Now, I might have just about seen everything.

  Ivar found himself in an underground cavern awash with the roar of a waterfall flowing into a narrow basin. It was lit with glowing amber mushrooms and teal bioluminescent fish that drifted through the open air. The waterfall was broad, its flow consistent and steady. Ivar’s intuition suggested that perhaps his prize, if it were there, would be at the mouth of the falls.

  He had come in search of Norna’s missing runestones. For months he had been tracing along the oldest edges of the leylines, tracking echoes of Norna's magic that he had picked up from when Eigir shared with him her old Convergence stone. Those efforts, weeks upon weeks of painstaking work, had led him to that place.

  Ivar knew he was somewhere deep underneath the Fjallis. The water of the basin held no salt, meaning that it was the result of snow melt. This placed him further inland, away from the coast. Scanning the rim of the cavern he noticed a pattern in the mushrooms, clusters of amber light followed an even pace up the side of the cavern. Underneath each of these fungal lamps was a small outcropping of stone, establishing an awkward staircase.

  He skipped his way over to the first platform and hoisted himself up. The stone was damp and covered in a fine silt that glistened in the lights of the cavern. He made an effort to move carefully, as each platform was slick and smooth. The height of the cavern was otherworldly. From roof to floor, the height was several orders of magnitude greater than the peak of Hatimbradr, taller even than the steeple of Sanctus in Sindhome, and carved in even keel from top to bottom. It was like a grain silo, but funneled only water and those strange fish.

  Eventually, despite nearly slipping a few times, he came to the mouth of the falls. There a silt path awaited him. Its sand was black and coarse and trailed deeper into the mouth, running uphill as torrential water rushed past. It seemed a cave in and of itself, lined and lit with those same amber mushrooms.

  He followed the trail until his feet began to ache, the flow of the water slowing, becoming more gentle with every step. The rapids calmed to a babble, and then a soft glide. It was when the water reached a point of near stillness that Ivar arrived at the head of the underground river. A shallow pool of water sourced from a small stone chamber no wider than a bedroom.

  Ivar knelt close. The pool was shallow indeed, thin enough for him to easily read the stone underneath. The floor of the pool had been carved by an editor with a clear purpose, marking out an intricate design in white etchings. It was a hexagon which held a square, which held a circle, which held a triangle. From the center of the triangle a series of points radiated outward, connecting each of the shapes. Along the outer edge of each shape was written an old and esoteric script, unreadable even to Ivar, yet he recognized the symbols all the same. They were runic inscriptions that dated back to the beginning of recorded history in Yvaheim, from the age of the Nine.

  Just then there was a shift in the energy about the chamber, a coiling of the air, and lifting of a veil.

  This is a leyline platform! Older than any other I have come across, just where could it possibly lead?

  Ivar waded into the water. As soon as his foot made contact with the stone underneath, he vanished in a flash of blinding light.

  *********************************************************************************************

  Ivar found himself bathed in the faded, oppressive light of a cloudy day. He was on his back in a thin pool of water, his clothing soaked. He winced, squinting his eyes as he had not yet adjusted from the low light of the cavern. Pushing himself up, the hair on the back of his neck bristled. He was standing on a circular, ribbed platform isolated in a vast expanse of silver water. The water bobbed and moved naturally like that of the sea, but was metallic in his reflectivity.

  At the center of the platform was a tower of stoic granite. Its base was hexagonal and segmented by darker stone that ribbed its sides. The tower stretched upwards into the heavens, ascending far out of view.

  Ivar wandered over to the edge and looked into the opaque silver waters. He reached his hand into the water, his arm quickly obscured underneath the waves. The water was cool, but not uncomfortable. He retrieved his hand from the water and smelled it, nothing. He licked his hand, no taste. The water was normal.

  “Careful not to fall in.” A voice called out to him.

  Ivar shot up, his feet leaving the ground as he twirled around to face the voice. He saw nothing, but heard the faint roar of stone scraping against itself.

