Into the Raging Mountains

by Caroline Gill

  She climbed downward again, her tune soft against the bark of the old pine tree. She slipped down, scooting from branch to branch, craning her neck to find her father.

  There! Just there. She finally saw him. He was sleeping at the foot of the next tree. Sleeping when he should have been working! She sang the Song of Sleeping to him from her low branch throne. He did not sing back.

  Hands grabbed her. She was taken by the Hunters, her hands tied, her mouth stuffed. The last thing she saw was the arrows that had pierced her father's chest as she was carried by him.

  Her heart broke. Her songs stopped. She could not sing, would not sing.

  The Hunters took her to their home and bid her to sing for their chief. She could not, would not sing.

  She stood silent in front of the ferocious man, no matter how they beat her. He looked at her for but a short moment and declared,“If she will not sing for me, she will not sing at all.” The Hunters cut her tongue out and let her go.

  Even though she was little, even though Belna was young, she walked without error all the way back to her father's body and lay down next to him. She cried and cried and cried. Finally her tears ran dry and she stood over his dead body. Touching his hair, closing his eyes with gentle hands, she hummed the Song of Sleeping. And then turned and walked away.

  Her songs had caused his death and she would make no more music.

  They were both quiet for a while. Ilion muttered,“Such suffering, for one so young. Such suffering is so unfair.”

  From the looks on their faces it was clear that they both thought of their own lost friends, Kalina, Trellista, Baby, Gretsel, and even Rethendrel.

  “I think we've met those Hunters, Ilion.”

  Agreeing, he added,“Without a doubt, without a doubt. It seems they have a history of taking what isn't theirs. I wonder though if they were looking for us or someone else. There wasn't any way they would have seen us because of the staff. Although our tracks would have been visible here and there, easy for them to follow. Still, they were stationed along the road to this tunnel's opening, almost like posted guards.”

  “Yet, what puzzles me is that they did not follow us inside. I think that when we are finished here, we would do well to find a different exit. Walking past them again would be a near thing to accomplish. The Gods must have been watching out for our little lives when they sent that avalanche to see us through the mountain's doorway.”

  Alizarin nodded vehemently,“Blessings on us for that bit of help. Poor Belna, if only someone had helped her.” Turning her head to the side, she continued, “Come to think of it, none of these stories have ended well at all.”

  “I hope that doesn't go for our story as well, Alizarin.”

  “Hmmmm … . Well, there was my mother's death, Ronnit's assault on me and my shop, waking up naked, the Corded Farm's infestation by those Drogos-damned bird things, the kidnapping of sweet Baby, the villagers attacking us and then practically running a gauntlet of experienced marksmen waiting to kill us. It doesn't sound like ours is a happy story, Ilion.”

  “No, no it doesn't.” He could only shake his head, bemused. “Even the ‘Grand Tale of Ilion and Alizarin’ sounds like one catastrophe after another. But perhaps, that is only because all the stories stop at a specific moment in time? Real life continues.

  “Even poor Belna might have found happiness somewhere. We only know this small part of her life. Our lives are still what we make of them, not the will of some greater forces. We choose our own happiness. Truly, it has always been in our own hands.”

  Alizarin raised the blue light that filled the hallway, lifted it up to their eyes. She looked at their hands, locked together in preservation and companionship, holding light and staff, at the circle that they had become. Her eyes took it all in, and her heart was touched. “If happiness is a choice, then I choose you,” she declared.

  Ilion was speechless.

  How do I feel about her? He hadn't put words to thoughts yet. Her declaration surprised him. He just nodded and squeezed her hand, turning away from the moment and the emotional intensity that was demanded in return. Pulling her after him, searching farther along the tunnel, he did not see the deep hurt flash across her face, nor her incredible effort to control her reaction.

  After all, she thought, I chose this. He must make his own choice. She softly hummed under her breath, singing to herself to comfort the sting of rejection.

