Twenty:
The Stone Henge

Victoria felt odd as they drove past the hobbes' now empty home. Everything had been going well with the Crawler…until Reaver had found them. And then it had been like she'd been stuffed underwater. Only able to view the soundless world from behind a fuzzy, hard-to-see-through screen. She still wasn't certain what they'd spoken about, but the conversation had cut off so abruptly…she still felt lucky she hadn't passed out. It was uncomfortable, though. Reaver seemed too contemplative, almost wary, and she couldn't help but worry that she'd inadvertently pushed him away. It made her feel almost reluctant to continue when they finally climbed back into the caravan and resumed their journey.

Maybe it's better to pretend nothing is different.

The roads were empty but cramped, sides crowded by lichen-encrusted stones and ruins. The occasional patch of birch or oak trees greeted them from the hillsides. The landscape seemed to be growing slightly more lush, though not by much. Victoria didn't really pay much attention to it. The rain and wind had died down, making the roads marginally less treacherous and allowing Victoria to focus her attention on the conversation behind her.

"—really; no. Last I was here, 'twas everyone trying to get out of the Moors. Leaving for the South and Bowerstone and the whatnot," Rhys was saying from somewhere in the direction of the cot.

"Why? If your family has spent generations here—"

"Why not?" Rhys replied, cutting off Nergüi. "There's no jobs here. Honeyholm farm was overrun, Dunecrest vanished. What are we to do? Far better to go and look for a better life in one of Reaver's factories, 's'far as we're concerned."

There was an amused snort from Victoria's side and it suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't explicitly explained who they were to Rhys. Judging by the awkward, prolonged silence that fell over the group, Nergüi and Scythe hadn't, either. We probably should have done that sooner.

Theresa was the first to recover. "I doubt anyone has ever made a better life for themselves there."

"But I always heard Reaver's a great man," Rhys replied, clearly confused.

Victoria struggled to hide a smile as, choking back a laugh, the man himself said, "Oh, it depends greatly upon who you ask, dear."

"If one can call wasting their time on debauchery and hedonism 'great'," Theresa responded in the same beat.

At Reaver's affronted gasp, Victoria could no longer hold herself in check. Laughter burst from her lips and she had to slow Satyr to avoid driving them off the road in her mirth.

"What? What's so funny?" There was a hurried bout of whispering from the back of the caravan before Rhys blurted: "Why didn't you tell me before I made a fool of m'self?!" Her disapproval dissolved into embarrassed giggles that lasted the rest of the journey to the henge.

A strange sense of solemnity fell over them as they came into the shadow of the hill. It was larger than Victoria had expected, rising over its fellows, the henge casted odd shadows from the hilltop. Ancient stone arches and walls formed the sides of the hill, overgrown nature and choked with earth but still visible by the symmetry and precision of the structure alone, leading her to wonder if the entire structure wasn't manmade. The feeling coming from it was…unpleasant. Like fingers under her skin. It was with great reluctance that Victoria brought the cart to a stop at its base. A couple stone houses—now nothing more than ankle-height semi-circles of shattered rock amidst the weeds—sat nearby. It was oddly peaceful, standing in what looked like an ancient homestead, but then she turned her attention back to the henge and any trace of peace abruptly vanished.

Nergüi and Rhys wandered off in search of firewood as Reaver and Victoria worked on unhitching Satyr and getting her prepared for the night. Though it was only midday, there was no telling how long they would be facing Stone's trials for. It didn't seem wise to leave in the dead of night. Especially not on so winding a path.

A nudge at her elbow drew her attention up from brushing Satyr and half-turned to find Reaver grinning almost childishly at her. Oh no. Not another one.

"A henge made of stone—we can market it as Stonehenge and sell tickets," he observed, brightness in his tone slightly forced.

"Don't be ridiculous," Theresa interrupted, shaking her head as she passed them. Appearing oblivious to the look on Reaver's face, she continued toward the edge of the area and beckoned, "Victoria—a word."

Exchanging looks with Reaver, she set the brushes down and did as she was asked.

