"IT'S NOT WHAT IT SAYS. It's what it does not."
Rosa looked to Rafel's steady amber eyes, seeking courage in its piercing depths. She found it, and went on, explaining;
"The Templars loved to write in code. In their scripts. In their tomes. And apparently, on their doors. It was a time of persecution and sadism in the church. But they also masked the true intent of their hearts in misdirections.
The lay meaning of whatever they wrote was not the real meaning. So that in the times of King Thomopoulos, many scholars misinterpreted their scripts, often to their deaths.
A Templar monk once wrote, 'The serpent is grievous to the children not born of fire.'
The scholars of the King, [Grand Meisters] at the inception of the [C. A. W], interpreted the SERPENT of course as the devil and the CHILDREN OF FIRE as sinners. That was not what it meant. Long story short, the SERPENT was a winding lava lake of a volcano. And by the CHILDREN OF FIRE the monks meant Hellions.
At the depths of the river of fire, a Demon halfling found a loot of treasure not seen in ages—during a half-assed attempt to take his life."
"The serpent is grievous to the children not born of fire," Rafel rehearsed the words quietly.
"It was a riddle: it meant only the children born of fire; demons, could enter the Serpent: the lava lake, and find the treasure." Sekhmet offered calmly with a short laugh. "Hell, monks?"
Rosa still touched the cold stone door which faked as a wall with his hand. She replied Sekhmet. "Yes. It was intended to be misinterpreted. You can't take a monk's writing at face value, definitely not one half a millennia old. I have spent months to learn their Valhallan and Avalonic scripts, the right way of reading the 27 Gothic alphabets.
Still, I do not trust a monk with a pen.
In their days, writing was their warfare," she whispered this last part to Rafel.
"Soooo...are we going in or not?" Ravenna was still skippy, eyeing the wall like a closed glass case of delicious burgers. Her green eyes were bright with mana. Now that everyone knew who her father was, short spills of inner magic from her body like this were not seen as weird anymore.
"I understand." Rafel moved close to Rosamunde. He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. Her pulse fluttered at his touch. "—I do, but this is important. The monks wouldn't try one of their misdirection codes if nothing of value is hidden behind this wall.
We are not here for bullions. We are here for the Book. I think our intentions matter in solving the riddle. To solving the riddle correctly, we must think like it's creators. And we have—we used the key: Tomasina. A revered Saint.
I have confidence in you, Rosamunde. It will not fail."
Rosa gulped at the fierce faith she could see vibrant in his gilded pupils.
And before long, every cobweb and crevice of the Abbey pulsed in red and golden light.
GGGRRRRRRR!
The stone began to rumble. Rafel heard a rattling, like the sound of dragging chains.
"It's time for us to answer the riddle now." She posed it again, "beyond this coil is a sacred truth. Tell a lie to see it revealed."
Rafel smiled, and all the women turned to him. "It is not a riddle at all, my lovelies. I guess the riddle of it is that we think it as one. But it's not! It's only a question. Get rid of the phrases, antecedents, and punctuation, and we have six words:
A SACRED TRUTH AND A LIE.
All we need is a profound divine truth, and some unrelated lie." Rafel stepped close to Sekhmet, and placed his hand on top hers. Their fingers treaded together, and the wall glowed brighter gold. He proclaimed, "Hear me, Mystic Arc and deliver your secrets. Here's MY SACRED TRUTH AND A LIE: I am the Apollyon of Hel, and I did not love one by name of Corazón Mortimer."
WHIRR! WHIRR! WHIRR!
DANNNGG!!!
A loud click sounded and the wall itself shifted. It was like stone rolled off a tomb. Seconds later, five pairs of eyes stared down a hollow descending staircase. The air smelled wet and settled on the skin. Strange bats flapped furiously out.
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"Luminaris!" Aya whispered, and a fresh ball of white light appeared over her palm floating. She was no [Caster Witch], but she had picked up a few things from Cora.
The tunnel was a passageway into a tomb. Rafel could tell that much. Only Saints or Pharaohs were buried with as much these attention to detail. The question was, why the fuck would the Book of Souls be in a tomb under an Abbey?
It sounded like the kind of thing that should be in a sanctum, or a grotto!
At the end of the steps, Aya held the glowing ball high and they all made a collective gasp.
"Shit." Rafel growled.
Ravenna's green pupils dilated. "I think we just found where all the monks went."
The ball of magical light illumined twelve kneeling men in a circle around a silver sarcophagus with an inscribed cross on its top. Mummified faces peered out from the cassocks; gray sentinels surrounding the Saint in protection—even in death. The corpses of the monks were perfectly preserved in the cool tomb. Once their Saint's, now, theirs too.