The Redemption, Volume 1

by Clyde B Northrup

  The rod and kortexi slid smoothly into the rock; misty, orange darkness replaced the red glow of fire. After a time of oozing through the rock, soft green replaced misty orange, water replaced rock. The glowing nimbus surrounding him now turned yellow and provided him with air, as his path wandered among coral formations, the path about two feet off the floor of this ocean within the Mountain of Vision. Fish swam past him of every shape and color imaginable; some transparent, shaped like umbrellas with long trailing ribbons; some round as a ball and covered with thorny spines; others flat like a carpet, skimming just above the ocean’s floor. Still others had noses like saws, some so small he could barely see them, while others were as large as houses. The fish avoided his sphere, swimming around it without taking any notice. For a time, Blakstar paced forward, awestruck by what he saw. The path left the coral and entered an open, flat area at the ocean’s bottom. He saw the wreck of a ship just ahead, most of its bow missing. There were many holes in its sides, with fish of various sizes and types, swimming lazily in and out of the wreck. Only jagged stubs remained of the masts. The path angled to the left past the broken bow of the former ship. As the kortexi passed the dark opening, large dark tentacles shot out of the wreck, wrapping themselves around his sphere of protection. Instinctively, he ducked, but quickly remembered the lesson of the fire realm. The pressure inside the sphere grew as the tentacles tightened their grip. Blakstar focused his attention on the rod, reminding himself that nothing would harm him as long as he trusted in the being who directed his path. The pressure eased as the tentacles lost interest, returning docilely to the darkness inside the wreck.

  The path turned to the right on passing the wreck and moved toward a line of underwater hills. At the base of the one nearest to him, the kortexi saw a dark opening, slightly illuminated by the glow of the golden line. His path descended to the floor of this underwater cave, and he felt the give of wet sand under his feet. Looking back he could see the shape of his sandals imprinted in the sand. The glow of the golden line illuminated the cave floor, and his eyes were caught by things sparkling. Looking down, he saw gold and silver coins, gems, bracelets and necklaces, armor, swords, and weapons of every possible type. Their number increased until the floor was completely covered by wealth unimaginable. As he walked along, he felt something hard and cold get caught in the toe of his sandal. Reaching down with his left hand, he removed the object from his sandal and found himself holding an ornately carved, golden key of some ancient design attached to a fine, golden chain. He thought he heard a bell ring somewhere in the distance, and so without thinking, dropped the chain around his neck, felt its coolness, and felt the key clunk against his chest. The golden line he followed swerved suddenly into the roof of this underwater passage, and the kortexi oozed again into the stony orange mistiness.

  After a time in the misty, rocky-orange darkness, light began to grow in front of him again, its brilliance blinding; the kortexi slid out of the rock and into a world of brilliant blue light and absolute cold. Blakstar shielded his eyes, pulling the hood of his white robe down over his face to protect his vision from the glare that he knew could instantly blind one who stared into its brilliance. He felt the rod warming under his hand, and caught a glimpse of red, the nimbus surrounding him with heat in response to the frigid cold of this elemental realm of ice. As his eyes adjusted, he could see through the cloth of the hood that he was surrounded by sharp, jagged formations of ice, pointing at him from all directions. His feet trod across the points of ice that formed the floor of the tunnel, and his shoulders and arms brushed past points jutting out from the wall; over his head, the ceiling was covered with more icicles, like a multitude of spears or daggers, ready to stab him from above, beside, and beneath.

  The narrow tunnel through which the golden path moved, opened into a large vertical shaft. Blakstar glanced up as he entered this new space and saw the shaft had a domed ceiling high overhead, covered with what looked like from this distance, long, thin crystal icicles, the shaft itself was crossed and re-crossed by the golden path on thin and narrow bridge-like ice structures without any visible means of support. As he followed his path across the floor of this huge shaft, which was uneven and covered with broken chunks of ice, the entire room shook violently, and many of the icicles attached to the domed ceiling high above broke loose and came crashing to the floor, some of them smashing through the path as they fell, breaking away sections of the path and adding to the disorder of the floor. Blakstar swallowed hard, realizing that he had to cross all of the path overhead in order to move on, and the cold of the realm was seeping into the protective nimbus surrounding him. Recalling what he had learned thus far, he concentrated on the golden rod, willing it to warm him, and with his free hand, he pulled his hood tighter over his eyes.

