Beautiful are the elven-maids and cold to the touch,
for a spark of feeling you seek in vain.
A thousand elven-maids dance through the woods
and all of them… are the same.

— Song of the Beautiful Elven-maids
attributed to the northern skald Erik Olafsson

The company gathered once more in the house of the Bridge Keeper.

“Alphia!” Askra cheered as she saw her friend again.

“Askra! Vathila!” the huntress laughed and embraced both girls. “Did Plantain drag you here through the night too, just to rid you of the fiery essence of the Aderan?” she asked in a whisper. Both the wizardess and the healer nodded. They were glad that they, along with Khóruin, had finally been released from their duties to join Alphia, Saimún, Riva, and Taihun… but the prospect of entering the Lunar Hall unsettled them. Ghar remained for now in the Arkian smithy, and Ivain had vanished in time—no one knew which corner of Darika he had disappeared into.

Askra cast a sidelong glance at the High Druvid, who was currently listening to the eternal, immortal fable that the woodcutter told to each and every one of his guests.

“Have you explored that source of magic northwest of Lerna yet?” Khóruin asked, and Vathila almost hoped for a negative answer—hoped that Plantain would not yet be able to take them into the Lunar Hall…

“Yes,” Taihun muttered gloomily.

“Askra, it was amazing!” Riva broke in enthusiastically. “We found a mound, and upon it stood a metal obelisk with a multitude of runes hammered into it! The phrase ‘Signpost Stone’ appeared there often, which didn’t make much sense to us. Then I began to walk around the obelisk, reading one row of runes. And I started to vanish, to be transported somewhere else. Unfortunately, they yelled at me to stop… A pity. Nearby, we discovered a half-withered tree with strangely grown and twisted dead branches. It seems lightning struck it… from below…” He paused for a moment. Then he continued, just as eagerly and excitedly as before:

“During the night, a branch fell from that tree, and on the ground, it formed a rune that can mean either ‘white color’ or ‘river.’ We found that in one row of runes on the obelisk, this very sign occurs three times, and in no other row does it appear at all!”

“I’ll snap Hiranya like a serpent for keeping me in Arka,” the wizardess bubbled with discontent.

“Did you explore where the row of runes with the sign for ‘white’ or ‘river’ leads?” Vathila asked. The metal tree on the mound… The metal tree… it swirled in her head. There, in Lerna… Could it be the same place…?

“Riva wanted to try, but we caught him in time,” Taihun replied. “But even before that, we encountered something even stranger. In a clearing, we met a woman—Alphia first saw her as a doe, and Phia did too. The woman first spoke to us in an unknown tongue, then in our own. She introduced herself as the Queen of the Silver Beech and asked about the city of fire. When we said we were from there, she gave us a message for the king. The message is: Kira entuleva.”

“And then she just vanished! Her tracks led somewhere else! I tried to follow them with Alphia, and we reached the same spot, but in a different world! But the tracks vanished again, so we preferred to turn back. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life!” Riva recounted passionately.

“I’ll snap Hiranya,” Askra repeated fervently.

“The trouble started when we told Plantain about the message and that the Queen of the Silver Beech mentioned she would bring her people,” Saimún lowered his voice. “The High Druvid simply declared that something similar had happened here before, that we should let it be, and that he would deliver the message to the king himself. Yet he acted as though he didn’t know what those words meant. I don’t believe him for a second. It could easily mean something like: Ten thousand of us are coming, open the gates for us immediately!”

“I assume you questioned him. Did Plantain tell you anything at all?” Khóruin asked.

“Yeah. He told us to go and prepare for entry into the Lunar Hall,” Saimún sneered.

“We could send that message to the king with my kestrel. One of the places she is trained to fly to is Whitehead’s house. Hagias will receive the message regardless of what Plantain is up to,” Vathila suggested. She had to control herself not to look away from the hearth toward the table where the High Druvid sat chatting with the Bridge Keeper. Kira entuleva… What did those words mean in an unknown tongue, so much softer than the speech of the Hwarnij? A threat? A promise?

“And don’t forget how the highest of the Kvanari magoi secretly warned us before we left—he said that Plantain, Hagias, and the Master Smith aren’t from Arka at all. Perhaps they are pursuing some goals of their own, and who knows what they are. After all, Riva heard them speaking to each other in that language, which sounded far too much like the one the woman spoke in the clearing,” Taihun reminded them.

“I’d bet my boots that Master Plantain Auragon knows very well what Kira entuleva means!” Saimún muttered.

“Perhaps the message should also reach Master Mage Vismian,” Khóruin suggested.

“But he always rebels against the king’s decisions, you know that. His goals could be anything as well. We have no particular reason to trust him,” Riva countered.

“We are too small as fish for this; Master Mage and Hagias should settle this between themselves. Who are we to decide this?” Alphia intervened.

“There will be enough time to tell Vismian everything when we return from the Lunar Hall,” Askra waved it off, never one to worry much about anything.

“But what if none of us return…?” Vathila asked, suddenly filled with anxiety. Khóruin frowned:

“I think Plantain will return, quite certainly.”