  They walked on, searching the walls and ceilings for the hidden key to lost and forgotten understanding. Ilion searched the walls, the paintings, the words, but mostly he searched his own mind too, trying to settle his feelings. Is this what I want? For so long I wanted Kalina, only her. But for that briefest of all moments, he had lived without.

  This was something new, with Alizarin, something different. Was it enough? Would I be happy? Thoughts chased each other like children around the maypole, weaving in and out, merging and blending. He was left muddled in his own soul, yet content in her presence.

  Maybe I just need a clear sign? Perhaps she would do something extraordinary. Or not, and he would just realize in that moment that she was the one he wanted. He just couldn't see it now. He couldn't see through the fog of old hurt.

  Holding her hand, certain of that attachment at least, Ilion led them forward, into the darkness. They rarely stumbled. The stories on the walls ceased to be recognizable pictures and instead became swirls of air and flames of fire and the waves of ocean, each pattern discernible from the others. All of them danced around the others, a merging of elements, simple in design, stunning in power. Finally, the tunnel into the heart of the mountain bent sharply away from them and emptied into a small room.

  Dug out of the center of the mountain's heat, the walls were unadorned and warm to the touch. The room appeared to be empty. Ilion and Alizarin walked around the whole of the perimeter looking for a purpose to the dug-out cave. At the far end of the area, a simple stone bench was discovered. The rest of the cavern yielded nothing. So they returned to the bench.

  Alizarin sat down on it, grateful to get off of her feet for a bit. The slight rocking sound of stone on stone accompanied the addition of her weight. Excitedly, they looked at each other. She jumped off the bench as if it were on fire, in her expectant curiosity.

  They examined it closely. The top slab that composed the seat proved to be loose. Pushing against it from the side, it swung forward, revealing a shallow cavity with four bags of gold thread holding a concealed item within each.

  The bags were old, older than anything Ilion had ever seen, but the metal was supple and moved on the skin like the softest silk. The glimmer of the metal and the condition of the bags appeared as if they had been made only last season, but the workmanship told a different story. Ilion knew his gold and he knew his artifacts. Whoever had made these knew the craft of metal-smithing far better than any living practitioner.

  They scarcely dared touch them. Uncertain of the repercussions of lifting those relics from their hiding place, they nodded together. Each one took two bags in their hands at the same moment and lifted them out in one motion.

  Nothing happened. Well, precisely nothing happened to them personally. The plain, stone-carved wall behind the bench transformed before them, stone melting away as if it was hot grease. It left an oddly simple, but clearly discernible object: a measuring scale.

  Both of the weary travelers forgot their thirst, their sore feet, the great danger that waited to trap them outside the mountain. Everything, everything was forgotten in contemplating the puzzle in front of them: four objects bound in gold sacks, one pair of scales awaiting balance. What were they to do?

  Alizarin opened her first bag and found a round, impossibly perfect sphere of the basest stone. Ilion opened his first bag and withdrew a feather of pure white, unbelievably preserved given its age. It weighed next to nothing at all. He placed it on the tip of his finger. The quill stood upright and he could barely feel it on the edge of his skin.

 
Her second bag had a dagger of pure gold, chased and pierced with minute workmanship of the finest quality. His second bag was oddly empty. It looked like it had contained something when they saw it first, but his hand found nothing at all inside. They looked at the three objects and four bags, at the scales and back again.

  What does this mean? Ilion looked within the receptacle, checking to see if dust or finely ground matter had fallen through the gold threads, but there was nothing there to even indicate the placement of the bags.

  Alizarin tried first. Lifting the perfect circle of stone, she placed it on one side of the scales, which dropped accordingly. The dish rested almost on the base of the stone foot. Ilion placed the dagger on the other side, and they waited to see what would happen.

  Dense rock should be moved by pure gold of that weight and quality but nothing changed. The scales did not even rise slightly into balance. Alizarin lifted the two objects up and placed the dagger down first. The dish that held it fell noticeably to the base of the stone foot. Placing the circle of rock on the opposite side, the scales still did not move, though now it was the dagger that held the weight and the stone that seemed lighter than possible.

