Whispering Words

This story is by Andrea Frost and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

The air outside the tent was suffocating. Harsh sunlight and dust particles hang heavy in the air. Kele had disappeared. The dig site was devoid of people. Even the cicadas, which helped Elvira focus, were silent. Trowels scattered between buckets and artifact trays; brushes haphazardly placed near pits and walls — the site was as it should be. Yet, something had shifted. Goosebumps slowly rose on her arms as a shiver racked her body. A gentle breeze stirred the air, making the site glitter as if sprinkled with pixie dust.

“Sword.”

Elvira spun around, expecting to see Kele standing behind her. Instead, the same silence that blanketed the rest of the site greeted her.

The moment of stillness passed, and sound came roaring back. Bugs singing, birds chirping, even a hawk’s wings as they took flight. She noticed a nearby table with artifacts laid out and labeled. Out of place among the artifacts was a well-worn, ornate sword.

Scratches marred the scabbard, and the restoration uncovered a few dents, possibly from the heat of battle. The hilt showed extensive use, as evidenced by the wear patterns on the metal. A large gem had been at the end of the hilt, lost to time or looters. Elvira felt the blade heavy in her hand. ‘When did I pick this up?’ A sharp cry from the hawk drew her back to reality, and she looked around again. Kele was down a road, near the entrance of a dead-end alley that had yet to be explored. He tilted his head, encouraging her to follow, before disappearing around the corner.

He wasn’t there, nor had he left the alley, at least not in any way that Elvira could have seen. Elvira walked carefully deeper, keeping her eyes down, looking for artifacts. She realized she had reached the end when a wall took over her vision.

“Amazing how the stone remembers the words.” Kele’s voice was deep and right next to Elvira. She almost fell in surprise.

“Where did you come from?” Her question was breathy as she tried to calm her heart.

“Though,” Kele ignored her question, his work-worn hands gently brushing over a few dust-covered carvings lower on the wall. “This was not here before.”

She had no time to ponder his odd phrasing as he twisted into a larger-than-average entryway carved into the mountain. Clutching the sword up to her chest, Elvira followed Kele into the centuries-worn home.

As if in a trance, Elvira watched as Kele slowly stalked the main room, which was twice the size of the other homes. Almost untouched by time, there were plates and cups set out on the stone-carved table. A pot over the cooking fire in the corner, and even a large amphora that might still hold remnants of beer or wine. This home seemed to be special.

Her eyes widened in surprise at the two rooms branching from it, since most homes had only one. They carved a room behind the alley’s dead-end wall, and one went deeper into the mountain.

Kele spoke almost too quietly to be heard. “They kept the dead close, especially the revered.”

“Right,” Elvira nodded softly, “we found evidence that priests were buried behind altars, and elders within the walls or floors of the homes.”

“Not all elders.” His voice was sharp; his fists balled at his sides. Elvira jumped a little, surprised by Kele’s venom. She kept quiet.

The silence stretched between them, and Elvira watched his clenched fist slowly relax. A deep breath escaped him as his tension eased. Nodding at her, Kele walked into the room that bore deeper into the mountain, glancing back once, making sure she would follow.

It was a hallway — long, dark, and narrow. The deeper they went, the darker it grew, yet Elvira could still see just fine. The sword in her hand was a warm, comforting reminder that she had not slipped into a dream.

Dust from the walls swirled before her, and while blinking away the specks, Kele disappeared. Elvira picked up her pace, stumbling into a large, dark room. Stone furniture littered the floor. The stone walls had shelves carved directly into them.

‘Is this a library? A study?’ She slowly turned in a circle, letting her eyes adjust as she scanned the new room.

“What happened to all the books?” Kele was behind her again.

‘I need to put a bell on him.’ Elvira turned, expecting to see Kele right there. Instead, he was on the other side of the room, examining a shelf. “Find something?”

Kele nodded absent-mindedly as his hands hovered over the stone. Elvira cautiously walked closer to him, stumbling a few times in the dark.

“Wonder if it still works?” 

Elvira leaned towards Kele. “You say something?” She shivered as his eyes locked onto hers — intense, assured, and way too close. Kele’s face kept getting closer, and Elvira stumbled. Reaching out with her free hand, she caught herself on the shelf Kele had been studying.

She put her weight onto her hand and felt the shelf drop, a click, and a rumble sounding as she fell to the floor.

Elvira groaned as she rubbed her head, looking up to reprimand Kele, but he was gone, a small, dark doorway where he should have been.

Elvira should have gone back to the tent. She should have called someone. Should have never entered the room alone. One secret door could mean more tricks, more danger. But her curiosity, the warm sword in her hand, and the knowledge that Kele was somewhere close by gave her the security to venture into the dark.

Keeping her free hand on the wall, Elvira slowly walked through the mysterious door. Every step plunged her further into darkness. As her hand on the wall fell away, showing the end of the walkway, she felt resistance under her foot and heard a click.

The room before her flooded with light. Small mirrors shifted to bounce light into every magnificent corner. Stretching before Elvira was an overflowing burial chamber. Weapons, offerings, gold, tools, statues, and every form of riches you could imagine piled up, reaching the ceiling in some places — a narrow path led from her spot to a raised altar where a body lay at eternal rest.

Walking forward, careful of all the burial goods, Elvira moved towards the body. Her heart hammered in her chest, and a sense of euphoria rose through her as she got closer. His armor-clad body was untouched by time. Not mummified, just there, as if he were so powerful, even decay could not take him.

He lay as if holding something in his hands, though they were empty. Elvira thought he needed a sword, given his warrior attire. Shifting closer, her foot ran into something, drawing her attention down. At her feet was a large, round gem of some kind. Picking it up, she darted her eyes between the sword still in her hand and the gem. It looked like it would fit in the hilt.

Elvira gently pressed the gem into the hilt’s hole. It fit perfectly. Sliding into place with a quiet and satisfying click. She glanced up at the man on the altar before her, leaning over to look at his face through the helmet — closed eyes, as if in sleep, a powerful jaw, and a defined nose. Elvira was staring at Kele’s relaxed and sleeping face.

A gasp escaped her as she stood straight, looking away from the man, and locking eyes with Kele on the other side of the altar.

“Sword,” Kele whispered.

Elvira raised the sword, carefully sliding it into place atop the body, hands clasped over the hilt. As the sword settled into its rightful place, she watched a warm smile brighten Kele’s face as he began to fade.

“Thank you,” his voice rumbled around the room, “for returning my partner.” The sword glowed a soft and warm gold.

Left with only the ancient warrior’s body, Kele’s body, she rested her hand over his. “Rest well, friend.” Elvira did not notice the warm golden glow traveling into her hand, shaping itself into a miniature replica of the sword. The symbol was only one shade darker than her skin tone and blended seamlessly.

Solemnly turning from Kele, the best assistant she had ever had, he always had valuable insight, yet his peace meant more to Elvira than all the riches in his tomb. She walked carefully out of the burial chamber, being sure to seal the door and hide her tracks to the best of her ability. This burial could have been her crowning achievement, her most significant find, the one that would make her famous. Yet just the thought of disturbing even one gold coin in Kele’s burial had her shuddering in revulsion.

Her final whispering words echoed in the tomb. ‘Perhaps this burial should stay our little secret.’ The sword mark glowed a radiant gold.