He released his grasp of that particular experiment. As he relinquished the alteration the pernicious heat returned, along with the feeling of intense discomfort, the sight, the smell of his clothes burning, the sound of gruff laughter from his companion. He did not release the command completely but began to tinker here and there, pushing and pulling within the general form of his thoughts. There! That last adjustment pushed the heat away from him but did not alter his other sensory abilities.
“Very good.” Came the intruding voice. “I can see that you finally figured that one out. About time too! You were beginning to look like a cooked chicken, all red and burnt. Can't say as I know what else that staff will do, though it is too bad it doesn't heal as well, eh? Those burns have got to be painful.” A hearty laugh followed, not a kind one.
Ignoring the stings of his wounds and her words, Ilion plowed ahead. “I'll ask again. Oh Sarcastic One, who are you? I can see you plain enough, and it's clear you hear and see me. Are you sent from Bira? Or from her temple? I need to talk to a priest of Bira. I am trying to find the Fire Maid.”
The bundle of rags looked at him, appraising.
Was that shock that crossed her face? “Have you heard of her, then? I really need to deliver a message to her.”
Quixotically difficult in her very nature, the ragged thing still didn't move.
“Are you her, then? Are you the Fire Maid?”
Mad laughter escaped her lips. He could almost see her rotting teeth. If she was the Fire Maid, he did not want to meet the Fire Matron. How much scarier and frustrating would her superior be? “Well? Are you?” he asked again, hopefully.
If it were possible, it seemed that the roly-poly form of his inquisitor fell over and collapsed into giggles and mirth.
Ilion continued, insistent.“Why are you laughing at me? What did I say? The priests of Kira wanted to deliver the message personally but they were attacked and killed. Viciously, I might add.”
The laughter dimmed only slightly.
Undaunted, Ilion pressed on, certain that this obtuse thing would assist him, somehow. “Truly, this is no laughing matter. Indeed, it is a situation of great urgency! If you are sent from the goddess Bira, then I implore you: Answer my question!”
The pile of torn clothes went still.
He swallowed his pride. “Please—? Please help me. Our lives depend on finding some assistance. Can you? Will you?”
One eye watched him through all the laughter; jesting or not, she always watched him and his movements. At the end of his insistent pleading, though the laughter continued at some obscure joke only she understood, she pointed to the side of the room beyond her ragged self, beyond them.
Ilion followed her gesture but could not see for the shimmer of heat surrounding them both. “Over there? You want me to go over there? Is that the answer I am looking for then?”
The lump of tattered clothes and rotund flesh on the ground did not confirm his query. Although to his ears, the laughter seemed to be contrived now, as if his guide didn't care one way or the other whether he moved on toward the implied direction. Still, he had only so much time to waste, talking to such obscurity and derision. Appraising the collapsed form again, he hesitated and then nodded briefly. “Thanks for the assistance. I'll be on my way then.” Without another word, he walked away from the mass of tangled information and insults that lay laughing on the floor.
The heat seemed to stay the same, blistering hot that he had become used to, though the staff's powers shielded him from any more of its elemental consequences. The cavern was so large that while he had taken no more than five steps away from their meeting, when he looked back, there was no remaining trace of his instructor.
Through the oven of a room, Ilion strode, confident that he could handle whatever task or person awaited his coming. To his perception of time and place, it appeared that he walked an impossible distance. The floor was still beneath his feet. The sound of every step boomed across the spaces, echoing his progression. And yet he was no nearer to any end wall or objects. Ilion began to tire slightly and paused to rest.
Looking around he could see the far above images of stars and sky, light peeking through the carved openings high, high up in the ceiling. He still seemed to be in the middle of the vast room. After all that walking, he had not gone anywhere.
He gathered in, seeking a clue to this new riddle. There had to be something or someone at the far side of the room, else why would the troublesome woman have pointed him there? He could not think of an answer.