Theresa seemed grim and displeased as Victoria joined her. The seeress' hair was down now, long strands tossed about her shoulders in the wind. She looked small, again; small and uncertain. Before Victoria could ask what was wrong, she began shortly: "I do not pretend to always consider the consequences of my actions. There are times when I act as I feel is right…only to be gravely mistaken. And I am aware that this has caused discord between us in the past." She paused, seeming to reconsider her words, and carried on after a beat. "Hero, I do not pretend to know what trial you are about to face. What I do know is that it will be no more than you can handle and nothing worse than that which you take with you." Another pause. "And the restless dead."

"Restless dead always mean hollow men," Victoria murmured, looking up at the henge once more. She tried to pull herself together, but she was tired—and not the sort of tired a nap would fix.

"What troubles you?"

"I…we're doing so much in the name of stopping the Corruption, and I know that we need the Willstones, but has it ever occurred to you that we might not be able to beat this thing? That I—we may fail?"

Theresa's expression seemed to soften slightly; her hand twitched as though she might reach out to touch her, but stopped at the last moment. "Victoria, how do we succeed?"

Victoria opened her mouth to respond and froze. How did she succeed? She'd never really considered that there was anything to it. Success was simply the only option she'd ever been allowed and so it was the only result she allowed.

After a few moments of Victoria staring blankly at her, Theresa smiled. "We believe. And now you must go—both of you. There is no time to waste."

"We'll go as quickly as possible."

"No…not this time. You must be on your guard. There is no telling what Stone will decide is a difficult trial."

With that pleasant thought in mind, she returned to the cart. She paused long enough to gulp down a quick meal before hurrying off to change. Reaver expressed no desire to don sturdier clothes, but Victoria wasn't willing to take a chance with the possibility of hollow men being there. And light armour was better than no armour. After a moment's thought, she also retrieved a sword from her bag and added it to one of the many tools buckled at her waist.

"Let me guess," Reaver drawled as she tossed his cane to him, "I'm not going to like this?"

"It's grave robbing. Again," she added as an afterthought. Most quests seemed to be grave robbing when they weren't the end of the world.

"Oh, how delightful."

"I will join you as far as the entrance," Scythe intoned from behind them, making Victoria jump. If not for the fact that she always felt his eyes on her, he was silent enough that she might have forgotten him. Might. It was as though he didn't quite exist in their reality until he spoke or their attention was returned to him.

Reaver looked as though he might argue, before, apparently deciding it wasn't worth it, cutting himself off with an exasperated huff. Victoria just nodded. There was no point in fighting; the longer they worked together, without fighting, the sooner this would get done.

The hill fought their attempts to reach the summit. It looked as though there had been an ancient road to the top once, but the years had worn it away until it was nothing but a steep gravel slope—nearly as slippery and treacherous as the grass covering the rest of the hill. Reaver's cane and Scythe's scythe tapped oddly against the road with every step, coaxing a shh from the stones beneath their feet. Despite the cool air, the steepness of the ascent ensured Victoria was sweating and panting as they reached the top of the hill. They came out into the henge, the ancient monoliths rising up around them loomed like inscribed watchers. Victoria stared down at the artefacts entwined with the flesh of her hands. They'd gotten them through the last two temples, surely this one would be no different. There was probably some manner of puzzle here, but she wasn't sure she wanted to try it. There had to be something more straightforward. The runes lit up as she pulled on her Will. She tried to attune her Will to the wards locking the entrance, but it felt wobbly and uncomfortable; like a shoe that barely fit. The feeling grew worse as she drew on more Will. What am I missing?

Words, the Crawler replied quietly. You do not have the words.

Words in the Old Tongue filled her head and she soundlessly whispered along with them, uncertain how she even knew the words to begin with. (The only answers she could think of was that it was either the Willstones' influence or…the Crawler knew; which raised uncomfortable questions about just how close the Temptress and the Corruption were to getting through.) The pillars of the henge illuminated with glowing blue sigils. From the centre of the henge, the stones groaned and rotated into position. The runes on the entrance lit up and, with a tremendous bang, the stone slid open. Beyond was nothing but darkness.

"Before you enter," Scythe began, "you must know I have sensed the Temptress's presence with growing strength since we abandoned Thorndeep."

"So she made it through after all," Victoria murmured, frowning. The residue of her Will made her limbs feel tingly, not helping with the general sensation of anxiety settling over her.

