Ninvaleth Arkor (The Tower of Bone) Pt 1

NINVALETH ARKOR
A short fantasy horror by Dale Dresden

For Andrew, who showed me the magic,
for Tessa, who made me question it,
and for Amber, who assured me it was real.

Author's Note

This story was written as a challenge between me and a few other writers. I had the idea that we’d each write a ghost story by the day before Halloween and share them with each other. The original draft I wrote was much different than the story you’re about to read. It took place in a house much like the one I grew up in and would have felt much like a Poltergeist fanfiction. I still may finish that story, but I decided it wasn’t the tale I wanted to tell right now.

This story takes place on another planet called Quensolynia (KWEHN-so-LEEN-nee-uh), a world I created in my youth for a novel I’m still working on. I haven’t touched that novel for some time now, but now I’m hearing Quensolynia calling me out to test the waters again. As soon as I put pen to paper on this project, however, I immediately found the world a much darker place than I’d left it. Castles that once stood tall, with parapets touching the sky, were now shrouded in shadow.

While most of what needs explanation regarding this world is divulged in the pages of this story, there are a few things I should go over. For one, the time period of this story is sometime in the late 1430s of Quensolynia’s history. Their technology is like that of our own eighteenth century--particularly the French Revolution--but much of it is more or less advanced. Sorcery is still revered in some continents of the world, but there is now a draw towards science and all things magical are either dismissed as superstition or--more often--burned at the stake.

There is a still a strong desire for conquest on each of the continents, and to explore those dark crevices of the globe that have been forgotten. This is what sparks the expedition you are about to read--the arm of the Qalaqarian King (Vilcoufait II) stretches out to increase the boundaries of his empire and crush all those in his way.

That brings up another point: pronunciation. The Quensolynian alphabet is even simpler than our English in that there is no “z” or “j” in it, and “q” is used more often (but for the same purpose) as “k” (so “Qalaqalar” to us would be “Kalakalar”). Rather than having “x” make two distinct sounds, “x” always makes a “z” sound, and “s” always makes an “s” sound. Quensolynians combine “c” and “h” to get their “j” sound, so “Jack” to them is pronounced “Chack.” All other letters are pronounced the way they look.

I hope this helps some of you, as I realize “foreign” names can often be daunting to pronounce. If you’re interested in learning more about Quensolynian history and culture, I will explore it in depth in a series of novels, the first of which is titled “Where the Dew Hangs Thick.” That one takes place on Earth, and has significantly easier names to pronounce.

As one final note, the lyrics sung by Ingra in this piece are actually from a song I first heard by Annette Hanshaw called Love Me Tonight. Its place in this story is meant to signify the tearing down of the walls between this universe and our own.

Regrettably missing from this digital version is the Quensolynian text which usually appears in the "Nocturne" section of the story, but it shouldn't take away from the tale itself.

--Dale Dresden
October 12, 2015

Nocturne

You dream of a library. A library that contains books that have been written, books that have been lost, and books that never were written. You feel you have wandered into the section of the library devoted to lost tales; those that were never read save by the author. It is dark here; dusty and moldy.

You spot a dark figure among the stacks who can only be the librarian. He’s tall, thin, cloaked entirely in black. As you approach, he takes a tome from one of the shelves and extends it to you. It’s as if he were expecting you and knew exactly the volume you would come here to find.

As you take the dusty tome from his hands (which are quite skeletal), he turns away and fades into the darkness. You open the tome to its first page and find a spidery language written across the leaf. Despite never having seen it before, you find the language comes naturally to you. In this place of forgotten stories, you begin to read.

Ninvaleth Arkor
OR
The Tower of Bone

The Journal of Ulistra, Archaeologist
The Eastern Province of Arneldüen
The Eagle’s Nest Tavern, Lehynta

Day 1

To say that this excursion will be profitable would be an understatement. The ruins of Ninvaleth Arkor hold memories of our ancient history we have long since forgotten. That both King Vilcoufait II and Emperor Gilshast have granted us permission to explore the ruins is evidence enough that we have entered an age when society need not fear the shadows of the past. Urban legends have no place where great scientific minds are allowed to tread.

That isn’t to say I’m going into this unprepared. Ninvaleth Arkor was built in the frozen wastes north of Lehynta, and sunk into the depths of an iceberg after its creator, Sensayeth the Betrayer, disappeared. That was over a thousand years ago, when The Undying War first began, but the tower is rumored to still be very much preserved. My intention is to drill into the ice far enough that we can enter the tower from the top and work our way downward, but the ice may be thick enough that we’ll have to use Taersene’s explosives.

