by Dean Cadman
His mage-sight revealed nothing in the blackness of the tunnel, nor did his ears detect any signs of movement. The only thing that he could hear, was the thundering of his own heart, and his own rapid, shallow breathing. He found himself frozen to the spot, straining to see further and further back down the tunnel.
Then he saw it move.
His heart jumped into his throat and he let out an involuntary squeal of fear, as he backed away from the advancing threat. Whatever it was, it was huge. It filled the entire tunnel and moved as stealthily as any assassin. It was difficult to make out what it was with his mage-sight. Its shadow seemed to constantly change. One moment he was convinced that he could see its head, or jaws, then it would vanish once more, only to reappear a heartbeat later as a different horror.
He strengthened his shield as best he could with the limited power that he had left, and continued to slowly back up, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the advancing creature. His heel suddenly caught on something, and he stumbled backwards to the ground. As he scrambled to regain his feet, his hand brushed past the fur of another nearby creature. He yelled out in shocked terror and yanked his hand away. His heart thundered furiously in his chest as he jumped to his feet and pressed his back against the tunnel wall. He waiting for the creature’s strike, but it did not come.
Frantically he scanned the floor of the tunnel for any signs of movement, but there was none. He could see the shadowy mound of the creature with his mage-sight, but it didn’t move to attack him. He chanced a glance back down the tunnel towards the other threat, and finally recognised what was bearing down on him. It wasn’t any kind of creature after all. It was a thick rolling wave of the deadly gas. It filled the entire tunnel, from the ground to the ceiling, and rolled in waves towards him, folding itself over and over as it approached. Nervously, he glanced back at the creature by his feet, but it still hadn’t moved.
Whatever the creature was, it was either asleep or dead. He lightly prodded it with his foot, and could feel the slack hide move over the loose bones beneath. It was definitely dead. He breathed out a sigh of relief and turned his attention back to the approaching gas cloud. It seemed obvious now that the deadly gas originated somewhere within the tunnels of the mountain. But what held the gas in place outside the mountain he didn’t know, and more than likely, probably never would.
He pushed away from the tunnel wall, careful not to trip over the dead creature this time. As he did so, something suddenly occurred to him. If the creature’s remains were here, not only was he in the right tunnel, he must also be very near the exit too. He slipped back into his normal sight to see if he could detect any light up ahead, and to his surprise, he found that he could see a dim greenish-grey glow in the distance. But before he could even contemplate his apparent success, a sudden wave of pain assaulted him. His knees buckled underneath him, and he felt the power drain on his shield rapidly increasing.
Initially, he thought the cascading wall of gas had collided with his shield, but when he checked, he could clearly see that it was still about thirty feet away from him. It only took him a moment to realise what was happening. The new wave of gas was pushing the existing gas along in front of it, causing it to become ever more concentrated as it went. He knew at that instant that he would not survive an encounter with the swirling mass of super concentrated gas.
He staggered to his feet and began stumbling towards the distant dim glow of salvation. He screamed as the gas tore away his power, sending spikes of agony throughout his entire body. He knew that he might black out at any moment, and if he did, it would mean the end of not only his own life, but the lives of everyone back in his own world—including, Neala. He cried out in both pain and frustration, forcing his legs to keep moving towards the distant dim light. He tripped and stumbled several times over debris on the ground, but didn’t dare waste a moment looking to see what it was. If he didn’t start moving faster, he knew that he too would soon be nothing more than another pile of debris littering the tunnel floor.
He willed himself on, grinding his teeth against the incredible pain that racked his entire body. He begged Aysha to grant him the strength that he needed, but deep down he knew that she couldn’t hear his pleas from within the hidden realm. A single torturous image forced him to continue placing one foot in front of the other: an image of Neala, being torn apart and killed by a Netherworld creature. He knew without doubt that such a fate would not only befall her, but everyone else that he knew too if he didn’t make it. He simply couldn’t allow himself to fail now.
He screamed, and forced his legs to move faster. The echoes of his cries dampened by the thickening gas around him. Sweat ran freely into his eyes, blurring his vision even more. The greenish-grey light was getting closer now, and he could see the debris littering the ground as he neared the exit. Animals of all shapes and sizes had met their fate there, but he simply refused to join them. Five paces to go… four… three… he was going to make it… two…
Just as he was about to step out of the tunnel into the world outside, the massive blast of gas hit him hard in the back. The force of it was like being hit by a falling tree. He gasped in agony, as the impact sent him flying head first out of the tunnel. But instead of hitting the ground as he had expected, he felt himself plummeting downwards. The giant super concentrated gas cloud billowed out above him, like an angry volcano, and he continued to fall. Desperately, he tried to gather enough power to levitate himself, or at least slow his descent, but he was simply exhausted.
He couldn’t see anything as he fell freely through the greenish-grey gas. He tensed his body for the inevitable deadly impact, knowing that he was about to die—but it never came. Instead his feet impacted hard on a steep scree slope, jarring his knees and back painfully. His magical shield failed instantly on impact, and he almost blacked out. It was only the intense pain of the corrosive gas on his skin, and the sharp rocks tearing at his body as he cascaded blindly down the mountainside that kept him conscious. He took a breath to scream out, but his lungs instantly felt like they were on fire, and it came out as a stifled whimper instead. Small rocks and debris tore at his skin and clothing as he slid down on his back.
