A white line appeared in the center of her
vision. The sides spread and blocked out the room, circling around her like a
curtain. Bren let go as soon as this happened, fearing that the rose was
whatever was supposed to bind her. A haze descended, but only long enough for
Bren to notice that it was there.
As the white haze parted, Bren saw that she
was no longer in the main chamber of the Memorial Center. She was in a crypt.
The room was lit as if by a blue fluorescent
bulb, but Bren couldn’t see what the light source was. She saw no shadows in
the room. It gave her chills. She even got a little dizzy.
There were statues in the room. Five of
them.
Bren recognized the statue of the Phrenic
Witchseer, holding the Book of Phrenia in her right hand, her left hand
pressing two fingers against the left temple of the Witchseer’s head. The
statue was aglow. Spider webs littered the statue, bridging the gaps between
the Witchseer’s arms and legs. She wore a long toga. The eyes of the statue
were painted red.
There was a statue of a knight holding a
great axe. The head of the axe was just below his chin, held against his chest.
The armor of the statue glowed a faint emerald green, although Bren wasn’t sure
if it was a trick of the room’s lighting. There was a necklace of wolf teeth
strung around the head of the axe.
There was a statue of the patron of the
Grays. She held a snake and a lizard in her hands. Fire glowed behind her eyes
and there was water dripping from her hands. She wore an evening dress.
Bren saw the statue of the dead one, the
Sepulchral Autarch, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted down. He
held no objects. Whomever had chiseled the statue did not leave out the ragged
wound running around the child’s neck; as well, the Autarch was the only one
depicted at the age that the four were when they secured victory. Black and
white feathers were scattered on the ground before the Autarch.
Bren knew of the four, but did not know of
the fifth. The fifth statue was on the end of the room opposite the stone slab.
She was taller than the other four statues. This statue was the only one that
was smiling. She saw the slightest hint of fangs poking between her lips. It
had to be an incisor goddess of some kind. She was wearing a long and simple
dress. Her hands were before her, pressed together, like in prayer. But the
smile seemed to mock all of it.
Bren stepped closer, to get a better look.
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