Forge of Stones

by Vasileios Kalampakas

  The longest errand

  The previous night’s walk had exhausted him. He had laid down to sleep right after dawn with sore feet. His legs were leaden with the weight of all the distance traveled so far. It was indeed a long journey from the western lands, from Nicodemea south through the great farmlands of Rubnis. Then he had crossed the great river Shielwa onto the rough country of Ilonas, the shepherd country. It was a land filled with animals, hill and rock where few hardy men lived.

  This was where the marble road leading into the Widelands begun. This was where his quest had taken him so far. For weeks he had been on the road, suffering fools too gladly sometimes, subjecting his body into a trial of strength of will. He had been traveling on foot almost half-way through the lands. Indeed, it was a feat in itself. But that was merely the means to far greater a prize, the complete knowledge of which still eluded him despite all the years of studies and inquiries, both his and his master’s.

  The marble road started off as a narrow, thin road, small edges of pure white marble-like material delineating its boundaries. It was not really made from marble, for if it was it would have been stained, shattered and chipped away bit by bit long ago. It had defied though the machinations of man and had stood throughout time as immaculate as it must have been once first laid out.

  It was a sleek, shiny white-gray road that felt cold to the touch but also fine and delicate, like glass-work. There it was: unbreakable, unyielding, unscathed by time, man, and nature. A foreign body so exquisitely crafted that it was indeed unique. No artisans of any time and no empire that ever rose and fell ever managed to construct such a piece of perfection, truly as some ancient poet had once said, “for the Gods to walk upon the lands”.

  It was, and had always been, part of the lands but alien to them as well. The people had always known of the marble road, just as they knew of the trees, the mountains and the rivers, the forests and the glens, the fields and the wheat, the goat and the cow, and the suns and the clouds. But these things were of nature, and the marble road clearly was not; for nature abhors uniqueness. Animals come in pairs, rivers abound, and so do trees. But there is only one marble road. A perfect thing; a leftover from the time Gods had walked among men. Or even so, before men alltogether.

  What reason was there behind it? Why does it lead into the Widelands? What is it made of? Who build it? With what tools? They was the proper word because this must surely have been the work of thousands. No single man could have ever hoped to accomplish such a work in his lifetime. Perhaps most rightly so, the road was the work of the Gods. To try and unravel their reasoning and purpose could only lead to madness brought forth from vain, fruitless searches of the lowly human mind.

  Molo decided to leave these thoughts that had been troubling him aside; thoughts which beget questions begging for answers that could not be found. At least not before he ventured into the Widelands proper, until he could find what Umberth described as the Necropolis where inestimable knowledge was waiting to be uncovered to the world. Knowledge of a time unknown before man had ever walked the lands, the Time of the Gods.

  It was already a fascinating sensation walking upon the very same road that even the Gods might have walked upon once. What other man, apart from him and Umberth had dared walk the marble road unto its terribly unknown end? What other man had lived long enough to tell the tale, only to be hunted down as a heretic, a blasphemer? Would his own end be as tragic and miserable?

  He grinned wickedly at these thoughts for they were immediately followed by the echo of his resolutions: He wouldn’t perish neither in the Widelands. Nor would he be torn by the hands of a fanatical mob or made to disappear by the ever watchful Procrastinators. He would not succumb to any torture the Ministers might put him through, for when all his trials and tribulations had come to pass, he would be a simple man no more. He would not be hunted down or exiled; he would become a feared and terrible man.

  When all the power and majesty and magnificence of the Gods was unveiled and made manifest through him, he would be transformed into a being of awe and power that the lands had not witnessed since the beginning of time. He would become a living deity, an avatar of the Gods to be loved, cherished, and worshiped as a God among men should.

  He knew the truth of it, he could feel it in his heart and bones, see it in his twisting dreams. Dreams of cleansing light and fire, himself a creature of wrath and glory with terrible power at his hands and unimaginable purpose in his mind. The purpose of the Gods, their divine plan unfolding through him alone, their chosen instrument of will. He would not fail them, for his lust of the promised power burned deep within, deeper than the need to breathe indeed.