This is without mentioning that many of these necromancer temples come with booby-traps. These ancient “sorcerers” are well-known for being distrustful and hoarding their secrets. I am more than likely to have a few frights throughout the expedition, but I’m certain that it’s nothing I can’t handle. Xartolin, I know, has nerves of steel, but many of our men still hold onto common superstition.

I can’t say I blame them, however irritating it can be at times. Of all necromancer temples, Ninvaleth Arkor has perhaps the darkest reputation. As we all know, Sensayeth isn’t called Betrayer for nothing. It was he who stole the Oxuri—the Great Gems of Starlight—from the Starsmith, Valasentixuros. To what end remains a mystery. Perhaps he thought to use them in some “spell.” Whatever the case, his betrayal sparked the war we still continue to fight to recover the gems. There are some who believe that Sensayeth is still alive and in possession of the gems, but more likely the name is a title passed down from master to apprentice, as is often the case. While a thousand years is not a particularly long span of time for any Quensolynian, to think he would still live without appearing once since The Battle of Frozen Thunder is improbable.

Ninvaleth Arkor, then, was the original Sensayeth’s home. It is said that, after the initial battle, Sensayeth took the bodies of his fallen enemies and built a Tower of Bone. Again, this part is mere folklore--probably the stone is shaped and colored like bone to ward off intruders--but this is more than enough to give the place its evil reputation.

But despite what risks there may be, our hopes are that we will at least find relics of a time long past that may give some indication as to the source of Sensayeth’s power. Additionally, we have not ruled out the possibility of discovering the Oxuri in part or whole. For tonight, however, we rest in the tavern at Lehynta--the last refuge before plunging into that frozen tundra.

Day 2

Delayed! Our guide, Bellastir, tells us that, because of the snowstorm, our expedition will not be able to leave the tavern for at least another two days. While I appreciate Bellastir taking precautions, it is nevertheless frustrating to have come so close and be denied by weather, of all things.

Still, this may not be a complete loss. Bellastir also informed me that there are a few local elders who may still remember the events leading to Sensayeth’s sack of the original town. Lehynta has since been rebuilt, though its population isn’t nearly as strong as it was. In truth, the ruins of the keep on the edge of town are the sturdiest structures of the town to this day. Its a wonder these people don’t die of the cold, their buildings are made of so thin of wood.

The first person I intend to visit is an old crone--blind, and perhaps subject to dementia. She may nevertheless provide some useful information amidst whatever babble she spews.

I also plan to scavenge the ruins of the keep. It may well be that anything of worth was thieved long before now, but it’s worth looking. I’ve overheard the innkeeper telling what appears to be a favorite story of his--”The Haunting of the Watchtower.” Supposedly, a light as of a torch flame can be seen shining from the parapet on occasion, and the innkeeper (as well as most of the townsfolk, no doubt) believe the keep’s guardian is still watching over them, keeping the evil of Ninvaleth Arkor at bay. Whether this is true or not, I can see the light distinctly from my window as I write this, as if the tower were begging me to investigate. If it’s still there after I’m done visiting with the crone, I’ll make the trek up despite whatever Bellastir might protest.

Evening

The events which have transpired this evening and night frighten me so that I hardly have words to describe them, but I must try to set them down here for the sake of keeping a record of my travels.

At dusk, I made my way to the old crone's ruin of a house—the roof collapsing and snow billowing through the broken windows. Though the innkeeper told me that she once lived with two sisters, now she inhabits the house alone. He wouldn't divulge what happened to the two sisters—I can only assume that they have moved away, perhaps having married some young man from a neighboring city. He did, however, reveal the crone's name: Chenny.

Standing on her porch, I felt a sudden urge to turn and run. The wind picked up and whirled snow in my face like some angry specter. This same wind moaned through the cracks in the windows, a chained beast longing to be free. Not a light shone in the place, yet I was assured Chenny would be home. I shook myself, and held my cloak closer for what warmth it could provide. With the other hand I took the rusted brass knocker and pounded thrice on the door. A maiden answered, which surprised me so that when she asked how she could be of service to me, I couldn't answer her straightaway.

“Is your mother at home?” I asked at length.