On the clearing stood the druid Auragon, and facing him in a semicircle were Khóruin, Vathila, Askra, Saimún, Alphia, Riva, and Taihun.

Plantain raised his hands and grew still. The darkness thickened; everything began to sink into nothingness. Light vanished from the world; the forest around the Hwarnij disappeared and faded away. Something hung in the air. Everyone waited to see what would happen next, afraid to disturb the concentration of the Master of Druvids. Only Plantain’s steady breath could be heard, similar to the breath of meditating magoi.

In the west, it gradually began to brighten. A pale light spread from there. It was neither the light of fire, nor sun, nor stars. After a moment, the glow of the lunar disc pushed through the trunks and branches of the trees. It shone with a blinding light, the cold radiance of ice and distant space. Its light pressed against the faces of the people, the trunks of the trees, and the leaf-strewn floor of the forest. Whatever it touched lost its color and became silver. The Hwarnij looked at one another—their faces resembled masks without expression.

Colors had truly vanished from the world. All that remained were the emphasized, bright, white, lifeless-looking shapes of everything the lunar light fell upon. Everything else had collapsed into absolute darkness, perhaps ceasing to exist entirely.

Like back then at the lightning grave… Is this how the Lunar Hall arrives…? Vathila thought.

Auragon signaled the company to follow him. Then he stepped into the forest. Without a word, they followed.

Will we ever return from this nightmare? Saimún wondered. His trust in Plantain, and indeed in the king, had developed serious cracks. It’s a good thing we eventually left a letter written for the highest of the Kvanari magoi… If we don’t return, the Bridge Keeper will ensure the letter is delivered, so Master Vismian will learn everything that happened and what we likely died for—and he will be able to stop Auragon, Hagias, and Ghar the Elder before it’s too late for Arka.

The forest undergrowth gradually turned into the floor of a hall. The lying leaves flattened and became first leaf-shaped tiles and finally a stone mosaic. The surrounding trees stretched upward and took the form of colonnades. The shadows of the pillars were perfectly dark, like abysses. Nevertheless, when the travelers stepped onto the tiles within the shadows, their feet found a solid surface and did not fall into nothingness.

“This is the path to the Antechamber. The Lunar Hall and the spaces connected to it have one peculiar property, namely the ‘unrolling carpet effect.’ No matter which direction you set out, whether you go forward, sideways, or return, you are always moving closer and closer to the Lunar Hall itself; the space before you always unfurls and unrolls toward it,” Plantain explained as they walked. The company subconsciously huddled closer to him.

Vathila cautiously opened the eyes of her mind. She explored the surroundings, flooded by new, never-before-known impressions. Slowly she grew accustomed to the entirely different environment, sorting perceptions and tuning her awareness to the same key as the Lunar Hall.

“Is there any way to get out of here?” Khóruin asked. His words sounded faint, and besides them, nothing could be heard at all—not footsteps, nor breath.

“Either enter an hour before dawn, so the sun may deliver you. Or kindle a sacred flame,” Plantain replied and drew tools for preparing a nightly protective fire from the folds of his robe.

“But we had to leave everything connected to the Aderan in the house of the Bridge Keeper—including our swords and other forged weapons…” In Khóruin, an unpleasant and deepening suspicion gnawed. He did not like one bit being unarmed in an unknown place where the only guide and owner of the tools to kindle a saving fire was a man he could hardly trust even when he was at prayer…

“It is the ability of men—to create a flame from things that have no fire within them. It is the only way to outwit the Lunar Hall. Though there have been cases where the fire failed to ignite…” Auragon said calmly.

“How did you know?” the warrior wanted to know.

“By the fact that those who were sent here never returned.”

“Ahem, Master, and what other peculiarities have you discovered while exploring the Hall?” Saimún asked.

“Do you see that cracked tile over there?” said the Master Druvid.

“That one?”

“Yes. If you step on that, you die. And do you see that shadow of a pillar over there, which falls unnaturally, crosswise over the other shadows?”

“Yes, Master…”

“If you step on that, you die. And do you see that web over there, shimmering in the moonlight?”

“Yes…”

“If you touch that, you die.” A moment of absolute silence followed, in which Saimún could be heard swallowing hard.

“How many people had to die for you to discover this?” Taihun asked. The druid shrugged:

“Many. In principle, every irregularity, strangeness, or anomaly is dangerous. The worst are the shadows and tiles; they consume a person instantly. Then there are the strange plants and webs. Those can still be survived. They carry sleep or poison with them…”

Askra looked around curiously, as did Riva. Both perceived the constant presence of magic in the surroundings. Sharply, they saw all the anomalies, for in those places, the magical environment seemed to have cracks; magic was lacking there. The wizardess noticed that from time to time, a rune glowed on some distant tile. She was certain that only she could see them, perhaps Riva too, thanks to the ability to perceive magic. The runes belonged to a kind she knew, but they were too far away for her to read. Nevertheless, she felt excitement—magic was present here! Magic of a known type, which could surely be obtained, learned…

“Khóruin!” Vathila’s terrified scream cut through the air. The warrior turned immediately, his hand reflexively sliding to his hip before he realized he had no weapon.

