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Flame's Kiss

By Dark Violet

Part Three

Come; walk through my world.

Listen to the sounds around you.

Surrender to your…

Jason stared at the sheets of paper in one hand. His eyes darted to the book on the floor. Then he looked to his rubbings.

“Surrender to…? Surrender to?"

He threw the scrawled papers aside, diving down to run his fingers along the marks he'd made in the rubbing, his grasp trembling as he traced the gaps where the carvings had been made.

Then he pushed himself back, hands on his face. “What idiot translated this!?" He rubbed his eyes, then looked down at the papers again, as if hoping it had changed. As probability would have it, it was the same as ever.

“This glyph doesn't mean 'surrender to', it means to give up!" He grunted, throwing his hands in the air. “That damn expedition. They couldn't understand even what they could see! Idiots with blinded with idiotic degrees! Damn it!" He leaned back, hands balled into fists on the sandy floor. “By god!"

He remained like that for a while, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. Then, grabbed the tape recorder, bringing it to his lips as he hunched over again.

“Day… Five" he muttered into it. “These translations… I've been barking up the wrong damn tree for days… half of them are mistranslated, and the rest ruined… how can I possibly find out what's beyond the coverstone without a proper translation!? That damn first expedition, that damn Unovan government, those damn defilers of this temple..."

He flicked the tape recorder off, and let himself fall back to the floor. He rubbed his hands over his face again, nails digging into his skin.

He couldn't afford this. He couldn't make these mistakes! They were so close! He could feel it just beyond the coverstone, a beating, vibrant heart. It pulsated with that incredible, invigorating energy. It was a living temptation, tantalisingly close! It was there, just under his fingertips; the way through!

Oh, but how to grasp it? The coverstone blocked the way, and how dare he risk damaging such beauty by trying to move it aside - if he even could? And yet he had to find some way. Maybe the glyphs had the answer...

A wet nose poked at his side, followed by a grunt, and then teeth grabbing and pulling at his clothing. He raised his head; Lyra was walking backwards, trying to tug him to his feet, tail thrashing with her impatience. She let go, staring into his eyes for a moment, then swinging around to stare at the coverstone. Another short, sharp bark.

“Yes, yes, I know…" Jason muttered, pushing himself to his knees. “We can do it, I just… I just need to translate the text!"

He grabbed the tape recorder again, pushing himself to his knees. There had to be a way through. Of course there did.

He stood up, letting Lyra run around his legs, pausing only to look between him and the coverstone.

“The left hand text," Jason restarted into the tape recorder, “it has six lines in total, three of them destroyed." He walked over, running his hand over the wall, flecks of sand falling from where he touched the words. “'Come, walk through my chamber; listen to the sounds around you; Give up your burdens and pains'"

His hand stopped on the next line. “And… notice? Touch? Some kind of sense, it has the line which denotes outwards self…" He grimaced, rubbing his eyes.

“Next glyph… water? But it's not elemental. Wind? How did the ancients define their elements in this era? Could it be wind, air, sky? And the next one—my, it's ownership, but the word afterwards… warm? No, more like… heart?"

He stepped back, frowning in incredulity.

“And touch wind my heart…? What does that mean? Touch the wind from my heart? There's no wind here, we're a hundred metres underground!"

He turned away. Lyra whined at him, padding over to follow. She cast dancing shadows across the ground as she walked in front of the torch, wedged as it was between his belongings to illuminate as much of the room as possible.

Jason had cleared the rest of the sand, dumping it into the useless side rooms. Aside from his bag and sleeping mat, only books, papers and scraps of charcoal remained scattered around the ground. However, he had made sure to keep them clear of the two polished drag lines across the floor; in this light they were stunningly visible, almost glowing with their significance, running right beneath that coverstone…

That coverstone. It was like glass separating a dying man from an oasis, showing everything that he wanted and yet at the same time preventing him from it. That figure of god that it showed no longer seemed beautiful; its flaws were scars across the surface. That ancient cuneiform scoured into it weren't words; they were horns, spikes, ghastly imperfections.

If only those horrid marks would just… disappear!

He crouched down, pulling Lyra close. They rested their heads together, brow to brow, fur against skin. Jason breathed out shakily.

“We can do it, Lyra…" he muttered. “We can do it together… just… those glyphs, we have to figure out those glyphs..."

Lyra's breath was soft, warm, and it teased at his neck. He closed his eyes, running his fingers through that pale mane; he hadn't realised how soft it felt, how it curved around his hand. She leaned in, raising her muzzle…

Jason sighed. He pulled away and stood back up, Lyra watching his every move. He rubbed his forehead, swallowing. “Okay… okay… let's recap…"

He stepped back, looking around the chamber.

“It's four thousand years ago. The ancient Unovans, they mine down over three hundred paces…" He swept a hand across the threshold of the stairway. He'd pulled the last few steps away, discarding them into the side room like the sand. The polished rails underneath disappeared up into the darkness.

“And then, they mine out these chambers, shipping the stone back up top. They even dig behind this wall, some sort of cavity, some recess, something… and all the time, they're digging. They… they must dig out everything first, right? They wouldn't begin with the engraving, the decoration, until they've done that, right?"

He was pacing around the room, gesturing wildly to the columns half-set into the walls, at their varied states of completion; from ancient, incomprehensible patterns and delicate lines, all the way to roughly cut cylinders, pale and unpolished. With every step, Lyra kept by him, looking up with expectation and adoration.

