Chapter Twenty-nine – Brol Under’s inept leftovers
“Hear anything else about the eggs?” asked Fake.
“No, but I saw Professor Orrin arrive last week,” said Andin.
“This should be it,” said Fake as they stopped halfway up the mountain.
“I don’t see anything.”
Fake looked nervous, “You don’t think it’s another Rock Gulver nest do you?”
Andin shrugged, “I thought you said this spot wasn’t even on the map.”
“Sort of, it’s not on any of the new ones; there was a strange symbol I didn’t recognize on the very first Pelagic made map of Rosewood. The mapmakers sometimes will try to hide things from even other members of the Express.” Fake spun to scan his surroundings as he relayed his message.
“Let’s have a look at the symbol,” said Andin.
A part of Fake’s jacket reformed into a copy of the map. Andin looked at Fake curiously, “You’re sure that’s what it was?”
Fake nodded, “You know I don’t forget stuff I need to remember.”
“Well that’s Mortem’s symbol; we use it in Beldur to mark the volcanoes we use for cremation,” explained Andin.
“You think this is a graveyard?”
“No, doesn’t make sense for a wild plane,” answered the prince.
“A shrine?”
“That’s still odd for a wild plane, but seems more reasonable.” The boys scanned the surroundings but saw nothing manmade.
“Why hide a shrine?” asked Fake thinking aloud.
Andin scanned the mountainside with his hands, “Maybe it’s been destroyed; I don’t feel anything.”
Fake walked face first into an invisible wall. The illusionist fell and tumbled uncontrollably down the slope. “Fake!” yelled Andin as he pulled up a slab of stone to stop his friends fall.
“Thanks,” said a battered illusionist. Fake rode his black sand back to the invisible wall, now cautiously leading with his hands.
“That’s a new one,” said Andin knocking on the unseen wall.
“How did they make this?” wondered Fake aloud.
“I want to know too; I think this is the handle.” Andin pulled on what he found. The door wouldn’t budge. “A locked, invisible door,” said Andin flatly turning to Fake.
“I know you want to, go ahead,” said Fake giving Andin permission to destroy the door. The illusionist always preferred to try to operate undetected but now wanted revenge on the hidden structure that had so rudely attacked his face.
Andin drew a sickle and plunged it into the crack between the double doors. He pulled again and the door finally gave way. The black corridor descended into the side of the mountain. The narrow staircase ended at a small antechamber with tall thin doors leading to the rest of the shrine. “Which one should we go in?” asked Fake.
“Middle,” said Andin because it was the obvious choice.
The hallway led to the main shrine room. “Why would you build a shrine in a wild plane?” thought Andin aloud as he ran his fingers along the marble altar. Fake examined some trinkets but offered no guesses. Andin took a stab at his own curiosity, “Maybe Rosewood wasn’t just an exile dump for the Drojji.”
“Or maybe this place wasn’t annihilated in the Sundering,” suggested Fake.
Andin paused and thought about the possibility of such a thing, “Now that is a bold theory.”
Fake held a gold coin aloft, “It could explain why this symbol looks like one of the old empires sigils.” He tossed the coin to the prince.
Andin didn’t recognize the symbol on it, “This is from the old empires?”
Fake admitted it was only an educated guess, “It looks similar to something I’ve seen in a history text, but I can’t be sure.” Andin didn’t need to ask Fake to keep it for later; he assumed his friends pockets were already being filled with valuable knickknacks.
There was a thick black book in the center of the altar. Andin flipped it open. “What is that?” asked Fake. “A ledger for the dead I think – but there aren’t any names in it,” noted Andin as he leafed through the first pages. Fake swung his torch to a low shelf and said, “Maybe you write death ledgers from back to front.”
Andin enjoyed the heartiness of the paper as he flipped through generous chunks of the ledger. He reached the back cover and began reading from the back of the book, “Good call buddy.” Andin examined the names and dates, “These are all around year five hundred, and they are all Ventian names. It isn’t just a shrine, it’s a crypt.”
“Did Ventisma open up here around then?”
“The stone pylon isn’t clear in my memory anymore; I’m not sure,” answered Fake.
“They wouldn’t have built it unless…”
“They were staying here,” said Fake finishing Andin’s thought.
“Ventians are freakishly devoted to Crepus; I’ve never heard of any born in the Plane of Death permanently leaving their realm.”
“Well you have now,” corrected the illusionist.
Andin left the book open and left the main chamber, “Let’s check the other ones.” Fake agreed and they returned to the anteroom. The two left wings of the shrine were Ventian style crypts, similar to the ones Andin visited in the Plane of Death itself. After checking both of them Fake shrugged, “Just a bunch of dead people.”
An empty voice broke their train of thought, “How may I be of service?” They both jumped at the sound of another being. A floating skull and spine filled with pale blue light hovered near them.
