The Crimson Dawn

“You’re saying that like it’s supposed to mean something, give me those,” Atlas groaned, snatching the pile of letters from his hands. “Most of these are burnt and illegible.”

“Look for the words that are legible,” Zale told her with a small bit of annoyance in his tone.

“Or you could tell me what’s on them,” Atlas offered and all she got was an eyeroll.

“I thought you wanted to find out for yourself,” Zale shrugged, and Altair ripped the pages away.

“You two are acting like children,” he grunted, reading through them. It was a running theme in the group to act like children.

“It’s a bunch of letters addressing a “Nyx”- or that’s my guess anyway since only a few of them can’t be read,” Zale shrugged. “I think Nyx and the Father are siblings with what I could make out.”

“Most of these are all from the same person, they all start out pretty good and just get worse and this one here, might be one of their last correspondents, it’s very angry. It’s signatured with an L, I believe,” Altair told them as he squinted at them. “Looks like some sort of falling out and the date is,” he squinted closer, trying to make out the numbers. “14-3-898.”

“This is from before the Shattered Age,” Zale gasped, taking the page from him with little protest from Altair as he studied the rest of the pages. “We are in a relic. This place must be ancient! How is it still standing?”

As Zale excitedly pondered over that fact, Atlas slipped away from the two to look at the rest of the room. It was less burnt and destroyed but it still held some natural damage to it. Atlas walked over to the big shelf in the corner, most were burnt and destroyed, some were legible but, in a language, Atlas didn’t recognize. The shelf didn’t hit the corner, a vase was in-between, it was empty, and she stepped closer, feeling the dust inside the rim, when she pulled back about to walk away, something shimmered and appeared, eight rolled up maps now sat there. Atlas carefully took one out and opened it, she stared at the hold thing before moving it towards the light to get a better look, her eyes widening then she gathered them all. Atlas slammed them down on the desk, breathing loudly again as she made Zale jump with the impact.

“Atlas, your wind,” Altair muttered as he stared at the letters.

“What? Never mind,” she shook it off, “these are maps.” Altair looked up finally and walked over, grabbing one of them gently as Zale snatched one off the table. Altair muttered something but Atlas wasn’t paying attention.

“These are maps of their time. Kadyn will be so jealous,” Zale smiled, and Atlas jolted at the mention of her father, without the reminder of his presence she had almost been a true member of the Red Sector again. “This is Ravoryn before it went underground. Before it was Sylvisan territory, before the year 1030.”

“Okay, okay great but that’s not all,” Atlas took the map from him, and he whined. “There’s something underneath.” She found a torch on the wall and took it back to them before Zale handed her something he called a flashlight. “Fire’s better.” She stated and then with a click the light shined into her eyes and she looked away. “Zale!”

He laughed as he turned it off. “It’s faster and won’t burn the maps, use the light.”

Atlas glared at him before throwing the torch to the ground with a clatter and ripped the flashlight from his hands. Altair muttered something under his breath again, most likely about Atlas and Zale acting like children. Zale grinned at Atlas as she looked around the base of the metal light for the switch, Altair took it from her, and she heard another click and it lit up. He placed it back into her hands and she stared at him.

“How-?” She stopped herself, she’d figure it out later. She held the metal light awkwardly and found the right angle and the image underneath appeared.

Altair and Zale inspected closely. “It’s a palimpsest,” Zale whispered.

Altair huffed. “That’s with writing.”

“Same concept,” Atlas put her hands out in a stopping motion quickly to stop whatever word fight was about to break out before she turned off the light. “So why hide a map underneath a map?”

“We don’t know for sure it’s a map,” Zale started but Atlas cut it off.

“It looked like a map.”

“Idris and Bastien might be able to unhide the image so we can see it better, but I have a feeling it’s what today looks like,” Altair explained his thoughts and Atlas nodded along. “You have no clue what I’m saying, do you?” He asked Atlas and she shook her head.

“Only a little,” she said and held up her thumb and pointer finger in an almost closed pinch.

He sighed. “Let’s go get the others.” Altair told the both of them, Zale carefully rolled up the Ravoryn map and picked up the other maps.

“Are you good there, buddy?” Atlas laughed as she watched him struggle with eight map rolls.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, and she laughed, taking four away from him.

“Careful,” he ordered, already having an easier time without all eight. Atlas rolled her eyes as she followed Altair out, he was already at the end of the hall. Esmer and Eden joined him quicker.

“What’s with the rolled papers?” Esmer asked as they started waddling down the stairs.

“Palimpsests,” Zale said like that explained everything.

Esmer looked to Atlas. “Don’t look at me, I don’t understand.”

“Typically, it is words written beneath words,” Altair explained. Idris and the others were easy to find once they got down the stairs.

“You want us… to reveal a map… under a map?” Idris asked, looking at the map of Aspyn. It used to be smaller, before the Shattered Age. It had taken Ravoryn’s territory after it had gone underground.

“That is what I said,” Altair nodded, not amused. Atlas took Zale’s metal light again and handed it to Altair who turned it on and handed it back to her. She held it up, finding the right angle again to show the disappearing image.