Scythe inclined his head. "It will not be long before she shows herself."

"Then we'll face her; we won't let her win."

"Do not be so quick to assume we will easily find success; it will not be an easy battle."

Victoria glanced over to where Reaver was waiting impatiently by the entrance to…whatever lied beneath the henge. She glanced away before adding, "We'll have to worry about that when we get there."

As she turned away and began walking towards the entrance, Scythe replied: "We may only hope to be as successful as your optimism suggests."

Victoria didn't respond, biting back a wave of bitterness. It wasn't optimism, just practicality—dealing with the most imminent problems first. But, yes. They could hope.

The air grew brumal and biting as they descended a long stair of damp, slick stone. Pale, dusty light was coming from somewhere, but it was barely enough to see by. She could hear the roar of water somewhere up ahead. Victoria pulled a pair of gloves from her bag and yanked them on. Every breath seemed to ache, hissing out in a gust of pale mist. Not for the first time during this voyage, Victoria wished her dog, Nero, were here with her.

"What do you think this place is?" Victoria enquired, words echoing in tandem with the wet smack of her steps.

Reaver shook his head before, almost contemplatively, adding: "Perhaps it's not a henge, after all."

"But…we…saw the henge, Reaver. We walked through it."

"The entire structure, darling. The entire structure, not just the rubble on top."

She paused, thinking it over carefully. "If the henge isn't the purpose of this place…then what is?"

He didn't have an answer and Victoria was almost glad for she wasn't certain she would like it.

Dead roots poked out through breaks in the stone roof, frozen like massive claws reaching for them. The mist almost felt alive, searching for places to seep into her clothing and raise gooseflesh on her skin. Reaching the bottom of the stair, she felt something bump into her boots, clattering oddly as it rolled away. Victoria cast a quick glance at her feet. It was a skull. Aged, but still whole; staring at her upside down with empty eye sockets. Looking up, she realised there were more in the gloom, sitting at odd intervals. All eerily well preserved.

"It's…a barrow," she said slowly. "Theresa said there might be restless spirits—I assumed it was because of the Moors. It's just that they're buried here."

"Fitting; searching for a dead Hero in a burial mound."

Just don't be rude to the dead people this time, she thought, knowing it would do no good to say it. He was either going to be a perfect gentleman or the most unmitigated arse simply because he could. She was betting on the latter, though; he already seemed to be getting into a mood.

The spray of a barely visible waterfall misted gently across her skin as they stepped over a low footbridge. Craggy stone fell away in chunks to her right, revealing an underground lake and a dark abyss. Every once in a while, something silvery seemed to flicker in the gloom, vanishing before she could take a closer look. Mushrooms clung to the ground as they stepped off the bridge, choking the path. Broken wood, rusting metal, and moss littered what little space was left. Occasionally a skeleton peered up at her through the undergrowth. She shuddered, relieved when the path finally began to open up and the mushrooms receded.

"I hope they're alright out there," she murmured, wincing at how loud her voice sounded in the silence. Even with the drip of water and the scurrying of rodents, it was quieter than she felt it ought to have been.

"I'm sure they're perfectly fine," Reaver replied coolly, an edge to his voice that Victoria didn't like.

"What's that to mean?"

"Absolutely nothing."

Victoria's only response was a disapproving hum. She wasn't about to start a fight in the middle of a barrow.

Their path ended at another stone door inscribed with glowing runes—these looked as though they had been etched in by someone with only a vague idea of how to carve runes—and it banged open with a bit of prodding from the artefacts. They came out into a massive chamber. A shoddily repaired bridge spanned across it, the only safety against a drop into a seemingly endless chasm. There were candles near the exit, flickering in the frigid air from the little nooks and crannies they'd been pressed into. (Victoria had long given up wondering what kind of magic made candles last for millennia when she seemed to run through them overly fast.) Long dead roots and vines spread over the walls in an eerie imitation of trees, shielding the effigies of the ancient dead carved into the walls. As they neared the exit's alcove, Victoria realised it wasn't just carvings laid into the wall. The entire alcove was lined in human bones.