  He had to find the Necropolis first though and that task seemed ever so slightly more difficult with each passing day. Last night he had found the marble road and had eagerly walked under the stars for a long stretch of time without giving pause. He had seen the trees give way to bush, the grass wither, and the sounds of animals grow weaker, fainter, and fewer still. He knew he was entering the Widelands proper, the signs visible around him. It had been the same with Umberth, according to the tale that had been recorded so many years ago.

  He laid down to sleep near the marble road under the skinny old withered bark of a tree, a small cluster of rocks sheltering him from the howling winds. He laid his cloak under his head like a pillow, and drew his blanket high enough to cover his face from the rising suns. He slept lightly, with a smile on his face like a happy, carefree child.

  When he woke up in the afternoon, the suns were still high. He got up and stood gazing towards the far end of the road. The marble road that he would follow for as long as it proved wise to him. Though nothing about his journey had ever seemed wise. He had even been called a madman by his master, when he had told him he would follow Umberth’s steps.

  What of it, if he was indeed a madman? What of it indeed? Madmen answer to no one, only to the Gods. And so would he answer if he was called for. The Land of the Gods beckoned. They tested his mettle. Only someone mad enough to challenge such authority can truly knock on the Gates of the Necropolis. He was all alone out here, in the Widelands.

  He would play. He would play with the rules of Their choosing. He would find the Necropolis, at any cost. Wherver these people who had been worshipped as gods had been finally laid to rest, he would find them. Once he had set out, he knew he would be attempting a feat that no one had succeeded at before. And even if he did, as Umberth might have had, nothing was certain of the power therein and how it would finally become his own.

  His thoughts wandered to a passage from Umberth’s tale:

  “Only a few nights after we had definitely passed into the Widelands, we lost track of the road. We decided to camp quite a distance away from it, towards what had seemed to be a natural spring in a rock formation. After we had laid to rest, in the morning we had lost sight of the marble road. We were doubly misled, since the spring had dried out and there was no water to speak of as well. The maps had failed us early on. Terlet went mad and master Umberth ordered me to put him out of his misery. Nubir and Vamden probably got lost trying to find the road, or simply decided to run back to civilized country before we went deeper into the Widelands. In any case, we never saw or heard of them again.”

  This place was unforgiving. The road was like a lifeline, his only hope of making sense of direction in such a place. He would keep on it for as far as it took him, and try to make sense of the other signs in Umberth’s tale to find his way. He would not become lost like him.

  The exact location of the Necropolis was a mystery to him, but he knew that it lay further deep into the Widelands; into its Dunes, the desert proper. He hoped the road would eventually take him there. He was worried that food and water would become even more scarce in the endless sands.

  He still had a ready supply of honey-laden bars of nuts and sesame; it was a confection most appropriate for traveling long distances; generally invigorating when consuming one’s energy. H
is water sack was still full from yesterday, but he knew now he had to ration his water perhaps allowing himself no more than two mouthfuls a day.

  The more that the Widelands turned into a desert, the more imperative it became for him to conserve his water. That is why he had chosen to travel at night: because it was cooler and the walk not as demanding, especially concerning water.

  He believed it would be possible to find sources of water as he went along, at least until he reached the Dunes. He doubted any water could be found in that place at all, for days on end. And that was where he would either perish or triumph. Deep in the desert dunes of the Widelands, searching for the Necropolis.

  As was his preferred way, he waited for dusk to come and the suns to disappear from the sky before he would start walking again. He picked up his knapsack and his walking stick and started off once more, feeling he had won a small battle. Renewed vigor and determination coursed through him, each one of his steps brimming with confidence. He felt like he needed no road to find his path and he could carve himself a path worthy of his own legendary tale, forever sung in the eons to come.

  The stars were shining bright soon, and he felt the future could only hold a taste of that glimmer. Somewhere up there, in the firmament of the stars, there shone a star for him alone.

  Per Ardua