  Descending from the monolith came a strange device that slid down the nearest face of the tower. It looked like a long pole, bent slightly in the middle, with something affixed at the end. As it came into view Ivar recognized it for what it was: an arm, crooked at the elbow, with a large hand.

  The arm, made of the same dark granite as the tower, came to a sudden stop once at eye level. The hand held five well articulated fingers, each knuckle and joint joined by a socket with a ball bearing.

  It waved. “A visitor! Oh, it has been too long.”

  “Where am I?” Ivar asked.

  “That’s a good question. I have only ever known here and now.” The arm said, relaxing.

  “And who are you?”

  “I am the tower.”

  There was a short pause as Ivar deliberated his next question.

  “Alright, ‘Tower’. Who built you?”

  ‘My architect. You might know her as the blind seer.”

  Ivar’s heart pounded at the idea. “Norna?”

  “Yes, that was her name. I recall it now. Thank you.” The tower gave him a thumbs up. “You are the first to visit since she left me behind. I miss her dearly. Do you know when she will return?”

  “Return? You speak as though this was recently.”

  The hand burled. “Why shouldn’t I? It seems as though she was just here yesterday.”

  Yva below, what is this place?

  Ivar paused again. “My friend, Norna has been gone for over sixteen hundred years.”

  The hand went limp again. “Sixteen hundred? Then she is…” The hand drooped all the way to the floor. “I don’t understand.”

  Ivar lowered himself to the ground, sitting with his legs crossed. “Do you have a proper name?” he asked. “Something other than ‘Tower?’”

  “Sometimes she called me Hathi.” The hand grumbled.

  “Hello Hathi, my name is Ivar. It is very nice to meet you.”

  Hathi perked up slightly. “Hello Ivar, it is nice to meet you too.” Hathi was silent for a moment, staring out to sea. “If Norna is gone, then why are you here?”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “I am here because of her. Norna’s wisdom transcends the passage of time, Hathi.” Ivar said. “My home - Norna’s home, is in peril. My friends and I are trying to find the relics that she left behind, the old runestones, because they might be able to save us. Do you know where any of them might be?”

  The hand coiled into a loose fist, rocking back and forth on arched knuckles, as if pacing in thought. “A stone? Hmm, a stone…Yes…Yes! I was told this would happen, I just did not expect it so soon! This is my purpose!” Ivar gave Hathi a curious glance. Despite not having eyes, Hathi registered the look and continued.

  “This place is a domain all of my own. It exists only because of me, and I only because of it. Norna made me, it stands to reason then that the runestone that you speak of may in fact be the keystone that binds me to this place. We are nowhere, Ivar, and at no-when. When I give you my keystone, the magic that binds this place will be undone and I will cease to be, returning you to somewhere and sometime. This is my purpose.”

  “This does not even seem possible.” Ivar said. “And why bother with it all? What was Norna hiding you from?”

  “I endeavor not to understand what my creator’s intentions were.” Hathi said. “I was tasked with the safekeeping of my keystone, and that I would pass it on when the time came. I have kept it safe for many years according to you, and that time is now.”

  “You would give me the stone?”

  “I would.” Hathi said with a nod of his palm. “It is clear to me that you are aligned with Norna. It is only time that divides you. It is through me that your wills converge. I would fulfill my duty and unite you, bringing an end to my timeless charge.”

  “I….thank you, Hathi.”

  “Keep your tongue at the ready. I am sure you have many questions.” Hathi reached out and grasped Ivar’s shoulder, his warm stone assuring the Red Pilgrim.

  Where on earth to begin?

  *********************************************************************************************

  “Tell me of the Nine.” Ivar asked.

  “Norna spoke not of her kindred, electing instead to distance herself.” Hathi said. “The keystone might speak more on their story, but I am afraid I know no more.”

  “What was she like?”

  “Brilliant. All-knowing, but stricken with an inability to articulate her wisdom. For her, the runestones offered her an opportunity to distill her visions. It was difficult for her, speaking, and her words had a habit of wandering. For this she was shunned by her kin, who distrusted her, and was abandoned by all except for Yrsa.

  “Tell me about Yrsa, please.”

