The Relistar: Rejoining Vol. 3

Rejoining | Ch. 39

XXXIX.

Return

"We should not expect such luck with similarly experienced opponents in the future." Ithlo remarked.

Luck, thought Cedric. Feels we're short of that, lately.

They were rushing down a set of stonewise stairs, a cramped corridor, through an underground passage...

A heavy steel door with a barred window blocked the end. An old dungeon, by the look of it. The handle was rusted, the latch was stuck in place by age.

Cedric opened it first with a heavy shove of his shoulder. Ithlo followed him into the dust. Okella limped behind with Tirolith's aid, but collapsed to the floor once they were inside.

"Are you alright?" asked Tirolith.

"No! That scorch, that... Oh!" Okella cried out in pain. She curled into a ball on the floor, clutching her sides.

Cedric glanced at her. A pang of guilt, of sympathy and sadness, rattled his mind. He hissed in a breath, then turned back into the cool dungeon.

Though the dark cobbles of the cell were still marked with blood, whichever devices had once been used for torture were no more. They'd been replaced by dark tables mounted beneath eternal torches, bookshelves holding ancient tomes, jars and vases holding scrolls of all sorts.

"I've never been in here," Ithlo said, "I would surmise that the scrolls hold those schematics which we seek."

Cedric hurried over and plucked a handful of scrolls from a black jar.

Okella still sobbed and wailed on the ground beside Tirolith.

"I can't heal her! I don't know what kind of attack this was, but it's... it's horrible!"

Dyosius. It had to be Dyosius. Cedric's heart raced. He shuddered in a shaky breath, then opened up a scroll.

Ithlo'vatis nodded. His intuition was on the mark. The scroll depicted symbols of a language foreign and unknown to Cedric. As foreign as the silent magic Jirtu had wielded, if somewhat less intimidating. Draekonic, a tongue that hasn't been used since the second Kylinstromi era.

How lucky for me that the schematics are color-coded.

His eyes went wide. For once, Ithlo'vatis shared the expression.

"It's Dyosius."

An eight-colored ring, letters drawn in a circle with intricately woven lines to connect them. Red, blue, green, black, white, yellow, and purple.

"I've never seen yellow... Hemah, maybe? The sun? Or lightning? Air?"

"I thought this might be the case..."

Cedric raised his head to the shaded Ithlo'vatis.

"These are all old schematics, Cedric. These are based on mortal concepts of Etherians in the earliest eras of man."

"What are you saying?"

"There's nothing we can do with these."

"No. No, come on. There's got to be..." He scrounged through more scrolls, crinkled them up, unrolled them, crushed and threw them away. His mind knew the truth. But he couldn't accept it. "Come on. Look, can't you do something with this?" He crumpled the page in his hands. "Can't you!?"