by Jeff Gunzel
“That is what we all wish,” said Wara, walking up to Eric. She tugged and swiped at his cloak, straightening it out in an almost motherly fashion. Was she stalling for some reason? Through all the unnecessary tugging, the flap near his collar pulled open. Wara stared at the burnt markings lining his upper chest and neck, mesmerized.
With a flick of his wrist he closed the flap, forcing Wara to snap out of it. “Enough of this,” he said. “Say what you must and let me get on with it.” She turned away without a word.
The twins held their fists in the air and began to chant a sorrowful, moaned groaning that resembled that of a dying ox. Wara moved up behind them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. She did not chant the way they did, but swayed back and forth to their rhythm.
Eric watched the unsettling display with both awe and curiosity. The mystic arts had always been a mystery to him, although he certainly found them intriguing. The one person closer to him than any had recently discovered she had gifts of this sort, so he figured he’d better get used to it.
The black cauldron at the center of the room began to steam and boil. The thick, purple ooze produced egg-sized bubbles. They grew and grew, tripling in size before bursting, leaving a light, flowery scent.
Eric felt a hand on his back. “I’m not going to stand here and promise you everything is going to be alright, my boy. We’re long past any of that now,” said Kelus.
“Of course you’re not,” said Eric. “That’s what I respect about you. You do what needs to be done, and say only what needs to be said. Saving a person’s feelings is a luxury, and we passed that stage a long time ago.” He reached under his hood, scratching his temple. “I wish I were half the leader you are.”
Kelus sighed. “There is so much you don’t know about me, Eric. I have done many things I’m not proud of. You hold me in such high regard based on the little time we’ve spent together. I can’t help but wonder, had you known me longer, would you still feel the same way?”
Eric laid his hand on Kelus’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Sometimes it’s not the choices we make, my friend, but how we handle the consequences. I know what kind of man you are.”
The chanting increased in tempo and volume. It sounded more like screaming now. Suddenly, Wara and the twins stopped swaying, then snapped their heads up. They opened their eyes, releasing a bright orange light that scattered around the room. Both Kelus and Eric shielded their eyes, trying to see through the brightness. Squinting, they could see a large, golden hole, shimmering behind the Circle. Like a giant mirror, it reflected some sort of image, but they couldn’t make it out through the orange light.
Wind swirled around the room, blowing dust and bits of paper everywhere. It seemed to be pulling everything towards the doorway. For the first time, Eric seemed a bit uneasy. He turned to Kelus once more. “We’re out of time. I need to go now,” he shouted over the noise of rushing air. Still shielding his eyes, his long, wild hair whipping around in the hurricane-like conditions, he continued, “I might not return. If such is my fate, you must tell Jacob something for me. Tell him he has been a great ally in my quest, but a far better friend than I deserve. Tell him—”
“When you return you can tell him yourself,” Kelus interrupted, smiling.
Eric pulled his blue hood forward, holding it down over his face. It fluttered wildly in the swirling winds. “How can you be so sure?” he hollered.
“Because,” Kelus grinned, his kind eyes giving him a calm, youthful appearance all of a sudden, “I know what kind of man you are. Now go!”
Eric patted his waist, making sure Spark was secure. He ran straight forward, leaping over the black cauldron. Thick bubbles swelled up as if trying to engulf his feet. He sprung off the far edge of the bowl, propelling himself onward. Gliding through the orange light, he blindly splashed through the golden doorway. It consumed him in a spray of yellow sparkles, then snapped shut with a pop.
The swirling winds disappeared instantly; dust and debris began to settle around the room. Tiny bits of parchment and paper fluttered down like leaves. Kelus wiggled a finger in his ear, trying to relieve the constant ringing.
“It’s done,” said Wara. “And we are better for it. We are safe, and our people can rest easy now.”
Kelus did not ask permission to speak freely this time. “We are safe, you say? You three make it sound as if Eric were evil. Like we have just rid ourselves of some sort of black curse. May I remind you the Shantie Rhoe was sent here to help us, not hurt us?”
