Eighth Fire

by Curtis, Gene

  “That leads to a dilemma, a choice we unanimously refuse to make. Only you can make that choice should the situation present itself. Naturally, we desire any tool that aids in defeating the designs of Benrah, but not at the stated cost.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Other Mountains

  Mark led the rescue expeditions at The Sixth Mountain, the first of the six planned incursions into the very gates of hell to liberate those trapped within; and each of the other five mountains following that. The expeditions began in the first week of July, right after the wedding. The original team had rejoined for the simple reason that they had become experienced in traversing the labyrinth at The Seventh Mountain, a task none wanted, but one they could wish on no other. There was also the fact they all knew and trusted each other, a major factor for the coming incursions.

  Each labyrinth had required a couple of days, outside time, to search and recover the people and artifacts they contained. Every journey into the labyrinths was followed by a week or so of unconsciousness in the healing ward of the mountain where they happened to be.

  Everyone on the team had been completely healed of any ailment, disease or affliction they might have had as a result of being in the labyrinth of The Seventh Mountain. Mr. Diefenderfer had grown hair on his formerly bald head and even his scars had completely disappeared. After he returned from the labyrinth, one was not likely to recognize AlHufus Diefenderfer from his speech or appearance had they not spoken with him face to face fifteen to sixteen years earlier when he was perfectly normal. His brain damage had been miraculously healed, if you could call it that, albeit at a grave price, and his voice was as normal as it had ever been, so Mark had been told by Joseph Young.

  When Joseph Young had been rescued from the labyrinth of The Seventh Mountain, he was reputed to be a hundred and fifty-seven years old, the same age as Mr. Diefenderfer. He didn’t look a day over fifty. Mr. Young and Mr. Diefenderfer were close friends and had been ever since they were in school together at The Seventh Mountain, despite the fact they were of different tribes.

  Now both men had reverted to their damaged states and had not been restored as Mark had hoped, from their recent trip into The Sixth Mountain, The Fifth Mountain, The Forth Mountain, The Third Mountain or The Second Mountain.

  The team was walking out of Omar’s Table at The Second Mountain, a large dining facility similar to The Oasis at The Seventh Mountain, in order to remanifest to The First Mountain when Mark walked up to Mr. Diefenderfer. “Sir, why were there so many scrolls in the first rooms of the last three labyrinths?”

  “That...good sir...is a lesson...that you will study...at some length...in due course. However...you must forgive me. In this quest...I often forget...there are many things...you do not know. I will summarize...the events...that led to that end. I do apologize...for having to omit...many details...which are...in and of themselves...very important...and enlightening...concerning the course...of our history.”

  The group of Magi that comprised the rescue team began trooping past Mark, Mr. Diefenderfer. Joseph Young stopped beside Mr. Diefenderfer. They were on their way outside in order to be able to see the sky, a prerequisite for remanifestating. The decor inside The Second Mountain was much the same as the other mountains: marble walls and floors, very high ceilings with intricate woodwork, and fancy lighting.

  Mr. Diefenderfer turned and started a slow pace toward the door. “As I recall learning...the events began...about a thousand years ago...in North America. Benrah...had been defeated...so many times...by the Magi...and others...in his attempts...to take over...the world...so naturally...he came up with...the idea of...wiping these forces...from the face of...the Earth. He convinced...several tribes of people...in North America...to go to war...with those tribes...that followed the ways...of The Great Spirit...and to especially concentrate...on their shamans...medicine-men...and prophets...a preponderance of those...being Magi. That war developed the idea...that killing a magical person...would cause the killer...to gain great power. This led to...only magical people...being hunted.

  “This concept...as well as this war...traveled down...into South America...and didn’t end...until the Magi of...The Sixth Mountain...and The Seventh Mountain...decided they would unite...and fight back...something they had chosen...not to do...until this point. Sadly...several civilizations...were quickly destroyed...as a result of...that decision.”

  Mr. Diefenderfer paused and thought for a long moment before continuing. “Little is known...about what went on...in Australia...at this point...in time. But...of what is known...suffice it to say...similar events...were transpiring.

  “In Africa...Europe...the Middle East...and the Near East...a vast...and far reaching effort...came forth...to round up...any and all...that were...even in the slightest...known...or suspected...to have any form...of magical ability. This period was known as...the Burning Times...in as much as...those caught were...summarily executed...by fire...except in rare circumstances. This era ended...with the conclusion of...the Spanish Inquisition...of which...I am sure...you are aware.

  “In Asia...Genghis Khan...and the Mongols...fought an army...of invading Europeans...whose quest was...to quash magic people. He stemmed the tide...for his people...but lost in the end.

  “Unfortunately...Magi always trained...as apprentices...at the mountains...and few had the ability...to remanifest. As a result...vast numbers of Magi...were lost during that time. Indeed...it was a time...of very great sorrow. Our numbers dwindled...to a relative few...and it was feared...nothing could be done...to stop an invading army...should that army...find the way...to any of the mountains. All important works...were encased in wax...and tossed into the labyrinths...with the hope...that they might be recovered...sometime in the future. That hope has...not been in vain.”