She laughed, and though she was fair, her laughter reminded me so much of the hungry panting of wolves that I shivered again in spite of myself.

“A mother, yes,” she replied when her fit was done, “though not my own.”

She then opened the door fully, causing a terrible creak, and gestured for me to enter. I stepped over the threshold into the room that was both kitchen and bedroom. The crone sat next to the fireplace which looked as though it had just been put out. A small wooden bowl was in her lap.

“You're just in time to join us for dinner,” the maiden said, though she looked as though she were dressed for bed—she wore a nightgown that was far too revealing for this woman's tastes. Nevertheless, she took a pot from the fireplace and scooped out a meaty stew into two other bowls before serving the crone, who remained silent.

We ate in silence, and I admit I didn't completely dislike the stew. The maiden claimed it was made mostly of veal.

“Where did the calves come from?” I asked. “I didn't noticed any young cows on the way through town.”

The maiden only smiled and sipped her tea. That eerie feeling came over me again that told me I should hurl the bowl at her and race out of the house as fast as my legs could carry me, but I remained. My desire to learn from this crone outweighed my fear for the moment. I did, however, refrain from eating any more of the stew.

The maiden set her teacup, now empty, back on its saucer and began to clean up. The crone Chenny's bowl was empty, though I hadn't seen her move the entire time I'd been sitting next to her. A veil lay over her face, but it didn't look as though it had been lifted or parted, either. Long scarlet robes concealed the rest of her body.

“I'll leave you,” the maiden said, and before I could stop her, she went out into the cold without a cloak or coat to protect her. I was left alone in silence with Chenny.

I jumped when suddenly a voice croaked from the veil: “Comesie you with questions, yyyesss, and I hasie answers, my pet.”

I hesitated, then said, “I was told you could tell me about Ninvaleth Arkor. I'm doing an excavation of the tower, you see, and—ˮ

“I bes knowing many things about them towering, yyyesss, but only two bes the questions you may askers Chenny.”

She was obviously trying to play the part of a witch. I decided to humor her and play along.

“Isn't it normally three questions?” I inquired.

“Yyyeeesss,” she crooned, “but with that, you're down to two again, my pretty.”

“Well, then the easiest way to get the most information out of you is by asking what you know about Ninvaleth Arkor.”

Chenny seemed to shrink back a bit, and I knew it was because she had made it easy for me to outsmart her. While I admit she played the atmosphere of a witch well enough, her trickery was losing its touch.

“Hsss,” she gathered herself. “Knowsie nothing about them towering's buildin's. Wasn't bes yet, no, not Chenny. Sisters, yyyesss, but thems all gonesie now. Them Undying Warsie, them I knowsie many a thing. Them witchie-man, he bes taking thems glitterings into his towering, and them star-man, he bringsie whole army to getsie them back. Loud. Hurt my earsies.

“Then star-man seal them towerings in them ice. Cold. Dark. He bes thinking he trapsies them witchie-man in them ice, but them witchie-man bes much clevering than that. Findsie way out, he did. Comesie he to Chenny, and Chenny asks him to makesie her a pretty thing. Witchie-man grants Chenny's wish, oh yyyeeesss, witchie-man always givesie what people wants.

“Says he, 'Keepsie them looksie glass and makesie it grow, and one day a girl bearing them star-torch will comesie to you. She bes mine.' That bes the price he asks for his magickings, and who bes Chenny to deny them goodsie witchie-man?”

A million questions now raced through my head, due in part to Chenny's difficult dialect. I tried to choose my next question carefully, but I was almost certain it would be the wrong one. Meanwhile, Chenny had taken a hand mirror out of her robes and was gazing into it, stroking the glass with affection.

“Are any of the Oxuri still in the Tower of Bone?” I asked after a time.

The crone seemed to smile under the veil, “Yyyeeesss. But you might have askered me about them torchie-girl, or for safe passage back to them towning. Pity you wastered them first question. Now them wolfsie-girl be back, and what a grand breakfast she'll make of you.”

A tittering that as inhuman came from beneath the veil. With sudden impulse I lunged forward and ripped the fabric from her face. To my horror, it was not a human face that stared back at me, but that of a vulture, meat still hanging from her curved beak. Her tittering grew louder as she saw the terror in my face.