Wara clenched her fists and stormed up to Kelus. She towered over the little man, fire dancing in her eyes. “He is a marked man. His presence alone put us in constant danger. Protecting him any longer was not a risk I was willing to take.”
Kelus calmly turned away and headed for the beaded door. He spoke softly, unconcerned whether or not they heard him, “All things worth protecting require a measure of risk.”
* * *
With his hands protectively shielding his face and hood pulled down, Eric splashed through the doorway in a bloom of golden sparkles. He landed, stumbling forward a few steps, then pulled back his hood. His blood chilled as he stared off into the distance at the Mountain of Dreams. Massive, jet-black, it stood tall and jagged, as if any part of its stone exterior could cut like a razor. It was black as night, yet glossy, like it either had been rained on recently or was made of some sort of quartz or crystal. Eric looked around and decided the former was improbable.
This place was as dry and dead as any he had ever seen. Was he even in Shangti anymore? The dry clay beneath his feet was cracked, crumbling further with every step. There were no signs of life anywhere, save for a few withered cactus husks that must have dried out months ago. Dust filled winds swirled about. Mini tornadoes danced in tight spirals, the orange dust swirling within giving them life. Eric covered his mouth and nose, trying to not breathe in the debris.
The black sky lit up again and again with endless flashes. Heat lightning, Eric assumed. Not a single time did he hear the rumble of thunder. It was odd watching the overly active sky blaze away. Bolt after bolt, flash after flash illuminated everything in total silence.
He began to move towards the mountain, his movements appearing choppy in the shifting, uneven light of the soundless storm. The more he walked, the more he realized the mountain was not as close as he first thought. Mercifully, there were few obstacles to slow him down. In fact, there was nothing here at all. Bone-dry dirt, a long-dead weed or cactus here and there, and the mountain up ahead were all he could see. Looking around, he couldn’t see a tree line or separate mountain range anywhere. As far as he could tell, there was nothing here but endless desert and that black rock that seemed to keep moving farther away from him.
Eric found his mind wandering. He thought about home of all things. At least, the only place he ever called home: Bryer. The days would fly by when he worked the forge, then hammered away on red-hot iron. He was good at what he did. There was no reason to ever believe those days would end.
He could recall running around with Jacob. They had been two mischievous kids up to no good, hiding under wagon wheels, waiting for an unsuspecting pair of shoes to stop within reach. A quick tug and tie would leave the unsuspecting soul with shoes knotted together. The two boys would roll out from under the wagon and run down the street laughing, their pursuer hopping after them. Under the drooping blue hood, a smile formed on Eric’s face—a strange look for someone walking in a desert lightning storm in the middle of nowhere.
But then, his thoughts darkened. He dug deeper into a life that was never really his. He began recalling old memories long forgotten—someone else’s memories.
Son, I said do it again. Your swordsmanship cannot be average. It must be magnificent.
“I’m not your son, Corelle Nenkara,” Eric growled, hood draped low over his face while he walked.
No, son. You can’t play with Jacob today. Don’t ask me why, just do as I say. Now go back to yo
ur studies.
“I’m asking you why, father,” Eric hissed, staring down at his feet. Lightning lit up the ground in front of him. For an instant he could clearly see his black boots against the orange cracked clay. “Why? Why can’t someone else save mankind? Why wasn’t I given a choice?” He rolled back a sleeve, gazing down at his scarred arms. Ancient symbols had been burned deep into his flesh. “This is more real than my life ever was,” he muttered.
Eric stopped and pulled back his hood. There it was right before him. Had he really covered that much distance so quickly? Or had the mountain finally stopped moving away from him? It was even larger than he first judged. Even as dark as it was, it seemed to shine somehow, reflecting the light of the storm as easily as any diamond.