  Mark asked, “So, is that why so many people live in the Magi cities?”

  “It was after that time...that training was formalized...at the seven mountains...with considerable emphasis...placed on secrecy. Not everyone...that sought refuge...at the seven mountains...were Magi. Some had special skills...others were wrongly accused...others just wanted to help. Along with the buildup...of the Magi cities...seven orphanages...were established...one by each mountain...so the children of those killed...could be cared for. The orphanages were later moved...except for the one...at The Seventh Mountain...back into the normal world. After that...the cities and the orphanages...just became a way...of doing things.”

  Mark said, “What’s so important about the scrolls?”

  “Up until the Burning Times...not all Magi were trained...in all skills. What an apprentice was taught...was entirely...the sole will...of their teacher. Consequently...a large number of skills...were lost...with the deaths...of so many Magi. It is our hope...that many of these skills...can be rediscovered.”

  “What kind of skills?”

  “We’re not...absolutely sure. There are legends...of Magi being able...to levitate...walk through walls...manipulate objects...at great distances...and many more things.”

  Mark followed Mr. Diefenderfer and Joseph Young through the door and out onto the school grounds. They were the last ones out and the others were already gone. Mr. Diefenderfer extended his arm toward Mark and Mark grabbed his sleeve. Instantly they were at The First Mountain.

  “AlHufus, Joseph, it is so good to see you both again. Joseph, we were so joyful to hear that you made it out of the labyrinth.” The man stood about ten feet in front of where the group had appeared. He wore a golden crown with what looked like a royal purple and white felt cap underneath. He was obviously a very old man with very long, stringy white hair and a beard to match. His eyes were black and shone like a highly polished onyx stone. A blazon covered his gold trimmed black cloak. The symbols on the blazon were two crowned figures facing, each with arms extended to the other. His voice was baritone and heavily accented. When he spoke the name Joseph it sounded more like ‘Yo-siff’.

  Mr. Diefenderfer and
Joseph Young brought their right arm up so their hands were level with their chins, stepped back with their left foot, then bent their knees and returned to a normal standing position. The normal salute was just the arm movement and was always followed by a long-winded soliloquy by the person doing the salute, extolling their own virtues and accomplishments. Mark had not been instructed in this variation of the normal salute for when he met the High Elder, Habeas Grob. He followed their lead, saluted as they had and buttressed his mind for the grandiose pontification from Mr. Diefenderfer and Mr. Young that would surely follow.

  The dialogue following a normal salute was traditional and was thought of as a verbal resume giving the speakers qualifications for any task that might be required of them. This speech was only preformed in the exclusive presence of Magi. If one were unsure if another was a Magi, or if non-Magi were possibly listening, then the salute was entirely different. For the non-Magi case one simply said that they were a traveler from some direction, like north, seeking some vague object. A Magi would respond with phrases of similar construction, stating the opposite direction and indicating whether what was sought was present or not. An example might be, “I’m just a tourist from the west seeking some answers to my past.” A Magi would answer something like, “I’m a tourist too, from the east. You may find your answers here.” The information didn’t have to be accurate; it just had to follow the proper form. It amounted to nothing more than a secret verbal handshake that could be fitted to most circumstances.

  The High Elder didn’t return their salute, but instead turned to look at Mark. “This must be the young Magi I have heard so much about.”

  Joseph Young grinned and said, “He is.”

  Mark had no idea of what he was supposed to do next, no one had told him. High Elder Grob had not returned the salute or spoken anything about himself. This was very unusual for formal first meetings which he had grown accustomed to over the past several months. He raised his right hand to chin level and began. “Sir, I am Mark Young, student of The Seventh Mountain, bearer of the staff, key to the labyrinths–”

  All three men started laughing. Joseph Young put his hand on Mark’s back and said, “Mark, sometimes it’s hard to remember that you aren’t a fully trained Magi yet. Formal introductions are not used for or by the High Elder. He already knows who you are and you are supposed to know who he is. I’m sorry I forgot to mention that.”

  Mark looked down at his feet and then back up at the High Elder. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Mr. Grob said, “It’s perfectly all right. I think I’m going to like you.”

  The entrance to the labyrinth at The First Mountain was at the same relative location as it was at the other six mountains, on a wall in the basement in the mountain’s museum of artifacts. All of the mountains had the same basic layout, with classrooms for core course study on the first level’s outer ring, with the next two inner rings comprising shops and the like, and with various recreational facilities making up the rest of the inside of the first level. The lower levels served as basements, and housed support facilities and storage areas with one large room serving as a museum, displaying recovered artifacts.

  Support crews, mostly medical personnel, were standing by to tend those that were expected to be rescued from the bowels of this labyrinth. The self supporting ladder had already been inserted through the door which opened, as was the case with all the others, once a day at a random time.

  Mark addressed the rescue crew which was made up of about three hundred instructors and workers from his mountain. “This is the last one, let’s get it over with.” He walked up to the wall, sat down and touched the door with the staff. The wall section disappeared and the Magi started filing in. At thirty seconds each it would take about two and a half hours, outside time, for everyone to get in. That would be about two and a half days according to inside time.

