Rune Mage [Fantasy/Adventure | Book 1 +2 | Complete]

Chapter 34: Kori

The cries came in the middle of the night.

Seiren's eyes snapped open, swallowing the scream that would have burst out had she not oriented herself in time. Cold sweat covered her from head to toe. The leering monsters of her nightmare slipped out of her mind, leaving her with the familiar dread and pounding heart. Soon, the images were no longer accessible, but the bitter taste of terror and nausea lingered. She pushed herself up, kicking off the covers that stuck to her body with perspiration. Madeleine stirred in the back of her mind as Seiren slipped the necklace back on. One snap of Seiren's fingers ignited the light rune she always kept by her side. The room hadn't changed; the old books sat in their spaces in the bookcase that reached the ceiling. The thick, moth-eaten curtains swayed occasionally from the draught that escaped through the cracks in the walls.

Permeating the heavy, dead air were steady, child-like sobs.

Hairs rose on the back of Seiren's neck. A shiver racked through her body. This scene was like something from horror books, but she knew ghosts and ghouls didn't exist.

You have your sister's soul tethered to a stone and you don't think ghosts exist? mused Madeleine.

Seiren ignored her, swinging her legs out of bed. Her feet hit the cold floor, making her toes curl. She grabbed a shirt she'd worn earlier that day and swung it over her shoulder as a shawl. It was probably 'improper' for a young woman to wander a house that had two other men living there, in her nightdress, but she didn't care for propriety at that point. If it wasn't for the chill, she would happily wander about naked. Madeleine giggled as Seiren stuffed paper and chalk into the breast pocket.

The cries echoed down the corridor, a thin, whispery noise that made Seiren's heart uncomfortable, rather than sending chills down her back as books described. It was pathetic, sad, not at all creepy. Seiren padded across and tugged at the door—

—only to find it locked.

"You damned..." Seiren muttered, scowling. Anger flared, sending prickles down her back. She snatched the chalk out of a pocket and sketched a violet rune on paper. She could imagine shrivelled old Myrtin turning the key with his trembling fingers. Did Fernard really think he could lock her, a mage, in? She slammed the rune on the wooden surface and snapped her fingers; the sound echoed in the empty room. The door glowed purple and shuddered, becoming transparent, and she passed through with a shiver.

Darkness stretched before her. The source of the cries was in the same direction she'd been earlier that day. Snapping another light rune to life, she made her way towards the wooden staircase, keeping an ear out for footsteps. She was undisturbed. The whole house was fast asleep. If she believed in ghosts and monsters, she could probably convince herself they lurked in the shadows, staring at her every move and waiting to pounce, but she knew the only demons belonged to the dirty hands of Hannans and the monsters stayed in her dreams. Her feet barely made a noise. The stairs creaked beneath each step as she ascended. The cries became clearer, a child's. Two flights later, she could hear it just down the corridor.

Swallowing, she maintained a hold on her glowing rune and made her way forward. The paintings changed on this path. Where downstairs there were nothing but the perfectly-captured dissatisfied glare of people no longer on this earth, what decorated the walls were scribbles and scrawls in crayon, the paper wrinkled and smudged with finger marks. The colours were bright, cheerful, amateurish, and a complete contrast to the decrepit house. Her ears picked up only the soulful weeping through the pounding of blood in her own ears and loud breaths.

The last door in the corridor came into view. The noises emanated from there. Seiren's heart thudded against her ribs. For some reason, what lay beyond the door did scare her – a little. It was no ghost or ghoul; that much was certain. The voice belonged to a child, one Fernard didn't want her to know about. But why? A creak came from behind her. She whipped around, her breath held, magic tingling at her fingertips. There was nobody there. It must be the old house groaning. She'd half expected Fernard to pounce at her again, fury burning in those dead grey eyes.