The stairs were lit by a distant glow, the source not visible. We walked in silence, Layla hunched shoulders and crossed arms saying enough. We approached a single oaken door. Well. I say door. I assumed it was a door. It gave the illusion of being a solid piece of wood.
Upon further inspection, it was a work of tightly interwoven tree roots locked together to form a barrier. A small green crystal was set into the formation near the top, the roots wrapping around it to hold the gem in place. It was a puzzle, a lock without a keyhole.
To my surprise, Layla pulled her sword free and spun it so the handle was facing the gem. A small matching glow was at the base, and she tapped the bottom of the handle to the gem. Rod and I shared a glance, eyebrows raised. Apparently ‘I came here as a child’ also meant ‘I know the secret keys to get into rooms under the trap door’.
The response was a flash of light followed by a deep rumbling from inside the door. As Layla slid the weapon back into place, the roots began to shift and tremble. The smaller hairs released their holds on the bigger pieces. The bigger pieces began to slide back with a great groaning, as if there was an actual tree somewhere making an effort to pull back it’s roots. Eventually the doorway opened and we entered.
The room was dark at first, but slowly the same green glow we saw in the staircase filled the room. It grew bright enough for us to see by, but it was by no means a light. The same type of gemstones littered the ceiling. The gems lit up as we approached, and dimmed as we passed. They were responding to our presence.
The room widened out the further we walked into it, forming a teardrop shape as it rounded out at the far end. There was a table in the middle of the room, squatting among discarded chairs, old fabrics, rusted metals and smithing tools. The walls were covered with bookshelves containing a mix of books, folders, and scrolls. It was completed with loose papers shoved between the books and stacked up under the scrolls.
Everything about this room spoke to the disarray and chaotic mind of its owner. Over to one side was a large disused smithing oven, the embers long gone and blown away by time. Another pair of tongs and a twisted sword lay rattled among the sideways metal grates inside the oven. Just under the oven lay a long watering trough, void of any liquid. Ashes were infused into its very material.
A large pile of ashes and soot lay in the corner, as if the previous owner left it there because he couldn’t bother doing anything else with it. This entire room was discarded junk and unused items. Rod seemed a bit taken aback as he looked around.
“What happened down here?” He asked, mostly to himself. “This…isn’t right.”
“Told you,” Layla snorted.
“What do you mean?” I asked, looking around.
“This was where he fashioned magical items,” Rod explained. “At least…it used to be.”
“So you do know who’s supposed to be here,” I grunted, moving into the room. Poking at the papers. “Care to elaborate?”
“I know what he told me,” Rod countered, moving to the back of the room. “He said his name was Jake. Blacksmith. Really just a creator and repairer of magical items. He and I aren’t as good of friends as you and I.”
I nodded. “Gotcha.”
Layla had made her way over to the bookshelves, running her hands over the spines. She pulled one out and read aloud, “A Theoretical Approach to Dimension Hopping. Dimension hopping?”
“Sounds pretty straightforward to me,,” Rod said over his shoulder, studying the papers on the table. “I highly doubt that book is about making pies.”
“So,” I said, leaning on the table and looking at Layla, “Darius said the information on the sword would lead you to your father’s killer. The sword led us here. Am I going to be the one to point out that Darius was blowing smoke, or…?”
Layla slammed the book back into place. “He wasn’t wrong. There’s something here.”
“Something, sure. But not someone, and certainly not a murderer. Not unless these books are all mimics.”
Rod hesitated, glancing around as if it were a real possibility. He waved his hands for attention, cutting off the staring match starting between Layla and I. “Wait a minute. Layla, what did Darius tell you?”
“That whatever was on the sword would help me figure out who killed my father.”
Rod snapped his fingers. “Right. Darius was focusing on the why, not the who. The sword would lead you to the reason, not the person.” He looked around the room again. “Jake must have known something.”
“So he…wrote his initials on the sword?”
“Problem?”
“Many,” I snorted. “How are we supposed to jump to the conclusion that Jake knew what happened to her father simply because the language on the blade is his calling card? How do we know he didn’t just plant that on all his blades, like, oh, I don’t know…a signature?”
“A signature that is specifically in Elkish?”
“That was the owner and the nature of the sword. So yes.”
“So you think this is a dead end?”
I shook my head. “No. I just think it’s a huge leap in logic. And confused, because you’re supposed to be the smart one.”
A book slammed on the table between us. Leather-bound, ties wrapped and knotted around it in an intricate manner. A set of symbols in a circular pattern were pressed into the cover, the whole of the leather patterned to look like a leaf. Layla stood over it, staring us down. “This,” she said, pointing directly to the book, “was my father’s journal.”
Rod laughed. I crossed my arms.
“So…you’re saying the journal killed him.”
Layla snorted at me. “My father kept intricate records of all the species he ever met. He took this book with him wherever he went, noting and sketching everything he saw or heard. We lost track of it after he died.”
Rod hmmm’ed next to me, fingers drumming on the table. “Well. How mcguffaniy of you to find it.”
“Don’t tell me you’re just now questioning logic,” I grunted before turning back to Layla. “Why do you think this is related?”
“It has to be something!” Layla demanded. “Jake must have…known what was in this. Darius must have known Jake had it. Someone had to have known something!!” She nearly screamed the last part, slamming her fists against the table again. Tears fell against her fists, and I felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. She needed this to be a truth, because otherwise this was a dead end. Darius was a dead end. The search for revenge would have to start over, and she wasn’t able to process that. Not yet.
“Can anyone hear that?”
We both stopped at the question. Rod was looking around, confused with head tilted.
Layla and I followed suit, listening intently now. “I hear it,” she whispered. “It sounds like…” She shook her head. “It’s so familiar, I just can’t…”
Rod and I waited, listening. And then I heard it. Faint, on the edge of hearing. Barely there, but steady and soft like the drone of electricity. It was…music? I glanced at Rod before looking around, trying to follow the sound. But there was no origin, no spot in the room where it was louder or quieter. Now that we were all quiet, listening and moving around lightly, I could hear it better…or was it getting louder?
“I know this,” Layla said softly. “I remember it from…I know it from…”
There was a soft thud. I spun to see Layla on the ground. She wasn’t moving.
“...kid?”
Rod wobbled as he took a step towards her. “Still breathing,” he muttered, stumbling into the table. “Trick isn’t very…” I stumbled as he fell, feeling a subtle but undeniable weight pulling me downward. My body was heavy, mind starting to fog over as I stumbled and fell. I squirmed, fighting against the soft gentle rhythm, and managed to spot a small metal box under the table.
A trap. It musth ave gone off when thwe came ihn…Small music puzzle toy baox.