At last, I tore myself from her black gaze and ran for the door, only to find the maiden waiting on the threshold. I recoiled back towards the crone as the maiden's body began to contort and spasm. White hair grew all over her body, and her lips spread to show a mouth that was all canines. Within the space of a few moments, it was not a maiden who stood before me, but a snowy dire wolf. Teeth bared, she growled deep in her throat and lunged at me.

Frantically, I hurled myself into the bed, her claws missing me by inches. She crashed into the fireplace, causing Chenny to squawk angrily, but she recovered quickly. The pot that held their grisly stew flew in my direction, and I scrambled to grab it when it landed on the pillow—my only hope to defend myself from the next attack.

I was lucky—it came with plenty of warning. The werewolf lunged again, but one of her back legs caught on the leg of Chenny's chair, knocking her off balance. As she hurtled toward me, I swung the pot into her gnashing jaws with all my might, and was rewarded with the sound of both cracking bone and a painful yelp.

I wasted no time, bolting for the door, but something grabbed my foot and I slammed to the ground. Looking back, one of Chenny's talon-like hands gripped my foot in an iron grasp as she screamed, “YOU'LL BE SSSSSOOOO TASSSSSSSTYYYY, MY PRETTYYYYYY.”

With the other foot, I kicked into that carrion face like a woman possessed. I brought it down more times than I remember, but it was the werewolf's growl that brought me back to this world. In a terrified frenzy, I picked up Chenny—who vomited violently into my face—and threw her at the beast. I then barreled out the door, praying that my sudden burst of strength would buy me enough time to make it back to town.

I fully expected claws or talons to pierce into my back and send me head-over-heels into the snow; to be dragged back to that cannibal house, but the only sound I heard was a fearful howl that only might have been the wind.

Night

Despite my fright with the witch and the werewolf, I managed to collect myself enough to travel to the watchtower that night. Xartolin demanded to accompany me--for my protection--and for the first time since I can remember, I found I could not argue with him. We saddled our horses and rode out into the storm. I considered turning back more than once, but the tower’s beacon continued to shine through the furious snowfall. I had to follow it for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, although now I begin to wonder if I was drawn there by supernatural means. Perhaps this whole expedition has been guided by the hand of some higher power. Regardless, the fact that we heard no wolf howl amidst the storm helped put my mind at ease.

As we approached the keep, however, the snow became so deep that we had to dismount and lead the horses on foot, digging a trench in the snow with our boots. Xartolin led the way, his muscular build better equipped to plow through the snow than my own thin frame. It took us well over an our to trudge to the keep’s base, and when we began we could not have been more than a league or two away. There we rested, the effort having taken the breath away from both of us, and the horses completely spent.

“I hope whatever you seek here is worth it,” Xartolin stated when he’d caught his breath.

“I don’t know that it will be,” I replied, “but I have a better feeling about this place than I did at the crone’s.”

Xartolin grunted agreement, “There is something here. It’s not quite tangible, and I’m not entirely sure it’s benevolent, but...there’s a mercy to it, I think.”

“A mercy?” I considered this. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.”

“You’d best go ahead on your own,” Xartolin sighed. “Someone needs to stay and look after the horses, and we both know you’d prefer to go alone.”

I opened my mouth to protest that this was not the case, then closed it. Xartolin smiled, seeing he was right.

“Here,” he said, handing me his dagger. “It’s not much, but it could save your life. The blade is silver, in case you happen to run into your furry friend again.”

I thanked him, and began my ascent up the cracked stone steps of the keep. Snow piled itself in neat hills as it drifted through the windows. Looking out one of these, I could see the faint lights of Lehynta like far away stars. Everything seemed very peaceful; my initial fears were now forgotten.

I made the rest of the ascent with little difficulty, and found that the watchtower’s beacon had indeed been lit. Before it sat a man in tattered black robes, his hood drawn up. He rubbed his hands over the fire, warming himself.

“Come,” he said in a voice that was crisp as the rustle of leaves, yet deep as thunder. “Warm yourself. You’ve risked much to come here, Ulistra, including your life.”

“How do you know--?” I began.

“I have many contacts, some of whom are among the nobility, and I have made it my duty of late to know all I can about the affairs of King Vilcoufait.”

“You’re spying on him?”

“I have only the best interests of all Quensolynia in mind, I assure you. Sometimes, this requires me to perform actions I would otherwise find distasteful.”

I approached, the warmth of the fire too tempting, but I held firmly to the dagger underneath my cloak.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“A servant of the very throne Vilcoufait now sits on, but that is not your real question. My name matters little. What you really want to know is why you were drawn to me.”