  The shaft shook violently again; the kortexi did his best to ignore it, continuing to walk forward, trusting that the rod and golden line would lead him forward. Blakstar heard the chunks of ice crashing down around him, and felt the sudden impact when something struck his protective nimbus; he was shocked when he discovered that, for a moment, his forward progress halted: it was only a stutter in his movement, a mere hesitation of motion, but in the realms of this journey, such a hesitation could be enough to slow him down and ultimately stop him. He realized that he needed to know why his motion had stuttered; he loosened his hood slightly, enough so that he could see the activity around him. He continued to walk forward, striving to increase his pace, knowing that it would slow the next time he was hit by falling ice. The shaking happened almost at once, seemingly in response to his desire to see, and several large chunks of ice slammed against his protective nimbus, which flashed red in response, but for an instant, he and his protective sphere were completely encased in transparent ice several inches thick. In the moment he was surrounded by ice, his motion stuttered, then the crystal sphere shattered, and he moved forward again, although more slowly than before.

  Trust me, came the words to his mind.

  Blakstar thought for a moment; in the realm of fire, what he needed was to be cooled by the rod. Here, he needed the opposite, and the rod had been supplying him with heat, but it was insufficient, as it had been in the fire realm until. . . . The ground shook again, dislodging what seemed an endless supply of giant icicles from the ceiling, and the kortexi knew what he must do: he must become a living flame to counteract the cold of this realm; he willed the rod to warm, to heat, and to burn with red fire, and he was surrounded by flames that turned the falling chunks of ice to steam before they crashed into his protective nimbus. The path turned, climbed the wall of the shaft, then started to cross by one of the many thin, narrow bridges. Blakstar then noticed that his red, flaming nimbus had the same effect on the thin path beneath his feet as it had on the falling ice: the narrow bridge was beginning to steam and melt away. The kortexi drew a sharp breath, beginning to panic, not knowing how to protect himself from the falling debris that would stop him without obliterating the path upon which he walked. He started to slow, and realized instantly that this action was a mistake, as the thin bridge steamed away more quickly.

  Do not slow! the voice came to his mind, but there was a hint of laughter in the voice, which surprised him as much as the disappearing bridge. Blakstar tried to protest, but the voice went on. Have I failed you? Has the path failed you? Think about from where the threat that slows you comes, and there was amusement in the voice.

  “From above,” Blakstar replied.

  So alter your shield, the voice laughed.

  “Oh, yeah, I didn’t think of that,” he replied, and as he wondered how to protect himself only from falling debris, he felt the nimbus alter, and saw the bridge under his feet cease to steam.

  Always turn your shield toward the threat, which is usually the simplest solution to most problems.

  The path moved straight toward the rock wall of the shaft, taking him out of the ice and back into the misty orange of the rock that formed the Mountain of Visi
on.

  Light grew in front of him; he saw the golden line leaving the rock, moving off into open air. As he approached the edge of the stone, he saw empty space and the monochrome ocean and beach far below. He felt a twinge of fear deep in his middle as he left the rock and stepped into open air. He heard the rumble of thunder overhead, and in front of him, he saw huge, dark clouds approaching rapidly from the west. As his path climbed higher in the sky, the storm clouds surrounded the mountain, obscuring his vision. Multi-forked bolts of white lightning crackled around him, rending the air with deafening peals of thunder. A single bolt struck his nimbus of protection and curled around it, lighting the kortexi’s face with flashes of pure white; he felt his skin tingle and all his hair standing up. He thought that he was climbing before the clouds encircled him, and his path and line soon left the clouds, leveling off on top of them. The golden line curved around the huge anvil shape towering over him, moving around the storm’s center. Circling around the storm, he could see small colorful shapes flying that looked like lizards with wings. Four noticed his presence, diving from overhead toward him. As they came nearer, he realized that they were aperum colored red, yellow, blue, and orange. Each flew past him and his sphere, its bat-like wings spread wide and its teeth bared in a reptilian grin, mouth open and releasing the full fury of its breath, of fire, lightning, frost, and acid. Having learned well his response to each attack, the kortexi kept his thoughts focused on the rod, walking forward and willing the sphere to turn back each breath attack. Each aperu screamed in fury after each released its breath against Blakstar. The red, the apparent leader, howled to its companions, who responded to his call by hovering above the kortexi and attacking in unison. Again, Blakstar kept his thoughts focused on the rod as he walked forward, mentally reinforcing his shield. The aperum roared in fury, calling for their master. Orkegan, Lord of the Skies, flew down to stand on the cloud to Blakstar’s left. He appeared to be a large wethi-shaped figure with black, feathered wings at his back, legs ending in talons, like a bird of prey. He grinned as he looked at the kortexi walking on the clouds.

