(Book 6) Hayden Mackay and The Third-Eye of the Pancharatna

33.2. The Last Memory

Haima let out a sigh, her lips parted. A streak of blood spilled out from the sides of her mouth. I cringed, now coming out of a trance-like state, and watched her quickly wipe the blood with the back of her hand. Dark blood smeared across her chin. The backside of her cheeks and the portion underneath her chin were swollen. There were bruise-like marks on her neck shaped like a human hand giving me the impression that she had been strangle-choked to death before coming here.

"Milady," said Matsyasvi, leaning forward and looking at Haima's mouth. "Do you need...?"

Haima raised her hand and shook her head. Matsyasvi held back with a glum expression on her face that made her lips form a straight line and her eyes frown. So, I could hear their voices too. Good. And it struck me that Matsyasvi was on good terms with Haima, her disposition quite in contrast to the accusatory tone of voice she had used during our conversation months ago.

Haima looked up, right through me, her gaze endearing and irksome at equal measure. Her dark brown eyes narrowed as her otherworldly face hardened. For a moment I thought she was going to lose it, all her composure, all at once, just might burst into tears before me and confess that... but no, she wasn't going to do that now. Haima straightened herself again and relaxed her features. She had to be strong, and why not? - she had come here to be the biggest anchor of the country who would only receive hatred in return for the centuries to come.

The three of them then walked together toward the wall on the far-left side of the room.

A quick sigh escaped my mouth, as though I had been holding my breath for a couple of minutes. The world had suddenly become a shrieking, blinding whirl of unfamiliar senses. I realized that I was getting too anxious with a longing pulsing at the pit of my gut, an inexplicable urge, the absurd, borderline meaningless longing that cannot be read at any number of levels.

My stone burned like acid fire. I know. Keep cool. I'm still me.

I followed them quietly, trusting in the powers of this magical room to lead me to where I needed to go. I had an ultra-close-up view of the wall. Two walls per se. One in the present, and another in a different time dimension. There were dark intricate designs with illustrations of ancient stories, portraits, and floral patterns, presently hidden behind the cluster of dusty cobwebs and badly corroded stones. Haima lifted her hand and touched the wall, placing her full palm over it. She exerted pressure and the portion of the wall that her hand had covered slid inside. A great deal of the wall jerked and rolled only to disappear inside the successive wall. A muffled noise of the rolling rocks made me flinch and the door stopped moving with a bang.

Lady Chandrika seemed to have had strong artistic and creative inclinations. The designs on the wall were only an impression that concealed the latch of the room behind it.

Now that Haima had shown me the way into Molten Vault. This was going to be easy. Just follow her, I told myself. She, with her two companions, was already furthering inside. I hurriedly placed my hand at the same spot and put everything I had into lunging at it. Nothing happened at first. The door was jammed shut. I exerted more pressure, grunting with effort. After many pushes and pulls, and a good deal of wriggles the wall slid inside...as slowly as a million miles per hour.

I stood there cracking my knuckles feeling my stomach gently knot and unknot with impatience. As soon as the door separated from the rest of the wall lending me enough space to gain access, hot wind with golden dust blustered up my track. I went in with a curious, shambling gait, trying not to get too spellbound with this place hidden within Selvyn Hill.

I'd entered a closed island of searing fire with about a hundred-foot chasm that bisected all the way through. I was walking above the fortress of lava. The realm of flames shattered and destroyed by innumerable explosions. It could easily be called the heart of the flowing magma which was being enormously destructive to property in its path. The more I walked on the strong stone bridge, leading to the other side of the chasm, the warmer the air turned, giving me the sensation of being in the middle of a desert heat wave. In contrast to the savage magma below, the giant dark abyss stretched for as far as the eye could see. It was bathed in a warm yellow and orange glow reminding me of aurora lights.