  “A stern woman, but kind. She saw Norna for the mind that she was, not the witch the others feared her to be.”

  “I am happy to hear that.” Ivar said, his heart swelling. “ I am glad at least two of the Nine were born of sound minds and open hearts.”

  “The others may have been as well, Ivar, the way Norna would speak of them.” Hathi said grimly. “But then something came along and everything changed.”

  “What do you mean? What changed?”

  “There was peace. Then there was strife. I know no more.”

  It took some time for Ivar to disgust that information. “Do you know where the other runestones might be? Yours will only be the second that we have discovered.”

  “Oh? Where did you find the first?”

  “We have a school in the northern seas. Eigir found-”

  “Ah, Eigir. That makes sense. He and Norna were always close. It is sensible she would entrust him with one of the stones…” Hathi paused, his fist clenching hesitantly.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  “No, nothing wrong. I am simply struggling to put something into words. Ah, I’ll just come out with it. Do not tell Eigir about this. About me. About the stone, anything.”

  Ivar nodded. The oathbairn flared hot upon his arm.

  The pain! What is this? What am I doing wrong?

  The pain scorched his flesh and nerves like red-hot iron. Through it he considered the situation, daring to withhold information from Eigir and Seida. Was that it? Was secrecy so grave a sin? The pain faded, however, as the moment passed.

  “Why not?” Ivar asked, ignoring the fading pain as best he could.

  “I cannot say for certain. This order comes from Norna herself.”

  The pain was gone, nothing more than a memory. Ivar wondered if he had hallucinated it. “But you said they were close?”

  “I did. And they were. I claim not to make sense, young Ivar. I only deliver what I am bidden. And so the keystone comes with a stipulation: you must promise me that you will keep it secret from Eigir.”

  Ivar chewed on his lip for a moment, inspecting his left arm.

  The pain, why did it start? And why has it stopped?

  “I swear.” He said finally.

  “Good. Then I suppose it’s time. When I release the stone this little island of mine will cease to be. You will not realize it, but you will be thrown back to where you came. I will die.”

  “Are you scared, Hathi?”

  “Scared of what?”

  “Of death. Of no longer being.”

  “Fear of the unknown, while common among men, never made sense to me. Your fleeting lives assure you no days to fixate upon perfection, nor do they afford you time to rest upon your laurels. You can wait and wait and wait until everything is perfect and safe and known, your long calculated moment, only to be swept aside by time regardless. I am ready, Ivar. Are you?”

  *********************************************************************************************

  Ivar awoke flat on his back in a shallow pool of water. He had returned to the cave, in the chamber at the source of the underground falls, with a heavy weight upon his chest. He craned his neck up, the tip of his long red beard dipping into the water. A large, smooth stone was resting upon his ribs.

  Softly, he rotated onto his side, cradling the stone. Rising out of the pool, water rushing down his body, he waddled out and placed the stone onto the coarse sand.

  The stone had been chiseled in the old tongue, the same runic script on the stone in the pool of water. Remarkably, Ivar found that he could now read it.

  As he stared at the stone the runes shifted in the light, his mind interpreting meaning. He heard no sounds, his tongue made no shapes, yet his mind’s eye bore witness all the same. And as he read the words, the stone itself wholly disappeared into a fine mist which was absorbed into Ivar’s very breath.

  To live and die again.

  Cool autumn comes and goes.

  The tree sprouts leaves and rises high,

  And returns from whence it knows.

  So too have I been born,

  To live and die again.

  Such hearts have I let beat inside:

  Number nigh one ninety-nine.

  My kin remember not this curse,

  Nor my words graced ground given.

  Yet this fate, they too share:

  To live and die again.

  I write now to mark it known,

  The Wheel has been broken.

  By he who caged the sands of time,

  To live and die again.

  His curse shall stain our souls,

  Our world: doomed and battered,

  Lest he be bound and beaten back

  And the hourglass is shattered.

  I write now to mark known,

  A cry from time unending

  Free us from sands undone:

  The neverending forgetting.

  I do not want to live and die again.