Kapitel 67: The Tomb of the Thirteen - A dark Legacy!
When Darcie opened her eyes, she could see nothing but hazy darkness.
The young Malfoy's mind felt giddy as if someone had woken her up after sleeping only for an hour, and then forced her to run. An incoherent noise also buzzed in her ears, making her wince unknowingly.
Suddenly, her purse, which was flung around her shoulder, floated up and hit her on her forehead, jolting her awake.
Alarmed, Darcie snapped open her eyes, and what she saw made her gasp.
She had arrived in a stony, circular hall, lit with dim torches, giving it a sinister appearance. Daphne and Dobby were levitating near her, their eyes still shut, their eyelids flickering with pain.
Between the three, hovering and bobbing up and down, was a square wooden object, with a scroll sigil carved in its middle.
And surrounding them all, buzzing and stinging, was a swarm of sapphire-blue Billywigs.
There were thousands of them, swirling around, their long, thin stingers out. Billywigs' stings could cause giddiness and make the stung person levitate. Too many stings, however, could cause the victim to hover uncontrollably for days on end. Sometimes, the victim would suffer from a severe allergic reaction, and it would ensue permanent floating.
Darcie didn't want it to happen to them.
But what were they doing here? And where were they, to begin with?
Darcie squeezed her eyes, recalling the memory of opening the mysterious object. The moment she had… hissed, the entire palm-sized object had exploded into a black mist, uncovering a wooden relic of some sort with a sigil of a scroll in its middle.
Before any of the three could have done something or observed anything, they were teleported here against their will.
Yes! Now she remembered.
They had thought that the mysterious object was hiding a map, once. But, children as they were, Darcie and Daphne had taken Garluk the goblin's words for granted, not questioning if he was right or wrong.
The palm-sized mysterious object had never been hiding a map, it seemed.
It was a Portkey!
'But we never touched it,' Darcie reasoned. 'Or was coming in contact with the black mist counted as coming in contact with the Portkey itself?'
Buzzz!
More Billywigs buzzed, their outrageous speed making them look like a blue blur against the dim walls.
No. She couldn't let them sting her and her friends anymore. "Daphne! Dobby!" Darcie screamed, shaking their shoulders. "Wake up!"
Darcie swatted a few Billywigs who were approaching her and grabbed the portkey. More stings would only make her giddier, not something she could afford here in this foreign and strange place.
Darcie's and Dobby's eyes stirred as Darcie continuously shook them. Soon they woke up, and Darcie told them her theory.
"Dobby don' like this, miss," the house-elf squeaked, covering his ears where the Billywigs were trying to sting him. "Dobby feels bad."
Daphne was too having a hard time preventing herself from getting stung.
After a few minutes of their constant struggle, the three landed on the ground lined with large stone tiles full of dust.
Darcie looked around, and through the swarm, she could barely make out that they were in ruins, ancient and mysterious. The very air smelled of rot, earth, time, and darkness.
And, yes. It smelled of adventure the most.
When Darcie's gaze came around, she found Daphne looking at her with shock and horrifying amazement. "You…" Daphne drawled, flicking her hands, "… are a Parselmouth!"
Darcie opened her mouth, but then closed it, knowing not what to say. At last, she said, "I guess I am."
Daphne's blue eyes reflected Darcie's face for long, and then she shook her head, a hint of a smile flashing across her thin lips. "Where are we?" she asked, helping Dobby. "Did you hear… any voices?"
Darcie frowned. "No," she shook her head. "I didn't."
"I think Dobby's right, Darcie," Daphne told her. "It will be nothing but trouble if our parents find us missing. Let's disapparate, and return only when we have figured out this Portkey's origin."
That sounded reasonable to Darcie, her fingers clenching the portkey. "OK," she nodded. "The Portkey doesn't seem to work anymore, I think. Dobby, I will leave it to you."
The girls held Dobby's tiny fingers, and Dobby, shaking, thought of disapparating.
"Dobby?" Daphne prodded, eying the house-elf's sudden silence. "What are you waiting for? Let's go."
