Chapter 42
Dolor and Mond stand closest to the door as it continues to slide to the left, slowly and quietly revealing a room about the same size as the one they first entered. Bilwin walks up behind them, holding his magic stein higher and it illuminates the area with the Light spell he cast on it earlier.
The room is circular, with the same hieroglyphics carved into the stone walls as in the previous chamber and stairway. A tiny stream trickles across it, from one side to the other, contained in a shallow pathway depressed into the floor. In the middle of the room, the stream splits in two directions, forming a circle around a statue before rejoining on the other side and continuing onward, beneath a low cut hole in the wall that allows it to continue its journey.
The statue is a gorilla, sitting in a meditative pose with four arms stretched outward and hands facing upward. Its face is calm, as though it embraces its fate, to be entombed in this crypt for eternity.
Crouched on one knee, holding a flickering torch close to the statue while inspecting an outward-reaching arm, is a small human man. He’s wearing a brown tweed jacket, with grey patches covering the elbows, a stiff, high-collared dirty white shirt, dark brown wool trousers, and sturdy, worn leather boots. Turning his head to get a better angle of the gorilla’s arm, his thinning, grey shoulder-length hair falls to to the side.
“Ah, that light’s much better!” He continues his investigation for a moment longer before turning his head towards the group.
“Hail to The One!” Seeing no reaction, “Okay, not zealots.”
“Y’arr!” The group reacts with quizzical looks. “Alright, not pirates.”
“I’m Gustaf Mondalbrot, an archaeologist of the…what in the world is that!” Seeing a giant spider hovering behind Gven and Nyx, the odd little man quickly hides behind the statue.
It takes the group more than a few minutes to convince Gustaf that they won’t hurt him or feed him to the giant spider. Finally, the spider realizes what’s going on and leaves the doorway. A moment later, a halfling enters the room, brushing past Gven and Nyx. “What did I miss? Oh, nice to meet you, sir. I’m Grindlefoot, a farmer and connisseiur of nuts, mostly the roasted kind. What are you doing stuck in this room?”
“I’m researching, as any archaeologist of worth does. This statue represents Zimon, god of the seasons. The construction is fascinating! You can tell by the size and direction of the chisel strokes that it was created hundreds, nay, probably thousands of years ago. And all from a single stone, which must have been exceptionally difficult for its worshipers to get into this room. Oh, don’t step on those pressure plates over there.” He waves offhandedly towards the door. “They close the door and I hadn’t bothered to figure out how to open it. I mean, the puzzle to get in here was so simple a child could figure it out in mere minutes. It can’t be that difficult a puzzle to get out of a room they let you into so easily.”
Most of the group, who spent hours figuring out how to unlock the puzzle blocking entry into the room, look sheepishly at their feet. Except for Gven, who moves backwards and into the doorway, figuring that she could hold it open if it tries to close.
Grindlefoot’s curiosity is peaked. “What else can you tell about Zimon from the statue?”
“Great question, lad! You see how all of its hands are outstretched and facing upwards, a common pose for meditation. Yet the god of seasons is not known for its contemplative nature, so this seems unusual.”
Mond looks thoughtfully at the pattern of designs on the walls around them. “Perhaps they each represent a season and the palms are open because they’re waiting for a token of each. I’ll be right back.” He shoots out of the room and up the stairs to the outside, returning a few minutes later with a leaf. The sorcerer places it on one of the gorilla’s hands, but nothing happens.
“Here’s a feather,” and Grindlefoot pulls one from his fancy coat then places it on one of the empty hands. Nothing happens.
Mond casts Ray of Frost on one of the two empty hands and it’s encased in frigid blue-white light. Nothing happens.
“Hold on a minute here,” and Bilwin takes his pack off his back, rummages around in it to find a candle. With a quick flick of his hand, he lights the candle and sets it on the remaining empty hand. It flickers uncertainly for a moment, briefly going out and making the room seem darker than it should, especially with Gustaf’s torch and Bilwin’s glowing stein.
When the candle flames back to life, the statue remains unmoving while also seeming to lean forward towards the adventurers. It’s unclear to them which is actually happening, is it still or moving?
“You are not my followers, but you understand the rituals. Why did you call me?”
Grindlefoot, the least caught off guard, is the first to speak. “We noticed the tomb was opened and became curious.”
The deep, serene voice responds, “These tombs are not for mortals, they were meant to keep us asleep. A part of me was awakened for nefarious purposes, used, and discarded.”
“But aren’t you a god? How could anyone force you to do anything, unless it was another, stronger god?” Dolor’s face echoes the confusion voiced in his question.
“They were neither a god nor a mortal, they were something…different. I do not know a name, but I know their symbol.” In their minds, the adventurers see the same symbol burned into the shrine outside the small village.
In a sorrowful tone, “I was made to punish the people of the jungle who loved me.”
Gustaf quietly adds, “That explains the state of that small village. Those poor people.”