  “It appears, my children,” Orkegan said, “that you have been thwarted by a questing kortexi. Perhaps I am to aid you in ending his quest.” He stroked the jeweled scepter he held in his right hand. He nodded to the kortexi. “We were actually expecting you; the Great Lord informed me of your approach and gave me leave to do whatever pleased me. As his loyal prince, I feel constrained to obey, although I wish to rule no other realm but the skies.” He raised his left hand, palm outward, toward the aperum circling above. Four beams of light shot from his hand and surrounded each aperu, causing each to glow with its particular color.

  “Now, my children,” Orkegan said, “you have the strength to pierce his shield.”

  Recalling the promise he had been given, Blakstar threw all his will into reinforcing his shield, making it impervious to the enhanced breath of each aperu. Orkegan had expected this response and nodded once. For the third time, the aperum attacked the kortexi with fire, lightning, frost, and acid. At the same time, the evil lord of the skies pointed his scepter toward Blakstar and said, in a breathy voice, “ghwergheusum.”

  The sudden blast of wind did not affect the aperum or Orkegan, being creatures of the air, but the wind struck Blakstar’s nimbus of protection like the punch of a megatri. Too late, the kortexi realized his threat: the aperum were not meant to pierce his shield, only to cause him to make it impervious to any attack. The evil lord of the sky’s hurricane blast of wind was meant to push rod and kortexi out of the golden line they followed.

  Orkegan smiled as he watched Blakstar tumble head over heels into the clouds below, still gripping the now useless iron rod. “Quite simple.”

  Paaki, one of the ekludi contingent guarding the aerial approaches to the Mountain of Vision, felt the evil force driving the storm threatening the mountain. He had also been warned, when he came on watch, that a questing kortexi of great importance would ascend the mountain while he was on patrol. Knowing of Orkegan’s hatred toward the kortexem, Paaki sent a mental summons to his wing of gold aperum to join him in investigating the storm. He knew from experience that the evil lord of the skies would attack the kortexi in the elemental realm of air. Paaki sent another thought, informing his second, who would strengthen the Mountain’s defenses by summoning extra flights of silver and bronze aperum aloft, with their respective ekludi leaders. He rose higher in the air and took his place at the head of his wing of aperum. The ekludi were akin to the land-born kerono, but much, much larger, nearly the size of the smaller aperum, moving through the air like a wisp of golden cloud; in ancient, ekludi meant “floating horse.” The hooves of the ekludi never touched earth. Its golden mane was full and merged with a long, flowing tail of the same sunny hue; its coat was scaled and the color of the sun on a cloudless day; its hooves and horn blushed the rosy pink color of the sunrise. They followed the path of the mind and were proficient tekson. Mind-speech was their only form of communication, but with it, they could converse with all creatures, including wethem. In the world’s beginning, they were close friends of Melbarth, Shigmar, and Karble, and still supported the heirs of each order. Holvar himself set them to this task, along with the aperum, to guard the Mountain of Vision from Orkegan and his minions.

