The Stair Of Time (Book 2)

by William Woodward

  Sure wish Marnie was here, he thought, moving the square above the blank space down. She’d give Sarilla some what for, sure enough and make no mistake. Eli smiled. His Marnie had been clever and quick, always top of her class. What she’d seen in him he’d never know.

  His smile vanished, however, when he saw that the number six was carved into the space behind the square he’d just moved. After sliding down the square above it, a square with an acorn carved into it, he discovered the letter T.

  Eli sighed, feeling completely out of his depth. Pictures and slidin’ squares was bad enough, but now he had to deal with letters and cipherin’ too! Poor Mandie, he thought, sticking out his jaw and moving another square. She’s gonna have a long wait.

  Never one to admit defeat easily, he rolled up his sleeves—literally—and had a seat. Like his dear deceased grandfather used to say, ‘Eli, my boy, there’re few problems in this world that cain’t be fixed with pure cussedness!”

  “I’ll solve your stupid puzzle,” Eli growled, “if it takes me all day! You just wait and see, Sarilla.” He smiled grimly. “What I lack in smarts, I’ll make up for with pure cussedness! It’s Eli Johansen at your door, lady, and you will see me!”

  The Boundary

  Andaris awoke shivering, teeth clamped together like a vice. Because he’d chosen to retire before the fire was put out, the earth beneath his bedroll remained chillingly bereft of campfire coals. But thanks in part to the cold, or rather the distraction brought on by the ensuing discomfort, he didn’t remember a single dream—which, given what had transpired earlier, he deemed a blessing. So relieved was he, in fact, that he considered neglecting his bedroll tonight, as well.

  It was going to be a good day. He could feel it. Crisp blue sky shone above, framed by the wispy tops of the surrounding pines, bushy green heads swaying in time, torsos girded in long suits of armor that had been skillfully crafted in Kolera’s own forge, red-barked and fine, creaking back and forth in a lost language known only to them, root, leaf, and vine….

  And, perhaps, to the squirrels, a quartet of which presently chattered away with mischievous abandon, leaping from branch to branch like crazed gymnasts, playing a game that appeared to consist, chiefly, of hurling acorns at the campers. One expertly tossed nut hit Gramps right on the end of the nose. He was out of his bedroll with his sword drawn and drawers up before he knew what was happening.

  Realization dawned as another acorn whizzed past his left ear, striking Gaven’s sleeping form with equal accuracy. Gramps narrowed his eyes at the culprits, ears perked to the triumphant chattering of one of his least favorite animals on earth—what he referred to as, ‘Yer everyday, limb-jumpin’, tail-flickin’, forest rat.’

  Shaking his fist, Gramps hurled a few choice insults back at them, each one a bull’s eye. The squirrels scattered, disappearing from sight with practiced rapidity, alive to annoy another day. Grinning at the long string of not only colorful but inventive expletives, Andaris got up and began to rekindle the fire, mind filling with tantalizing images of bacon and eggs sizzling in the pan.

  With the sort of empathic timing usually reserved for skinny old men with long gray beards and cloaks, Gaven walked to his saddlebags and retrieved a large pan containing smoked bacon, sausages, hardboiled eggs, and biscuits. “Figured there was no reason not to have some decent grub the first couple of days out,” he said, smiling broadly. “And…no sense in rationing what’s gonna spoil anyway, so we might as well eat our fill!”

  Andaris nodded, appreciating, for at least the hundredth time, his friend’s pragmatic nature.

  After breakfast, they packed their things and continued along their way, onward and upward, as the saying went, full stomachs warming them body, mind, and soul. If Gramps or Gaven had had any bad dreams, they kept them to themselves, a courtesy for which Andaris was most grateful.

  Before long, the path began to narrow, becoming steeper and more treacherous. Sheer cliffs now rose on either side, looming hundreds of feet above, blocking all but a narrow ribbon of sky. Around midday, they stopped for lunch, conversation subdued by a growing unease. They found themselves glancing over their shoulders with increasing regularity, unable to shake the feeling that they were being watched. The cliffs crowded the trail, craggy faces glowering down at them, seeming to eavesdrop. The air was still, as though holding its breath. Every clink of fork and scrape of knife became loud in their ears.

