Chapter 22: The Stone's Glow
The obsidian stone pulsed against Nick’s palm, a warm, living counterpoint to the cave’s damp chill. Its crimson light bled between his fingers, painting the hollow where he sat in shades of blood and shadow. Lho hadn’t moved. He stood frozen, his wide eyes reflecting the unnatural glow, a silent sentinel witnessing the impossible. The distant painted spiral on the cave wall seemed to dim, its blue-white luminescence yielding to the stone’s insistent, rhythmic thrum. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It wasn't just a pulse; it was a pull. A magnetic draw towards the deeper darkness, towards the place where the painted figure waited.
Nick’s gaze dropped to the spiral scar beneath his tunic. It felt cold, inert, a dormant echo of the stone’s vibrant heat. The Voice had spoken through the cave, through the stone… but what was it asking? ‘Ready to move’? Move where? Through time? Into the stone itself? Away from this aching grief and the tribe’s wary eyes? The thought of leaving Lho, this small anchor of shared sorrow in a sea of incomprehension, twisted something sharp inside him. Yet the stone’s call was undeniable, vibrating up his arm, resonating in his bones, whispering of answers buried deeper than the cave’s roots.
He looked at Lho. The boy’s face was a mask of fearful awe, but beneath it, Nick saw the echo of Asha’s fierce intelligence, the same spark that had recognized him across millennia. He couldn’t just vanish. Not without… something. A sign? An explanation? Futility washed over him. How could he explain time travel to a child who communicated in gestures and shared stones?
Slowly, deliberately, Nick raised his other hand. He pointed towards the faint, distant glow of the painted spiral deep in the cave. Then he pointed to the pulsing black stone in his palm. He held Lho’s gaze, willing him to understand the connection. This stone… leads there. He tapped his own chest, over the cold scar. Then he tapped the stone again. It calls me.
Lho’s brow furrowed. He glanced towards the distant spiral, then back at the stone, then at Nick’s chest. His small hand crept up to touch his own unmarked skin, confusion warring with dawning comprehension. He nodded, a slow, hesitant dip of his chin. He understood the call, if not the reason.
The stone pulsed brighter, hotter. The pull intensified, becoming a physical ache. The cold scar beneath Nick’s tunic began to prickle, a faint echo of the stone’s warmth stirring within him. He couldn’t delay. The Voice had spoken. The path was opening. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, steeling himself against the pang of leaving this boy, this fragile connection. Then, driven by the stone’s insistent thrum and the chilling promise beneath his skin, Nick pressed the warm, smooth obsidian flat against the center of his chest, directly over the spiral scar.
The effect was instantaneous and violent.
The cold scar ignited. Not warmth, but searing, blinding light erupted from beneath his tunic, blazing through the thin hide like paper. It wasn't fire; it was pure, incandescent energy, the color of captured lightning – a brilliant, electric blue-white that swallowed the stone’s crimson glow entirely. Nick gasped, not in pain, but in overwhelming shock as the light fused with the stone’s heat, flooding his body with a terrifying, exhilarating current. It felt like every nerve ending was singing, every cell vibrating at a frequency beyond comprehension.
Simultaneously, a low hum filled the cavern, deeper than any sound Nick had ever heard. It wasn't audible so much as felt, vibrating in the teeth, shaking the marrow of his bones. It resonated through the stone floor, up the walls, making the very air thrum. And within that resonant hum, layered like whispers woven into thunder, came the Voice. Calm. Ancient. Impossibly close, yet echoing from the depths of eternity. It spoke directly into the core of Nick’s being: “You are ready to move.”
The blazing light from Nick’s chest pulsed outwards in a wave, illuminating the cavern walls with stark, unforgiving clarity. The painted beasts seemed to leap and writhe in the sudden glare. Shadows fled, revealing Korr standing rigid at the entrance to the hollow, having approached silently. His face, caught in the actinic light, was a mask of primal terror and burgeoning fury. The blue-white glare reflected in his wide, horrified eyes, highlighting the wolf teeth around his neck, turning them into jagged shards of bone.
He saw the impossible light blazing from Nick’s chest. He saw the humming air vibrating around him. He saw the stranger from nowhere holding the dark, pulsing stone against his own flesh, radiating power that smelled of ozone and deep earth and something utterly alien.
Korr’s roar shattered the humming silence. It wasn't a sound of challenge; it was raw, guttural terror transmuted into rage. A sound ripped from the throat of a beast cornered, defending its den. He raised his heavy spear, the flint point catching the light, aimed squarely at Nick’s heart.
“Fyr-byrengr!” The name was a curse, spat with venom. His other hand swept out, encompassing the cave where his tribe huddled, unseen but surely awakened by the light and the roar. “Thief! Soul-eater!” His voice cracked with desperation and conviction. “You steal the breath! You steal the spirit! You take them!” He jabbed the spear towards Nick, then towards the darkness where Asha had vanished, where the painted figure waited. “Give them back!”