Darcie, too, looked at Dobby and sensed something amiss. "What is it, Dobby?"
The house-elf looked up at his mistress, fear birthing in his large, tennis ball-like green eyes. "Dobby can't sense it, miss Darcie," he said, his voice trembling. "Dobby can't sense anything."
"Huh?" Daphne felt puzzled.
Darcie, however, had experienced much compared to her best friend. She instantly recalled that there was a time when she had called Dobby, but he had failed to sense her. Only later had Madam Villanelle told her that house-elves could only go to a place upon sensing its presence through magic.
Often, even the most powerful concealing charms weren't enough from preventing them to sense its presence, leading to their absurd Apparation magic.
But there were even more complex, ancient spells and magic constructions that not even house-elves could sense.
One such enchanted place was Avalon, where the Six from the Order of the Immortal Lotus resided, along with countless magical creatures, including wizards and witches.
'Have we arrived at a place like that?' Darcie questioned, a trace of worry rising in her heart.
Darcie hurriedly let Daphne know her thoughts, and she could see the same worry flickering in the young Greengrass' eyes. "We must not lose rationality," Daphne said, encouraging herself. "Can you do something about these Billywigs, first? I can't even think properly with them kept trying to sting us."
Darcie patted Dobby and then nodded. "Dobby, cast a shield charm around us. Be brave."
Something stirred within Dobby, his trembling limbs regaining stillness. "Dobby will keep the two misses safe," the house-elf promised, straightening his tiny spine. "Dobby's a knight!"
Snap!
"…?"
"…?"
No shield appeared, though.
Snap! Snap! Snap!
And the trembling returned to Dobby's arms. "Dobby can't do magic!" the house-elf screamed, horrified. "Dobby can't…"
For the first time, both Darcie and Daphne felt terrified. Half of their courage came from the fact that they were with Dobby, a house-elf. But if he couldn't do magic, then…
"Darcie." Daphne worded, her face paling.
Darcie had already closed her eyes, her hand outstretched.
Specific. Belief. Intention.
At this time, Darice always sensed the magical force stirring about her, following her principles.
No response.
Darcie's eyes snapped open, her pupils trembling. "Protego!" she shouted, hoping that the verbal magic would work.
Darcie's hand dropped, her heart pounding. Was there any place on earth where she couldn't do magic? Was there any magic in the world that could cut a witch from her magical prowess?
Was there any spell that could bring down the magical community to the level of muggles?
Darcie drew a sharp breath, forcing herself to not lose her calm and compose.
She still had Lilith, Darcie remembered. And her mother had already given her purse in the evening, which she had forgotten at home. "Let's look around," Darcie said, holding Daphne and Dobby's hands. "No situation is completely hopeless. Perhaps we will find some clues."
Daphne's breathing calmed down, her fingers cold. She nodded.
Swatting the Billywigs, getting stung, levitating, and pulling each other down, the girls and the house-elf kept walking around in the close, circular hall.
The hall was vast and old, but other than torches, there was absolutely nothing. Not to mention, the surrounding swarm made it almost impossible to see the entire hall.
"Darcie! Look!" Daphne shouted, pointing in the distance. "There's a door!"
Darcie's eyes lit up. With Dobby between them, Darcie and Daphne crawled toward the "door", one step at a time.
Alas! It wasn't a door at all. It was a giant stone slab, standing tall within the ruin's circular wall. Because of its rectangular edges, from a distance, it gave the impression of a door. Nothing more.
Daphne's face fell instantly.
"Weird," Darcie wondered, looking at the stone slab. "What's the point of erecting a rectangular slab within a circular wall, if it isn't an entrance?"
Darcie neared the stone slab, and her eyes narrowed. She lifted her arm and ran it across the stone.
Suddenly, a massive amount of dust fell off, and Daphne gasped.
What appeared on the stone slab was an enormous circle, with 13 holes on it, placed at an equal gap in the circular arc. In the middle of the circle, there was a vertical slit, as if one was asking to put something in it.