  According to Gramps, they weren’t far from where the path opened onto a broad, verdant shelf, a place where they could take a deep breath and relax. And thank goodness for that. This pervasive watchfulness was beginning to put them on edge. Besides, Andaris was not yet ready to abandon his prior assertion that it was going to be a ‘good day.’

  Presumably due to its proximity to The Lost City, the shelf was teeming with life, all manner of flora and fauna, warmer and lusher than either the land above or below. “It’s beautiful,” Gramps assured them. “Oceans of grass, rivers swimmin’ with fish, woods packed with deer and elk, and a nice climate to boot. I can’t figure why no one’s ever settled up there, unless it be on account of things like that creature I couldn’t shoot.”

  He shook his head. “It was enough to keep me away…all those years ago. Mayhap it’s the same with others. I remember considerin’ it, wonderin’ what in the blue blazes was wrong with me for decidin’ against. Always thought I’d go back one day, but after I got home, the urge to return just sorta…faded. I found I had to write down what I’d done and seen before I forgot it altogether.”

  “Well, you’re here now,” Andaris pointed out. “It might have taken you a few decades, but you made it.”

  “Yep, suppose you’re right, young’n’. Although I nearly missed my chance, didn’ I? Glad you boys came along when you did. Another couple o’ years and I woulda been too old to make the trip, and I doubt I woulda ever come on my own. There was always somethin’, one reason or another I gave myself. But, as my fourth wife was fond of sayin’, better late than early, whatever that means. She never did make much sense.”

  A shadow passed over Gaven’s face, no doubt cast by the thought of Gramps’ imminent demise. A moment later he brightened and, with forced vigor said, “Who are ya kidding, ya old codger? Whatever it is you’re sellin’, I’m not buyin’! You’re gonna outlive us all! You’re too contrary to die. Why, if ya tried it before your two hundredth birthday, the Almighty would give ya some choice words and kick ya right back to earth!” They all laughed, especially Gaven, tears of what, if asked later, he would swear was joy glistening in his eyes.

  Due to the intrusiveness of the cliffs, the merriment did not last as long as it normally would have. Their laughter echoed back to them, distorted and even amplified, seeming to mock their mirth from every crag and crevice. After that, they just kept their heads down and mouths shut, concentrating on only one thing—reaching the oasis above.

  Time stretched, and then stretched some more, languishing around the mid-afternoon hour for what felt like…hours, seeming to become much more flexible than it had any right to be. Once again, the cliffs were to blame, their monotonous gray walls enough to drive the heartiest of men insane.

  Despite the echo, Andaris was considering startin’ up a tavern song. Nothing like a bawdy verse or two to break the tension. He opened his mouth to ask if anyone would mind, and then abruptly closed it again, experiencing a distinct tingling sensation. He brought Del to a halt and, since he was last in line, called out, “Gaven, Gramps, do you feel it?”

  Displaying what at times bordered on creepy synchronization, they stopped their horses, turned their heads, and replied, “Feel what?”

  “The tingling. It’s so…strong, like my teeth are crawling with ants.”

  “That sounds ‘bout right,” said Gramps. “Guess you’re just more sensitive than us. Come on, best thing to do is ride past it! The shelf’s gotta be close!” And with that, the old man spurred his mount into a gallop, boldly leading the way.

/>   “Ah, now I feel it!” cried Gaven. “I see what ya mean! It does feel like your teeth are crawlin’!”

  Another thirty yards or so and the tingling stopped, ceasing abruptly as they left the stark confines of the cliffs behind and emerged onto a broad plateau ringed by snow-covered mountains. Gramps reined in his horse and stood in the stirrups, pressing spyglass to eye, a childlike grin on his old face.

  A herd of bison rumbled across a grassy expanse, green grass, weaving between stands of oak and pine, heading towards a sapphire lake that sparkled brightly in its emerald setting. On the other side of the lake stood a deep forest, ancient and dark, stalwart sentinels standing watch over a storybook realm. From the moment the three started galloping until now, the temperature had risen a good twenty degrees. What’s more, nowhere on the shelf did they see even a hint of snow.

