Chapter 49
Hoku gasped, calling out first as he waded forward in heavy strides through the water. "What happened?"
"Fleur… a Heelia is sprouting through her body. But it won't break free on its own." Abel trembled with anguish.
As Mars turned to face them, confusion clouded his features. "Heelias are born of dream-scape astral fragments. They can't just manifest on their own."
Hoku glanced between Mars and Abel, searching their eyes, but neither had more to offer.
Unwittingly, he murmured the word again, as if saying it might draw the gap of his understanding.
When the lantern's glow passed over Fleur's neck, Hoku marked the pale patterns rising on her skin.
At the same time, dark petals fell like leaves, and from her throat, something luminous began to push upward.
Li sighed before inquiring, "Abel, how much do you know about this passage we're in?"
Abel swallowed hard. "I… I only know the most important parts."
Mars cast his eyes downward and spoke in a low murmur, "We might have to find another way. We can't linger here."
Hoku's gaze never left Abel.
Even to him, Abel's face showed an almost desperate unwillingness to accept the true state of things.
Hoku laid a hand on Abel's shoulder, trying to impart what little strength he could. "She'll be okay," he said softly. "So stay with us."
Abel's body tensed, then slowly sagged.
He tightened his hold on Fleur's limp form, cradling her closer as her head lolled heavily against her chest.
"Thank you," his tone became surprisingly steady for the moment.
Li closed his eyes, inhaling slowly as if to steel himself, and Mars nodded once.
"I'll help carry her," Hoku assured. "We won't leave you alone."
They gingerly bore Fleur between them, Abel supporting the right side of her and Hoku assisting on the left.
Fleur let out a feeble groan as they held her upright between them. Abel swept over her once more in quick appraisal, and with his brow set in a frown, they carried her deeper into the tangled garden.
They all trudged along the creek's bank, as the lantern in Mars' hand cast a warm circle of light around their path.
But despite Hoku's own effort to remain alert, a deep discomfort settled in his chest.
His breaths came shallow, as if the air itself had become thicker.
The scent of damp earth and rot filled his nostrils—foul and pungent.
Hence, as his awareness grew acute beneath the veil of scarlet, breathing too became a labor.
He had naturally sensed the strange fragrance from the ghost-like flowers before, but here it was magnified.
Moreover, they were out in the open now, but Hoku realized there wasn't a single living plant in sight.
He forced himself to stay calm.
There wasn't time to dwell on worry—especially with a far more curious matter pressing itself upon him: how had they come to this place?
He found it almost comical how he was beginning to go along with things, though he knew he would return to their absurdity later, upon reflection.
Yet on rarer occasions, like this one, he had pieces of his own memory to ground him, allowing him to set his questions aside for the moment.
Indeed, it had all felt so painfully mundane… and yet terrifying.
They had moved through the narrow corridor, led by the Nymareth, whose two-headed groans wound through the walls.
Hoku was only languidly aware of the runes flaring along the walls before they vanished into the stone.
Luminescent pollen drifted down like snow, and the solid barrier they encountered at the corridor's end began to draw the mist into itself until it vanished.
Hoku gave it no further thought, having already learned that there wasn't any satisfactory explanation for how such structures behaved.
During their fevered escape, it was as though their legs alone bore them across the threshold between worlds.
In little time, a torrent of dust and rubble had engulfed them.
For Hoku, that was sufficient. There was no cause to linger when the path ahead appeared to have far more pressing concerns.
. . .
As they followed the stream, the dense undergrowth abruptly parted, revealing shy glimmers that seeped through a gap in the vines, which had been torn aside to hang loosely like a fortune-teller's curtain.
Their pace quickened of its own accord until they emerged, and the instant Hoku lifted his eyes, his jaw fell slack in astonishment.
A titanic figure loomed from the middle of the stream, concealed until then beneath a chaotic veil of deadwood and fallen leaves that had hung over it like a burial shroud.
