Elliotte

Chapter Thirteen

There need be no argument.

They edifice liming forbiddingly before them was indeed the floating mountain.

Clouds of algae-clothed rocks soared the air, suspended by an inexplicable forc high upon the air.

The stairs of Seldor.

The air-ships of Grimore.

Floating, and stretching,across the icy plains of Seldor and the fiery platforms of Grimore. It’s dark shadows, like a floating spirit, loomed high - and yet so near - above the Crested Sea that blinked a thousand diamonds, the boundary of Seldor and Grimore.

The aura of mystery sharpened by the impregnable mist that clouded the suspended mountains.

A death trap.

A fine road that broke through the arduous and endless trek from Eld’mor to the Isle of Baynes - a little of a journey to their destination - the Woods of Isomurg; where the Circle of Fayne rested.

The floating path cut the journey of a fortnight to a dizzying five days’ trek.

Few had been desperate enough to ply this path.

Even fewer had survived it.

Elliotte stared up at the floating edifice not quite certain anymore; and thoroughly fatigued.

“Come on,” Ailish called out, even as she trod on, on swollen feet, a stagger or two to her name . “There are hidden stairs up the so de of this mountain,” she continued at the adept tgemount at n the world was much younger than. “Caution, I must advise. The stairs I avow are quite unyielding.”

And small.

A quick flash of Mr. Normand’s fate flared hope and real in her mind, and Elliotte took an involuntary backward step.

Ailish’s eyes bore deep into her. “Overhead, vines into the bosom of a cave take us. From whence our way onto the Stairs of Seldor we make.”

Elliotte shook her head.

Her heart hammered without mercy within her a dirge.

This would be the death of her.

Everyone was dying.

She would die too.

He would live, the victim in this. But then, mayhap ‘twas she - them - who failed to glimpse the veracity of the situation.

Eòghann was stronger.

Papa was much stronger.

More vicious.

She stumbled backwards with a cold gasp.

She, on the other hand, would lead them all to their very deaths; and then fall straight into hers. No doubt.

She was the harbinger of doom and the messenger of gory death. Not him.

“Have a care, Elly!” Deidre called out.

One by one, their faces fleeted through her panicked mind.

She had brought them indubitably to their deaths.

She would finish them all.

The heart wrenching sound she heard sounded so detached and distant to be hers.

Her vision blurred.

“Aye,” she whispered. “‘Tis but a truth. I am cursed indeed.”

And the world lost all light.