  “This is it, my boys!” exclaimed Gramps, voice a full octave above normal. “Well done to both of ya. We made it!”

  Line of Sight

  “This is…it?” Gaven asked. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, course I’m sure, young’n’. What else did you want, a harem of busty wenches to welcome ya with the dance of a thousand veils? Or mayhap a troupe of scantily clad maidens with grapes and fans?”

  Gaven shrugged, seeming to lack the spirit to respond in kind.

  Gramps’ eyes filled with sudden concern. “Seriously, my boy, what’s troublin’ ya?”

  “I don’t know. I guess after all the talk, I was expecting something less…ordinary.”

  Gramps cocked his head to the side, expression turning perplexed. “Are ya blind, my boy? Don’t ya see the green grass, the lake, the forest, the herd of bison? Don’t it call to ya like a mistress in the night? Don’t ya feel the warmth and light?”

  Now it was Gaven’s turn to look perplexed, as well as a little irritated. “All I see is a sheer drop into a sea of mist and endless miles of snow-covered mountains beneath black-bellied clouds…the sort you see before a storm. I’ll admit, it was impressive when we came out from between the cliffs into the open, but there tweren’t anything magical about it.”

  Gramps’ face filled with sudden doubt. “Andaris,” he said, voice tremulous, “do you see it?”

  “As clear as I’ve ever seen anything, Gramps,” Andaris replied, his words shining almost as brightly as his eyes. “But maybe…some people can’t.” He glanced sympathetically to Gaven. “Maybe that’s part of what’s kept The Lost City hidden all these years.”

  Gramps nodded slowly, wrapping his mind around the suggestion with obvious reluctance. “Yeah…suppose that could be…. Hmm….”

  “It could also be that—”

  Gramps raised a hand. “Give me a minute, lad. Let an old man think!” The wrinkles on his face deepened, seeming to fold in on themselves under the strain.

  Andaris held his breath, unsure what to expect.

  Gramps’ face relaxed in stages, then lit with sudden inspiration. “The way I see it is this. It’s far more likely for two to be seein’ true than one. No offense, Gaven.”

  The big man shrugged with feigned indifference.

  “Which means, there’s a real simple solution.” Gramps beamed with self-satisfaction, the afterglow of which was underscored by something that looked suspiciously like guile. “No need for us to talk ourselves into a corner when we can just walk the horses out over this drop you think ya see and prove it to ya! In fact, if it’s really there, the horses won’t go—If’n they see, or don’t see as you do, that is. But I don’t believe that’s the case. Ten to one, the illusion works better on men than on animals. Don’t know why that seems right. Just does….”

  Gaven looked from Gramps to the sheer drop into the mist, back to Gramps, to the mist, and finally to Gramps again. “But what if what you’re seeing is the illusion, and they see it, too?”

  “Now why would anyone go and do a fool thing like that?” scoffed Gramps. “Don’t make a lick o’ sense. Besides, I was here before—remember?”

  Gaven grunted in disbelief, dismounted, and walked to what he believed to be the edge, the snow that wasn’t really there crunching beneath his boots. He knelt, picked up a rock, stood, and threw the rock as far as he could—which, not surprisingly, was quite far.

  Gaven saw the rock sail in a somehow alluring arc through the frigid air before dropping beneath the mist, never to be seen again. The big man strained his ears, but did not hear the rock hit bottom. He shivered and turned back to his friends, the expression on his broad face saying, “See, told you so.”

  Andaris’ and Gramps’ saw the rock follow the same somehow alluring arc. Instead of dropping into the mist, however, it landed in the tall grass where it could easily be retrieved, making a fairly audible thump.

  “Don’t see why you’re lookin’ at me like ya made some big point,” said Gramps. “I could go and get your little rock and bring it back t’ya without even breakin’ a sweat. Would that prove it to ya?”