Fake whispered, “What is that?”
The skull and spine answered, “I am the remains of Brol Under; I can assist you with burial rites.”
Andin smiled at their lucky break and pat Fake on the shoulder, “The Ventians are damn good record keepers; you would have a field day in their historical archives.”
The skull and spine bobbed as Fake poked it, “Odd,” he said.
“How shall we address you?” asked Andin.
“You may call me Brol,” answered the skull.
“How are you Brol?” asked Andin.
“I am a reanimation; I am not alive,” he answered.
“Right – what is this place?”
“Rougewood Sanctuary.”
“When was it built?”
“After-Sundering year four hundred ninety-nine,” answered Brol.
“Why was it built?”
“To honor the cycle of life and death and pay respects to the High Collector Mortem.”
Andin took an aside to explain to Fake, “They call Mortem the High Collector because they believe all mortal souls end up in his care.” The fire prince wasn’t satisfied with the answer Brol gave and asked again, “Why was it built here?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything else regarding that subject,” he answered.
“But Rosewood isn’t in Ventisma; why was the sanctuary built here?” tried Andin again.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything else regarding that subject,” answered Brol.
“Do you have an index?” Andin had no desire to play guessing games with the reanimation.
“Yes, please follow me.”
Brol bobbed through a thin teardrop gap cut in the top of the doorway to allow the skull’s passage. They entered the rightmost door. Fake asked, “So they leave those reanimations to help visitors?”
Andin nodded, “Yes, they also serve many other useful functions.” Brol’s chamber was a small compartment of a larger room.
“My index is kept here, if it has been destroyed or is missing I can recite it to you,” said Brol.
“No, it’s here,” stated Andin. Fake kept staring bewildered at Brol while Andin read his index. Andin found a reasonable place to start, “Guest entries,” he said.
“Name of the deceased?” asked Brol.
“Uncategorized,” answered Andin.
Brol complied, “There are two uncategorized guest entries. Entry one: After-Sundering year eight hundred fi
fty-six, unknown visitor. Entry two: After-Sundering year nine hundred twenty-five, two unknown visitors.”
Fake was impressed, “We’re already logged in.”
Brol answered, “A temporary log was generated when I first detected life; it will be finalized upon your departure.”
“Do you have any further information about uncategorized entry one?” pressed the fire prince.
“No further information available.”
“For ‘damn good record keepers’ this one is useless,” noted Fake.
“Something’s wrong with it,” said Andin.
Brol bobbed up and down, his spinal cord curled idly around his vertebrae. Andin stared at Brol, “Brol can you check your systems please?”
Brol complied, “Running diagnostics.” Brol’s baby blue glow flickered briefly before he answered, “Check comple –” and crashed to the floor. His glow went out.
Andin picked up the skull to check on Brol when his spinal cord and brain stem slid onto the floor. “Well that’s not good,” said Fake dryly.
Looking through Brol’s eye socket Andin chimed in, “No it’s not; the rest of his brain is missing.” They returned Brol to his chamber. “This place is so peculiar,” said Andin trying to piece the puzzle together.
“Why hide the entrance to a crypt?” asked Fake.
“You’re right, there’s got to be more to it than that,” said Andin.
“Why put a useless reanimated guide in it either?”
Andin’s eyes widened, “Brol you might not be so useless after all; Fake you check the left wing, I’ll search the right.”
Fake caught Andin’s excitement but didn’t know why, “What are we looking for?”
Andin smiled, “Find a door Brol can’t go through.” Fake ran off to search his branch of the mausoleum.
“Andin! I’ve found it!” shouted the illusionist. Andin ran to his friend’s voice. “I actually passed it twice thinking it was a normal door, but look,” said Fake as he sent a small ball of sand up to the Brol-shaped opening in the door. The sand tapped against the gap, “Glass,” said Fake. They opened the door and entered the sub-wing of the crypt.
The standing stone tombs offered no secrets. “It could be invisible like the entrance so feel around,” suggested Fake eager to keep his nose safe. One by one Andin, pulled the stone lids off the tombs. The standing skeletons tumbled out in a clatter to the floor. Fake stared at the prince.
“I’ll put them back,” said Andin innocently.
The next lid resisted Andin’s magical pull. “Why lock a tomb?” he asked happily as he forced the lid, breaking the hidden locking mechanism. Metal pins fell to the floor when the lid gave way from the sarcophagus.
Fake gave Andin a gentle slap on the face, “You’re a model of subtlety,” and descended the hidden staircase.
The secret level was a massive chamber gridded with columns. There were rows upon rows of lab tables filled with glass vials and microscopes. “I’m going to make some coffee,” said Andin setting his bag on the first table he could reach. Fake looked at his friend incredulously. Andin pointed to the back wall filled with books, journals, and lab notes. He began heating some water and said, “We’re going to be here for a while.”