I started. That was, indeed, the question that had come to my mind.

“It’s simple, really,” he continued. “We both seek the same thing: access to Ninvaleth Arkor. You, however, have a dilemma in that your guide has never been further north than this tower.”

“He assures me he has been through the mountains; that he’s glimpsed the Tower of Bone frozen in ice.”

“Men will lie for money.”

I glared at him, “I assume that in bringing this up, you’re also going to propose a solution to my problem?”

“Indeed,” there was a grin in his voice beneath that hood, “I will be your guide.”

“I barely know you.”

“There are waters around the Tower of Bone that have not frozen. Sea waters that are very treacherous. You will need a ferryman, and you’ll not find a better one than I. There are other dangers besides this, as you know, and I can aid in navigating them, as well.”

“You’ve...actually been in the tower, then?”

“Did you think the king was the only one to covet the lost Gems of Starlight? Indeed, I have traversed as far as I could without a skilled team such as your own, but the ice blocks any passage further. Your explosives expert should be able to clear the way, if he’s not a complete fool and doesn’t bring the tower down on top of us.”

“And your price?” I asked, though I already knew what it would be.

“The Oxuri. You will hand it to me should you find it.”

“And the king?”

“Tell him you couldn’t find it. Tell him the sea took it when the tower sunk into the glacier, or that Sensayeth escaped with it all those years ago. We know the Betrayer has at least one.”

“What you’re asking me to do,” I said slowly, “is treason.”

“Is it?” the hooded figure stood and circled the fire. “What if I told you that, hidden away in a prison he hoped no one would ever discover, the king has imprisoned his own sister? An older sister, I might add.”

“He usurped the throne?” What proof have you of this?”

“I have the certificate of her birth,” he produced a parchment from his robes, “And were that not enough, I could take you to the very cell of that dungeon, for it was I Vilcoufait ordered to imprison her.”

I stammered, unsure what to say. The certificate he’d handed me in all ways looked legitimate, signed by Vilcoufait the First’s own physician. I handed the parchment back to him, and it disappeared back into the folds of his robe.

“You know the king,” the hooded figure continued. “You’ve seen the atrocities he commits, starving his own people and waging war against peaceful nations. If you could trade this sovereign for one even half as corrupt, would you not do it?”

It took me only a few moments to consider.

“I will aid you in finding the Oxuri,” I replied, “but I will have no part in this regicide you plot. When our arrangement is concluded, I will report you to the authorities.”

“And they will never find me.”

A moment passed where we merely stared at each other through the flames of the beacon.

“We have an arrangement, then?” he asked, and the grin returned to his face.

Day 3

We set out with the dawn, Bellastir quite angered by his sudden loss of a job. I assured him that, should I find need of a guide for any future expeditions, I would look him up in Ruing. This plus the extra ten gold pieces help to cool his nerves, and we parted on relatively good terms.

Our new guide told us he would secure a boat, but that we would need to determine the necessary possessions to take with us. The river through the mountains, he said, was wide enough for a small boat, but that meant less weight could be carried in it.

“Couldn’t we just take more than one boat?” I asked.

“If you want your men dashed on the icy rocks before we reach Ninvaleth Arkor, yes.”

While there were some grumbles about this among the company, all agreed life was more precious to them than any possessions. Xartolin had what items we couldn’t carry locked in a trunk at the inn. The innkeeper said he would look after them, and in the short time I’ve known him, I’ve learned he’s a man of his word.

We rode to the nearby port city of Qoman, found a suitable stable for the horses, and met our guide at the docks. The boat he’d found was a small sailboat with a single oar. Storage areas were at the bow and stern, but it was immediately obvious that even with this allotted space, we would find ourselves tightly packed.

“Which of you is the most skilled sailor?” the hooded guide asked as we approached. Ingra, who had sailed us over the sea from Qalaqalar to Arneldüen, answered.

“You will assist me as far as the mountains,” the guide directed. “I am better with the oar than I am with a sail, but once we reach those icy waters I will need you at the bow to watch for submerged...dangers. Are we agreed?”

Ingra only nodded and boarded the vessel. The rest of us began loading what we had onto the boat while Ingra and our guide prepared the ship. Just as we were about to set sail, however, one of the crew drew me aside.

“What is it, Taersene?” I asked.