  A couple of seconds after the last of the crew had entered duffel bags full of scrolls and artifacts began coming back through the door. Workers, clad in gray work tunics, scrambled to collect the bags and get them out of the way. When it was obvious that the last bag had come out, Mark stood and crossed the threshold.

  The ladder stretched well over one hundred feet to what was perceived to be the far wall from outside the labyrinth, but was, in actuality, the floor since gravity shifted ninety degrees beyond the door. This wasn’t the only place that gravity shifted either. Mark had experienced one other such shift in the labyrinth of The Seventh Mountain and it was obvious that it shifted at least twice more within the labyrinth since in the final room gravity was the same as it was in the first room.

  Mark reached the bottom of the ladder and the smell of burnt fish permeated the air. Gerod said, “Mr. Diefenderfer wants you to see this.” Gerod started walking away from the area where the door to the final room, the grotto, was. The entire group followed them.

  Mark said, “What is it?”

  Gerod shrugged, “We don’t know. It has a tarp over it and the note on the rope knot says not to look at it and to leave it in the labyrinth. The note also says to ask the staff bearer and there is a part of the note that nobody can read.”

  “Do you think it’s another sunstone or something?”

  “It’s big enough to be. There is something else strange about the note. Mr. Diefenderfer thinks that he recognizes the handwriting and won’t tell anyone who he thinks wrote it.”

  They reached the far end of the football field sized room. Gerod held his lantern up for Mark to see that a very large tarp covered something about the size and general shape of a small concrete truck. A rope had been laced through the eyelets of the tarp, dawn tight and tied in an elaborate security knot which was sealed with red wax. The imprint in the wax was from a signet that he knew well. It was three sabers forming a triangle, Nick’s signet or one very much like it.

  The note read:

  No one should look at what is under the tarp, it must remain in the labyrinth and no one should ever speak of it. It is imperative that it be kept entirely secret. Bring the staff bearer so that this may be judged.

  Hi Mark,

  I’m sure you recognize your own hand writing and Nick’s seal. I can’t tell you anything about this thing except that it must be kept out of Benrah’s hands at all costs. I can tell you that you have a traitor in your midst, but I can’t tell you who it is. Things must play out as they must.

  Say nothing of what you have read here except what follows. Mr. Diefenderfer is going to say, “Perchance… you’ll inform us...of what the note says.” You will respond, “The note says, I am a traveler from the west, seeking that which was, that which is and that which shall be.” He will understand.

  Mark looked up from the note and immediately Mr. Diefenderfer said, “Perchance… you’ll inform us...of what the note says.”

  Mark looked directly into Mr. Diefenderfer’s eyes, swallowed hard and said, “The note says, I am a traveler from the west, seeking that which was, that which is and that which shall be.”

  Mr. Diefenderfer cocked his head slightly and was obviously surprised by Mark’s response. After a pause he said in a loud voice, “I decree...no one here...is to communicate anything...to anyone...about this object...or what has happened here...concerning this object.”

  Everything else in the labyrinth went as planned with seven hundred thirty-five persons being rescued. A large number of those rescued had been trapped in there for well over three thousand years outside time, more than seventy thousand years inside time.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Seven Fires

  Chenoa’s father knocked on her bedroom door. “Chenoa...today is a special day. Get up and get dressed. We don’t have much time.”

  Se Day, Chenoa’s father, was an average looking, moderately muscular man with a pleasantly round face, short black hair and a smile that lingered in the mind of anyone that had ever seen it. He had told Chenoa that his smile was from his spirit. “When the spirit smiles it’s a very good t
hing.”

  It had been just over two months since Chenoa had come home for summer vacation. Her dad, a Magi of The Seventh Mountain and an Occoneechee chief, prepared for what he must do. It was seven in the morning and the sun had already been up for two hours. As had been done for him, and countless firstborns before him, the prophecy of The Eighth Fire would be passed on to his firstborn, Chenoa, at sunrise, atop Aztec Butte, on the morning beginning her thirteenth year. He had little more than half an hour to wake her and get her there.

  Mr. Day had chosen to come back to his people after completing The Seventh Mountain, to use his knowledge and skills there. Their small farm house had been purchased by his great grandfather for just the land value. At the time, the old house had been a dilapidated structure, mostly falling down and worthless. Magi and friends helped his great grandfather restore it and make it livable again. Right after that, most of the land was confiscated by the government for the Kerr Dam / Bugg’s Island Lake project. Compensation, as usual from the government, had been less than minimal. But the good thing was they did have a home, free and clear, and right on the lakefront to boot. Over the years, many children had been raised there.

  Mr. Day walked down the old stairs, through the living room and into the dining room to join his wife. “Chenoa is thirteen today. I have to take her somewhere. We’ll be back before lunch time, hopefully.”

  Chenoa’s mother, Mia, was standing beside the dining room table, drinking a cup of coffee and looking out the window. Her burgundy, geometric print shift didn’t hide the fact she was rather thin. She turned to greet her husband. Her straight, jet black hair stretched down her back, glimmering in the early morning light that shone through the single dining room window. Her hair was one characteristic she was happy that Chenoa had inherited.