This is a Hero's burial chamber? What, in Avo's name, sort of Hero was she? Victoria thought, alarmed. She wanted to give the question to Reaver, to know she wasn't the only one unnerved by this display, but the silence was beginning to feel sacrosanct. As though talking was forbidden and wrong here. Despite her earlier frustrations, as the door scraped open, she reached for Reaver's hand. She barely noticed he was holding onto her a bit too tightly to appear casual.

They found themselves in a crypt. It didn't look like it had been touched in hundreds, if not thousands, of years. The wooden beams that had once supported the ceiling had rotted and broken, the ropes that had once held them together dangling uselessly amidst thick veils of spider webs. There were more of those seemingly undying candles scattered about, but, much to Victoria's relief, there didn't seem to be any more bodies as décor. The only ones she spotted were wrapped tightly in burial shrouds. It wasn't less unnerving for it, though. The air was heavy with dust and cold and she couldn't help but feel like the walls were watching her.

Not to mention the cracked stone walls did not appear to be standing to the best of their capabilities, but that was probably the least of their worries.

Hand-in-hand, they paced forward, silent and alert. Victoria had almost convinced herself that everything was going to be fine—her imagination was just being over-active today!—when she heard the faint scrape of boots against stone. It hadn't sounded like her or Reaver's boots…and it had come from the opposite side of the hall.

"Hello?" she called, pleased when her voice didn't shake. "Is someone there?"

She thought she saw movement, but, try as she might to peer through the gloom, there was nothing there.

A high-pitched screech at her left sent a wave of panic through her and she immediately dropped into a crouch. She'd loosened a fireball before she could really register what she'd done. It missed, colliding harmlessly against a wall. The alarmed beetle, for that had been screaming at them, rustled its chitinous wings angrily and scuttled back into the hole it had come from. Reaver seemed almost amused by her reaction, but Victoria ignored him. Beetles were about as bad as rock mites. There was never just one. They must have been feasting on the corpses. That's…pleasant.

The hall spread into a series of winding, labyrinthine tunnels; the shrouded bodies of the dead their only company. With every room they passed, with every arch ducked under, Victoria became more convinced there was something following them. She could feel eyes on her. Unpleasant. Sinister. Waiting. The walls seemed to press closer to them, shadows writhing and reaching out to them.

A dozen beetles greeted them as they turned a corner. Their green-tinted wings glittered in the dim light. Within seconds, however, they were reduced to nothing but goo and crushed limbs.

Victoria cringed. "I hope these don't make it to the surface. I don't fancy waking to a beetle nibbling my ears off."

She half expected Reaver to make a bad joke in response, but he remained silent. Casting a glance in his direction, she couldn't tell what he was thinking. We shouldn't be doing this, not again. We both know perfectly well everything fucks up when we don't talk. But, sometimes, talking about something was scarier than focusing on the present and not talking about it. The Corruption's imminent arrival seemed vastly more important when neither of them wanted to discuss their emotions.

Another bridge. Piles of bones were heaped along the sides of the path at both ends; eyeless statues of a hooded figure loomed over them in the gloom.

"Welcome, bold ones!" a timid, yet awkwardly cheerful, voice called out. A wisp darted out of the darkness, glowing a faint emerald green. It didn't appear to notice Victoria's alarm nor Reaver's lack of enthusiasm. "If it is the Willstone you seek, then I shall be your guide."

Victoria gave the wisp a slow nod, glancing at Reaver out of the corner of her eye as she hurried after it towards a doorway.

"No. No, no, stop," the wisp whispered, voice deepening and changing with every word. By the end of the sentence it had turned a vibrant, angry shade of crimson. "It's too dangerous. You hav'ta turn back!"

Puzzled, Victoria froze. What on earth—?

Too many years alone in the dark, the Crawler whispered. His fate is known to us. We have felt its embrace. Soon it will fade like others of its kin.

She couldn't help but shiver at the words.

From slightly behind her, Reaver scoffed. "Another bumbling madman. Will you, perhaps, tell us when you make up your mind?"

Reverting back to a pale green, the wisp gave a nervous giggle and darted ahead. Both Heroes exchanged looks—Victoria alarmed and Reaver looking like he was going to regret the entire ordeal. In the end, Victoria supposed it didn't matter if the wisp was as supportive as Bob and Finley had been or if it wasn't. They needed that Willstone. And they weren't leaving without it.