“I won’t be going with you,” he replied. This astounded me. Taersene had been one of the most ambitious members of the crew since we began, always there to put us in good spirits when morale was low. Yet now he looked at me with a face that seemed ill.

“Are you not well?” I inquired.

“No,” he said, then, “Yes. I don’t know. There’s something about this new guide you’ve chosen that turns my stomach like boiling water. I’m afraid...”

He bent over as if in pain, and for a moment I thought he really would be sick.

“I’m afraid,” he continued when he could speak, “that if I go with you...I may never return.”

I put an arm around his shoulder, partly to keep him from doubling over and partly to comfort him.

“We have good, skilled men in our company,” I told him. “Men I trust with my life.”

“Do you trust this guide with your life? This man who would not even tell you his name?”

I hesitated.

“Taersene,” I said, looking him directly in the eyes, “I understand your concern, and I don’t with to force you to go any further than you would willingly go. But the rest of us sail on. You may wait for us at The Eagle’s Nest if you wish. Tell the innkeeper that all of your expenses will be paid for upon our return.”

Taersene managed a small smile, “Thank you, m’lady. But I do wish you’d come back with me.”

“Go,” I said. “We will talk of the wonders of Ninvaleth Arkor when I get back.”

And with that, the young man headed back into the city to gather his horse, and we sailed out into the Homonel Sea.

* * *

We reached the frozen peaks by midday--the wind was in our favor. Then, indeed, our guide dropped the sail and pulled out the single oar. Ingra sat at the bow, calling out rocks and submerged glaciers as they came.

“It isn’t the rocks that concern me,” the hooded ferryman said. We all looked to him for explanation, but his eyes were on the thin opening in the glacial cliffs, and he said no more. Xartolin stood up, rocking the boat slightly as he did so.

“I’ve had enough of mysteries and riddles for one day,” he said. “If we go into danger, you owe it to us--as our guide--to warn and properly prepare us for it.”

The hooded ferryman looked taken aback, but his response was fierce.

“I owe you nothing,” he snarled through clenched teeth. “You ask me to take you on a safe path to the tower. I tell you now there isn’t one. I tell your companion to keep watch for your safety, yet for your sanity I tell you not what to keep watch for. All that I reveal and all that I keep hidden are for the benefit of a safe if not speedy journey. So I suggest, Master Xartolin, that you kindly sit back down and try not to rock the boat too much with your muscle.”

It was Xartolin’s turn to open his mouth in protest and then promptly close it. He scowled at the ferryman, but carefully sat down. I admit a smile formed on my lips.

“This I will tell you, for I have traveled far and I have learned many things,” the ferryman spoke as we entered the gap in the ice. Here we could see the gaping mouth of an archway with runes over the top. “One day, far from now and on another world in a parallel universe, a young man will reach a dark turn in his life. He will dream of this river and the archway, and of the things that lie beyond. And Qraw help him if he remembers any of it upon waking.”

“You will find few here who believe in Qraw,” I said.

“It matters little,” the ferryman replied, gazing at the archway, “He believes in you.”

“ ‘All that lies here is Reticent,’” Ingra read the inscription as we passed under the archway.

“The waters, Ingra!” the ferryman cried. “Look to the waters!”

“The inscription. What does it mean?” Xartolin asked.

“It means that nothing here is as it seems. Ingra, if you see a shadow in the water that doesn’t seem to be cast by anything, or if your reflection appears somehow...different, get as far from the water as you can. Ulistra, would you mind lighting a torch?”

“I have a lantern,” I replied, fetching it from my pack.

“Even better. Light it quickly and hold it high as you can over the boat so we can see as much around us as possible.”

Xartolin aided me in sparking a flame in the lantern, then took it from me since he was taller than me by at least a foot. He raised it, and yet the water around us seemed darker; thicker than normal.

“Open the lantern as far as it will shine,” the ferryman whispered.

“I can’t think of a better way of saying ‘here we are!’ than this,” Xartolin grumbled, but did as he was told.

“There!” Ingra cried, pointing into the water beneath us and to the starboard side. Xartolin swung the lantern to where she indicated.

“Where?” he cried.

“It was just there!” Ingra replied, looking over the port side now. “A shadow in the water like some sea creature!”

“They are no sea creatures,” the ferryman murmured, “but they can swim, and I do not think they need breath. Carefully now, do you see it again?”

A few moments passed, then Xartolin said, “No.”

