The Wolves of Gryning: Chapter 15
Chapter 15: Into the Tomb
The hills, marked on most maps as Siljna's Hills, were so named for the final resting place of she who is mother of all. And though the precise location of that tomb was lost by the passing of years, Vacka thought he had a pretty good idea of where to look.
It hadn't been easy. The entrance bore no visible doorway, and the chamber - if indeed it was a chamber, and not just a shelf of stone - was deep underground. Even with all the books in Skugga he'd been unable to pinpoint the place. Knowledge gained in Skugga was rarely full knowledge, after all. The one thing he had been able to ascertain was the general region where it must lie.
Three hubs of civilization had sprung up in Siljna's Hills; Sil, the little town he'd traveled to, and the smallest of the three; Ilkja, a coastal town that was plagued by perpetual gloom; and Inthil, that trading port along the Bay of Tears, the one he'd so recently sacrificed to the Dead. His books had lead him to a region somewhat triangulated between the three.
So he went deep into the landscape, passing roaming travelers in wagons, and small families who dwelt in cloth huts. He stopped and talked or broke bread with them, but never lingered long. These beasts communicated little with the rest of civilization, and the chances that any of them would have known who he was were small. Still, he hated to risk it. There was always the possibility another nomad had heard about Inthil. And if they'd heard about Inthil, they'd have heard about the white-robed wolf who'd wrought their end.
Now alone, he cast his gaze in every direction and saw hills on all sides. North he could see the green rolling fields and the velvet grey of trees dotting the crests of each hill. These seemed to stretch out endlessly like waves upon the sea. But South he could make out the hues of red and brown that burst from the shrubberies. He knew that following that path would lead him to the empty Salt Flats, and further East towards the Ternish desert and its harsh sun. Bright blooms were common there, the desert flowers creeping purple and alien out of the ground, signposts of another ecosystem, another world. Only small dull blossoms grew here, and they were muddy yellow.
But there were rocky outcroppings in some of the big, swooping hills. Some of these outcroppings had holes and openings, yawning stretches where he could stare forever into the dark and never see a thing. He had a hunch that his cave was smaller, less ostentatious on the outside. Some of the openings he came across had detailed images or words carved into the outside, and many had been marked with symbols he didn't recognize. Inside of these promising looking caves he'd never found anything but ashes and empty barrels. Some of them had sleeping shelves carved into the walls. He thought maybe the symbols marked these places as safe for travelers, where nomadic beasts might pitch their camps for a few nights or weeks.
He slept often in these caves. His search had lasted many days and he could feel himself getting closer. He also felt the nameless god restless in its chamber, and sometimes he felt his flesh creeping with a sort of shivering sensation. He knew that it longed to get back inside of him, as it had done so many times; he knew it longed for more sacrifice, more blood spilled. He resisted.
Biting winds blew in the night times, sweeping in from the Western seaboard. The storms that built so huge and terrible in the Strait of Eyes sometimes swept into the hills, and enormous cyclones sometimes touched down here. Vacka had seen one of these, and it was so huge and so loud that he wept with terror. It had been in the middle of the night and he had only been able to catch glimpses of the mountainous twister when lightning flashed.
He searched for nearly a week, meeting fewer and fewer beasts and exploring more and more of the cave networks, until he found what he thought might be it. The entrance he discovered was narrow, barely a slit in the rocks, but slipping into it had allowed him access to a greater network of tunnels. They were small, and stone scraped his brow as he stooped, but gradually it opened up around and above him. He could feel the weight of darkness above his head. Vacka dared not call for power here, lest that Slumbering Shadow possess his soul completely. Instead he had lit a torch on the outside, and searched by its light. Several times it had snuffed itself, as though deprived of oxygen, and he was forced to relight it. And even though the air was stale, and the torch prone to burning out, he never struggled to breathe under the hill. He began to realize that his surroundings were brighter than the light his torch was capable of, and he found himself in the very center of the hill he'd entered. A series of thin, jagged openings across the distant roof sent streams of pale light dusting down. They illuminated the whole chamber, showing Vacka the vast mycophoid network of tubes and knotted roots that grew down here, lighting the dirty walls and ceiling, exposing the wriggling worms and glittering geodes. It was all lit by that shadowshine filtering through the latticework.
And the streams of light all converged upon the stairs.
The light coalesced into a sort of halo above them. They were ancient, rough, and he knew they'd been cut by the same blade that had summoned Gryning from stone. But these had been carved hastily and without care, and though none of his books in Skugga spoke of the building of this tomb, he knew who had carved it as soon as he saw the stairs, just as he knew the truth of how to breathe or how to beat his heart.
Of his descent we will not speak. A great multitude of sins were committed by the wolf Vacka, though all before this were attributable to that Slumbering Shadow that used him as its vessel. This was the first of Vacka's sins committed by his own hands, and perhaps the worst. In the years since Siljna's death the tomb had gone undisturbed, and never since Vacka's entry has it been re-entered. For after he emerged, the ground heaved, and the stones fell upon the stairs; and the tunnel was sealed forever. His prize, great though it was, was not his to claim. The blade of Valenthi had been brought back into the world, and its purpose he meant for another great evil. Though it was heavy in his hands and in his heart, Vacka was finally happy.
"Now not even Death can stop me," he said, and the hillside breathed with him. The words he spoke were true; a bitter destiny began to unfold.