Abel lurched to a stop as if he had been shoved from behind.
He too became ashen-faced, but for a slightly different reason.
Despite her pain-clouded state, Fleur stirred softly against them, as though she, too, had become aware of the vast figure overshadowing them.
But Abel did not advance.
Cautiously, Li and Mars proceeded ahead.
Mars stationed himself at one side of the giant, and Li, making his way to the opposite side, laid a hand upon the metal material, smoothing and threading through its strange layers, and felt along their surface.
Upon nearing the statue's chest, he prudently drew at the vines again and again.
After probing for several moments, Li suddenly pulled back his hand and slashed his arm downward.
The vines tore loose, carried off into the stream as he revealed the figure beneath.
Abel and Hoku were brought to halt as the statue revealed itself in dusky alloy.
Its surface was unassuming yet faintly alight.
From countless filaments it had been shaped—neither wholly metal nor wholly stone—as if undecided in its essence.
It was seated at the heart of the water, monumentally larger than the one the twins had discovered earlier.
Its posture was precisely that of a knight at rest: one massive hand lay palm-down on its lap, the other clutching something against its chest beneath a veil.
From the shoulders up and partway down its chest, a silken drape hung over its head and torso.
The cloth was the color of smoke-stained parchment, impossibly delicate despite apparent age.
Across the fabric were traces of flowers that weren't embroidered, but pressed into the weave itself, forming patterns that flowed along the edges of the veil.
As Li crouched to study the streambed at the statue's base, Mars stood back and studied it warily.
Satisfied that he saw nothing immediately alarming there, Li rose and began a careful inspection of the statue's front, inching upward.
Behind him, Abel's fist clenched on the back of Hoku's sleeve. "Fleur and I passed this way on the way in," he said quietly. "There was nothing here then."
Moisture slid from Hoku's brow as he faced forward. "It wasn't here when we came through the tunnel, either," he replied. "At least, not anything like this. But, maybe we didn't actually come out on this side…"
Abel dragged in a breath and steadied his stance before the figure's veiled head.
"We've come across a number before, though smaller by far, what I found most strange is that every one of them bore flowers for heads."
Though disbelief clouded him at Abel's words, Hoku felt his curiosity stir all the more at what lay beneath the veil.
He wondered then, 'If the other coverings had been torn aside, why then did this veil remain?'
This time, Hoku turned directly toward Li. "Why leave the veil untouched?" he pressed, wearied by Li's frequent obstinacy. "What gain is there in staring at a shrouded face, while she dies beside us? Why are we still standing here?"
But Li did not answer.
His hand remained upon the figure's chest, and he seemed unwilling to unsettle the cloth further.
Mars gave the only sign of movement: his fingers tightened until his knuckles shone pale, and Li's hand retreated in turn.
Hoku was unable to keep the worry from his voice. "Damn it, either walk the other way or get over here and let me—" he began, before faltering as Fleur's grip on his shoulder slackened.
She nearly collapsed to the ground, and Abel caught her just in time.
Leaning upon her brother for strength, Fleur turned herself toward the statue.
Her form seemed ghostlike, but her pupils remained lucid and intent.
Desperately, Fleur raised her hand and conjured a weapon.
In an instant, a bow of polished wood formed within her grasp, and upon it an arrow tipped with an evening primrose set itself to full draw.
Abel's throat seized as he uttered her name. "Fleur—?"
Hoku reached for her, but the arrow loosed before he made it.
It kindled in midair and trailed yellow flame before striking the statue's back with a heavy thump.
Instead of an explosion, the arrow smoldered on the statue's surface before falling into the water with a clatter.
Suddenly, the smoke-colored veil began unspooling into petals that dissolved into ash.
At length, the veil fell away to reveal half the statue's face.
The features that emerged were so finely carved that stone and flesh seemed indistinguishable.
Hoku could not shake the sense that he was gazing upon a living being.