  Ilion's eyebrow raised. Whatever was happening defied the order of natural law. One item is always heavier than the other, their weights do not alter depending on placement. He took the pure white feather and placed it on one side. The scale did not move. Even with the feather standing perfectly upright in the middle of the dish, the balance was not affected. With a bit of intuition, he took the stone and placed it on the opposite side of the scales. They continued to maintain a perfect balance. Impossible! A feather did not weigh the same as a dense sphere of rock.

  Yet, to both Ilion and Alizarin's continued amazement, the two items stayed level.

  “What is this place, that the laws of natural order do not exist here?” It was a rhetorical question of course, neither of them knew the answer. They felt the same physically, none the lighter or stronger for their location. A feather cannot, could not balance with a stone. What hidden wonder were they missing?

  Taking the dagger, Ilion placed it on the dish with the feather. It immediately fell, almost to the lowest point, but not quite. Taking away the dagger, the dish of feather rose again to stay level with the ball of stone. Replacing it next on the same side of the scales as the sphere, they were stunned to watch the scales stay completely level.

  “What kind of feather is that, anyway?” Alizarin spoke with wonder.

  “Apparently, a magical one,” responded Ilion. “How else does a feather balance a heavy stone of pure rock and a hefty gold dagger in elegant harmony?”

  They watched in wonder and admiration for a while, but nothing happened. The scales were balanced but no new information or items were revealed. Ilion took the bag of nothing and laid it on the scale with the two other objects, thinking perhaps there was something in the bag after all that he just didn't see. Then, he tried to pour the bag of nothingness onto the scales, which did not alter the balance but neither did it change the room and their surroundings in any way. He was stumped.

  Alizarin said, “Maybe if we think of what these things represent, what they stand for we can figure out the missing item or action: a feather that weighs more alone than any other item, but cannot be combined with any other item and maintain the balance of the scales, a sphere and a dagger both of which move the scales, and a bag of nothing.”

  “Well, technically, four bags of nothingness, since the others are empty of their treasures as well,” quipped Ilion.

  “Alright, let's put all four of the gold sacks on the scale as well,” Alizarin proposed.

  It was an easy thing to accomplish, but again no significant change occurred. What had been fascinating was quickly becoming puzzling. She walked nearer the scales letting the blue ray of the sapphire shine forth in all of its luminescence. Every detail was clear, every edge defined, but still no insight came to her mind to solve the perplexing problem.

  Soon, their weariness returned. The initial rush of finding something left behind by races unknown and unknowable had fallen to the side of solving an illogical dilemma. What is missing from the scales? What is missing?

  They wracked their brains, developing rather gruesome headaches trying to think their way around the puzzle. Muttering out loud, Ilion mumbled,“If I had a way out of here that didn't lead to instant death at the hands of those blasted Hunters, I would probably take it. I’d come back later and try to solve this test with a fresh mind.”

  He set the staff against the wall, no longer focused on maintaining invisibility in the face of such a conundrum. Relaxing, he let his back slide down the heat of the wall until he rested on the floor, knees bent. Thinking had begun to be painful, as if his brain cried out from running a very long distance, begging to be quiet against the jumble of solutions that poured through his consciousness.

  Alizarin stared at the scales as if the intensity of her thoughts could somehow solve the quandary posed in front of them. There was almost no chance of surviving if they returned down the long tunnel without resolving the puzzle. Besides, haven't we come to the mountain specifically looking for such a hidden treasure, a path to forgotten knowledge? Why would the solution be simple or easy?

  She said as much to Ilion, who could only concur. It was plain that they had to finish the puzzle. There was no way around it.

  Alizarin said in passing, “What did we learn from all those stories and legends that we walked past? What happened to the heroes of those tales?” There had been so many they generally blurred together in her mind. A thought formed. “Remember Nashan? Remember when he couldn't find Rose? He journeyed to her, just like we did to this mountain cavern. He forgot everything else in his desire to be with her. None of his efforts were sufficient to reach her, to find her secret place until he gave up every bit of his life. Is this what is required of us? Do we have to give up our lives to answer the scale?”