  Paaki led his wing above the storm to find the force driving it and disperse it before the questing kortexi entered this realm. Floating above the thunder head, Paaki saw the evil aperum circling in frenzied worship of the ansu that drove the storm. He also saw the four aperum descend, attack the kortexi, and summon Orkegan. He sent a summons to his second with instructions to bring up two other wings and attack the aperum, driving off both them and the ansu controlling the storm. Knowing what Orkegan would do, he and his wing dove toward the kortexi, half of them diving on the aperum and the other half diving beneath the kortexi. Paaki saw Orkegan reinforce his aperum and raise his scepter. Too late, he hurled a mental no to the kortexi. Half his wing was nearly beneath the kortexi, so he and the other half charged the four aperum and Orkegan. The ekludi leader knew he could not destroy the evil lord of the skies, but he could at least make him very uncomfortable. He lowered his head and crashed into Orkegan’s unprotected back. The force of Paaki’s charge impaled Orkegan on his teka horn, causing the evil sky lord to drop his scepter, which fell into the sea far below. Paaki threw back his head to remove the broken body from his horn. The body immediately disappeared; the aperum fled after seeing the fall of their lord; the ansu driving the storm howled defiance but withdrew, and the clouds began to disperse. Paaki knew that it would be long before Orkegan troubled questing kortexem again.

  Good work, Paaki thought to his wing when he saw one of his gold wingmen rising from the clouds holding the shocked kortexi gently in his forelegs. Let us take him to the summit, he sent to his wing, leading them to the mountain’s summit, where the gold aperu carrying the kortexi landed and gave the kortexi to the keeper, who stood waiting for them to arrive.

  Chapter 6

  Of all the symbols ever conceived, none strike as much terror in the hearts of those who behold it as the mark of Gar. . . .

  Sheldu, Headmaster of Shigmar, 961-1013

  Klaybear limped slowly out of the crack in the cliff face, his eyes red and swollen. His body ached as if he had been clubbed repeatedly; he leaned heavily upon his wooden staff as he walked slowly down the trail past the waterfall. The shadows of the trees were long, and the sun low in the west. His head ached, especially his forehead, where his wound throbbed in time to the heavy beating of his heart. He followed the trail down, back and forth across the steep hill before the cliff, and re-entered the forest he loved. He inhaled deeply, hoping to soothe the tattered edges of both mind and spirit, but the air only started a fit of coughing, which increased the discomfort of body and mind. Throughout the afternoon he had tried various forms of healing to repair the damage to his forehead and hand, and to ease the pain, but the damage went deeper than he
was capable of repairing. He still had hope that one of his kailu masters, or all of them combined, could affect some repair. He had even tried one of the healing potions he carried, thinking that a orthek prepared by someone else might be effective, but the potion only hurled him back into the endless, chaotic gyre of his tortured visions, chaotic images compressed and piled one on top of the other. The only relief came when he tried one of the sleeping potions he carried, which sent him, for a time, into a deep sleep untroubled by his visions. However, when his mind began to rise from deep sleep to waking, late in the afternoon, he was thrust again into the nightmarish cycle of shattered images given to him by the messenger of evil. He moved slowly, carefully, along the trail.

  Long after sunset, Klaybear shambled slowly down the last slope before the trail joined the main road into Shigmar. He stopped within the deeper shadow under the trees to listen for any sounds that might come from the road. He was close enough to the gates of Shigmar–within a mile–that brigands were generally not a problem. Yet the events of this day made him more wary and cautious than normal. He prepared a sleep orthek as he listened, but heard only the croaking of distant frogs, chirping of crickets, and the occasional soft sound of a bat flitting by. Satisfied that the road near him was empty, Klaybear stepped out of the trees and followed the trail down to the road. He stopped suddenly, hearing what he thought sounded like a light cough coming from the trees opposite the trail. The kailu threw himself off the road into the ditch on the trail’s side and waited, listening intently. He heard someone talking softly.

  “Wretches,” the voice whispered, talking to himself, “trust a stranger with promises of ghelwum and see what you get: beaten, dragged through mud and leaves, and left for dead without even a scrap of food for your trouble. My grandmother warned me to be wary of their kind, but the hint of ghelwum trapped me again; will I ever learn? What’s that? Someone’s there; I’d better get further out of sight before they . . . too late. Please!” the voice grew suddenly loud, “have mercy on a poor abused traveler! I’m nearly dead! Hurt me no more!”