“Please, sir,” I cried to the ferryman, “if there is something that lurks in these waters, tell us what it is. I have seen witches and werewolves on this expedition, and I’m not entirely certain you yourself are of this earth. If my sanity is to be broken by the knowledge, let it be now rather than later.”

The ferryman regarded me as he began to row faster. I thought I saw pity in what little I could see of his face. Or perhaps remorse.

“Imagine a being who only becomes corporeal by existing near other conscious beings,” the ferryman explained. “A being, if you will, that cannot exist if thoughts are not present. Our coming here has brought this creature back from the Void--it sensed our thoughts and has come to feed, not on flesh, but on our minds.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” Xartolin growled. “Such a creature can’t exist!”

But just then three loud knocks came from the underside of the boat. We all sat very still.

“What’s it doing?” Ingra whispered.

“Playing,” the ferryman replied. “Like a cat with a mouse. The more terrified you are, the more delicious you become.”

“Take us back!” Ingra nearly screamed. “Take us back now!”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” the ferryman said, and sounded genuinely sorry. “We’d run the risk of it following us and endangering the world the same way a plague rat would spread disease.”

“How do we kill it, then?” Xartolin asked, grabbing his sword.

“I know of no way to kill it, but you can fight it. They have no love of fire--this much I know.

“We near the tower now. It will try to strike one of us before we reach the dock. Prepare yourselves. If it latches onto you, you must take the lantern and burn the afflicted area immediately. Better a burned limb than whatever fate this leech has in store for us.”

We rounded a bend in the river and now we could see a dilapidated dock no more than twenty meters away. The ferryman threw caution to the wind and rowed with all haste, but distinctly another three knocks could be heard beneath our feet. Xartolin swung the lantern about wildly, searching desperately for any sign of the creature. Ingra rocked herself gently and wept, singing some lullaby of her homeland. I kept careful watch over them both, lest I see some creature crawl out of the depths to feast.

“Not far now!” Xartolin shouted. He was trying hard to sound confident, but this voice shook terribly. He was right, however--in another moment or so, we would be at the dock. I wondered, briefly, if that would be our salvation, or merely trading the frying pan for the fire. If it still clung to the bottom of the boat, then the easiest solution would be to burn the vessel once we docked, but that would mean sacrificing our gear and, perhaps, our only way home.

The boat lurched to a halt, startling me. We’d reached the dock and Xartolin practically heaved me over the side of the boat onto the frosty shore. His sword was drawn and he held the lantern aloft. The ferryman helped Ingra out of the boat, grabbing some of the supplies as he did like a man poking a wasp’s nest. Ingra was still singing to herself. I feared her mind had gone.

“Bring me the lantern,” the ferryman demanded. “With haste!”

Xartolin handed him the lantern and the ferryman shone it in his eyes.

“Ach!” Xartolin cried. “What in blazes do you think you’re doing?!”

“Show me your eyes! Now!”

Xartolin did his best to open his eyes to the light in his face.

“Good,” the ferryman seemed satisfied. “Very good. Ulistra.”

I came forward and allowed him to shine the lantern into my face, hoping that he would (or wouldn’t) find whatever he was looking for.

“Good,” he said after what felt like an age. “Ingra.”

Ingra remained where she was, singing.

“Ingra! Pull yourself together!” Xartolin barked.

“She’s had quite the fright,” I said, approaching her. “Poor dear.”

“Don’t touch her!” the ferryman cried. He raised the lantern to Ingra’s eyes, and I screamed when the light revealed what was there.

There were no eyes. In their place were two small black holes, churning forever into darkness; into Void. Her head cocked to one side, and when she opened her mouth to sing, a clicking sound as of mandibles could be heard in her throat. Although the song felt oddly familiar, I can now attest to the fact that I had never previously heard it, and hope I never will again:

Oh, let me feel your arms
and let me feel your kiss
and if this great big world must end
oh, let it end like this
let it end like this
let it end like this
let it end like this...

That last line she kept repeating in the exact same tone and pitch, as if it were not her that spoke, but a recording of her voice stuck on that singular sentence.

The ferryman tore off part of his robe, wrapped it around the oar, and thrust it into Ingra’s face like a spear. Ingra--or the thing that wore Ingra’s flesh--screamed a screeching, inhuman whine that was not unlike the buzzing of mosquitoes. As the flesh melted away from Ingra’s body, the high whine formed words.

“Theees eees how sheeee weeeel end, Har rae el. Eeen flames.”

