From houses four great wisdom fell
Who from dark ages comes to tell?
They harnessed the darkness that pumps a dead heart,
They fell to the darkness and to the rot.
Seeking the secrets of life hidden, failing, or else to be cut off with victory,
Challengers of immortal Decay, these were swallowed by the sea.
They twisted the roots to forms of their own,
Gently the roots twine across their dry bones.
In the name of peace they called down flame
And banished peace from all of their name.
Under the stars or under the sea, houses four in silence lie
Choose well, child, to enter—or to fly.
For surest of heirlooms, death comes to all,
Our common winding of dust and pall.
From houses four the shadows flit
Across dead ages, and by watch-candles sit.
"What?" said Steve. Herobrine jumped. "Sorry. I just came downstairs and you were mumbling to yourself."
"It's an old rhyme I found copied down in our library. Supposedly one of the verses is about our family. The problem is that after all this time I'm not sure which one it is, and it's bothering me."
"Can I hear it?"
"Sure. Maybe another perspective will help." Herobrine recited the rhyme, watching with amusement at the growing alarm and perplexity in Steve's face.
"Um. That's pretty messed up."
"No ideas?"
"Nope, nothing. You're the history buff here."
"Pff, I'm only a dabbler and you know it."
"You know more than I do."
"I disagree. I'm only interested in specific parts of our history, you look at it all."
"But I don't remember dates."
"Steve, very little of history is dates."
"True. But it gets embarrassing if you think an event of the iron age happened in the golden age. Who wrote it though? Funny the only bad thing he could find to say about the alchemists was that they died. That's not so bad considering he mentions twice that you can't escape death."
"You mean the fourth stanza? I think the point of that was how pointless their existence was. I'm glad you agree it refers to alchemists. That's one we can be certain of."
"Is that the one that's supposed to be about us?"
"I don't think so. There's some alchemy in our past, but very little compared to other families."
"So… do you have any ideas?"
"Alright, listen. The second one is out because it says they were swallowed by the sea. That'll be the house of Kieran. Darkmancers. They could summon and control zombies. The entire estate fell into the sea during an earthquake and the family drowned."
"The first verse seems to be referring to darkmancers, though."
"I know, that's what bothers me. If I had to guess, we'd be the fourth verse. It seems to be referring to generic functional magic and its less pleasant side effects."
"Uh-huh." Steve put out his foot and caught the staff, which had been about to fall out of its corner. "You want some of this cheese?" he said, shoving the staff back into place without looking at it. "Let's talk about happy things." Herobrine looked with distaste at a bluish, crumbly object the size of a steer's head sitting on the table.
"That rules out the cheese then. You can have it."
"Good." Steve cut off another slice.
The ex-farmer had left the day before, having given them permission to use the house and leftover supplies until Steve was feeling ready to travel again. The brothers had spent some time discussing whether to continue to Lost Pine or go home, and had finally decided to wait for a while, giving the zombies time to disperse and Steve time to recover, and then go in, on the off chance that what they were looking for was still there. It wasn't something they could afford to lose without at least checking. So a few days later, they locked the door and left the key hanging from the doorknob, then started walking. Steve barely limped and leaned on the stick only in slippery places. Herobrine swung along with a faraway light in his hoarfrost-grey eyes, humming a tune and sometimes frowning. Now and then Steve caught muttered snatches of the rhyme. "Across dead ages… secrets of life hidden… what if—no, that still doesn't make sense..."
"Why bother about it? It was a long time ago."
"It was said the sibyls lived outside of time."
"Wait, this is a sibylline prophecy? Why didn't you tell me?"
Herobrine shrugged. "It could just be a fake—but it still shows remarkable foresight and thought."
"True. Is there any historical evidence for the sibyls?"
"Do you mean, believable historical evidence? There are plenty of folk stories."
"Huh. That's the problem with history."
"It's the problem with everything. You can't just take things at face value. But anyway, it was written before the fall of Kieran, so there's that, at least. It's a freak coincidence if nothing else and I'd like to know why."
"You think there's a reason?"
"I don't know." Herobrine walked deep in thought for a few seconds, but was distracted by a crunching sound and a delicious smell. He looked up and found Steve meditatively munching on a roll. "How many of those have you got?"
"Oh, you want one?" Steve dug a slightly squashed roll out of a pocket, picked off a piece of lint and offered it to Herobrine, who shook his head.
"Are your pockets full of rolls?"
"Mostly. Less full than they were, I've been eating them." he'd made a batch before they left the farmhouse with some leftover flour. Herobrine sighed.
"Steve, you're ridiculous."
"Am I?" Steve looked apologetically at him, crumbs in his chin stubble. Herobrine dusted him off.
"Yes, yes you are. Don't ever change."
A/N: Seriously Herobrine, can't you go for two chapters without being creepy?
Back when I was beginning this, I for some reason decided that I would go with a "vanitas" theme, so if you want to google that and be looking out for possible vanitas symbols I'm trying to sneakily cram them in wherever I can. So far we've got dead leaves and a skull. And, y'know, Death being mentioned every five minutes, but that's a given in this world.
Also. Kieran is the diminutive of Ciar, Irish for 'black.' Darkmancers. Kieran. Little dark ones. Funny thing is, I did not know this. I just randomly thought "Kieran is a good name, I'll throw that in and check what it means later." Of course, I probably already knew what it meant but just didn't remember. Thank you, subconscious, you're startled me yet again…