  Ilion listened intently, following the reasoning. “What is the stone?” he asked.“What does it represent? The earth? Our bodies? Our sustenance? Our determination? The dagger is clearly both a weapon of defense, of war, and for protection. The metal is valuable, the workmanship impeccable. So to balance the fullness of the feather, we offer all of our wealth, our bodies and our defenses? What else have we not offered?”

  His hands reached for his private purse, hanging on his hip. Dumping the contents out on the smooth floor, pushing the coins to one side, he found what he was looking for. Scooping the other items back into the purse, he turned and opened his palm to her sight. The scroll was held in his hand.

  “The scroll to the Fire Maid? Oh, yes!” she exclaimed. “That must be it! To replace the emptiness of the fourth bag, we will offer the scroll you have been sent to deliver. Perfect!”

  With eagerness for new-found knowledge, Ilion placed the scroll on the scales, sure that he had finally figured out the puzzle.

  Nothing happened for a moment, then a line formed in the wall to the side of the scales, then another. With a cutting light, the lines came together to form an elaborate door and tympanum. The crest was intricate, showing spreading wings in flight as the sun rose in the heavens. The columns by the door were simple, their feet plain, but their capitals were decorated with the curl of elongated leaves repeated in pattern. The door was perfect in presentation down to the handle needed to open it, but it was all a drawing, flat to the touch.

  Alizarin's hands touched the image of the handle and tried to turn it, to no avail. There was nothing to grab. She said to Ilion with a weary nod, “So, we have moved one step closer to the mystery and yet still it remains unsolved.” It was hard not to feel dejected, to be so tantalizingly close and yet not have figured out the final balance.

  They both sat thinking for a while, exhausted but still hopeful. There had to be something they were missing, something obvious or deviously simple, yet something all the same. They both looked so defeated.

 
Alizarin mumbled,“I just want to be away from this obscurity! Why for goodness' sake, did my mother not teach me anything! I could just scream!” Then silence fell over the little room. Only their breath was heard, slow and steady, beat after beat.

  Ilion listened to his heartbeat, pulse after pulse, pushing his blood throughout his body, over and over with a diligence that clung to life, clung to hope, clung to a future. What is my life made of anyway? My body, my possessions, my knowledge, and my passion all are entirely me, shades of my attention, facets of my own soul's unpolished gemstone.

  Looking at the scales, looking at the objects in perfect balance, he suddenly saw the answer. He had thought to simply combine the objects that they had found. Now Ilion saw that he had to sacrifice something to gain admittance through the mystical doorway. He had to offer something; a man had to fill the empty bag with a valued item of his own.

  It is not enough to take what is given without adding my own contribution to the equation. The scroll is my errand, not my possession. What do I truly possess? Clearly coins will not matter... Some silver bangles, a few crimson blankets and a red ruby gemstone. And the staff. But that was never mine anyway.

  Reaching into his purse again, he easily fished out the red, red stone. It winked and flashed in the light of the sapphire. Perhaps even more so than it would have in pure sunlight.

  He held it in his hand, thinking of its power, of the gratitude he had felt when it had burst free of Alizarin's leg and almost flown to his hand, of the flame of pure light that had cut a nightmare beast to pieces, defeating the impossible foe. Ilion saw it all in the flash and refraction of the soft light. This was the right offering. This was the Goddess's purity of flame, the deep, true crimson of blood-red stone.

  Without explaining his thoughts to Alizarin, he stood from his resting position. She looked over at him, drawn by his action. He smiled calmly at her, and walked to the tantalizing scales, the unobtainable goal, the unsolvable mystery. Placing the stone with careful consideration onto the same side as dagger, stone, scroll, and golden bags, Ilion offered a Prayer of Sacrifice, closed his eyes, and submitted his offering.