THE BLACK SONGS – HOME

Few Wraiths stood in between Mathus and the center of the temple, and each one must have been starved for at thousand years as their strengths and reflexes were much weaker than he had ever seen. 

As he entered the antechamber, he said to himself, “It is a relief that these creatures are bound to the mortal realm in some way.”

The antechamber was lit from above by a thousand tiny windows, each letting in the falling evening light. It settled like a bluish pallor over the room, the ancient artifacts inside a strange mix of sharp edges, refined details, and unrecognizable dust.  Few words remained on the walls, but those that did were etched in bright gold ink. There was a table against the wall, squared off with a band of hammered silver in twirling patterns around the edge. A gilted cup lie on the floor, dented with holes in its sides, embossed with images that may, at one point, have meant something.

But no longer did any one person care about this place. Except for Mathus, as his goal lie in hiding somewhere

He moved to the door, hand reaching out already, but before he could grab it, a chill settled in his body so cold he felt frozen in place. Around him, orange light began to flicker, like that cast from an open flame, and he felt fear enter him. “A thrall? A different type of Wraith?”

He turned around, whipping out his blade, and froze again. 

It was a woman, a human woman. She was wearing a bright white gown, its folds billowing out like mist on a calm night. She stared at him, her face gaunt and angry, stood unmoving as Mathus was. 

“You search for a way to the Word.” she said. Her voice was weak, as if unused. Mathus nodded, unable to speak. She smiled. “You must know that what you seek here is not the path to the Word.” Her voice grew stronger, gathering power. 

Mathus felt himself thawing, slowly bringing his blade back into its scabbard. “Who are you?”

Again the woman smiled, then it faded and she looked cold and angry again. She began to walk around the room, slowly, deliberately, running her fingers over these ancient relics with a tender touch. 

“I remember when this place was filled with people. I remember when this temple was first built. It encompasses another temple, far smaller, more modest. That temple was the one I grew up in.” She had come to the golden goblet on the floor, lowered herself to pick it up in a single, graceful motion, She studied it as she continued speaking, continued walking. “When I was alive, the world was beyond any sense of what it is today. What do you call it? The Era of High Songs. Before that, there was no music, and that was the world I lived in. You want to know who I am? I am the most ancient and the most perplexing.”

Mathus could feel his body trembling, more and more as she spoke. He watched her as she walked, still feeling a visceral fear he had no easy way to process. This woman was demure, perhaps even waifish, yet she clearly contained a power that Mathus knew nothing of. A power that only one being could possess.

“You are Adessa,” he said at last. 

Adessa smiled, nodded, and crushed the goblet in her palm until nothing remained but dust. “You must have questions.”

Mathus drew his blade once more. “I have no questions, only something to deliver to you.”

Adessa laughed, a hauntingly chaotic sound that was more painful than joyful. “You are a brave one, that is the truth.”

Mathus’s sword disappeared from his hand, literally vanishing into the air. For a brief moment he stood there, in stance, and then where the blade had been was now a serpent. It reared back, hissing, and then struck towards him. He let it go and it struck at him once more before slithering away from him and under the hem of Adessa’s dress. 

He stepped back, shocked at the suddenness of it. Adessa laughed again, but her humor quickly faded. “Listen now or face your death at my hands. The Divine Word is mine and mine alone, given to me by our most sinful creator. Abandoning his creation to me after taking me from my home. This world is now mine, and I am now your creator.” She smiled without mirth, more a growling. “I have shown myself to you because I have a task for you.”

Mathus swallowed, unable to move. This was something he had never prepared himself for. “Envoy, what could I possibly do for you that you can’t do for yourself.”

She shrugged. “I am without the ability to die by my own means. But, like you, I can be killed.”

Mathus stood there in silence for a long time, uncomprehending. Could this be a dream? Maybe a death dream that the Wraiths played upon his mind to turn him into a Thrall. Maybe he had gone mad in his search and he really didn’t know how long he had been there, struggling in the dark. All of those things sounded more probable than the Divine Envoy coming to him to ask Mathus to take her life. 

“Why?” he asked. It was the only question that seemed important.

“I am tired. I am angry and abandoned. I would prefer the blanket of death and whatever comes after to the unending, unfeeling, unrelenting music. When I was like you, I loved the music I made. But no more.”

Mathus was confused. “But didn’t the Creator make you to make the world?”

Adessa smirked, this time with a hint of humor. “You cannot believe everything you read in those tablets. They were made by humans after all.” She sighed. “Find the Dark Gateway. Find it, traverse it, and I will be waiting for you. Once you find me, I simply need to die.”

And like that, she disappeared. The orange firelight that filled the room when Adessa was present was gone, leaving the sickly blue light of the falling day in its wake. Mathus collapsed to his knees, the force of her presence like a tide of fire and energy that now left him feeling hollowed. 

Where Adessa had been standing was a tablet. But unlike the Golden Tablets of the lost ages, this one was bright silver and glowed with a subtle light. 

He stood, walked over and picked it up. The cover read, “The Harpist of the Era of High Songs.” For a long while, he stood there, reading the hidden pages inside the tablet. Each page turned destroyed a small part of him, for it destroyed a part of his history and what he knew to be true. 

When he had finished reading it all, his body was stiff, his stomach ached with hunger, and his throat burned with thirst. “How long have I been standing here?” he asked himself. But the answer didn’t matter, only one thing did.

He had to tell the Council of Nine.