“So you’re the thing I’m supposed to fear,” he grumbled under his breath. “I hear you’ve taken many lives throughout the centuries. Tell me, black rock, is it true?” Lightning flashed again, only this time, it was followed by the long, slow rumble of thunder. It almost sounded like laughter coming directly from the mountain itself. “Well then,” said Eric, sneering. “Let the trials begin.”
He started forward, not even sure where to begin. The shadowy walls looked slick and steep. They would be extremely difficult to scale even with a rope and hook. But with no equipment of any kind...impossible. When he got closer, he saw something carved into the stone: a series of mini ledges, each one slightly higher that the last. “Stairs?” Eric whispered, raising an eyebrow. He nearly laughed. “So this is how so many before me were able to climb you?” His smile faded. “But I suppose the challenge has nothing to do with the climb itself.”
The steps were nowhere near as slick as they looked, but they were narrow and uneven. Eric remained cautious, taking one careful step at a time. After each step, he pivoted the ball of his foot back and forth to be sure the footing was sound. Even with these “stairs” in place, a single misstep and he could tumble to the ground.
After a time, he realized his initial guess about the stairway had been wrong. He assumed the steps wound around the entire mountain, eventually leading to the top. But this was not the case. They snaked up a single side, weaving back and forth. This offered at least some relief. If he were to fall, he would have at least a couple chances at landing back on the steps below.
The steps became smoother and steeper the further up he went. The once squared-off, cornered edges began to round out, seeming more like smooth bumps than steps. Even the flat tops began to slant at uneven angles. He needed to lean forward now, using his hands and feet for leverage.
The trials will test the subject’s strength, skill, and his love. Wara’s words echoed through his head while he climbed. What was that supposed to mean, anyway? He stopped a moment to catch his breath. Now that he had gained some elevation, it was time to get a good look at his surroundings. But even now, the scenery hadn’t changed much at all. Endless desert stretched for as far as the eye could see. How is this possible? How can this mountain be the only thing for miles and miles? Where could I possibly be?
He looked up again, trying to remap his rapidly fading route, when something caught his eye. It was still a ways up, but there appeared to be some sort of ledge directly in the path. A stone platform, it looked like. If I could just make it there, at least I could rest a while. Maybe even spend the night. Eric snorted at the thought. Who could tell if it was day or night here? The sky was always black. The only light source seemed to be the constant lightning.
He pushed on, trying to watch his step while crawling upward on all fours. A long time had passed before he finally approached what looked to be a large stone disk blocking the path. The steps led directly underneath, where it connected into the mountainside. Eric reached up, feeling along its bottom while making sure his footing was secure.
The stone was not cool like he expected. Instead, it was dry and warm to the touch. He glanced to his left, then to his right. The sides of the mountain were glossy and smooth. Not slick, exactly, but definitely no place to gain proper footing. I guess there is only one way to get on top of this thing.
Eric ran his hands beneath the platform, keeping his feet braced against the steps. He stretched hard, rising up to the tip of his toes. Only inches away from the edge, he needed to make a choice. Not tall enough to stretch any further, he would have to jump backward and hope he could still hang onto the edge. Of course, if he couldn’t hang on, nothing would stop his long plunge to the bottom.
I’ve only got one shot at this... Eric pushed off his toes, leaving his feet. His fingers grasped desperately along the edge. Dirt slipping underneath his fingertips, his left hand slipped away, but his right hand held for the moment. Panic swelled up as he swung from one hand, fingers burning from holding his full weight. With a monstrous effort, he swung his left hand back up, gripping the edge once more. Once both hands were secure, he was able to pull himself up the rest of the way.
Once on the platform, Eric rolled to his back, breathing hard. His chest heaved up and down, sweat running from his temples. It was unnerving how close he had come to falling to his death. He rolled his head to the side, only now beginning to catch his breath. Two shadowed sockets stared back at him from a white, bony face.
