The Deepcombers

Chapter Thirteen

Jarl, Tharus and Clyde stood below the broken stone cairn and stared up at Lonastasius in open-mouthed wonder. They watched in awe as he contemplated the blood red tablet in his hands. A loop of iron chain bisected the block through a hole at the top.  The halter dangled and dripped more crud as the young lad fingered the links. Clyde had called this object a death stone, but the sea drover had picked it up without fear because he knew the symbol was connected to his new identity.

The totem was the same shape as a schoolboy's slate, the chalkboard ledger a lucky child might be given to practice their letters. But this tablet weighed over sixty pounds. The chain through the top allowed the wearer to carry the burden around their neck, as this monk had done. The relic purred and felt alive in Lon's hands. It was self-stabilizing, like a spinning top; he marveled at how difficult it was to turn the piece over. Only one side bore the mark; the gold symbol was inlaid perfectly in the exact center of the smooth surface. This was what he was now, as Jarl had rightly said. He was different.

Lon had seen this glyph when he was on the altar; it had fed him and repaired his body. He'd seen it flash and felt it ache. So he knew this sigil was part of his journey. 

"That ssymbol... It'ss Varget." Tharus used the v-word like it was the highest insult.

"Yes, I think so," Lon agreed.

"I know so. It's called the sun that never rises," Clyde said. "That one we know."

The youth motioned his companions to step back so he could climb down safely.

"What does that even mean?" Jarl asked. "The sun rises daily..."

"What is above so is below..." Clyde started. He would have reiterated how this was the sphere that fueled the underworld, but he never got the chance.

"Bah. Riddles!" Jarl said. He waved dismissively at the healer who'd just nursed his wound and supplied the last of his cloth bandages. The grumpy lion tried to walk but winced in pain.

"Lonny pleassse pitch that thing into the fallss," the swampkin pleaded as he helped his bandaged friend. "It won't hurt anyone down there."

Lon raised-up the tablet and felt its weight. He looked down into the mist below. Then to his friends' surprise he looped the short length of chain over his neck and wore it like a medallion.

The object felt different when carried like this; it felt like a big dog asleep on his chest, and it made him feel different. He could hear it whirl and purr, and he felt it vibrate his being. The stone's great weight pulled down on his collar bones and the chain hurt his shoulders. 

"This is brave. If he doesn't carry it away from here, then it will just keep killing," Clyde explained. "It's self-perpetuating. Whatever the bargain was you see, it will continue for eternity. It will forever murder all unsuspecting folks or curious animals that touch it."

"Nobody can touch it under the waterfall," Tharus reasoned.

"It won't stay down there. Such things have a propensity for always popping up again," Clyde said. "He's doing a brave thing."

"Bah," Jarl fumed.

"This relic... " Lon relayed. "It purrs like a pussycat and seems hard to shift. It keeps its own balance." He adjusted the chain around his neck and tried to find a better carriage point. Even now he wondered if he could carry it, and how safe that would be? "It feels like it's made of lead." He found it affected his balance as he struggled to walk under its weight. "I have no doubt that it's as deadly as you say," he held up the block on his chest to show the sign on the pendant. "This is what I saw when I was tied to the Altar."