“But these are historical, wouldn’t magic just get rid of this image on top?” Zale asked, putting his hand over the map like it would protect it.

“That’s Aspyn. We have maps of today’s Aspyn. We don’t have the Shaken Sands,” Vale told them, looking down at the map of Aspyn.

“We don’t have a map of the Shaken Sands,” Cyra shook her head. “We never have.”

“There are eight maps. So, unless there was another land before the Shattered Age, there’s too many maps,” Vale answered and Cyra turned to the pile on the floor, counting them with her eyes before Zale dove through the maps, looking for the Shaken Sands as Altair rolled up Aspyn’s.

“Sunless Grove,” Zale whispered, and he brought the map over. “It looks like the Shaken Sands but… no sand.”

Atlas looked closely. “These are all maps of places before the Shattered Age; that Shaken Sands before our time.”

“We could’ve been swinging through trees,” Idris complained with a sigh. “What happened?”

“The Blood Snake,” Eden told him.

Bastien laid his hand over the map. “It’s enchanted. It isn’t strong.” He grabbed Idris’s wrist and placed it on the map. “Do you feel it?” Idris shook his head. “You’re not trying.” Bastien accused.

“Hey! I tried,” Idris defended. “I’m not good at this magic stuff like you.”

Before they could start an argument, Altair stopped them. “We have another task for Idris, but Bastien can get help from Eden, she’ll be good at finding secrets.” Atlas pulled out the girl’s drawings and handed them to Idris. He looked down at them before looking up with a face.

“These are children’s drawings.”

“The little blonde girl, Lily, she was a seer. She drew us,” Atlas explained, pointing at the drawing on top with Vale and Eden.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” He asked and Atlas felt Altair tense.

“Lady Raven,” Altair told him, and he nodded with a confused look before looking at Lily’s drawings again. He mumbled something before sitting in one of the old chairs. It squeaked underneath his weight but held. “Did anyone else find anything?” Altair asked.

Vale started talking but Atlas wasn’t listening, drawn through the doors that led into the backyard. Her hand slipped into her satchel, lightly grazing the glasses.

“Lamia,” the man greeted. “We weren’t expecting you.”

Atlas pulled out the glasses, holding them in her hand tightly like they might try to fly off. She looked through the garden spotting a gate through the foliage of vines, she pulled off the plants and opened it, revealing a graveyard. It was grim to have one in your very own backyard. Atlas walked through seeing the names.

“Mary Mooren”

“Rey Mooren”

“Penelope Mooren”

“Esten Mooren”

And the last one. “Kasin Mooren: Loyal Companion and Guardian”

Atlas stopped, staring down at his grave. The rest had names, only their names. And growing at Kasin’s headstone were Chrysanthemums. He owned the glasses, but who would take the time to bury him after their house was destroyed? Someone compassionate? Or someone who knew the future. They left his glasses for Atlas to find, so she could find a grave, but why?

Atlas sat down in the dirt and grass, looking at the headstone, this message was for Death, for her. So why couldn’t she figure it out? Her hands felt the glasses again, the brownish stain of blood.

“Unfortunately, the lady is out. Would you like some warm tea before you head home tonight?” Kasin smiled, pointing to the house.

No matter how much she tried she couldn’t see the person he was talking to, even the settings were blurry, it was focused on him and him alone. Atlas had a feeling she didn’t want to see anymore; would his death really be insightful? She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for. But she held the glasses again.

Kasin smiled at Lamia, the look in his eyes the sign of a dead man, he didn’t even flinch when a silver dagger slashed his neck. His face turned sympathetic, and a wave of betrayal washed over Atlas, but it was pushed deep down and bottled up because it was mixed with a bit of love. He fell to his knees gripping his neck, choking on his blood as it gushed through his fingers. As he kneeled in front of Lamia, looking up at her, his eyes weren’t pleading but almost accepting, it was a heart wrenching expression to see on a dead man. He knew. Lamia growled out a few words and slashed him across the face, up his cheek and over his eye, sending the glasses clattering to the ground. Atlas couldn’t follow the figure’s movements, her entire focus on the dying man as he slumped to the ground, his blood pooling and the glasses were an island in a lake.

Seconds passed but it must’ve been hours, Kasin was cold and pale, the sun glinting off his skin. Another figure came upon him, the feelings of power and pressure on Atlas. The figure crouched down, closing Kasin’s eye before picking up his body. Atlas wrenched her eyes away as Kasin’s neck leaned open. When she looked back, she was in the yard, it was less overgrown and trimmed to perfection and with care for the dead. The headstone was placed, and the flowers were babies on a dirt mound. “Not many would be loyal in the grave, Kasin.” The figure whispered as their fingers slipped over his name.

Atlas felt like she was breathing for the first time in her own body as she opened her eyes. She settled the glasses into the ground beside her before she leaned over the grave, dug her fingers into the earth and started carving out the dirt.

