When Vhalla crested the apex of the structure, the moon hung right above her. She panted softly from the exertion of the climb, but her eyes focused on the dark spot in the middle of the roof she now stood upon. Vhalla walked over, shuffling her feet toward the hole to peer over the edge.
She gasped sharply. The moonlight flowed through the oculus only to be dashed upon hundreds of points, fracturing it into starlight in a swirling microcosm of raw magic. This was the power that was being kept inside the thick stone wall of pure earth. Vhalla crouched at the ledge, gazing down. The bottom did not seem very far, if she could land easily with all the crystals below.
Inching to the edge, she took a breath and stepped off. The moonlight faded quickly and Vhalla welcomed the air beneath her, easing her fall onto a large crystal. Which she proceeded to slip off of and land awkwardly.
Vhalla rubbed the back of her head where it’d hit against a stone—a less than graceful descent. The domed ceiling above her seemed to glow with magic. But it could be her eyes playing tricks on her. Blinking the haze away, Vhalla pulled herself to her feet.
Every crystal she touched radiated power. The second her feet or hands brushed over the stone it shimmered and sparked to life with a color as ancient as the glacers in the tallest mountains of the South. She felt the magic reaching out to her, twirling around her fingers, inviting her to use it. For all the power the room held there was one thing that drew her attention.
Achel was unimpressive in its size. It was no longer than the length of Vhalla’s forearm. The flat hilt had been wrapped in thin leather strips that were now brittle with age. But the blade. It shone wickedly, and the whole thing seemed to be carved from a single shimmering stone. It radiated a power so deep that it grated against Vhalla’s bones.
Crystal weapons were real.
There was nothing else in the structure. Only the crystals growing from every wall, all reaching toward a center pedestal in which Achel rested. The blade of the axe was embedded in the crystal beneath it.
Vhalla approached slowly.
There was no sign of foul play; if anything, that made her more leery. It was so beautifully enticing to her magic that it gave her a nervous edge. It radiated power that felt like Aldrik’s, which gave Vhalla the sensation of his skin on hers. Her eyes fluttered closed a brief moment.
They opened again quickly at the returning feeling of someone’s stare. She peered over her shoulder nervously. There was no one there; it was just crystals. In fact, she had no idea how she would get out of the room.
Vhalla stared at the axe in a heated debate with herself. Reaching out a hand, she hesitated. What if it was far more protected here than it could be anywhere else? Her trembling hand caused the tip of her finger to brush against the hilt and magic flashed brightly.
Forced to cover her eyes as the whole room lit up, Vhalla blinked stars trying to get her sight back.
“Leave it.” The voice was ghost-like, faint, chilling, and oddly familiar. Scraps of magic floated through the air, drifting like shining feathers made of silvery moonlight.
She was no longer alone.
Across the room from her was a woman dressed in tight black leathers that hugged her generous curves. A long scarf was piled around her shoulders and head, dyed a deep crimson color that reminded Vhalla of the robes the crones wore. The only part of her face that was visible was two glowing ruby eyes.
Vhalla wanted to ask the woman who she was. She wanted to plant her feet and prepare to fight. But she couldn’t seem to move a muscle.
“Leave the blade; do not take Achel from its tomb,” the woman repeated, the scarf muffling her voice. She raised a hand, runes that Vhalla had never seen before glowing ghostly white above her arm. Vhalla was vaguely reminded of the strange magic that the Chieftain had used. But this woman didn’t look like a Northerner. From the tan skin around her eyes and stray hair falling from under her head wrap, she looked Western—perhaps.
The woman placed a palm on the crystals behind her, and the stone groaned and crackled, bending unnaturally to her will. They cut open a pathway to the jungle beyond, the same fractured moonlight drifting through the air. The runes that glowed above her arm faded.
“Heed my warning and leave. Do not touch the magic of the Gods, Vhalla Yarl.”
The air seemed to shudder and the light began to fall faster.
“Who are you?” Vhalla found her voice, control slowly returning to her.
“I’ve had many names,” the woman whispered.
She glowed faintly, turning into more light than substance. The woman seemed to break under her own weight and the darkness shattered her visage. By the time Vhalla could move again, her visitor was gone.
Vhalla’s knees gave out and she collapsed, gasping for stabilizing air. A chill coursed through her in the wake of the vision—magic? Vhalla didn’t know what she had just experienced, but there was an element to it that was far beyond anything she had ever known.
The only explanation that made sense was that it was some kind of defense crafted in the crystals. Vhalla nodded to herself, standing once more. An unreal specter meant to scare away any who tried to take the blade. But the tunnel was still there.
Vhalla engaged in an uncertain staring contest with Achel.
If she left it now, any Northerner could walk in and take the blade. Vhalla was more convinced than ever that should such a thing come to pass, they were all in grave danger. Through the oculus above, the moon was out of her field of vision. There was no time for hesitation.
She gripped the handle.
Power sent shockwaves through her. It was itching to be free. It was ready to be unleashed upon the world. With every shift of her fingers it was as though the blade whispered to her, “Yes, yes, yes.”
The axe was free with hardly any effort. With a tug and a small pulse of magic, the crystal pedestal relinquished its captive. There was an audible pop, and the room fell silent.
A noise like thin ice giving out under its own weight whispered throughout the cavern. It was an unnerving hiss that instantly pushed Vhalla’s feet to moving. Her every footfall shattered the crystals beneath her, as if they were no longer able to hold their own weight.
She sprinted into the passage, pulling up her hood to keep shards of stone from her eyes. It was like a rain of glass and the soft clicks and cracks were soon turning into loud shatters. Her heart raced and her feet picked up speed, fearful she would be trapped within the crumbling structure.
But she was free in half a breath.
Vhalla looked back at the tunnel she’d come from. More of the crystals were sliding from their places, now dim and dormant, almost like obsidian in the darkness.
She kept moving, knowing the sound would be certain to attract the attention of any Northerners who happened to be in the area. Vhalla sprinted around the side of the building and came to a skidding halt when she crossed into the burnt trek. The ruins had seemed so much longer before.
“Vhalla!” Daniel clamored to his feet from sitting at the base of a nearby tree, out of sight of any patrolmen.
She stared at the horizon, where the moon hung low.
“I was just about to go for help.” He raced over to her.
“What?” Vhalla continued to stare at the sky, the stars already dimming. She saw what she didn’t want to see. “I was only gone for a bit, an hour ... maybe.”
“You were gone for hours,” Daniel corrected. He walked around to stand before her, blocking her dull stare. His eyes quickly went to the weapon she held in a vice-like grip. “Mother, what is that?”
Vhalla gazed at the blade in shock; she’d somehow forgotten she was holding it. It glittered faintly in the start of dawn, giving off its own unnatural light. Her eyes darted to Daniel. She hadn’t thought through what she would do when she got the blade. She hadn’t planned on Daniel, of all people, knowing about it.