“If they had the two groups together, why work in this room when the side rooms are unfinished? They'd get in the way, especially if the miners are still pulling rock out from behind this damn coverstone…" He rubbed his temple. “So they must have mined out everything before they started the carving and engraving. And… and the decorations…"

He stepped back, facing that infuriating wall once more. Just the sight of it now was enough to make his bones itch.

“It's like… they emanate from whatever's beyond there, like the rays of the sun, starting there and moving outwards…"

Beyond there…

Beyond…

He stared… stared at the wall. He could almost see through it—desperation was tugging at his voice, aching for the relief of discovery...

Lyra's whine brought him back. He blinked, dropping a hand to her head.

He breathed out in a shaky sigh.

“Which means... that whatever's behind that cover stone… it's fully decorated… maybe even artifacts…"

He turned away, rubbing his eyes. His hand came away wet and cool from his tears.

“So… they do all that, and then… they just… stop? Someone drags down the coverstone, destroys the glyphs, and then they leave? But why would they only destroy some of the glyphs? Why scour those insults into the coverstone!?"

He whirled around, staring at the walls again, challenging them to give up their secrets, anger flaring within his thought.

“Why even have a coverstone? Why, why!?"

He turned around, falling to his knees again. His hands met cool rock; he was shaking, his chest taking in great gulps of breath. That need, that beautiful, hateful need was drilling into him, taking over every part of him. He felt tired… so tired…

Another day gone already? No matter, they could make it one more day… they had to…

He staggered to his feet, walking slowly to his bag. He pulled the crumpled sleeping mat from behind it, and then walked back to the wall, before kneeling down to spread it out across the floor.

“We can do it Lyra…" he said, as she nosed between him and the mat, licking his fingers in support. “We promise, don't we… we promise we can do it…"

He curled up on the mat, laying on his side, facing towards that great coverstone as Lyra wriggled between his arms. Beyond that rock, a rock that felt so fragile and yet so impenetrable, was the solution to his torment. He couldn't bear to stay away from it…

He wrapped his arms around Lyra, burying his face against hers, letting his fingers slide into her fur. The scent of the desert, of dusty rocks, was strong around her.

The silence surrounded them, broken only by the whispers of the desert.

He was almost there now, like those ancients once were; they slept in a mud hut beneath a glimmering sky….

He was there….

*

And he dreamed.

They walked down the stairway together, side by side, his sandalled feet and her pale paws lighter than the cool air that swirled around them. Up ahead, the chink-chink-chink of chisels, the swoosh of paints, and that heart-wrenching flaring and crackling of the fire all mixed together. They were the tunes, the melodies, and beneath it all was the foundation of the song—those soft tones, the gasping instruments…

The burning light at the end of the staircase drew ever closer, beckoning them onwards. With each step, it was like a weight was being taken from their shoulders; frowns lifted into smiles, torments slipped away like water. It surrounded them, an atmosphere, a warmth so unlike the beating sun of the desert; instead, it was a warmth that embraced every bone, every muscle, swirling around them like a mother's tender embrace. It eased tensions, comforted their weariness, drawing them closer.

Ahead, the chamber started to open out. The source of the light, that opening in the far wall, was almost in view. Yes...yes… She was here… She was-

*

Jason's eyes opened.

He was shaking—his fingers clenched Lyra's fur, his mouth half-open. She stared up at him, her expression mimicking his.

He sat up, then stood up, as if yanked by some unseen force. Lyra scrabbling to her feet beside him, his hand staying on her for support. For a moment, the clutches of sleep tugged at his mind—and then, they were gone.

He turned. He walked to the wall, lifting a hand to trace the words of the ancient blessing.

“Come; walk through my world,

Listen to the sounds around you

Give up your burdens and pains

And…"

He paused. An incredulous, almost disbelieving smile spread across his face. Beneath his hand, the destroyed glyphs were burning with an intense glow, his fingers silhouettes against their light.

“And feel the air of my grace"

Lyra darted beneath his arm, following with her eyes as he moved his hand across the blazing words, speaking a prayer that had not been uttered for millenia.

“I am here; I am with you

Welcome to my divine pleasure"

He stood back, staring at the wall afire with words he'd never seen. He turned, and ran to the other side, laughter rising in his throat as he read the text there.

“Here you step in my presence

I watch, I listen, I care

This is my house, and you are welcome.

Come in! Come together!

Avail yourselves of my love

Meet others in joy. Meet me in glory."

He darted from one side of the wall to the other. His mind burned with the words, his body trembling, barely able to contain all he was being given. He laughed, kicking away the sleeping mat, shoving the papers aside, clearing the way.

“Why hide it? Why lock it away?" He almost sung in happiness. It was so obvious! Where the muddy rain had once hidden, he could now see in glorious sunshine!

It wasn't meant to be locked away!"

Lyra bounced around him, barking, whining, waiting for the words she'd longed to hear.

Jason danced back to the central of the chamber. His fingers tingled, his legs shook, his laughter echoed off the living walls. Every grain of sand, every rock, every defiled word and glorious beatitude awaited his agreement, his concurrence.

He breathed in. He breathed out.

He opened his eyes and looked into the truth.

“Lyra…" he said, the words trembling in his throat. “Destroy that barrier."

Lyra gave a single, sharp bark, swivelling on a paw to face the wall. She planted her paws on the rock, claws digging into the sandstone, holding her in place. Her tail spread out behind her, hackles raising across her back as she held her head low—an arrow, a cannon, pointed at that hateful, desecrating grotesque. Her legs crouched, her muscles tensing, her elegant form thrumming with building power. Dust around her swirled, caught in a building aura that rose higher and higher to an ethereal crescendo. It peaked—she rushed forwards...

And the coverstone exploded.