Ever with their end-goal in mind, Gven asks “Do you know anything about the temple on the side of the volcano?”
“Originally, it was devoted to Aish, the god of fire, destruction, and rebirth, but that is longer its purpose. The pilgrims who visit the temple now seek a different path, one that brings disharmony to the gods.”
Dolor moves forward, closer to the statue. “How can we help?”
“Leave me in peace, and seal the tomb behind you so that others do not disturb my rest.”
As the words stop and the connection is broken, most of the party suddenly feels mentally taxed, as though they had spent days without sleep. Only Gven and Mond feel okay after the spiritual encounter.
After exiting Zimon’s crypt, the group fills the entryway with the exploded rocks, large and small, filling it as best they can. Gustaf turns to Bilwin, “I see that you’re a cleric, would you say a few words to help seal his resting place.”
Bilwin solemnly walks to the tomb’s entrance, kneels to the ground, and touches the stones. “Without winter there is no spring. Without summer there is no fall. Without seasons there are no crops, and then no beer, which is sad. May you find the rest you need.”
To the group’s surprise, the different sized stones appear to shift slightly, molding together to fill in the cracks perfectly, creating a solid barrier.
Nyx, the tabaxi warrior, turns to the group after the brief blessing. “We part ways here, once again. This is evidence of something bigger going on than I realized. I’m going to the port city to see what I can discover. I’ll meet you at the pirate’s cove in seven sleeps. Good fortune and…stay alive.” Without waiting for a response, he lopes off towards the east.
“I might not have the obvious benefits that some of you bring to this journey.” Gustaf motions towards Gven with his elbow and a brief look. “But I’m smart and I know more than any of you about this island and the gods that live here. Besides, I’m curious about the temple of Aish. It seems to be the center of something…nefarious in nature, I think, and I’d like to learn more. And I don’t eat much, promise.”
Gven looks around the group, receiving unspoken acceptance from everyone before responding. “You talk a lot, even more than Bilwin, but we would value your knowledge and companionship.”
“Great! I look forward to our adventure! It reminds me of a time when I was a lad, new to archaeology and exploring the islands of Fiery Grin. Here, Bilwin, I’ll tell you all about it on our journey.” As the party continues their trek through the remaining tombs and into the rocky foothills toward the temple, the eccentric human falls in next to the dwarf, who takes in each word with the excitement of a child.
The adventurers continued northward, towards the temple of Aish, for several more hours. The land continues to turn rockier and the trees become more sparse in frequency and thinner in foliage, unlike the thick, dense vegetation of the jungle they spent days traversing. The air is lighter, easier to breathe than the humid air of the jungle, yet it’s also thinner and requires more breaths, taxing their lungs in different ways.
Grindlefoot, who recently revealed that he is a Wanderer, finds them a slight overhang in one of the rock walls with fresh water nearby for their night’s campsite. Each of them spreads out their bedrolls, claiming an area to themselves for what rest the night might bring.
Dolor rummages through his pack for a glass bauble to occupy his hands. “We’ve heard the stories of your adventures while walking, but tell us, Gustaf, how does an archaeologist find himself on an island inhabited by the gods themselves? Coincidence or purpose?”
“Ah, a tale that is, indeed, but rather boring compared to my times in the Emerald Wood. Alas, you ask and I shall answer.” Pulling out a small flask, he takes a short swig and savors the flavor for a moment before swallowing. “I found university to be quite, shall I say, boring. All talk and no action. That I’m a man of deeds might surprise you, given my undersized physical stature, but it is where my visions pull me. I truly love words and learning, but they must be interpreted and then used in life, not in a musty old room filled with odiferous students who regularly forget to bathe. I needed adventure! You don’t have to be a revolutionary alchemist to know that pirates find adventure as a part of their daily lives. I found a ship and signed on.” With a wink at Bilwin, “Y’ar, matey! Th’ar she blows!” And he laughs hysterically at his own joke for at least a minute, if not two. “Somehow, that landed me here, on this island, and probably at the same cove your tabaxi friend mentioned. I’ve survived the jungle for several months, not quite a year now. It’s actually not too bad if you assume you’re the prey.”
“What about you folks, what brings you to Amonah, the island of the gods?” He looks at each of them for a moment, intent on piercing the minds behind their mortal eyes. “Why has a motly crew, such as yourselves, come together in search of a being even the gods are wary of?”
They each tell their story. Gven’s search to redeem her zealot brother, or at least stop him. Dolor’s deep sense of honor that drives him to do the morally right thing and help the underdog. Mond’s fight for survival in a world that usually wants to ignore him, but might be actively planning to eradicate his kind. Bilwin’s journey to find his faith and reconnect with his deity, not to mention learn what happened during those months—years, maybe—that he can’t remember.
Grindlefoot calmly says, “I’m looking for tasty nuts, really, that’s about it. That bag of roasted salted nuts from the street vendor in Elsemar were the best I’ve found so far.”