The Last Talisman by Licia Troisi

rose up to sustain the fretwork ceiling, where the sun, gushing into the dome, shone down through the perforations to create geometric patterns on the floor. In addition, there were two smaller, lateral naves, with several wall niches, each of which boasted a different statue. Beneath each figure was a name written in a language unfamiliar to Nihal. Her attention was drawn to the stately figure of a man. He was tall, with a proud, unflinching gaze. In one hand rose a vigorous flame that he seemed to be guiding with the strength of his fingers. The other held a massive lance.
    Without knowing why, Nihal found herself fascinated by this figure, and she stood there for a moment examining it. It seemed as if his eyes were staring down at her, almost as if he were calling to her.
    â€œIs something wrong?” came Sennar’s voice in a whisper.
    She snapped back to reality. “No, everything’s fine.”
    Nihal resumed her examination of the sanctuary. The central nave, she noticed, led to a grand altar, wrapped in gilded vines. Resting there on a high pedestal, bathed in a faint ray of light, was the stone. It glowed with a startling brilliance.
    â€œIs that it?” Laio asked tentatively.
    â€œI … I believe so,” Nihal murmured.
    She was perplexed. Could it really be so simple? No guardian? She slipped her sword back into its sheath and stepped toward the altar. It was then that she heard a faint stirring. She pricked her ears.
    â€œWhat—” Laio began, but Sennar shushed him.
    The air began to fill with a sort of melody, a lullaby, perhaps, or a nursery rhyme. It wasn’t coming from any particular direction of the room. It was everywhere. And there was no echo, no depth to the tone at all. It seemed only to exist in their minds, and the three of them turned to each other just to ensure that they were all hearing the same sound.
    At first, the words were muddled, but then it became possible to distinguish distinct sounds, something like a sentence. The meaning was not clear, but the sound reminded Nihal of the words that the guardian of the water sanctuary had spoken to her, or of the ritual spell she herself recited over each stone to activate its power. Yes, it was an elfin chant. The voice was that of an adolescent girl, sad and unnerving.
    â€œWho are you? Who’s singing?” Nihal asked.
    The song ceased.
    â€œI am Sheireen, a half-elf, and I’m here for Glael.”
    Still, only silence.
    â€œI seek its power in order to defeat the Tyrant, who’s destroying this world. Are you the guardian?”
    The voice took up its song again, but this time the words were clear, no longer in the language of the elves:
    Light, my darling light,
    Wherever is my light?
    To shadow it was doomed
    Gathered up forever in the gloom.
    Sun, my darling sun,
    Where have you gone, my sun?
    Kidnapped by the night
    Stolen away by darkness, out of sight.
    Life, my darling life,
    Wherever is my life?
    Fled from my hands in a rush
    Like a withered flower in a bramble bush.
    A laugh brought the last verse to a close, and an icy unease seeped into Nihal’s heart. She drew her sword, and the sound of the black crystal blade sliding out of its sheath rang out in the silence.
    At its sound came a violent shout. “No blood, not on my floors! No hate between these walls! Lower your blade!”
    Nihal tucked away her weapon immediately. “As I told you, I am Sheireen. … I beg you, show yourself.”
    â€œOh, I know Sheireen, and I know Shevrar. All fire resides in light, does it not? But Shevrar destroys and light creates, isn’t that so?” the voice replied. “But then, if light is light, then why is everything dead here? It’s so cold. … I’m so very cold. … Warm me up, boy. …”
    Just then, Laio shrieked.
    Sennar rushed over to him. “What is it?” he asked.
    â€œNothing. … It’s just, it felt like a hand touched me, a