you sure your going to fit, you have been hitting the rations pretty hard,” she observed with no hint of a smile.
“If you’d ever worked a day in your life you would know you have to eat when you work, you think lugging this armor through the mountains is easy?” The big Amadician retorted. Both of them were nervous, it had been a long journey and now they were so close to the end they feared what they might find.
“After you then,” The Accepted declared with an exaggerated bow. Walden pushed past her, sloughing of his pack to squeeze through the narrow gap into the dark mouth of the cavern. The fit was a tight one, despite his bravado, but no one who worked upon the sea grew fat, no one who who expected to live anyway. The cavern stank with half a dozen scents. Fungal spores, decaying meat, and the sweet rancid smell of slime that grew on indiffernet flows of water. There were other smells too, the sour reek of sweat and desperation, of unwashed bodies and fever. He unshuttered his lantern and lifted it high. The dancing light flared out illuminating the limestone wall of the cavern, spreading like flame over oil.
“What in the name of the deeps…”
The limestone cavern was perhaps fifty feet wide and twenty feet tall at its highest point. Millenia of running water had carved it into a great plum shape,at the center of which was a vast stone of uncertain type, polished smooth and etched with symbols. The walls and floor of the cavern were covered with variations of the same symbols, scratched into place with numerous fragments of rock that now lay abandoned, worn down smooth from constant use. Many were scratched out or redrawn over earlier renditions.There must have been thousands of them but at no point were the symbols more than six feet above the floor save where boulders and other detritus would allow a person to stand.
“Uh it wasn’t like this when we found it,” The Accepted observed, apologetic sounding, though for what Walden couldn’t imagine.
“She did all this?” Walden asked in amazement. The Accepted shrugged her shoulders, uncertain even if it really was a question, or just an expression of amazement. There were some signs of human habitation, mouldering blankets, the remains of a fire, though it was long cold. Walden knelt down beside a natural declivity in the rock, filled with a scummy stinking fluid. He touched his finger to it and sniffed.
“Spoiled soup smells like,” he pondered around.
“She must have put the bones of whatever she killed in here and channeled fire into the rocks to cook it,” the Accepted observed, sounding impressed. Walden shook his head. She did find ways to do things people didn’t anticipate. And didn’t appreciate.
“And what did you do here you crafty bitch?” he muttered. And more to the point, why?
They spent the night in the cavern. It was a better spot than most in these mountains. They built a small fire out of brushwood and the remains of a long abandoned crate, that smoked and smoldered as the rot cooked off. Walden sat with his sword across his lap, watching the opening. Outside he could hear the roar of mountain lions in the distance, and he knew there to be bears and scorpions beside. Nothing would approach the fire, least wise nothing would without getting a yard of steel through it for its troubles. Sour pipe smoke curled between as teeth as he watched the opening, the tabac glowing in the bowl and illuminating his battered face. He wondered what his niece had been doing here and why she had not sent word. All he had to go on was the cryptic message that had reached him at sea six weeks ago calling him back. It wasn’t her way to explain things ahead of time, or afterwards either but for the first time since he had taken her from her drunken father, he felt genuine fear for the girl.
“Where are you Erul…”
There was a sudden flash of light and a crack like a main mast snaping under too much sail. Bats and other animals flapped into panicky flight and dazzling purple after images danced across his retina. Zoot was on her feet in a moment, bleary eyed but arms raised as though to call forth fire at a moments notice. For a heartbeat there was almost complete silence, and then a groan that came from neither Zoot, nor Walden himself. A crumpled figure lay across the base of the stone, half covered in soot from the ancient fire she had disturbed. She was emaciated, almost skeletal and long bloody slashes and burns covered her nearly naked body. Her lips were dry and cracked as though she hadn’t eaten or drank in a long time. A bloody knife was clutched in her hand, just the way he taught here when she had been a curious girl of six. It was Erulisse.
He rushed over to her, sword clattering to the ground in his careless haste. Her body looked black in the firelight, the dark red blood appearing blacker than the night beyond the cave. Her hair, once a rich chocolate brown was a stark unnatural white and her ageless face was drawn and stretched across her skull like a death mask.
“Carry her clear!” Zoot yelled and Walden obeyed, though he didn’t know what the girl intended. The Accepted seized her mentor and the older woman suddenly convulsed with a gasp. The wounds vanished as the healing weave did its work and her ashen pallor returned to its natural olive, though the white hair gave it a jaundiced an unhealthy look. Belated Walden realised that Zoot had needed him to carry her clear of the stone before she dared employ the power. Smart woman, even if she had a smarter mouth. He looked down at the stricken Aes Sedai as she lay in his arms.
“You’re ok little one,” he said, using a name he hadn’t used since she was a girl.
“You’re alright.” Then, to his considerable shock, she did something she hadn’t done since they day he had taught her how to hold a knife. She began to cry.