"Oh, oh, it's all well and good. I'm not—a-anyway, there's nothing here you can't handle," the wisp attempted to reassure them as they followed it into the next room, before: "Except these beetles. They'll kill ya!"

That observation proved to be false. Apparently Reaver's annoyance was not just show for, before Victoria could pull her sword from its sheathe, a series of shots rang out through the gloom. She slowly slid what little of her sword she'd freed back into its housing, the beetles now nothing more than gooey carcasses. Eyes wide, she turned towards her companion. He'd yet to lower his Dragonstomper and, as she watched, took a deep, steadying breath. Victoria barely noticed that the wisp had flown off without them.

"You need to tell me what's going on," she said, staring at him warily.

He, with almost uncharacteristic roughness, shoved his pistol back into its holster. "There's nothing worth talking about."

He started to walk away from her and she hurried to step in front of him. "No. No, that's bollocks. And, if it wasn't, you wouldn't be acting weird every time you think no one's paying attention. What's wrong?"

His lips pulled back in an angry snarl and, for a second, she thought he might snap at her. Reaver seemed to remember himself and who he was speaking to. He looked away, shaking his head slightly, and, as he turned his face back to hers, the irritation had mostly faded. With more coldness than she'd heard in his voice in a long time, he said: "Give me a moment. You wouldn't want to hear my thoughts in their current state."

She wanted to argue, but the way he was looking at her was unsettling. A chill had come to her skin, heart pounding in her throat. Even though she could feel his anger wasn't directed at her, she was still disturbed. Something was wrong. And that thought scared her more than his ire ever could. Swallowing her sharp retort, she replied as gently as she could manage, "Okay."

Something like regret flashed briefly across his face before he nodded once. They didn't speak again as they turned to follow the hall. She felt him reach for her hand once again, but made no effort to hold onto him.

The hall wound to the left and Victoria found herself wishing it was unlit. Effigies of the dead were carved into every wall and each of the low arches separating the hall into sections. Bones covered everything else. As they walked, they were watched by thousands of empty eye sockets. The expressions on the carvings seemed to shift in the flickering light of the few handfuls of candles and, more than once, Victoria thought she saw one of the skeletons move. She was almost thankful for the occasional beetle that scuttled grumpily out of a nook or hole or empty skull—it gave her something to think about other than the legions of dead around them.

"It's impressive you've made it this far," the wisp bid brightly, darting down from the ceiling and to the right. On its journey, it accidentally extinguished a cluster of candles, making the off-shoot of the hall ahead even eerier. "But I am not impressed."

Something scraped in the darkness ahead as they ducked under a low, crumbling arch. A groan followed it. A hollow man shuffled out of the gloom, dragging a too-large sword behind itself. They moved at the same time: Reaver firing off a shot as Victoria loosed a fireball.

"I knew I'd heard something shuffling about," Victoria muttered as the broken bones clattered to the stone floor.

"Hmm, yes," Reaver replied, glancing towards her with raised brows. "And why is it that, any time I take you anywhere, there are always hollow men involved?"

"Usually because quests almost always end in grave robbing. But maybe we raise their spirits."

"You think so? It is hard to get them down."

For a moment, it felt like everything was back to normal—both of them smiling at each other like fools over a shared, terrible sense of humour—and then it faded, leaving the air between them feeling uncomfortable.

"I just don't understand why you trust them," he finally murmured when the silence felt like it had gone on too long.

That wasn't it. She could feel it, that there was more to his mood than this, but she didn't have a clue what it was. "I never said I did. But what choice do we have but to play along until we're done?"

He didn't reply.

Victoria turned away first, heading purposefully towards the end of the hall. More burial shrouds and vacuously staring skulls greeted her as she passed into the next tunnel. The wisp, glowing crimson for the moment, bobbed in the middle of the path to her right, and she followed it.

"I can't believe you're still alive," the wisp grumbled before shifting back to a pale green. "I knew you'd be fine, though."