In one impossibly fast motion, the ferryman seized Xartolin’s sword and sliced off Ingra’s head, which went flying into the river and disappeared. The body stumbled forward like a blind man, paused, then collapsed in a heap that turned the snow around it red.

“Back to the Void, demon,” the ferryman snarled. He grabbed the flaming oar and put it out in the snow, but the body he left burning. He stared at it for a moment, and perhaps a single tear rolled down his cheek and fell to the frozen ground below, but then he beckoned for us to follow him.

The path lead briefly through a tunnel, and when it opened again I could see below me the tallest spire of Ninvaleth Arkor, frozen into the glacier that preserved it in time.

“It...it really is made of bone,” I stammered.

“Yes,” the ferryman said gruffly. “Quensolynian and horse and even dragon. All the dead souls who fought in The Battle of Frozen Thunder, save two.”

“The Star Lord and the Betrayer,” I said, and the ferryman nodded.

“What’s your plan now that your demolitions expert didn’t accompany us?” he asked.

“How did you--?” Xartolin began. “Nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

“That’s right. You don’t.”

“He left the dynamite with us--he knew we’d still need it,” I said. “I suppose one of us will have to plant the dynamite and just hope it’s not enough to kill us all.”

“Let it be me, then,” Xartolin volunteered. “The two of you can stand back, and that way if I botch the thing you still might be able to find a way back.”

“Very well,” the ferryman said. “Let’s hope you have brains to match your brawn.”

“Is there a problem?” Xartolin growled. “Because ever since you started on this expedition it’s seemed like you don’t like me, Harael.”

“You remind me of someone I have very good reason to hate,” the ferryman replied in a gibing tone.

“Please, gentlemen,” I intervened. “There’s been quite enough excitement already, thank you very much. Our excursion requires you to work with each other, not to like each other.

“Now, Harael--if that is your name--I believe Xartolin has a valid point. You know these passages best, and as leader of this company I am instructed not to place myself in any unnecessary danger (however much I may have failed at that already). You also know how best to deal with those...things, and how to navigate the river--all things we will need on our return journey. With no offense intended to either one of you, Xartolin is the least valuable of us at the moment.”

“I’m glad you agree with me,” Xartolin smirked, “for once.”

“As I said, very well,” the ferryman said through clenched teeth, “but if either of you use that name again, I will forget our arrangement. You will turn a corner and find I am not there; that I have left you here to die. We are not friends. Do not presume to treat me as such.”

He turned away, striding down the path without a care as to whether we followed. After Xartolin and I exchanged a glance, we followed at a distance. All was silent save for the occasional cracking shift of ice.

The path led upward, but was blocked by ice. Presumably, this led to where the tower once stood. The ferryman, however, turned and faced the tip of the spire. Here could be seen a hole in the bone, as if something had blasted its way through.

“We'll have to leap across the gap,” he said, and did not wait to hear from us before making the jump himself. He fell down the hole and a distinct thud was heard a short time later. Xartolin went next, landing on the spire and balancing awkwardly over the hole.

“What are you doing?” the ferryman's voice called up. “The bone won't support your combined weight. Drop down and let her jump through.”

Xartolin looked to me, and I nodded, Do as he says. The bone, though mostly frozen, looked brittle. Xartolin disappeared through the hole, and I prepared myself for the jump. I backed up, made a running start...and slipped at the cliff's edge, hurtling pell-mell through the ceiling of the spire and making the hole twice as large. I collapsed on the floor in a heap, bone fragments chattering around me. I expected some sarcastic remark from our guide, but he was examining the floor of the room with keen interest. Xartolin helped me up and we both walked over to him.

“Dung,” Xartolin stated.

“Yes, and shat no more than five days ago,” the ferryman replied. “Probably by hoar goblins.”

“Goblins?!” Xartolin exclaimed. “You never said there would be goblins!”

“Because I didn't know. My guess is they're scavengers—not unlike yourselves—if indeed there is more than one. It's more likely, though, that one got separated from the group is is now wandering through the dark—if it still lives at all.”

“Still, one goblin alone is stealthy enough to throttle all of us in our sleep!”

“You, perhaps, but as for me...I'd like to see it try. There are far worse things in this place than goblins. You can be sure of that.”

“Regardless,” I cut in, “we'll have to be on our guard and deal with the problem if it arises. We may not even cross paths with the beast. Please, sir, lead on.”