“Leo’s trail ends here,” said Willow. It was a door into the courtyard not far from where they’d left the dining hall. “But like I said, it’s an older trail. Ceri’s continues that way.”
“That’s headed towards the library,” said Rinka. “Alison may have already found them.”
There was that whispering sound again. No, not a whispering sound. Whispers.
Rinka froze. “Ceri? Leo?”
“What are you doing?” asked Willow. She was already ten feet ahead, continuing down the hallway.
“Can you hear that?” asked Rinka.
Rinka couldn’t hear anything herself. The whispers had stopped. Maybe it really was a trick of the wind.
Or maybe it was the way the sound carried in this old building. Rinka had been in some old elvish constructions in Arcas Dyrne. Old temples and the like, sometimes for the clothes and food they gave away when times were tough after her parents’ divorce. There were hallways that would carry thesound from one end to the other and great domes used to whisper political secrets without having to stand close to the recipient. Maybe this was something like that. Alison and Keir were nearby, after all.
“I’m losing Ceri’s trail,” said Willow just as the lights went out.
“Great,” said Rinka. “Just what we need.”
She reached into her pocket and withdrew the match.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” asked Rinka. “I can’t see a damn thing to strike it on, and I don’t have a matchbox.”
“Follow my voice,” said Willow. “I can see just fine.”
Well, at least there was that. Rinka tried to stay towards the center of the hallway; there were so many statues and coats of armor and random plinths to avoid on the sides.
“Come here. Come closer.”
It was the whisper again, clearer this time.
“Ceri? Alison? Keir? Leo?”
A door or window had come open or broken somewhere, sending a damp wind blowing through the hall. Maybe they were outside?
“You’re not going to find them standing in the middle of the hallway. I could barely even hear you, and I’m right here,” said Willow, oblivious to the fear in Rinka’s voice.
“Closer. I need you. Closer.”
That was odd. “I need you.” What did that mean?
“You don’t hear that, Willow? That voice?”
“I only hear you, and my hearing is a bit better than yours.”
“Please. You’re almost there. Just a little more. Come closer.”
“Nope,” said Rinka, stopping in her tracks. “Nope, we’re going back.”
“What do you mean? We ought to at least see if the trail leads into the library,” said Willow.
“Nope. I’m hearing strange voices. It’s time to go.”
Rinka had seen just about every picture show that had been made. There weren’t too many that were scary, but the scary ones all had one thing in common: people who failed to take note of obvious signs of trouble and kept plowing ahead into danger.
They didn’t have the benefit of an intertitle to tell them what the danger was, but Rinka didn’t need it.
Strange voices in a dark, spooky manor that only she could hear? Nope, nothing good was going to come from that.