  Gaven appeared highly dubious, shaking his head at the insanity of the old man’s proposal. He started to reply with something to that effect when Gramps yelled, “Hiya!” and again spurred his mount into a gallop.

  “No!” cried Gaven, running to intercept. “Don’t!” But it was too late. Gramps was past him, galloping over the edge and…over the mist. Gaven squeezed shut his eyes, feeling woozy.

  When he opened them again, he saw everything as described, bursting in startling, vivid detail, too grandiose to call beautiful, too beautiful to call grandiose.

  Some sixty to seventy yards away, Gramps reined in his horse, dismounted, reached into the tall grass and, with a triumphant grin, raised the rock high over his head for Gaven to see.

  Suddenly giddy, Gaven jumped into the saddle and galloped out to meet him, Andaris close at his heels.

  Within the hour, after having followed roughly the same course as the bison, they reached the western shore of Sapphire Lake. They felt like children playing make believe, exploring a land that could only exist in their imaginations.

  The surface of the water reflected its surroundings with almost perfect clarity, their astonished faces mirrored back to them. Birds wheeled about through the cloudless sky, each a twirling brushstroke of color against a boundless blue canvas.

  The three dismounted, allowing the horses to graze. Andaris walked to the edge of the water, examining his reflection. He inhaled sharply and drew back, suddenly feeling as though something were staring up at him, peering intently from just beneath the placid surface, looking through his own eyes with a terrible longing.

  He stepped away, unnerved. The depth of awareness in those eyes—his eyes—had been unsettling, to say the least. A cold, calculating expression unlike anything he’d glimpsed in his reflection before. There was a consciousness here, emanating from the lake in waves, something very old and, at least in part, asleep.

  Probably best to keep it that way, he thought, turning around and hurrying back to his friends. Need to tell them what just happened, he realized. Warn them to give the lake a wide berth. But something gave him pause, making him question the wisdom of this decision. There was some reason it was better for them not to know. Telling them what he’d discovered would put them in danger somehow. I can always warn them if they get too close, he decided. I’m sure it’ll be fine….

  Truly, the plateau was a wondrous place, all that Gramps had promised and more. The colors seemed brighter, more vivid, an artist’s interpretation of reality. The air was crisp and clean, redolent of wildflowers in full bloom, their sweet fragrance floating on the breeze like a blessing. Everywhere they looked, the land was bursting with life, the flora and fauna unlike anything he’d beheld before.

  Remarkable, thought Andaris.

  He had yet to observe anything overtly magical about the animals, but they were extraordinary nonetheless. Many were thought to have been extinct long ago. Others, at least as far as Andaris and his companions knew, were unique to the plateau, existing only he
re—an ecosystem of singular diversity. Indeed, even after everything he’d experienced on his travels, he would have doubted that such a place could be real if he weren’t seeing it with his own eyes.

  “Should” doubt it anyway, he thought, especially after what I saw, or thought I saw through that window in Ashel’s tower. And after that dream about the box. But I can’t. I won’t…. This is different.

  It was real all right—as real as anything else, anyway. He could feel it. And out of all this diversity, out of the multitudes of bizarre and whimsical creatures they saw roaming the landscape, not one exhibited the slightest hostility towards another. There was the occasional outbreak of playfulness that escalated to the point of mock fighting, but that was all. It was as if doing harm was a foreign concept. They were gentle, noble, and at one with themselves and their environment.

  Andaris found that he was very grateful for this, for it looked to him as if some of them could do a great deal of harm if provoked. There was something that resembled a giraffe, except its neck was twice as long, covered with white feathers and as sinuous as a serpent’s. Here was a bear that looked to have been crossed with an elk, vicious spikes jutting from the tops of its furry paws, a dozen deadly points that could pierce through even the most formidable of armor. There was a herd of horse-like creatures with six legs and velvety green horns, the latter wrapping around their heads to cross and re-cross in the front like a kind of ribcage helm. Here was a great lumbering beast that made the ground tremble as it walked, similar in shape and demeanor to an elephant, but much larger, its back plated with golden scales that shone like treasure in the sunlight.