✧

The sun was no longer picking out behind the skyline as it had when they had first arrived at the house, and it lightened up the rooms. Zale had left to check on the wagon and Dragons while Altair was quietly listening to what the others had found, small things like names or the state of different rooms. Vale had revealed that they had found a room, charred and broken to where nothing was left, so far it was the only room that was beyond saving, the name of the door was still intact, much to Altair’s surprise, “Lamia”.

“She destroyed her own room?” Esmer asked, a look of surprise crossing his face. “That’s the last thing I would’ve wanted destroyed.”

“Why?” Cyra questioned, giving the pirate a look.

“Because it’s the only place where I have what I want and I can have it,” Esmer grunted, seeming to remember that he had abandoned the place and whatever he had hid in there was more than likely found now.

“Perhaps she was erasing herself, her old self before she became the snake we know today,” Vale offered.

“Why not burn the whole place to the ground?” Esmer asked.

“The place is enchanted to be hidden, why not enchanted against catching fire. The fire should’ve spread quickly if it was magical or acceleranted, perhaps measures were taken to prevent that and it took effort to destroy as much as she did,” Altair explained, his hand going over the wall for a second, feeling the knots and ties and weaving of the magic within but it was so tangled he couldn’t figure out how it was enchanted. He opened his eyes again.

“That would explain why the house isn’t so damaged upstairs, she started down here first,” Cyra stated, looking around the destroyed kitchen before her eyebrows scrunched together. “Where’s Atlas?”

They all jumped when a huge crash from the corner of the room and a small yelp, going for their weapons as they turned and found Idris on the floor, the chair beneath him hadn’t held his weight for very long.

“You okay, bat?” Vale asked, going over to help him up.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his face a little red as he brushed himself off. “Yeah, yeah. Okay, look, from what I’ve deciphered these… two drawings-” he put them on the table. One was dark with only red and orange like windows while the other was a tombstone with child-like writing on it. He pointed at the first one. “This one hit the house, when Lamia came and burned everything because she’s a psycho. This second one is a grave with the name “Kasin Mooren” and then the words beneath it. “Friend and thorn”. No idea what it means, but we should talk to our resident Death Whisperer.” Idris looked around. “Where is she?”

“That’s what we were trying to figure out,” Altair muttered, picking up the second drawing. “Thorn might refer to my people, we have a saying: Tier shshok.”

“And that means?” Idris asked, moving his hand in roll, a sign for continuation Altair had gathered.

“Guard with thorns. This Kasin might be guarding something,” Altair explained. He took the drawing outside into the back garden, everyone else, besides Eden and Bastien who were too engrossed in their work, followed him. Altair spotted the open gate, ripped foliage at the bottom of it like some sort of ritual being casted. He walked through, noticing Atlas digging into the ground rather quickly.

“Looks like Atlas has fallen into the bin,” Idris whispered, and Altair didn’t quite understand his meaning. “Do you want a shovel, maybe?” Idris called, “Just suggesting, might be faster.”

Atlas looked up and stared at him. “I’m almost done.” She went back to digging.

“Is she going to eat it?” he asked.

Altair shook his head, appalled at the thought. “Wolves are rarely scavengers.”

“She’s not a wolf,” Esmer told him, putting emphasis on the word wolf. Idris nodded in agreement. “But unless she eats bones, I don’t think she’s digging it up to eat it.”

“The other undead were in her mind. But they were enchanted beings, tortured souls, trapped in their own bodies after death. How can she hope to talk to it?” Cyra suggested, from the gate.

“The others didn’t stop for a chat,” Esmer grumbled. Atlas snapped her head to look at them all.

“Him. And I can hear you all,” Atlas spoke loudly, as sharp as a spear. “Yes, I do plan to speak to him… although I don’t quite know how that will work.”

“I don’t know if digging up his body was a good place to start learning,” Esmer offered and all he got in return was a stone-turning stare. Esmer held up his hands in surrender and Atlas continued digging, the face starting to appear underneath. “He was not buried far down. I thought you buried your dead further.”

“For elves we bury them near the surface so the roots can encircle them faster,” Altair shrugged.

“I’m sorry what?” Idris asked. “What roots?”

“Trees or other plants if the Elf had a special request.”

“That’s normal.” Idris said and Altair had a feeling the human didn’t mean it.

“We throw our dead in acid pits, Idris, becoming a plant is the better option,” Vale nudged their brother in the ribs again. He mumbled an apology.

“Are you all going to stand there?” Atlas asked them as they stood there near the gates.

“I’m not so sure-” Idris was cut off by Vale pushing him forward as they went over to where Atlas had almost finished digging up the dead man’s torso. Idris turned away from the smell. “There’s flesh.”

Esmer tilted his head. “A lot of it. Is it because he’s not in a box?”

“It takes about a year for a body to decompose in the dirt and ten to fifteen in a coffin,” Atlas said automatically and looked up confused. “I don’t know how I knew that.”

“Death mojo,” Idris offered, and Vale elbowed him again. Atlas took the bloody glasses, wiped them off as much as she could before putting them on Kasin. Nothing happened for a moment. Then the body slowly sat up, his bones creaking and his flesh piecing itself back together to an extent. His eye opened.