The accusation hung in the electrified air, thick as the cave’s dampness. Soul-eater. Thief of spirits. Korr believed Nick’s unnatural power, this blazing light summoned by the stone, was draining the life-force of his people, stealing the souls of the departed – like Asha’s – preventing them from passing properly. The blazing spiral scar, the humming Voice, the stone pulsing like a stolen heart… it was proof of monstrous theft in Korr’s primal understanding. The tribe’s protector faced the ultimate predator, not of flesh, but of spirit. Nick stood bathed in impossible light, the warm stone fused to his chest, the Voice’s command echoing in his bones, facing the point of a spear wielded by a chieftain convinced he was stealing the very essence of his people. The path forward shimmered with lethal tension.
The humid cave air crackled with Korr’s accusation. "Soul-eater!" His roar bounced off the painted bison, making the ochre figures seem to flinch. The spear point, sharpened flint catching Nick’s blazing blue-white light, trembled only slightly in Korr’s iron grip. Fear warred with duty in the chieftain’s eyes, but fury won. He lunged.
Nick saw the muscles coil in Korr’s thick thighs, the shift of weight forward. Instinct, older than thought, kicked in. He twisted sideways, the obsidian stone still fused hot against his scar. The spear tip ripped through the loose hide of his tunic, scraping skin and drawing a sharp gasp. Cold stone met his back as he slammed into the cave wall, the breath knocked out of him. Korr’s momentum carried him forward, off-balance for a heartbeat.
That heartbeat was enough. Nick shoved off the wall, driving his shoulder into Korr’s ribs. It was like hitting seasoned oak. Korr grunted, staggering, but didn’t fall. His free hand, thick-fingered and scarred, clamped onto Nick’s wrist holding the stone. The heat radiating from the obsidian seemed to surprise him, but his grip tightened like a vise. Nick felt bones grind.
"Thief!" Korr snarled, spittle flying, his face inches from Nick’s. The smell of woodsmoke, cured hides, and raw animal fear poured off him. He wrenched Nick’s arm sideways, trying to break the connection between stone and scar. The blazing light flickered violently. The deep hum from the cave walls stuttered, pitching higher, frantic.
Nick drove his knee up, aiming for Korr’s gut. It connected, hard. Korr doubled over with a choked gasp, his grip loosening. Nick tore his wrist free, stumbling back. The stone pulsed crimson through the fading blue glare, frantic. Korr straightened, eyes wild, murderous. He didn’t raise the spear again. He just charged, a battering ram of muscle and rage, aiming to crush Nick against the stone.
They collided. Nick braced, absorbing the impact, grappling desperately. Korr’s hands found Nick’s throat, thick thumbs pressing into his windpipe. Stars burst behind Nick’s eyes. He clawed at Korr’s face, feeling coarse beard and hard bone. The obsidian stone, trapped between their chests, burned like a brand. The spiral scar beneath it flared, icy cold meeting volcanic heat. Pressure built, immense and silent, deep within Nick’s core.
It erupted.
Not sound, but pure force. A silent concussion of blue-white fire burst from the space between their locked bodies. It didn't burn flesh; it threw them apart like dolls. Korr was hurled backwards, crashing onto the uneven cave floor with a sickening thud. Nick was flung against the opposite wall, sliding down, gasping for air, his throat raw.
Silence rushed in, thick and stunned. The cave paintings seemed to hold their breath. Korr lay sprawled on his back, unmoving. Then, a low groan escaped him. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows, his movements clumsy, disoriented. His eyes, wide and unseeing, scanned the darkness above him. The fierce light was gone, leaving only the faint, distant glow of the painted spiral and the dim pulse of the obsidian stone clutched weakly in Nick’s hand.
"My... eyes," Korr rasped, his voice thick with confusion and dawning horror. He blinked rapidly, then stopped. A profound stillness settled over him. He turned his head slowly, blindly, towards where Nick slumped against the wall. A strange calm smoothed the fury from his ravaged face. His lips moved, forming words barely louder than the drip of water somewhere deep in the cave.
"The gods..." he breathed, the sound carrying an eerie clarity in the sudden quiet. His sightless eyes seemed to pierce Nick. "...were you."
The breath left Korr’s body in a soft sigh. His head lolled to the side, coming to rest against the cold stone floor. The fierce protector, the primal law, was still.
Nick pushed himself upright, trembling violently. Every muscle shook. He stared at Korr’s motionless form, then down at his own hands. They were scratched, smeared with dirt and Korr’s blood. The obsidian stone pulsed softly in his palm, warm and insistent. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. No triumph surged through him. Only a hollow, echoing horror. He hadn't fought Korr. He hadn't meant to unleash... whatever that was. He’d just reacted. Survived.
He was no victor. Only a witness. To Korr’s end. To the terrifying, unintended power flaring from his own scar, from the stone Asha left. The deep hum vibrated faintly in the stone beneath his feet, a mournful counterpoint to the silence. The path forward wasn't shimmering anymore. It was dark, stained, and demanded payment. Seventeen remain. The stone pulsed again, pulling his gaze deeper into the cave, towards the waiting spiral. Towards answers he suddenly feared.