A moment later he collided hard with a large boulder, and he heard and felt the bone in his right leg shatter. The collision sent him tumbling forwards to land on his stomach, where he continued his painful journey down the deadly scree slope. He screamed silently with the sudden intense pain, his throat no longer able to make any kind of sound. He fervently prayed for it all to be over, but his prayers were not answered. A moment later he came to an abrupt rest at the base of the mountain, unable to see, speak, or even breathe within the deadly gas.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed silently, “I’m so, so sorry.”
He could feel the exposed skin on his hands and face begin to blister and pop with the corrosive gas. Involuntarily he grasped at the rocks on the ground around him and squeezed them hard against the pain, but they offered little in the way of distraction, as they were far too round and smooth. He grasped for other, sharper rocks, but they were all the same. Even through the intense pain, he couldn’t help thinking how strange it was. How could rocks that had fallen away from the mountainside all be smooth and the same size?
He opened his eyes to take a final look, and panic flooded through him when he realised that the gas had already blinded him. He could no longer see anything. No greenish-grey gloom, or even a hand in front of his own face—only blackness. He laughed mirthlessly through the agony, realising that it no longer mattered. He would be dead within seconds now anyway. What difference did it make if he died blind or not?
Stubbornly, he decided that the gas would not rob him of his final wish. As ridiculous as it was, he felt that it would be one small final victory if he could see the rocks before he died. He slipped into his mage-sight for one last time, and a blinding light flooded his mind.
For a heartbeat, he thought his mage-sight had also been destroyed by the ga
s, but as his mage-sight adjusted to the brilliance all around him, he realised what he was looking at: he was surrounded by thousands and thousands of Soul Stones. And they glowed with the brilliance of a small sun. He knew he was only seconds away at most from blacking out. Even his mage-sight had started to blur and darken at the edges.
He reached for the power held in his hands, and it flooded into him. With a single thought, his magical shield sprang back into existence, and he began to filter the atmosphere into breathable air. He tried to take a breath, but his lungs were too damaged to work properly. Fear and panic almost overtook him, as he flung everything he had at repairing the damage. When he finally took a breath, it was the most painful breath of his life. But at least it was a breath. He reached out further and absorbed more power, then continued to repair the damage to his lungs.
His entire body screamed out in agony, as if each individual part vied for his attention first. He magically dulled the pain and gasped a sigh of relief—then the massive gas wave hit him. It rolled over his magical shield, searing his mind with the sudden power drain. Instinctively he reached out to the surrounding Soul Stones and pulled in their power. Hundreds of them shattered and exploded around him, as he drained every last ounce of power from them. In less than a minute his entire power reserves were completely restored.
He immediately strengthened his shield further, but the gas no longer posed any threat to him. He’d been deprived of his power for so long, that he could barely believe how strong he felt now. Systematically, he repaired the damage to his body, starting with his leg and eyes, and ending with his blistered skin. When he’d finished, he examined his surroundings and was deeply saddened by what he found. Unintentionally he had destroyed many hundreds of the precious Soul Stones. No longer did they glow to his mage-sight like they once did. Now they were simply rubble strewn across the ground around him.
He looked up and saw the concentrated gas still billowing out of the mountainside above. It quickly spread outwards, adding to, and concentrating the existing gas all around him. He could no longer see the tunnel entrance, and only the rapid movement of the gas gave him any indication of where it was.
He knew that he needed to return to Vultog as quickly as possible before the fresh gas had a chance to seriously injure, or even kill him. He scanned the ground around his feet for any undamaged Soul Stones. There were a few, but not many. He picked one up and attached a thin line of power to it, then threw it towards the billowing gas. He could clearly see the Soul Stone arc through the air and land on the steep scree slope just below the tunnel entrance. At least now he would be able to quickly find it again, he thought, as he turned and headed towards the nearest undamaged Soul Stones.
Less than twenty paces away he was surrounded once more by thousands of brightly glowing Soul Stones. He bent down to pick some up, then paused. How many should he take back for Vultog? Should he take thirty like Hagu, or even more? Or should he take fewer back, and maintain Hagu’s legendary status amongst the tribes? He knew that even a single Soul Stone would be considered a victory. But how could he take only a single stone, when he was currently standing in a sea of them?
He didn’t want to destroy or upset the balance of the orc’s culture any more than he already had. But he also didn’t want Vultog’s honour or status within his own tribe to be in any doubt, either. It might have been a more difficult choice if he hadn’t already come to know Vultog so well. But he had, and so he knew without question that he would do the right thing. With that in mind, he decided to take thirty-one Soul Stones back with him, and allow Vultog to make the decision for himself as to how many he presented to his tribe. After all, he was best placed to understand what impact it would have on his own people.
