Page 117 of Rising Out of the Darkness
Peeling open my eyes, I sighed in relief to find myself inside the garden walls.
The air was chilly tonight. I could see my breath as little clouds of white swirled in front of me with every exhale. Wrapping my cloak around me, I admired the beautiful scenery.
The lights flickering inside of hanging lanterns illuminated the vibrant garden. At this hour, the only sounds I could hear were from the cicadas and the roar of the waves as they crashed into the shore. For once, my mind was at ease.
As I lifted my head towards the night sky, blanketed with what looked like millions of tiny glistening fireflies, I proceeded to tell them everything that had happened since I had left my hometown.
When I finished, my shoulders sagged as if I had physically removed the weight I had been carrying on my shoulders this entire time. Sitting in silence, enjoying the peace surrounding me, my eyes begin to feel heavy. I made the decision to head back to the castle to sleep.
As I rose, my body jerked back, and I realized my cloak had gotten caught on something next to the bench. I tried giving it a tug, but whatever was attached to my cloak wasn’t letting go. With a huff, I squeezed my body through the peony bushes surrounding the bench, then lowered down to the ground to see what was keeping me attached.
With one hand, I reached underneath the bush, feeling around for the root that my cloak was probably hooked on. Cool metal grazed my fingertips, and I jumped back in surprise. Why would there be metal underneath a bush?
I leaned even further down into the ground, my face now flush with the mossy dirt. I had to blink a few times to make sure my tired eyes were seeing what was in front of me. My cloak seemed to be wrapped around a latch for a door.
Why is there a door in the garden?
Since the stubborn cloak refused to detach, I pulled out my dagger and released it with a slice. Curiosity overtook mydecision-making abilities, and I cut away the moss to reveal more of the latch.
Digging my heels into the ground for leverage, I attempted to pull the latch. The ground cracked slightly, but not enough. This door hadn’t opened in a very long time, and it was now sealed shut with soil and moss.
Crouching down, I began to feel around in the soil, looking for the edges of the door. Just when I was about to toss my hands up in defeat, I felt what must be the corner. A rush of adrenaline began pulsing through me.
I frantically searched for edges with my fingers as I used my dagger cut into the earth to release them. I grabbed the latch and pulled with all my might.
To my surprise, the door released itself from the ground. Sheathing my dagger, I stood and lifted the door all the way open and tossed it backwards into the soil. Wincing at the thud it made, I froze, waiting to see if anyone was alerted. After a few minutes of uneasy silence, I assumed no one was coming.
Below the door was a narrow stone stairway. Darkness loomed beneath, and a chill seeped out from within. Goosebumps rose over my arms and legs.
Beside me was a tree full of hanging lanterns. Standing on my tiptoes, I grabbed the closest one. With my dagger in one hand and the lantern in the other, I made my descent down the stairs.
With each step the air became heavier, mustiness overpowering my senses. I had to pause every so often and take deep breaths to not retch from the pungent smell. Just when I thought these stairs were some cruel torture device that led to nowhere, the lantern light illuminated the stone floor ahead.
Thank gods.
Lifting the lantern, I did a slow spin. Moss-covered walls were lined with bookshelves filled with ancient leatherbound texts, like the one where I had learned about the original LightPhoenix. There was a desk in one corner. Parchment lay on top in a stack, a quill sitting in its inkwell. On the opposite wall a long table held bottles filled with assorted liquids and items. Above the table hung dried herbs and plants, along with several tangled crawler webs. Minus the layers of dust and webs, this place looked like the owner had just stepped out for a quick dinner, then never returned.
My fingers trailed over the books as I walked over to the desk. I lowered myself onto the wooden stool, hoping it would hold my weight. It creaked but held firm.
I riffled through the stack of papers. It appeared to be endless lists of flowers, plants, and herbs. Perhaps this was where the keeper of the garden had their office. There were multiple drawers in the desk, so I pulled out the rectangular drawer first. Inside lay a leather notebook that seemed to be overflowing with loose pieces of parchment. Pushing the drawer closed, I cleared off a space on top of the desk and slid the notebook on top. A leather strip was wrapped around it, holding it together. Once I unraveled it, the notebook exploded, papers flying all over the desk.Of course.
Rolling my eyes at my clumsiness, I gathered up the papers while glancing over their contents as I went. These looked like letters.Interesting.
Once all papers were collected in a stack, I started reading.
They were letters. No names, just the initials, L and S, penned at the top and the bottom of each letter. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, just conversations between two friends. Until it became something more. As I read, my pulse quickened.
Dear L,
I’m afraid our time has finally run out. We’ve received word from our sources that he knows what we have been up to these past few months. I know that we’re very close to finding a solution to our dynamis problem, but I fear we’re running out of time. We’ve given it a good fight, and I’m confident that others will continue in our place, should anything happen to us both. Please, protect yourself and your boys. Get out of that place while you can.
Someone has punctured a hole in our defenses, and information is leaking out. We will do everything in our power to snuff out any leads to Oria. Trust no one, L. Eyes are watching.
Once you’re all safely hidden, send a raven. May the light always guide you, and the gods surround you.
Until our paths cross again—S
The parchment slipped out of my trembling hands. Dynamis problem? Was there a problem with our dynamis, or was the problem with the discovery that it was rooted in our emotions instead of elements?