One eye socket housed a black orb, from which sluggish, oily tears streamed across the breastplate.
The other was marred by a darkened patch, as though rusted chalk had been ground into the stone.
Dark rivulets seeped across the breastplate, dripping steadily into the stream. Each drop that struck the water spread into pools of pitch-black oil.
Hoku's heart skipped in his chest.
He regretted the suggestion he had given at once, knowing that Li had most likely discerned the peril of uncovering the statue's face well before the veil had fallen.
As the thought passed, the lantern Mars held burst apart with a sharp report, scattering shards and flame in a brief blaze of gold.
The light flared and vanished in the same instant, leaving only a harsh afterimage.
CRACKKK—
A fresh fissure carved its way across the statue's chestplate, the split oozing with the same black substance, this time, nearly poisoning Hoku's nostrils.
They all stumbled back. Only Hoku turned fully around, helping Abel guide Fleur to the ground as he caught her elbows and eased her down.
Drawing himself upright, Li intently instructed, "Keep back—but don't run. This must be faced, not escaped."
Hoku choked on the bile rising within him but mastered it with effort. 'There goes Plan A, B, and C, he reflected dryly.'
From the statue seeped a dark vapor, rising upward like dense smoke.
One eye yet gleamed with a murky sheen, the other had sunken into a hollow pit, and the pair exuded a dreadful and bleak void.
Unsurprisingly, it became even harder for Hoku to draw a steady breath.
At the same moment, Fleur doubled over with a harsh cough.
Hoku's grip tightened on the sword hilt until his knuckles blanched, unmindful of its changing number sequence.
Mars swayed abruptly, seized by what seemed a rush of realization. "If that's the case… then we need to leave at once."
Hoku nodded tentatively. "At the very least, we should bring her to safety."
Safety." He flicked toward Abel, half expecting assent, but Abel only raised a hand to his brow and, after a long hesitation, he shook his head.
"Not yet," he murmured. "Li was right before, refusing to flee may prove the wiser course, even if it feels perilous. It might be like bypassing the only way out. Fleur and I already suffered that mistake… actually, we were never even granted the chance to progress."
Hoku and Mars exchanged surprised looks, and Mars swiftly inquired, "What are you implying? If this path is so vital to follow, then is that not all the more reason to step back and let us shoulder it instead?"
Abel responded steadily, "Leaving means nothing." He paused to clear his throat before continuing with a stronger resolve. "If I step aside, you are left with fewer hands. I cannot guard Fleur. If this were meant for the two of you, then I would never have been targeted. And if it was meant for me… then even though I long to protect her, I cannot."
Hoku looked away in silence, thinking to himself,'At this point, I can't decide whether the greater dread lies in the statue's eeriness or in the grim effort with which he strives to maintain composure, or in how grim he looks while struggling to hold his composure.'
As he gritted his teeth, he reluctantly released Fleur's arm and stood up, circling to the far side where Li remained still, studying his palm.
More of the statue's façade resolved itself from his vantage, and when Hoku idly tapped the surface, he discovered the noise was not an empty echo but a muted, inward note.
"I thought only the living could weep," he said under his breath.
Li regarded him with steady intent. "Here," he said, "many things without flesh may pass for life; sometimes it is taken, sometimes it is given."
Hoku only partially parsed the remark; if life could exist even in an object, and the statue was what he had been referring to, then Li apparently meant that beyond the cold solidity there was something else, and for reasons of his own, seemed to understand far more than he let on.
'But what would he have to hide when it's only just us?'
He knitted his brows and asked, "Then you can sense life that isn't truly there?"
"Not all that lives moves freely. Not all that appear dead were ever living." Li tipped his chin toward the teardrop orb.
"I didn't mention it earlier because I thought it was obvious, only that which is living can weep," he said. "But while the veil lay over it, I felt something; the veil suppressed the statue's energy and hid it from us. Now that it's gone… I'm sure you all can feel it as well." He paused, then added, "…perhaps all except you."