Lusam unfastened The Keeper’s bag of gifts from his belt, and carefully emptied the contents onto the ground. He presumed that if The Keeper was actually still around, and he was truly as powerful as Vultog’s people believed, he would be just as likely to find the gifts there, as anywhere else. Lusam still had no idea of who, or indeed what, inhabited this side of the mountain yet. So leaving the gifts within the gas would also prevent them from being stolen by others.
He quickly gathered the Soul Stones and stuffed them into the empty bag, before securing it to his belt once more. Then he picked up another two Soul Stones, intending to use them as a permanent marker through the tunnel. He would leave one at each end and connect them together magically, creating a permanently visible trail for anyone that could sense their magic. Who knows, maybe it would save someone’s life one day, he thought, turning back towards the tunnel entrance.
He had barely used any of his massive power reserves, but he still decided to top himself back up whilst he had the opportunity. Only this time he was very careful not to damage any of the Soul Stones whilst doing it. He guessed that it was being without his power for so long that had made him so overly cautious now. He smiled to himself and shook his head at the thought.
He looked up towards a sky that he couldn’t see, and not for the first time contemplated levitating over the mountain, instead of going through it. But he knew that if he did he might have to injure, or even kill any wyverns that attacked him, and that just didn’t seem right to him, simply to avoid a little discomfort for himself. He immediately put the thought out of his mind and began levitating himself towards the tunnel entrance.
It was obvious that the gas flow was becoming far less intense as he approached the tunnel entrance, but as his shield made contact with it, its potency still shocked him a little. It no longer posed any threat to him now, but he knew, without doubt, it would have killed him in his earlier weakened state if it had enveloped him inside the tunnel.
The moment his feet touched down inside the tunnel he placed one of the spare Soul Stones on the ground, before covering it over with a few small rocks to hide it. Then with a single thought, he connected a line of power from it, to the second Soul Stone in his hand. As he set off deeper into the tunnel he glanced behind to check, and sure enough, there was a clearly visible trail leading from the Soul Stone in his hand, to the one he had just hidden at the entrance.
He was a little disappointed, however, that his earlier magical trail had vanished due to his lack of power, but he felt confident that he could still find his way back to Vultog easily enough. Not only could he see the evidence of his own footprints using his mage-sight, he had also taken every opportunity to mark the false passageways he came across with any rocks he’d found, just in case the gas had caused his earlier line of power to fail at any point.
And given what had just happened to him, he was immensely glad that he had.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lusam emerged on Vultog’s side of the mountain less than an hour later. Apart from an odd wrong turn here and there, he had found his way back without much trouble at all. And now that he’d marked a clear path through the mountain using the two magically connected Soul Stones, he knew returning to the other side would be even easier.
After carefully hiding the Soul Stone marker near the tunnel entrance, he set off to meet up with Vultog at the edge of The Boundary. He thought about levitating himself above the gas again but decided that it probably wasn’t worth the risk. After all, it wasn’t as if he didn’t have enough magic to maintain his shield now. Instead, he projected a weak magical barrier a few feet ahead of himself, then began levitating forward through the gas. He doubted that there would be any obstructions in his path, but at least the magical barrier would give him enough time to avoid them if there were.
A few minutes later he emerged from the gloominess of The Boundary, into the bright sunlight beyond. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the intense glare of the sun, but when they did, his heart lurched in his chest.
Vultog had succumbed to the effects of the gas.
He had collapsed in a heap not ten paces from The Boundary, and Lusam could see no signs of life. He cursed under his breath and raced over to him, falling to his
knees by his side. He immediately erected a magical shield around them both and filtered the gas from the air within. He rolled him over onto his back and gasped when he saw his face. The corrosive gas had caused open wounds to form on every part of his exposed skin. His face, arms, hands, and even the exposed part of his chest had suffered the same horrific injuries. But at least he appeared to be still breathing… just about.
Lusam quickly placed a hand on his chest and projected his mage-sight into his body to access the extent of his injuries. He soon discovered that his lungs were in no better condition than the rest of him and set about repairing them as quickly as he could. Although Vultog’s internal organs were different from anything Lusam had seen before, it was obvious to him what was damaged and what was not. Soon, he had Vultog breathing far more easily and set about repairing other, less critical parts of his body. Vultog suddenly coughed, then let out a low groan of pain.
“Stay still while I heal your injuries,” Lusam said. Vultog tried to reply, but his throat was unable to form the words and it came out as a stifled choking sound instead. Lusam realised that the gas must have damaged his vocal chords too, and began repairing those next.
“Try to say something now,” Lusam said when he’d done, but Vultog suddenly became very agitated. He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up, wincing at the pain.
“I’m blind… I can’t see anything,” he said, in a panicked voice. He tried to get to his feet, but Lusam put a hand on his chest and held him where he was.
“Wait, let me help you first.”
Without waiting for a reply, Lusam placed his other hand over Vultog’s eyes and began repairing the damage. It was far more extensive than his own eye injury had been, and it took several minutes to completely heal the damage. When he removed his hand, Vultog looked very reluctant to open his eyes. When he finally did, the first thing he saw was Lusam smiling down at him.