Jaleigh Johnson - Spider and Stone

You know. You are already looking for me , the voice said. Come to me. Find the sphere, and you will find me .

“The sphere?” Icelin woke with a start, realizing she’d said the words aloud. Her voice was raspy from sleep. She rubbed her eyes and went back over the details of the dream, which due to her gift, did not fade the longer she was awake. Rather, they became clearer, and the more she thought about it, the more unsettled Icelin became. She’d dreamed of the boardinghouse fire many times, especially in the first year after the tragedy happened, but never before had the dream mixed with details of her present life the way this one had.

The Arcane Script Sphere must have been more on her mind than she realized. Of course, that was hardly surprising. It was the closest thing they’d found to a lead on a cure since they’d left Waterdeep. Yet the woman’s voice had seemed so real, as if she’d crouched next to Icelin and whispered in her ear.

As if she were calling to me.

Icelin shook her head. More likely she was just overtired and her imagination was getting away from her, though she must have slept longer than she’d thought. The sky had begun to lighten, and there were not so many stars visible as when she’d lain down. Icelin noticed she was no longer cold, either. Blinking, she looked down at herself and realized an extra blanket covered her. Icelin recognized the blanket she’d bought the day before at the shop-the one Ruen had asked her to buy for him.

Oh, damn the man, anyway, Icelin thought, but she felt warmth spreading through her chest, warmth that had nothing to do with the extra blanket. She buried her face in the softness and allowed herself a soft smile.

Her head snapped up. Ruen wasn’t in camp, and neither was Sull. Icelin thought they might have gone off to wash the cooking utensils, but those still lay in a pile near the fire, the butter congealed in the bottom of the skillet.

“Sull? Ruen?” Icelin called. It was silly, this sudden uneasiness that enveloped her. Icelin told herself they were probably just attending to their needs in the trees somewhere or washing up at the little stream nearby.

Ruen strode into the camp then, and the expression on his face made Icelin’s heartbeat quicken. “Sull’s gone,” he said. “He told me a while ago he was going to look for some mint growing wild, but he hasn’t come back yet. I was going to look for him, but I didn’t want to go too far while you were sleeping.”

Dreams and warmth forgotten, Icelin sprang from her bedroll and grabbed her boots.

OUTSIDE THE VILLAGE OF THARGRED, TETHYR

21 UKTAR

Icelin hastily broke camp while Ruen went to search for Sull in the woods. She doused the fire and threw the still-dirty pots into a sack. Sull would scold her for neglecting them. He hated dirty pots. Icelin’s fingers shook as she tied the sack shut. Why hadn’t Sull come back yet?

When Ruen returned to camp, he was alone. Icelin’s heart sank. “I found his trail,” Ruen said. “It looks like he wandered near the dwarven ruins. I even found a patch of mint growing near a broken stone circle. Then a cluster of other tracks join up with his, but these were coming from the ruins.”

Icelin nearly dropped the waterskin she held. “I thought the temple was abandoned.”

“So did I, but we were wrong. I think whoever came from there took Sull back with him to the temple,” Ruen said grimly.

“Did you see any blood? Any bodies? Was there a fight?” Icelin kept her voice steady, but she felt the tension all through her body.

“No,” Ruen said. “Whatever happened out there, it wasn’t violent, and it ended quickly.”

That comforted Icelin somewhat, but still she had a sick feeling inside. If something happened to Sull …

She grabbed her staff, which was engraved with arcane markings and capped with a cage of thin, polished wooden branches. It had been a gift to her from a very old wizard who’d lived in Mistshore. He hadn’t communicated to her all its powers before he died, but Icelin knew it helped to control her wild magic, and she was grateful. At that moment, she simply wished it would quiet the fear that clawed at her throat, made her movements jerky and graceless.

“Leave any extra gear there,” Icelin said, pointing to the underbrush. “It’ll slow us down once we’re in the ruins. What about our horses?”

“Let them go,” Ruen told her. “Someone else will claim them. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

The cave that led down to the temple ruins had a line of fist-sized stones arranged at the foot of both walls like small sentinels. Symbols were carved into the stones, though Icelin couldn’t read the writing. It may have been a warning, a welcome, or perhaps travelers’ offerings to the dwarves’ lost goddess. Icelin preferred to think it was one of the latter.

“Four sets of tracks,” Ruen said. “Sull’s are the largest, though a couple of the others are almost his equal in weight. They’re human or dwarf, I think.”

“Maybe they’re pilgrims,” Icelin said, pointing to the stones.

“Pilgrims, or possibly bandits,” Ruen said. He pulled a torch from his pack and spent a moment lighting it. “Though why they would kidnap him and not just kill him-” He stopped at Icelin’s gasp of dismay. “The tracks lead straight ahead. Let’s see how deep this center passage goes.”

They walked in silence, listening for any signs of movement in the tunnels. Gradually, as the passage descended, the natural cavern became a carved stone passage with empty sconces along the walls ready for torches. Smaller passages branched off the main hallway, and from them echoed the sounds of scurrying movement, small animals fleeing the scents and light from above ground.

The tracks became harder to distinguish. More than once, Ruen scowled at the ground, trying to discern if the group they followed had stayed together in the main passage or branched off. Icelin knew he was doing his best, but he was not an expert tracker, especially over this type of terrain.

“Let me try something,” Icelin said after they stopped for the third time to reorient themselves. She moved to cast a spell, but Ruen caught her wrist in his gloved hand.

“Don’t,” he said. “We’re on the right track. We’ll find them without magic.”

“It’s a minor spell, hardly more dangerous than conjuring light,” Icelin tried to reassure him. “Trust me, it won’t go wild.” She smiled crookedly. “As much as you annoy me, you know I wouldn’t risk hurting you.”

“Why would you …?” Ruen hesitated. A strange expression passed over his face, but it was difficult to read because of his eyes. The colors masked much of Ruen’s emotions. “I’m not worried about you hurting me,” he clarified. “I’m worried about what the spell will do to you.”

Icelin lowered her hands. Ruen still gripped her wrist slackly. “Small magic isn’t going to drain my vitality,” she said gently. “Even a few of the larger spells won’t do lasting harm. Only the most aggressive spells I have, the ones that are truly deadly when they rage out of control, will affect me. I’ve told you this before.”

“Even cantrips cause you pain,” Ruen said. “You told me that, too.”

“So I did. Your memory needs no enhancement.” Icelin started to lay her hand on top of his, but Ruen pulled away. She clenched her teeth together and tried not to let it show in her face how much his rejection hurt.

“Cast your spell,” he said, not looking at her.

Icelin nodded. She cupped her hands in front of her nose and mouth and whispered a phrase. In her mind, she saw the words perfectly formed in glowing script, imagined the letters swirling in her cupped palms like specks of gold mingling with her breath. The magic rose up, filling the silent passage.