The Arkanist

The Pyre

The Pyre

Aera stood still as stone, heart beating at her ribcage like a giant hammer. The exaggerated crack faded, and the winds whistled by, cool, bitter. Then, there was a clap that echoed through the tower, and finished with a pop. Then came the rumbling. Deep and monstrous it boomed; the winds drowned out to no more than feeble screams. The rumbling stopped, and a shift of snow slid from the mountainside, the tower swaying back and forth. The swaying stopped, and Aera looked at Varud, standing in the center of the platform. The tower shook tremulously, and knocked Aera to her feet. When she looked up, Varud was not there, and neither was the other half of the tower.

         It had broken, ripped from its stone foundations and fell down the side of the sheer mountainside. Aera could hear it roar as it fell, screaming with the open winds that assailed her. Climbing to her feet, she ran back towards the stairs to the roar of the tower as it began to crumble and tremble. Aera reached the stairs and flew down the spiraling way, the platform behind her swept off into the swirling grey expanse. The tower swayed further and cracked at the base, leaning forward to break away from the mountain. Aera felt the sway as she ran, knocking into the stonewall.

         Underneath her feet, the floor gave away, and she crumbled to the ground, arms flying upwards, grasping anything she could. Her fingers found a snag of rock, and clenched, her knuckles white as bone. There she hung, death looming below her like a great grey corpse. She cursed as her eyes looked down, the snow swirling into a veil of grey and her heart faltered, skipping a beat or more. Aera swung her legs, trying to fling herself up. She tried, and failed, her boots hitting rock and smashing loose granite that cascaded over her face, which was streaked with rivers of gleaming blood, collecting at her brows and hardened black.

         She hung, bit her lip, and grappled for more rock as she began sliding off. The gods had graced her, for she found a lip of stone and heaved her body upwards, her arms bulging, and her muscles contracting. With a scream, she threw herself over the crumbling rock precipice, and found solid ground, her arms burning, and her legs numb from fear. Aera looked back at the empty space were the tower had stood for a hundred years. She looked back down the staircase burrowed into the mountainside, the ground quaking, the ceiling shedding layer and layer of rock.

         She ran, faster and faster, her feet skipping down the thin steps five at a time. Part of the wall ripped away as if it had been punched by a giant stone fist, the craterous formation bearded in frozen moss. As she sprinted past it, the cold winds tore at her skin, trying to fling her out into its bitter arms. She passed back into the darkness of the tower as it bowed off the cliff-face, and reached a flat corridor, alit with shuddering torches that delved into the rock of the mountain. The stone tower ripped away from the mountain with a snap and a rumble, shaking the mountains core itself and began to crumble as it tumbled down the rocky shelves of the mountains, falling with the snows and the ash.

         Aera watched it disappear into the grey as she lay on her stomach, catching her breath. She stayed there for a while, her heart racing, and her blood chilled to the bone. It felt almost as if she was eating her heart, for it thumped like a drum in her throat, resisting to be thrown up through her mouth. The mountains had grown silent and eerie when she decided to make her way back down to the fortress. She wondered as she reached the mountainside steps if the others had seen the tower fall. She was certain they had heard it. And Varud… he was probably dead.

         After about an hour of descending, catching her breath, and slowing her heart rate, she reached the final bend in the stairs and exited through the towering walls of Svaar. Luckily, she found, the tower had not damaged the fortress, but probably fell into the valley. As she exited the arch, she saw Ollor race to her, his black cloak rippling in the wind behind him. He kneeled before her in the snow, holding her tight. His eyes were shot red.