“The Taste of Ashes”

Journal of William Harwood #7

Autumn Firstmoon, the Ninth,
Year of Returning Light 645
Ruins of Agyda, The Shrouded Lands

I am trapped.  Rescue is uncertain.  I can’t say if anyone from the crew yet lives.  Even Dianora. She was in the thick of it. I pray that her nimble feet have carried her far from here.

We found the site where Endrizzi had been digging, a shaft into the side of a great mound composed from a slurry of soil and ancient brickwork, as though a tide of the very earth had thrown the city over this place.

Leftovers from the prior expedition were still here.  Shovels and picks. Piles of timber for support beams.  Canvas tents, collapsed and moldering. Food stocks, depleting under a steady current of aggressive red ants.  Clearly, there was little order in the way this camp was abandoned. We should have taken this as sufficient warning to turn back, but all it did was stoke the fires of my foolish wonderment.

Endrizzi said he was digging for a vault, but what we found at the end of his tunnel appears more like the vestibule for a temple.  A faded mosaic covers much of the walls, laid in painstaking detail, showing common folk laying offerings at the feet of a woman with a halo of golden light.  There are other images here as well, though less clear.

And there is a further tunnel beyond this room.  At first we believed it to be more of Endrizzi’s work, but a closer look at the walls revealed tight compaction and a glassy sheen.  This, and a lack of support beams, told me the passage wasn’t wrought by natural hands.  

We had barely a minute to assess things before a ruckus came from outdoors.  Screaming, snarls, and the clank of weapons. Dianora flew out the exit to join our crew.  Tom Gilham left on her heels, but he must have stumbled, or hooked his foot against a mislaid support.  It happened so quickly, I can’t say with certainty what exactly befell him. All I know is the roof came upon him, and it kept falling until the entire tunnel collapsed.

I was left here alone, choking on clouds of dust released from centuries-long slumber.  It had the taste of ashes.

Perhaps my foolishness is compounded by burning precious lamp oil to write this log entry, but if I am to die here, I’ll at least be sure that my death is well documented.

Could take weeks for the tunnel to be reopened, assuming anyone is left to open it.  I’ve no choice but to go deeper, in vain hope of finding another option for escape. Maybe Endrizzi’s expedition was ended by the assailants outside, or maybe it was ended by whatever lays at the end of the next passage.  I expect I will have an answer before much longer.

With the exit sealed, an oppressive silence has filled the room.  My mind can not bear the stillness, and it keeps conjuring the sound of a woman’s voice to my ear.  Not the sound of my wife’s call, but of a woman singing. I’ll drive myself to madness soon if I don’t get moving.