At least she had shown him the possibility of extending the staff's power or he would be dead by now. Grateful for at least that help, he considered his options. If this is a test, there is no way back without resolution. What was required of him to succeed? To get into the hidden room he had had to sacrifice something precious, perhaps he had to offer more to move on to the final saving test. What do I have left to give? My clothes? My hair? My purse, filled with some bits of coin? The staff wasn't his to give, but neither was it possible to do so. Without its protection, his death would come far too quickly. What should he do?
“What can I do?” Ilion called out to the unknown spaces, unknown ears. “What can I offer you for your help and guidance? What do you want?”
Suddenly, the fat, ragged-clothed thing was next to him again, standing upright, as far as he could tell. She just appeared within an eyeblink.
“Well, what do you offer, man? You got anything worth giving up?”
Startled, Ilion's heart almost skipped a beat. If there had been any spit left in his mouth he might have choked in surprise. As it was, he furrowed his brows. “You again? Why did you not just ask for an offering at our last meeting? Where am I going anyway? I don't feel as if I have moved forward towards the far side of the room at all.”
“What do you offer, man?” She asked again, repeating.
“All I have is the clothes on my back and these few coin; just what's left of my tattered pride. Are they enough?”
He could tell his offering was weighed in the balance of possible progression.
Finally, she nodded. “Part with them and I will tell you a secret, a fair secret.”
Pulling his clothes off: his purse, his belt, his shoes and worn out stockings began burning as soon as they touched the red hot ground.
Never mind the nakedness, undressing while keeping one hand on the staff was not an easy or graceful thing to accomplish. After much struggling and awkwardness, finally it was done. Ilion piled the articles together in a small heap. He stood naked in the fiery pit, clutching only the honeycombed white staff, leaning on its power. Vulnerable and yet still defiant, Ilion said, “Do you accept this offering then? Is it enough?”
Eying his naked backside, she smirked. “It is barely enough for one true answer, but I will allow it. Ask!” she pronounced grandiosely.
It seemed decisively clear in that moment that Ilion only got to ask one question and one question only. If this was the temple's messenger, then he had best choose carefully.
“Can you guide me to where I will find assistance for our fight against the nightmare creatures?”
“Yes, I can. Is that what you want? That's all you ask for all of your clothes? Not only do they send them young, apparently they also send them without any sense of propriety.”
She started to walk away.
“Wait a moment! Wait! Please? You didn't answer me!” Indignant, even while naked, Ilion wasn't certain if he should be angry but he was growing more cross with every scalding breath.
“You asked for a guide, right? So that's what you get. Follow me!” She was already waddling away from their meeting spot. Only it looked as if she actually did move, instead of walking and going nowhere as Ilion had done.
It was as if he walked behind a gigantic roly-poly bug. Bits of cloth slipped away from her form as she led the way. One even got stuck in his nostril. He had to snort hard just to remove the Drogos-damned thing.
As long
as he kept his eyes on her, it seemed to Ilion's perception that they did indeed move to the side of the room she had earlier gestured towards. Every few steps he had glanced upward and checked his location against their progression. Little by little, they gained ground, almost as if they were just ants and the room was the whole interior of Alizarin's bakery.
She waddled on ahead of him, always a step or so farther along than he was. As she walked, there was an obvious ongoing conversation occurring between herself and well, herself. None of the conversation made any sense to Ilion's ears.
“They come …
“… then I will fight.”
And then, a bit later he heard her say under her breath, “… what do you propose to do, then? She is too strong. The truth must survive.”
“Is that the answer?
“Yes. Yes. He must do it.” Her head moved along with the shift of her balance, each step a stutter into blinding fire.
“That ignorant man? How can he possibly accomplish the task?”
Does she mean me? Ilion wondered. Can I trust her? Is she the temple's guide or something else entirely?
“Tsk. Tsk. Sister, you are beyond unkind. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. He might find the way where others more capable have failed.