Startled, he sat up then sprung to his feet, gazing at the adventurer’s remains. It was clear he had been dead a very long time. There was nothing left but a skeleton wearing a breastplate and rotted pants. Although faded, Eric could still make out the red lion’s head painted on the armor.
As he looked around the platform, the same horrors lay everywhere. The dried husks of long-dead soldiers lay scattered about. Eyeless black sockets stared back at him, each begging to tell their tale. Wanting to be acknowledged for what they tried to do here, they pleaded for him to head back the way he came.
Some wore iron helmets, and long bits of stringy hair hung from underneath. Other skeletons wore little more than tattered pieces of cloth, now rotted beyond recognition. Mismatched pieces of armor and a sword or two lying a few inches from an open, bony hand were also scattered about. The whole scene looked like the ancient remains of some great massacre. But Eric knew better...
Although bunched together, these men had met their fates at completely different eras. Many years apart certainly, and more likely centuries. These men who once believed themselves the Shantie Rhoe now lay here, bound together in eternal sleep. Eric shook his head in sadness. In all likelihood, they were simply mad. Nothing more. Why else would they have come here on their own?
More importantly, what killed them? Shouldn’t these bodies be scattered evenly, found in equal proportions throughout the mountain? Why so many right on this spot? Wara’s words echoed through his head once more. The trials will test the subject’s strength, skill, and his love. Was seeing all this death somehow part of the trials? A test? Eric just didn’t know.
“Is this it?” he shouted. His voice echoed across the mountain, down through the desert below. “After what I’ve seen, am I supposed to flee in terror at the sight of more death? Mere corpses?” He looked around once more. “Well, I see them, oh wise spirits of old. If this is your daunting test—”
The rock began to shake and vibrate underneath his feet, producing a rolling rumble so brief, he thought he might have imagined it. But the second vibration was unmistakable. The stone platform began to shake so violently it nearly knocked him to the ground. Small bits of rock fell from up above, clacking all around him against the stone. The empty sockets of long-dead heroes seemed to stare right through him as their skulls rattled around, their bony jaws clicking open and shut. Was this just forced movements from the shaking platform, or were they laughing at him? Laughing at the next Gate Keeper, one of many, who didn’t heed their warning when he had the chance. And now it was too late.
Eric tried to steady himself, arms flailing about to help retain his balance. Abruptly, the shaking stopped. With a hand gripping the pommel of his sword, he looked about, wondering what could have caused
such a thing.
A low, grinding sound rumbled from the face of the mountain: the sound of stone scraping against stone. Still gripping his sword, he slowly backed away, stopping when he could go no farther without falling. The smooth, black stone wall began to move upward. Black dust sifted from the sides, flowing like sand from an hourglass. Once it had risen over ten feet, it stopped moving. The grinding sound ceased. All was deathly quiet. Eric found himself staring into blackness; a giant chasm opened wide before him.
Eric unleashed Spark in a burst of flame. He twirled it once over his head, forming a swirl of fire. Thick flakes of black ash fluttered down like burnt moths. “Show yourself!” Eric shouted, his booming voice echoing across the desert below. He looked around at the bodies once more. “Come forth! I wish to see what killed these men so I may return the favor.” He crouched down, sword point straight out—Smoldering Leaf, a ready battle stance he had used countless times. Allow the enemy to come to you, then strike with fury.
There came a sharp hissing sound from the darkness, like steam rushing through a teapot. A pair of red eyes materialized. The hissing sound repeated as two more sets of eyes appeared. The thumping of approaching footsteps shook the stone. But even as the massive, shadowed outline emerged, Eric didn’t move. He held his ground, like a coiled snake ready to strike.
Emerging from the cover of shadow came the largest beast he’d ever seen. It had a humanlike head, but had six red eyes, two rows of three. An enormous flat nose pierced with a gold hoop split his entire face, nearly touching each large, rounded ear. Long, greasy black hair hung low, partially hiding its wide smile—an eerie grin with perfect, gleaming teeth that didn’t belong on a thing so grotesque.