Dream of a Vast Blue Cavern

Chapter 1: Whispers of War: Stasia

And yet, the Dream compelled her onward, almost as if it had a will separate of hers. She had not yet reached its destination. Just a little farther, she decided. She stood and continued down the tunnel, toward the heat, stopping to explore every cave she passed.

When the cool air on her ankles sank completely into the rock and the air around her head became oppressively hot, she found what she sought. The opening was tiny, little more than a crack in the back of another tiny cave, the sort of place where deadly pitvipers lurked. Wide-winged flats skittered and made squeaks of protest as her hands disturbed them in her exploration. Sticky webs of giant spele spiders came away on her fingers. She pulled her body into the tight crevice.

The rocks were rough where her skin was bare, and her websilk dress caught on tiny outcroppings, which tore gaping holes in the delicate fabric. She tried to breathe through her nose, but couldn't get enough air; when she opened her mouth she inhaled debris, chewing grit between her teeth. The tunnel sloped upward, and the warm air settled behind, to her relief. The cold grew and she drew T'Jas from it. The tunnel narrowed even further, and she pushed against the walls with her hands and feet, propelling herself forward.

Again, a light appeared in the distance, but this was a soft purple glow. It grew brighter, until she could see it gleaming on the walls, and as though being birthed by the tunnel, she squeezed out into an immense cavern. She lay on the floor on her back, catching her breath. Icy cold air settled over her, calming her stomach and giving her strength. She drew T’Jas; the Dream-sight covered the cavern like a veil.

The Dream showed a vast blue ceiling spread out above her head, bluer than the purest lapis. At its apex shone a brilliant yellow light. Stasia lay on a floor soft like fur and the color of emeralds. More bits of color rose from the floor around her, ruby and opal and sapphire, fluttering as though blown by a giant, gentle breath. The warmth bled down onto her face, but it did not burn, it invigorated and gave her strength. The ground held her in a way no cavern floor ever had. The ceiling above seemed limitless, like she could float toward it forever and never touch it.

V’lturhst. That was what the Heritage called this place, and it was a legend; according to them, it did not exist. To speak of it was blasphemy. Queen Cataya , founder of Iskalon, had condemned it. But Stasia Dreamed of it nearly every time she slept, and she did not see how something so wonderful could be forbidden. Her father and sisters called it a foolish fancy, but Stasia knew better. Her Dreams were prophetic; in them she could see real occurrences, present and future, that she would not have known otherwise, so why would her Dream of V’lturhst be any different? She knew it was real, and she followed the Dream, searching for the real V’lturhst.

Stasia let the Dream-sight go, daring to believe that perhaps this time she had found it. But she saw only frosty rock walls, lit by a ceiling of glowing amethyst-colored ice in a shaft that went on to infinity. It glowed brighter than a normal icelight, infused with T'Jas left by the Ancestors thousands of years prior. Glinting metal specks peppered the purple-blue depths. It was just another Burial Shaft.

At least it was one she had never seen. There were many Burial Shafts closer to Iskalon, most of them above Lake Lentok, but she had never heard of one so close to Chraun. It must be very ancient indeed. Stasia was here; she might as well look at what she had found. She drew T'Jas deeply from the ice on the walls, weighed curiosity against a few distant moments of old age, and drifted upward until her nose pressed against the icy ceiling.

As she rose, what had appeared from a distance to be specks crystalized into people, corpses frozen in time, clothed in copper-scale garments. Iskalon had run out of copper centuries ago. There were a few antiques still made of the precious metal, but the people of Iskalon scarcely wore metal garments any more. This was an old burial chamber, abandoned hundreds, perhaps thousands of years prior, perhaps even before the first King of Chraun had left Iskalon and forged his kingdom. Curious in spite of her disappointment, Stasia peered forward, inspecting the closest figure. It was a woman, her pale skin so thin that dark veins showed through. Gleaming red hair framed closed eyes and a serene smile. The copper scales, each the size of Stasia's thumb, dangled over her voluptuous body, gathering in a cascade of smaller scales under her chin and flaring at her wrists and ankles.