by Sarah Stribley

Created on: August 10, 2009

Excerpt From: "The Snake Heart"

No sound drifted down through the high ceiling of Cierta Rohg, for the Searock was deeply submerged in water.

Waterproofing spells and barriers kept out all unwanted water and sea life. The only evidence of its watery location were the small clumps of coral that grew on the exterior of its rocky walls.

The windows no longer held stained glass images depicting saints and angels, water had been solidified into thick translucent panes as a substitute. Lighting was superfluous, the Lesteths could see in even the inkiest of darkness. The original furniture was still serviceable, some pieces being kept because of their value and some because they were necessary.

The Shadow of Hearts was pacing back and forth beside a circular table, though the water had damaged it and barnacles had begun to gather on its study legs, she liked it for its personality, its rugged character.

A wide flat bowl stood upon the table's surface, filled half way with liquid mercury. The silver fluid rippled and bubbled with a life its own, faces appeared on the bubbles translucent membrane and were gone with a pinprick of wind that kissed the delicate skin.

Words surfaced from the shallows of the bowl, scenes from future dramas shimmered in and out of the minute crest of a ripple, frozen until their time came to be fulfilled. A ghostly whisper vibrated through the bowl, stirring the water's surface and haunting the air with its silky tones and twisted words.

"Y.....Yav.....vann.....vann.....a...a.......a...Yav ....ava......avanna.....a...a...a"

She moved towards the bowl, her raven robes hissing on the mosaic floor, and leaned to look into its pearly face.

"Speak to me." she commanded the spirit.

A little girl's face appeared on the contorted skin of the quicksilver, her face was pale, dead. The ghost laughed and her face disappeared for a moment as she darted away from the spirit mirror. She came back, laughing again, and Yavanna frowned at her carefree attitude.

A war was being fought here and the girl needed to halt her childish behavior long enough to give the Shadow what information she needed. The ever furrowing bowl of mercury was her link to the spirit world, her way of communicating with the dead and forgotten.

Soon the girl's voice came through again, distant and distorted. Her face morphed into something else, something old and grotesque, something that should be dead but refused to die.

"There has been numerous additions to the

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