Consequences Within Chaos

by Derek Barton

  Winter had no meaning here. Although his breath came out in white plumes, no snow banks blotted the grounds. The prince stood on a rocky surface unlike any he had ever seen. The ground was barren and made up of flat black shale pieces. Treacherous large and small cracks were everywhere which made his footing a challenge and forced each step to be taken with care.

  His first half hour here he trekked to the only land feature he could spot. Now, he stood at the base of it, a white, smooth rock peak with several tower-like structures. The moonlight glistened off its slopes; the peak had a faint purple aura. At its top, window-like openings gaped at the dark skies like hungry mouths awaiting food. The structure was not man-made and seemed alien in the shale desert. Something compelled the young Prince. Unlike the lights that evening when he found the glass lake and the metal boxes, this time he was keenly aware he was being guided.

  Taihven reached out and ran his fingers over its stony surface. Similar to quartz, its face felt grainy under his touch. Small folds and minute cracks allowed him easy purchase and he started to scale the rock.

  Inside would be my only shelter, but what else might be seeking sanctuary there? He buried his thoughts and fears. Unwilling to dwell on the reasons it could be very dangerous to enter, he focused on his climb. The calling pulled him stronger the further he ascended.

  Leaning forward, he pressed his ear to the rock. The prince could not hear any voices, threatening growls, violent fighting or anything at all inside. It felt abandoned and empty of life, but that call nagged him. Yet his instinct felt certain he would not be alone inside the quartz peak. He continued up the sidewall.

  Some eighty feet or so in the air, he grasped the lip of one of the mouth holes he had spotted earlier. Taihven pulled himself onto a ledge only a yard wide. He stooped over and peered inside the peak, but no light illuminated its secrets. Investigating further with his hands, he found that the opening gave way to a smooth tube that descended further into the peak but he had no idea how far it went.

  "Do I stay out here?" he asked aloud, "Or will you come to me?” No answer came from the tube. It was not a serious inquiry and he feared someone or something actually answering his questions. Indecision weighed upon his mind.

  Must I go in the dark to you?

  The winds still harried him. This ledge would be a dangerous perch for sleeping, he thought to himself. Magical energy flowed within his right hand and he drew with two fingers the sigil for a Hand Torch. He held up his left hand, palm face up and a small flame flickered alive. He carried the ball of fire high and could see that the opening funneled down a dozen or so feet and then banked to the left.

  Sighing with frustration, he ended the torch and dug into his pockets. Luck graced his search and he found a small iron coin. Holding his breath, he let it roll from his fingers and into the tube. The sound of its path carried on for a good five counts and then he heard it bounce along a floor. He listened a bit more before searching for another coin but his pockets were empty.

  Taihven laid on his stomach and swung his legs into the smooth funnel. Said a quick prayer asking for a short drop from the tube and let his grip go. The moonlight shut off as he slid backwards down the tube. His heart raced as he descended into the void. His plunge picked up speed with several twists and turns that dizzied him.

  Abruptly the tube ended and he landed belly-first upon a rock floor and tumbled blindly along the ground.

  "NO!" he screamed as the floor under him ended and he rolled over the edge. However, his fall caught in mid-air and the prince felt himself rising. Heat enveloped him and rushed all around him. The warm air carried him aloft and into another narrow tube where the tube walls pressed in on him and became claustrophobic.

  The tube continued to carry him aloft. He put his hands out to the sides of the stone funnel and slowed his rise. The prince then locked his arms and braced his hands to force a stop. Baking air rolled over him, but was not strong enough to dislodge him.

  Taihven could not identify this magic or be certain it was not some sort of natural occurrence here, but it unnerved him all the same. The tunnel wall was smooth, but had a rippled pattern like the rings inside a tree. He climbed through the passage till it banked again and rose higher into the peak. Taihven released his grip and allowed himself to float.

  The prince sensed that he was getting closer to what brought him here in the first place. The tunnel forked into different directions. He curled his legs up and kicked off into the branch on the right, even though he was unsure where it was heading. His instincts urged him to go to the right.

  Like an invisible water fountain, the flow that carried him crested about four feet above the floor and ended. Taihven dropped awkwardly to the side of the hole. Remaining blind, he got to his feet and shook off the dirt from his clothes and hair.

  In the murkiness, he did not know where he was, but he did not hear the flow of air from any other air tubes. A bit of bruising on an elbow and a swollen lip were the extent of his injuries from the drop into the first tunnel.

  Taihven toyed with the idea of calling out, hoping to get some assistance, but he feared that would only endanger him. Being in the blackness, however, was too unnerving so he cast another Hand Torch.

  Taihven leaned slightly over the mouth of the funnel hole. The mysterious vent’s air rose up and bathed his arm. He frowned and decided to experiment with an idea. Taking a chance, he put his Hand Torch into the air fountain. The flames of the spell flickered, but the light from the torch, though, did not light up the tunnel. Interesting to know, he mused.