The healer gasped for breath, clumsily tearing away the strands of a web that bound her arms to her body. Khóruin quickly approached her and helped her free herself from the sticky threads.

“What were you doing?” Plantain asked. He knew well that no one in the group had physically approached the webs.

“I… I was…” Vathila looked away. “I was trying to examine the web…”

“How?” The druid had never heard that Khóruin’s wife was a sorceress.

“With my feeling…” the healer found the word for her ability after a moment.

“Be careful,” Auragon said gravely, “these things can catch a person very easily. They are adhesive and dangerous.”

Vathila nodded. “It’s alright now,” she softly assured her husband and took her usual place in the group.

Finally, Plantain stopped. They had reached a space where only stumps remained of the pillars. Some reached barely half-height, some were no taller than a man, and in places only decorated bases remained. The tops of the pillars were broken or weathered, and some lay scattered on the floor.

“This is the center of the Antechamber. Lunar Runes can be found on the tiles in the vicinity. To become initiates of the Lunar Hall, you must find a rune, gaze upon it, and it will be imprinted upon your mind. Do not wander too far; with every step from here, you draw closer to the Lunar Hall. Once you obtain a rune, you will gain a limited ability to resist the unrolling carpet effect and return to me,” the druid said.

“Ahem, Master… is it possible to take more than one rune?” Riva suddenly asked.

“Yes, it is. But I do not advise it,” Auragon replied.

The group dispersed somewhat uncertainly, each in a different direction. It did not take long before they all felt a pull—the runes were calling to them.

Alphia approached such things purely practically: track a rune, look at it, and return. As soon as the rune was imprinted in her mind, Alphia shuddered and fell to the ground. She did not know how long she lay there. When she came to, she did not feel unwell in any way. She stood up. The strange disorientation in the unknown environment had vanished. Her senses sharpened; her vision cleared. Between the pillars, she saw crawling tentacles of bluish energy. By some newly acquired sense, she understood that this was the rune used by Plantain.

When she drew closer, she saw that Taihun was already there. She was about to say something to him when a shriek cut through the silence. Vathila’s.

“What is that?” Taihun turned to Plantain.

“Someone did not heed my advice and is trying to take another rune,” the druid frowned. “That causes renewed confusion, and the ability to orient oneself in the Antechamber vanishes.”

“I’m going for her,” Taihun decided. Thanks to the connection of his own rune with Plantain’s, he perceived Vathila’s presence and was able to find the way to her between the pillars.

Surprisingly, Taihun met his sister on the path. The girl was walking toward him. Her movements revealed exhaustion, but she did not seem to be wandering. She was heading directly toward Master Auragon.

“What happened?” the warrior asked worriedly.

“I initiated myself with a second rune. It threw me off a bit, but I’m alright,” the healer admitted.

“Do you know the way?”

“Yes, don’t worry. I’ll make it back on my own,” she smiled. “Look for the others instead.”

Taihun had no idea how Vathila managed to find the direction even with a second rune. But he had always known his sister was extraordinarily perceptive… especially to strange things. He looked around. The vague glow of runes showed him Khóruin in the labyrinth of pillars.

Khóruin was sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, his face wearing a concentrated expression. He opened his eyes and stood up as soon as Taihun approached.

“Everything alright?” Taihun asked. Khóruin nodded: “Take me back to Plantain.” No more needed to be said. Both men set off back. Khóruin and Taihun… Vathila’s husband and Vathila’s brother… the leader and his lieutenant… in a strange harmony, further strengthened and highlighted by the unknown, hostile surroundings…

Askra rubbed her temples. Her head hummed after the second rune, but the unpleasant feeling was quickly receding, driven away by an exercise the girl had learned from Hiranya. The Hall looked hazy, and the sorceress bore the loss of orientation with resentment.

But there was one more rune somewhere here… I saw it before I took the second one… It was strong… hmm… Askra mused. Her eyes glowed with enthusiasm. I knew these runes could be learned somehow! That was, after all, what she loved about magic—the constant discovery of new ways and new possibilities. Although the third rune glowed somewhere on the threshold of the Lunar Hall, Askra didn’t trouble her head much about it. The sorceress lived for her magic and for the “now.” What would happen when something happened, or what would be if—such questions were not among the usual visitors to her mind.

Though without the ability to find the way, Askra set out in the direction she had last seen the rune. She did not intend to go too far, but she relied on the rune glowing from a distance for her magical sight, which was not affected in any way.

And she was not mistaken. The rune was magnificently decorated, larger than the previous ones. The beautiful octagonal tile was bordered by eight others, purely decorative, which completed the pattern. The power of the magic sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. The sorceress approached the rune.

Something moved between the pillars. Then it slid closer. A pale face and white hands with long claws, a tattered robe that clearly hid no material body… Empty eye sockets were fixed upon Askra. Between needle-like teeth, a forked serpent’s tongue flickered…
And then the Lunar Rune began to soak into the girl’s mind. Askra collapsed into darkness.