Page 83 of Mountains of Mist and Magic

“What's that about?” Renya asked, stopping to look at the scene ahead of them. Through the darkness, there was a host of bioluminescent colors in all shapes, but they couldn't make out the details of what was beyond the cave. It was as if there was an aged and broken mirror distorting their view.

“Don't approach it.” Cyrus came up from behind, struggling over the rocks a bit, before getting less than a foot away from the screen-like divider. He put his hands out, as if feeling for some type of energy or magic radiating from it. Phillippe couldn't begin to fathom what it would feel like since he'd never had magic.

“It requires a payment,” Cressida said smugly. “A magical payment. And a rather large one. Why do you think I was siphoning off all that magic?”

“Because you're a greedy witch,” Grayden mumbled under his breath.

Cyrus looked at Cressida, then back at the group. “She's right, I'm afraid. I'm not sure why, but it does.”

“I would have thought it was rather obvious,” Cressida said, mocking Cyrus with her condescending tone. “The Gods didn't want one single person to gain entry into the heart of the mountains.”

“And why is that?” Agatha asked.

“Because it'll take more than one person to make it through the trials.”

Chapter Forty

Renya's face was dark red, and her entire body shook with anger. “That's it, tell us everything, now!”

Cressida just tittered, and it took everything in Renya not to murder her on the spot. It would be so easy, and she was sure everyone would join in. It would be like the murder of Julius Caesar, and everyone could take a turn...

“I didn't know it before we entered this shore, daughter,” she sneered. “But look above you. What's carved on the mountains?”

Renya had noticed the etchings when they were pulling into the bay, but they were too far away to make out. Now, as she gazed upward, the carvings came into sharp focus. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the shapes, their significance dawning on her with startling clarity.

A deer, a fox, and a bear.

The symbols seemed to pulse with a mystical energy, as if they were more than mere carvings but living entities watching over them. Renya felt a shiver run down her spine, a mixture of awe and trepidation coursing through her veins.

“It is clever...” Cressida mused. “All three together...though I'm surprised about the bear.”

“What in the Gods' names are you rambling about?” Grayden roared, his patience clearly wearing thin.

“Nothing,” she said, but Renya knew she was lying, or at least had a hunch of what was going on. But before she could force an answer out of her mother, Cressida had moved forward, her hands outstretched.

“We've come,” she said simply, speaking to the iridescent wall.

Sion snorted, and Renya almost joined in with him. Absolutely nothing happened. Renya turned towards her father to see if he had any ideas, but then the ground started to shift beneath their feet. The rocks and pebbles rolled back towards the beach. They all struggled as the ground underneath them tumbled away, leaving nothing but a smooth, granite-like surface.

Suddenly, from the archway, a figure emerged. Renya rubbed her eyes, trying to make sense of what she saw.

“An oread.” Her aunt gasped softly.

“A what?” Renya asked.

The oread emerged from the shadows of the cave, her form seamlessly blending with the rugged terrain. Her skin, a rich, earthy brown, seemed to be dusted with fine grains of granite. Her hair cascaded down her back in wild, flowing waves, a mixture of dark browns and shimmering silver strands that caught the light. Her eyes were a deep green flecked with gold, like the moss on a tree stump. She moved with a fluid grace, her slender form wrapped in a garment woven from delicate vines and leaves, adorned with tiny, glistening crystals that sparkled with every movement.

“What's an oread?” Phillippe asked. Grayden slugged him in the ribs.

The creature spoke, her voice lithe and lilting. Renya had expected her tone to be gravelly and rough like the mountains around her.

“Do you seek to know about me, or do you wish to know about the perils ahead of you? For I will only answer once.”

“No one asks her anything,” Cyrus said sternly. He looked directly at Phillippe, and Renya swore her brother-in-law reddened slightly.

“An oread is a mountain nymph,” Cressida answered. “Another so-called myth. I believe the Spring Lands have an Oread Festival, however.”

The nymph ignored Cressida. “To pass requires a sacrifice. A payment.”

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