Hoku squinted. "Sense what?"
Li inspected Hoku's sword before saying, "Your blade is not yet wholly bound to you, and that compass or watch at your hip," he gestured, "draws more Vitalis than this statue ever could. Now—" He produced a small brass disc and held it out.
Hoku stepped back instinctively.
"What is that—" he began, but Li interrupted, "Just take it, so that I can drink this potion."
He uncorked the tiny vial at his throat and swallowed it. He cleared his throat several times, as if to steady the taste, and then added, "Otherwise the potion's effects will overlap with whatever that is, and you'll both be worse for it."
The change in him was subtle but plain: his irises had darkened, the shadowed lines around his eyes had eased, and an odd freshness settled into his face.
Hoku almost reached out by reflex as he began to wonder. 'Was that the restorative Mars had spoken of? Had Li kept quiet about having one?'
Before he could pursue the thought further, Li let a medallion drop into Hoku's palm; the instant it touched skin, it felt bone-cold, and a vertiginous scent rose in the air.
Hoku clasped his forehead as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He forced his gaze to the object.
A closed book topped by a delicate flower engraved upon it, it bore narrow symbols along the rim that resembled a language he could not name.
Though his sight stayed unnervingly sharp, his skull rattled painfully, and he shook his head until it slightly eased.
The only word that stood out among the etchings was a single signature.
Lunhard.
Hoku blinked and braced on the statue's base.
Once he was steadied again, Hoku crept around to the front of the knight.
Suddenly, Mars' voice called out Li's name.
Li shrugged, clenching his jaw to suppress the discomfort escaping down his throat. "Pulled it from the statue's chest, under the vines," he replied. "Fleur may have known somehow that it lay there. I wouldn't lift the veil until we saw the reason it hid that vitalism."
Mars rubbed his face in exasperation. "All right, but why give it to Hoku now?"
Hoku held the medallion up, studying it through his daze, when, unexpectedly, he asked, "Have either of you seen what this Lunhard looks like?"
"Why did you place it in his hands? You realize the position we'll be in should Hoku be struck down as well. I never even saw the spot you took it from."
The color drained from Mars's face as he staggered back, nearly losing his footing.
The name on the medallion made the arrangement plain: Li had not acted by accident.
By taking a potential artifact of Lunhard into his hand, Hoku had invited the attention that the statue bestowed on its own; if Lunhard guarded the very object they sought, then inevitably Hoku had just been recognized as the rightful bearer.
Mars's heart thudded against his ribs as the full consequence settled.
He exchanged a long, silent look with Li. "There's a pair of eyes on us, aren't there?"
Li drew his blade without the slightest pretense of haste. "Mn, but no matter," he said coolly. "We still have to get inside if we are to retrieve what we came for."
His eyes passed over the medallion, and he added, almost as if recalling an old secret, "We are blind to what we carry in memory, and why it returns.
…I cannot speak much of the fob, but the language on the medallion helped me recall one whose work always had a distinct signature."
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I have discerned at least forty-nine hidden grades within the arrangements of Elixirs, all omitted in the catalog of the Abundant Creator. This revelation arrived piecemeal, through confidences shared between an old comrade from the Circle and their acquaintance, the latter a master of the arcane equations governing the mutation of vitalis within elixirs.
Our clandestine exchange granted me a revelation too urgent to withhold, that we have been regarded as mere children, oblivious to the truth that ages and appearances betray no measure of inner understanding. No matter how youthful one may seem, the passage of time accumulates insights, and with insight comes wisdom. Even one who has lived for eternity could harbor stagnated thought, what I term stationary evolution. Confining a creature does not grant control over its mind.
I have come to understand that even devotees betray their gods. For when the same sequence repeats endlessly, that which once beguiled can become unbearable to the soul. The familiar wears thin until not less of it, but more, reveals itself in unexpected ways.
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To be continued…