  On the opposite side of the funnel, Taihven could see another tunnel entrance, but the archway had odd, square-cut molding. On each of the hand-sized squares were intricate marks, but they were undecipherable. They were definitely not a natural occurrence either. Someone or something constructed this stone peak and marked this entry.

  Could these builders be the ones calling out to me? He wondered. The idea excited and alarmed the prince at the same time.

  The entrance led deeper into the shadows of the tower peak. He smothered his fears as best he could and walked through the archway. Passing through the square molding, an invisible force ended his Hand Torch. Taihven pressed on, wanting answers.

  In less than a dozen steps the tunnel floor crumbled away from under him. No air was rushing or catching him this time. His screams echoed past him as he flailed his arms. Suddenly his stomach smashed upon a set of broken stone stairs and he bounced wildly into the pitch black.

  ***

  Taihven dry coughed and woke to new bruises and a stiffness in his hip. He had no sense of time or how long he had been unconscious on the floor. Crawling on hands and knees, the prince explored his surroundings in the dark, but swiped the floor with his palms. Next to the remains of a cramped stairwell he found another funnel. However, this time Taihven made out faint echoes of water dripping. He lowered down to the edge and allowed the pull to take him.

  Inside the funnel, he noted the faintest of auras of light radiating from further ahead. Before arriving at the end of the shaft, he dragged his legs to stop his progress. Then he crawled trying to control his speed and limit the sounds he made. He still did not know where he was or if anyone was there to be wary of in the first place.

  When the prince found the end, it was a small, circular opening high upon a cavern wall. Above his head and to the left of his position he spotted the source of water and the source of the light as well. A magnificent waterfall of glowing, ivory liquid cascaded from the ceiling high above and to a pool thirty feet or so down. The domed ceiling itself was a pincushion of stalactites that also dripped with the luminescent, white liquid. Shards of black purple crystals caked the edges of the pool and crusted along the walls. The whole cavern room was breathtaking and untouched. As Taihven perched in the tunnel opening, he was stunned, his mouth open in astonishment.

  After soaking up the sight for several minutes, he gripped the edge of the tube and peered down to see
how he might traverse to the cavern floor. A set of rounded rock steps were fastened into the wall that led away from the opening and to the left; however, the rock path did not descend. Instead, they climbed higher and disappeared behind the waterfall. These steps were not natural and placed with a purpose. Taihven had no doubt that he was not the only person or visitor to explore this peak. He dropped his legs over the lip and tested the stone step with some of his weight. It felt sturdy and able to hold him so he set his foot on the step with a deliberate pressure and pushed out of the tube—

  —and his face brushed up against the coarse cloth of his bed cover. Taihven was groggy, blind in the dark and could not breathe well through the material. He was back somehow from his episode, but he had no clue where he was. Is this a nightmare?

  Frustration and disappointment welled up in him. While he did not like the idea of being lost and trapped in a mysterious stone peak tower, he really wanted to study that waterfall cavern. It felt as if someone had plowed into him from behind and expelled him out of the episode. They flicked him away like an insect. The prince groaned and struggled against the—

  —on the ground again, on his stomach; his left hand was hanging over the rocky edge of a running river. The pearl-white fluid lapped around his fingers and had an oil-slick, coldness to it. Taihven rolled over and yanked his hand back. He studied his hand, but it had not suffered for touching the water and his shirt sleeve was wet as it normally would be. Taihven realized he had appeared back in the Quartz Peak!

  This time the episode had dropped him in at the top of the waterfall. The ivory river streamed in from a wide tunnel to a circular opening in the floor and then rained down to the crystal cavern below.

  There had only been a moment’s break in the episodes. His mind swirled with the implications of this. Could he be getting some control of the episodes? He had never had an interruption of an episode and he had never returned to the exact same region before. It did not feel like he had any guidance over the episodes and he had nothing lately but troubles from them.

  Sitting up on his elbows, he stared in awe at the beauty of the crystal waterfall caves. This oval-shaped chamber had walls layered with odd shaped bricks. His eyes followed the traces of odd carvings that he guessed might have been some sort of language. Unknown words stretched in long patterns wove all around the whole room.

  “Is anyone here?” he called out. Only his voice echoed in response.

  “What do you want from me?”

  ***

  Freahl Kesnan sat in silence next to the dying man, lost in thought and rehearsing his speech. He had been Freahl for some time and had proceeded over hundreds of pyre-rebirth ceremonies for the dead, yet he had never conquered his stage fright. The nerves would tie up his insides and cause hives to break out all over his chest.

  Even had this been old hat, how many times had one been given the honor to recite the burial rites to a king? The elderly man pondered.

  He looked over at King Haedrec and started another whispered prayer. The prayer would do little good for the frail body and the leader was beyond the help of any Mending skills.

  Leaning over, he gently lifted his sovereign's hand. It was cold and bony. The former warrior was almost unrecognizable. The skin was taut over his skeletal frame and graying in scaly patches. His hair had thinned and had fallen away from eyes which were blind with cataracts and closed all the time now. Since the violence of the play, King Haedrec had slept in a coma-like state. The Withering had stolen everything from the man and dethroned the kingdom's leader. What it left behind was only an empty husk.

