Alkimiya - A Fantasy Mystery Series

TWENTY~FOUR - Explorations

As Mimi had said, the island was beautiful, but when Zenetra passed the first house, she discovered the fossilized wonderland was not entirely white. In places such as the road, the salt took on a sandy hue. Parts of buildings had shades of blues and pinks. Here and there, Zenetra glimpsed an ugly, reddish-brown she associated with rust. Salt had sealed doors and windows, covered the outer sidings with shiny crust, and weaponized roofs.

She was careful to stay well away from the fangs hanging precariously from above. Shattered chunks piled around the borders of each building were evidence stalactites were prone to breaking off.

When she happened upon a crossroads, the tension in her shoulders doubled. She half expected to see a figure emerge from the mist. More than once she thought she had heard footsteps echoing through the desolate city. 

Step—drag, step—drag, step—

The sounds mixed with the pitter-patter of falling seawater, the distant roaring of the rising wave, and the wailing breeze trapped within. There was no sign of death in the streets, thankfully, but her trepidation only amplified.

Had the island been abandoned before the sea began to rise all around? 

Zenetra hoped not. She hoped the people were present when the wall of water went up, and she hoped that they had found a way out afterward.

Because that meant there was a way out.

Thoughts of what would happen to her father if she did not return plagued her mind. The night she visited proved that her year away was detrimental to his health. Phantasmagorias of her father, broken beyond repair at the loss of yet another loved one, conjured feelings of helplessness in Zenetra. Could his heart survive another loss?

She took to walking the empty streets of the ancient, abandoned town with her hand pressed over her necklace. An hour surely must have passed. The others would be making their way toward the pyramid. 

Zenetra paused in front of a storefront. A sign hung above the encrusted door. Chunky stalactites clung to the once rectangular-shaped sign. They dipped low and were tinted that telltale rusty-brown hue that showed there was iron underneath.

Step—drag, step—drag, step—

Zenetra took a deep breath. Either end of the street disappeared in sweeping mists, graying the edges of buildings and making it impossible to see any further than three structures away. Still, she half expected someone to come charging around the corner. 

James had been right about the rust. There would be no material to use to fix the airship with, at least not any left outside the buildings, and chiseling through doors would take too long. They would have to choose wisely on which structures to crack open or risk wasting valuable time and energy.

As if reading her thoughts, the mists parted and the pyramid materialized ahead. Its outer shell sparkled, almost as if to say, "I am the largest building of them all." Then the mist blew in again and hid the pyramid from sight.

She peered through the grayness. The pyramid was their best chance of finding materials but with how massive it appeared from the outside, they would undoubtedly sacrifice all their time exploring it.

Step—drag, step—drag, step—

Zenetra carried on down the street in contemplation. Before she knew it, she arrived at another wide crossroad. Out of habit, she looked for roamers and reporters.

"You're not in modern times here," she reminded herself.

She stepped onto the road. Her crampons made light scratches on the flat ground. Through the mist, a dark figure appeared in the center of the crossing.

Zenetra's breath hitched. She froze in place, her nerves on end. 

When the mist blew away with one big gust, she relaxed. It was no figure in the street or magical caster to confront. "Just a statue," she said aloud before approaching.

Large and grotesque, the statue dripped with heavy seawater. The salty crust's hue was green, hinting that the sculpture within was made of copper. It was an odd choice of material to use on a statue meant for the outdoors, especially since there was evidence of more durable metals on the island. So why had the people used copper?

"Unless," Zenetra stated aloud, startled by what she theorized. 

The roofs were flat. They used copper outside. She could have laughed. 

"Never mind the architecture, huh? I will have you eat your words, James Clay."

Pointed roofs were used in snowy climates, slanted roofs in rainy, while flat roofs were built for places of warmer, drier environments. The Qoman Empire was one such place. Vorroco's buildings were of similar design to the ones covered in salt.

Zenetra went to examine the statue more thoroughly. The salt and constant rain had eroded it so much that even under the crust it resembled melted metal. Its head was gone, as were its shoulders, and whatever had been wrapped around the legs was warped. She was searching for the best place to chisel out the material underneath for a core sample when the hairs on her arm raised in warning.

An unfamiliar presence hovered close behind. Carver would have said something. Mimi would have made her presence known from half a mile away. Tilde and James would be bickering.

Zenetra mentally cursed the wall of water and its noise. A mantra of, Think—Think—Think, raced through her head.

Block, she told herself. Block and run.

She inhaled a deep breath and let it out gradually. Straightening her shoulders, she turned, arm lashing out to protect herself, but a flash of light blinded her and she stumbled back. Time with Tilde must have passed misfortune to Zenetra, because her crampon stuck into a crevasse and she toppled over, falling to the hard ground like a padded sack of stones.

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Preview for next chapter:

Zenetra meets another victim of the sea rot.

Who could it be?  Don't forget to leave a star on this chapter!