eadwulf grieve (eadwulf) wrote in valloic, @ 2021-08-04 14:53:00 |
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The tower had no doors, no windows. A single set of narrow stairs descended into its shadowy depths, with no banister to prevent a careless misstep into nothing. Eadwulf couldn’t risk it. He had until dawn to solve this riddle or there would be consequences. Yet with no windows, he didn’t know how long he’d been at it. All he knew was how little progress he'd made. The scrolls he had been pouring through made no sense. Words kept bleeding into each other, letters twisting and getting away from him. Once, he thought he grasped the meaning of a sentence but it slipped through his fingers like sand. Not for the first time, his gaze wandered to the model of a house sitting in the very center of the chamber. It was a small thing, with a curiously realistic thatched roof, no more than a child’s toy. Had he made it? Was it part of the riddle? He couldn’t recall. Sweat beaded on his brow as he struggled to concentrate. This would have been easier if he’d had help, but he didn’t know where the others were. Besdies, relying on anyone but himself was unthinkable. Was he not enough? Didn’t he have what it took? Again his gaze ventured to the toy house. It seemed to him that figures were wathing him through the tinted windows. Two tall ones, both with long hair twisted into braids. A third, mop-haired and so short she could barely reach the windowsill. A fourth figure brooded by the attic window. Nonsense. Eadwulf couldn’t see inside. There was no one there. No figures. No faces. No house. Only the scrolls. The riddle. Footsteps upon the stairs. He heard them, felt their nearness as they echoed ponderously up the hollow tower. A sense of urgency gripped his heart. Adrenaline made his hands shake. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t found the answer. The others would have, because the others were so much better, so much more deserving. Now Trent would know it, too, and Eadwulf would be- A loud crash yanked Eadwulf out of his nightmare. Though barely half awake, he rolled off the sleeping bag and grabbed his scabbard, narrowly avoiding a table with chairs piled on top of it as he rose. The front room was small enough that only a few steps separated him from the entrance, but it was crowded with furniture he had to weave around. One twist of his fingers through the air and a few muttered words and the locks snapped open, the front door flung wide. In the struggling light of dawn, he stalked outside, the concrete cool beneath his feet, every muscle in his body coiled and ready for violence. The city was already waking despite the early hour, people and horseless carriages moving to and fro, shopkeepers preparing to open for business. A few heads swung in his direction. Laughter abruptly died as a handful of local children clustered in the street outside the teashop caught sight of Eadwulf. Their eyes widened as they took in his demeanor - bare-chested and barefoot, his hair uncombed - and then the longsword. Eadwulf had no memory of pulling it free of its leather sheath but it was suddenly in his hand, the green crystals on his forearms wreathing the blade in purple-black smoke. The children scattered, skinny legs eating up the distance as though death itself was on their tail. Their fear lingered, though, a familiar, noxious heaviness in the air. Also lingering was the large hole through the front window of the teashop, shards of glass glittering on the ground like diamonds. Eadwulf grimaced at the sight - and then swore, as he lifted a foot to discover that in his haste he had walked right onto the broken glass. |