"If you don't mind my asking, how did you get this job?" Victoria enquired, genuinely curious. She didn't understand this wisp. It had given them no name and seemed more like two completely different people than one. Was the Crawler right and its time alone had changed it? Or had something odd happened to somehow merge one guide with the other?

"I don't. I was chosen for my steadfast character and dependable disposition," it replied with a nervous giggle.

"Oh."

An amused snort from behind her was the only hint she had that Reaver was following them.

The air was getting colder, seemingly sinking beneath Victoria's skin. The watched sensation was getting worse and, though they ran into a few more hollow men, nothing was really happening. It had almost made sense in the Forge, the environment was as much of a test as anything Blaze could have thrown at them. But here? Unless the goal was to scare them to death, Victoria wasn't feeling much of a challenge. Theresa had implied Stone was the one to be feared…so why wasn't anything happening?

"Have you had many Heroes venture through here?" she called to the wisp, trying to make sense of everything. Avo forbid the Willstone was gone….

"You dare ask of those who fell before you?! No, no, not many. Less than a handful, I think. And you're the most untested of the lot."

Then the Willstone was probably still here. Underneath the concern for what was awaiting them she felt a pang of sorrow. The Old Kingdom had been a long time ago. It had been alone for so long…and they were just going to leave it here when they were done. Why did that feel wrong?

The roar of another waterfall beckoned them from ahead and they stepped out of the tunnels and into a cavern. Mists choked the ground in thick swirls, making her skin tingle where it touched her. Barely visible through the haze, she spotted the falls, only slightly more elevated than their current bit of ground, spilling away into a seemingly endless void from both sides of the cavern. Dead trees, skulls dangling from ropes tied to their barren branches, stood on either side of a bridge that didn't look to have an end. Candles sat in bunches around their roots, doing very little to stave back the utter darkness.

"What is this place?" she whispered, barely able to find her voice. There was nothing off-putting about the area in general—the bridge looked safe and sturdy, wide enough for four people to walk abreast comfortably—but it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. Even the Crawler had curled up smaller than usual, barely felt in the back of her mind.

"The river!" the wisp informed them cheerfully, as though showing them a lovely park full of puppies and kittens. "The pathway to eternal life. For the dead. Who will live forever. In death."

Oh. So that's why there wasn't more of a test. She took a deep, steadying breath and stepped up to the bridge's start. Right then.

"Victoria," Reaver said from behind her, tone somewhere between uncomfortable and pleading.

She froze, turning to find he hadn't moved from his previous position a couple metres back. Is this really the time? "Aren't you coming?"

"No."

She'd meant it rhetorically, trying to usher him along, and that hadn't been on her list of expected rejoinders. "What?"

"N—I can't."

"I—" she broke off with a sigh— "Reaver, we don't have time. We need to keep go—"

"Victoria, I cannot do this."

It was his tone that got through where his words didn't: commanding and distressed, shaking on some of the syllables. For the first time since they'd entered the barrow, she looked closely at him. He'd gone paler than usual, breaths coming in short bursts. He looked like a rabbit about to run. He's afraid, she realised, guilt washing over her. She'd always suspected he'd had an…issue where death was concerned, but she hadn't known. Not really. Hadn't realised it would be so bad.

When she didn't immediately refute him, he added, "I will return to the entrance. And wait for you there."

"Don't be ridiculous," she replied, rousing herself from her thoughts. Talking over him before he could fully counter her, she added, "Like hell I'm going to leave you alone and finish this without you. There's still hollow men to worry about. And what if the door's no longer open? No, we're not splitting up. I'm not going to risk you just because of this trial."

"Haven't you been listening—?"

"I have," she replied stepping up to him. She took his face carefully into her gloved hands. "You can't do this…alone. But you won't be alone. I'll be here—with you, for you, at your side. I'm not going to leave you unless you ask me to. Will you come with me? Shall we finish this quest together?"

He didn't respond at first. All he did was stand there, staring at her as though he'd never seen her properly before. She was starting to think she was going to have to beg him when he finally gave a minute nod. He seemed to realise that was a poor answer and cleared his throat before he murmured, "I—yes. Let's."

Taking his hand in hers, she led him towards the bridge of the dead and, together, they stepped into the mist.

AN: -throws confetti and glitter-