"Dobby knows," the house-elf squeaked. "That's for the portkey."
Darcie could already tell that it wasn't so at a glance. Nonetheless, she tried putting the square, wooden portkey against the vertical slit, standing on her toes.
It was just too thick.
"Darcie, there's something written at the top of the slab," Daphne said, astonished. "Look, you can see the blurry edges through the dust."
"Dobby," Darcie looked down at the house-elf. "Up."
The girls lifted Dobby, who eagerly cleared the dust off the writing.
"Can you read it?" Daphne asked, noticing the foreign language. It wasn't French or Latin, or even the young Greengrass could make sense of it.
"It's an old, mutated form of Anglo-Saxon writing," Darcie observed. "It says… Exit."
"What?" Daphne blurted. "This is the exit?"
"I think," Darcie observed, "either we will need to fill up all these 13 holes and the vertical slit, or at least one of them to go out of this place. What do you reckon?"
Daphne went silent for a moment, her hands almost squishing a Billywig to death, but failed to catch it. "If there's an Exit…"
"… then there's an Entrance," Darcie finished. "Let's go diagonally opposite this door."
The girls were hoping to find another stone slab as the Entrance. But what they found was an actual door.
Daphne, now utterly shocked and terrified, stumbled back. Even Darcie's eyes fluctuated with never seen apprehension.
Standing in front of them, over 20 ft tall, was a door, giving off the most sinister aura the girls had ever felt. It was entirely covered in runes, glyphs, horrible, devilish drawings, and protruding tiny demonic statues.
At another glance, those demonic statues felt like a contorted version of house-elves and goblins.
At the top of the door, there was a large stone slab, covered in the same writing as the previous door.
"Darcie…" Daphne tightened her hold over Darcie's fingers, as the young Malfoy translated the script.
"Through me the way into the suffering city," Darcie translated, her voice cold. "Through me the way to the eternal pain, Through me the way that runs among the lost."
"Darcie…" Daphne urged. "I am scared."
"Justice urged on my high Artificer; My Maker was Divine authority, The highest Wisdom, and the primal Love," Darcie continued as if caught in a trance. "Before me nothing but eternal things Were made, and I endure eternally."
"Darcie!"
Darcie looked at her best friend, and translated the last line, "Abandon every hope, who enter here."
Rumble!!!
The entire door trembled, the runes on it restructuring themselves, transforming into the same script.
"We have no other way," Darcie told Daphne.
Daphne's eyes had gone misty, but she held on. Shockingly, the house-elf said nothing, as if he refused to show fear when Darcie was already holding her ground.
"There are more words," Darcie said, bringing her gaze to the hideous, dark door. "It should explain where we are, I guess."
"What…" Daphne mumbled. "What do they say?"
"Welcome, oh worthy!" Darcie translated. "Welcome to the Tomb of the Thirteen. Descend into the 13 circles of Hell, slaughter the 13 Guardians, and obtain my Legacy — the Dark Scroll!!!"
"What?!" Daphne cried. "The legendary Alchemical Elixir! But that's a myth! Isn't it?!"
Dark Scroll was indeed a myth. So absurd, that even the most talented wizard didn't believe it. Its legend was truly illogical.
According to the ancient texts, there was only one potion that could enchant a mind permanently, increasing its computing capacity by 100%. It was almost like having two brains in one head. No other magic, no matter how ancient or alien of origin could even come close to its results.
And that potion was an Alchemical Elixir, whose infamous recipe hid in a Dark Scroll, leading the elixir itself to be called so.
In the history of wizardkind, there had been none who had found even a distant clue related to its true presence. Yet, the claim of the legend was enough to make this potion stand just beneath the Elixir of Life and the Philosopher's Stone in value.
"There's a signature under the sentence," Darice said, noticing the tiny words. "It says…"
Darcie's eyes widened, and she, too, stepped back.
"What…" Daphne jolted Darcie's shoulder.
"It says," Darcie gulped,"the Lord of Azkaban…"
"… Ekrizdis!!"
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