  "I hope the Blessed Peace comes for you soon, My Lord." The Freahl squeezed the hand in a gentle grip.

  "Taihven...come to me." The words rattled deep inside King Haedrec’s chest before they came through his dry lips.

  Freahl Kesnan leaped up and bent over the monarch's face. "What, Your Grace?"

  Moments went by, drowning in silence. No other words came.

  The Freahl had wondered if he had imagined the whole thing, but then realized that His Majesty’s fingers were now clutching his arm and squeezing it tight.

  ***

  The water gurgled and waves lapped within the crystal pool below. The echoes of the great waterfall filled the room. Under the thunder of the crashing waterfall were the sounds of several high-pitched whines coming from the crystals themselves. The songs of the crystals were in various tones and rang out in a rhythm like an imagined orchestra. The air was warm and a touch humid from the stream. Taihven sat cross-legged upon the ground mesmerized.

  When the gurgling near his head faded and came to a stop, he turned and glanced up over his right shoulder. The river was frozen in place. Rising without sound from the pool was a neon-white mist that stretched and contracted. Taihven felt its presence and could sense intense emotions pulsating out of the cloud. He stared wide-eyed and pressed himself flat on the ground.

  The wisps within the cloud took upon a solid shape and coalesced into a human-like form that hovered over the waterfall.

  See... The thought rang out inside his head and it matched the same strength of the earlier calling to him. Watch… It was somehow talking inside his mind. Learn…

  Taihven swallowed hard and was paralyzed with fear. The cloud form remained motionless as if it waited for him.

  “I-I am ready to see,” he whispered.

  The cloud swept up into the air and dove down to envelope and flow over him. The prince and the waterfall mist became one.

  #2

  Everything was obscured by a harsh, bright light. Taihven could only hear sounds: echoes of rippling waters, soft shuffles of feet, whispers of mnemonic chants. The light blinded and obscured his surroundings. Shadows passed in front of him.

  What is going on? He tried to speak, but his mouth refused to cooperate.

  The white flare diminished and his eyes found more detail to the grey shapes. He was in another immense, underground cavern of some type. The majority of the cave was taken up by a small glassy, black-green lake. A dense fog hovered over its center where the water churned and bubbled.

  A pair of entrances were cut into the walls — one east and another facing north. A dock was fashioned from oak planks and a pier stretched out over the water. It ended in a wide platform that was painted with a swirling design surrounded by runes and symbols.

  Taihven found himself standing on the dock at the beginning of the pier. Standing next to him was his mother, Queen Demetryce.

  How did I get here? Taihven was confused and frightened.

  Alert and armed with hooked lances, somber-faced Royalguard stood at both sides of the dock.

  The sound of the chants grew louder as he spotted red-and-gold-robed men line up against the cavern facade beside each of the entrances. Taihven recognized the ritual clothes as those belonging to the clerical order of Beleardea, a religious faction that had been publicly disbanded for their ritual practices a few years back. The prince noted that only Beleardea and loyal soldiers were in attendance.

  More voices echoed in the chamber as eight heavily-armored men came into view carrying a horseless wooden carriage. Bands of steel were wrapped around it and had a small, metal door that opened in the back. The men carried the carriage to the end of the dock and stopped in front of him and the queen.

  “Sire, the prisoners are here. Do you wish to proceed?”

  Taihven turned his head to look at a man standing to his left. It was the Court Lead Counsel, Kayam Veld who stared back at him.

  “Yes. Justice will be done!” The voice rang out in Taihven’s head; he recognized his father’s baritone voice.

  The prince could not see his father anywhere, yet he swore he had heard his voice.

  The door to the iron carriage was opened and five prisoners were led out in a single line, all bound and gagged. The first prisoners were an older couple, near to his own parent’s ages then followed by three children — Taihven guessed that they were all a family. The ma
triarch was several years older than her husband and marked by a fresh wound which ran along her forehead and down her cheek. Her three children, a pair of girls and a boy, were dressed in nice traveling clothes. From the carriage, a sixth prisoner to be guided out was an elderly matron who had to be supported by the guards.

  Three, bare-chested Beleardea men in black hoods stepped from their ranks and marched down the pier. Upon their backs, they carried giant scimitars, at their hips, blackened leather whips. Each of the men swung silver chalices that sprinkled the boards they walked upon with a charcoal, syrupy liquid. At the platform, in rotation, the three men bellowed a new chant. The fog reacted to their words, swirling and twisting, coming alive in purple and dark grey shades. The cavern reacted and the walls thrummed within. Through the platform, Taihven could feel the vibrations in his feet and up his legs.

  The three robed men swiveled to face the onlookers and then pointed in unison at the eldest child. She was not much prettier than her mother, but had amber locks that grew down to her waist and a slender figure. Royalguard walked over to her and pulled her out of line and began dragging her down the pier.