That Which Dwells in Lost Tombs

One of the Myths of Ixonia

Mammon’s Cave by Hermann Hendrich

I wake to darkness clawing at my eyes, my thoughts, my soul. Was I always here? Where is here? The ground beneath me is cold and dry, the air stagnant and thin. I see nothing but the tricks of darkness forming the shape of men before me. I know I was not brought here by a man, human or otherwise. Is this the Everdark? Am I a hostage of the alokath? No, they don't take hostages of trespasses. Is that what I am? The dirt beneath my nails itches.

A pain swims behind my eyes as I try to remember a time before the dark. There is none. None I am allowed to see but I can feel a time before, a place beyond this cave, cavern, crypt. Where am I?

'Awake again,' a rumbling voice speaks from the dark. It is not human, it is not alokath or dwarf... it is something else. There is no breath to the voice, no snatching of air or reediness, only the sound of its words.

'Where am I?' I shuffle backwards in the dirt and my back hits stone, flat and I can feel the chisel marks upon its face.

'The same question as before yet you know where, after all you came to me,' the voice is in my head, around my head, it is the air I breathe and the dirt beneath my nails.

'I don't know who you are.'

'You do, you refuse to remember.'

'It hurts to remember.'

'Ahh,' the voice fades away as if down a long tunnel until there is only the ringing silence.

I go to stand, using the stone as support and two purple flames ignite ahead of me. Blind. Stumbling. Falling. The dirt is soft under my back. The flames flicker in the eyes of a skull larger than a grown man. The purple dances in the shadow, fighting, dancing, fighting, losing. More flames burst to life with a gust of wind. The smell of sulphur, brimstone, and burning wood cleanses the stagnant air. There is no smoke. How is there no smoke? I crawl towards the giant skull, human in features but pitted. No. The bone is like rolling hills, are they growths or is that how it was in life? I reach out for the fire but there is no heat to the purple flame. The lilac at its centre dances away from me. The source of the fire... there is no wood, no coal, only fire. It licks my fingers and my vision elongates. The skull flies back from me, my hand grows larger. Nausea is joined by dizziness and I shut my eyes to the warble of space.

'You come to me yet know nothing of this place? Why have you come?' the voice presses against me. If it were a man I would smell his breath but instead I am left with only the pressure of closeness.

'Where am I?' my eyes are open, more fires burn along the walls, all at head height. I stand. Light flickers off teeth the size of me. Is this a cave, a crypt, a mouth?

'You trespass in places older than your race. You tinker with history you cannot fathom. You explore the depths of your world yet know nothing of its surface or even yourselves. A foolish race,' the voice spun in the cavern, the catacomb, the maw.

I crouched, hands over my ears, eyes cinched shut. I want to throw up but I have not eaten since...

'Remember,' the voice whispers and fades away.

The nausea passes, the bile in my throat dissolves. I stand. Explorer, adventurer, historian, digger of secrets, scholar. Titles others have given me. Titles... titles. Why am I here? For the giant skulls? New lilac flames flicker higher up the walls. Incisors the size of cottages connect to the upper jaw of some ancient being but I can see no higher. There are no molars, only incisors, yet the curvature is human, somewhat. What being was so large upon Ixonia? Am I still on Ixonia? The pain returns behind my eyes. I shrivel to the dirt.

A flame flickers, brighter than the others. Why am I here? I stumble towards the purple flame and reach out. There is no heat. The shadow thickens. The light dims. I reach out. My finger caresses the flame. The world is me and the flame, the flame and me. The flame halts its frenzied dancing and forms a trident, frozen in place. I cannot breathe. Do I need to? Where am I? The flame roars, my ears explode with ringing. The purple flame turns white and flies like an arrow away from me. Smaller flames are born either side along a long and narrow corridor, tunnel, passageway. There is a light, bright and taunting ahead of me. How deep below the earth am I?

I walk.

Fresh air. Sunlight. I remember those. They will clear my mind and I will remember why am I here. Was I alone?

'You are alone,' the voice whispers. It is everywhere. It is nowhere.

Is it my own voice?

No, it is not a person, not a sentient. It is something more and something less.

'Flee,' the voice breathes.

Is it my voice? The voice of a friend?

I run.

The tunnel narrows.

The flames darken, almost black.

The light at the end grows larger. I can feel the sun. I can feel the wind. Fresh air. The smell of grass, of trees, of foxgloves and heather. Nightingales sing. Woodpeckers drum. Warm sunlight graces me.

I trip and land in the light, it is too brilliant, I cannot see, but there is grass in my hands and the sounds of the forest all around me. I am free. But... I do not remember a forest. The woodpecker falls silent. The smell of grass fades. The light dims. Grass stands as tall as I, trees tower over me, sunlight falls in blades about the glade. Relief washes over me. I fall into grass and feel the cold, dry dirt beneath me. Leaves fade. The sky darkens. The sounds vanish.

'Those who trespass upon my tomb do not escape,' the voice booms inside my head, bulging close to bursting. I scream for all of this is familiar somehow.

Silence.

I am once again in the dark. The permanent shadow. There are no fires. Only darkness and the cold, dry dirt.

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