“Fine then, test him. Test him and see. If he fails, then we must search onward.”
With a slower step, Ilion managed to distance himself slightly from the odd woman, hoping that if she meant him, if he was to be tested, that a few steps might equal a fighting chance. After all, what could be worse than fire? Ilion only knew emphatically that he did not want to know.
He was already stripped down to his skin, armed only with the staff. In any kind of physical fight he would be vulnerable but capable. Ilion was pretty certain he could defeat or at least defend against any attacker.
After all, he hadn't done too badly guarding Alizarin from all those swift arrows; even from a distance those farmers had had great skill. Still, he had been gathered in and felt their missiles coming approach with ease, striking each arrow down as it sped towards his friend. When it came to mastering gathering, Ilion was certain he was close to that particular goal. So, the question remained: what is the trap or the task ahead?
He had never attempted to walk while gathering, it being more of a contemplative, meditative state, but that did not stop him, naked as the day he was born, from trying as he followed the enigmatic being across the Room of Flames.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Crossroads
When Alizarin saw Ilion stand and walk to the scales, she was hopeful but puzzled. They had reached a dead end in the options available to open the linear door, and she had given up for the moment. Alizarin had begun musing about her mother and the nightfall stories of her childhood.
Little bits of the well-known tales had begun to surface ever since she had been inside the temple of Mira. Seeing all the drawings, depicting the oft-told actions of heroes and foes had shone a light into the cavern of her memories. When she had asked Ilion about some of the legends painted in the escalating swirl of images, the baker had been surprised to find that he had not heard of half of them. Jerusha and the Fried Pickle was the only one that he knew as well as she did. The farther they had walked away from the room of vivid illustrations and towards the hidden temple of Bira, the more she had found flashes of stories, details of legends seeping into her conscious thoughts.
When the two of them had narrowly escaped the weapons of the hunters and discovered the tunnel of stories, more and more lore kept bursting into her mind. As Ilion had read aloud the morals and tales, a strange pattern had begun to form in her own thoughts, distilling softly like sunrise dew on the opening petals of flowers. The more he read, the more details she felt fall into place within the dreamland of her mind.
The truth of a man's heart is always found in his actions. Using talent recklessly sometimes brings envy to one's doorstep. Happiness is where the heart is.
One after another, the kernels of truth in each story began to emerge, each one clarifying the next. One temple, one tunnel, and countless nightfalls of childhood storytelling illuminated each other. A memory mosaic was forming inside her mind although she couldn't discern what the finished picture would show her. As she stared at the demanding scales and the unfinished puzzle, Alizarin's inner sight spun from the coalescing of layers and layers of hidden meaning.
She was a bit startled when Ilion placed something else on the scales. Something new? She truly did not expect too much. From her vantage point, Alizarin did not see what item he dropped, but no one could miss the results. The lines of the door flared and flashed, solidifying into an ancient portal, emerging out of obscurity, ready to open.
Jumping to her feet, she cried out, “You did it! You found it!”
They were both so excited. Solved!
“Is it the temple?” she asked,“Is it? Did we find it, finally?”
Ilion's hands turned the handle. The heavy stone door swung open with ease on hidden hinges, as if it were nothing more than reeds woven together in thatch. The brilliant happiness on Ilion's face was so pure, so revealing that Alizarin's breath caught. With his available hand, he beckoned to her.
She reached for him, ready to move forward into the beautiful, waiting mystery. Standing in the dooropening, holding out his hand, Ilion waited for her. Then, abruptly, he vanished. She had just missed touching his hand.
The dooropening remained, but only as a drawing of light on a wall, as if the sheer impenetrable wall was solid vellum for a god's quill. Alizarin tried to push on it. She felt nothing but warm rock.
Looking back at the scales she saw his final addition, glimmering blood red, flashing its inner light from the reflection of the equally strong blue rays emanating from her open palm. Ilion had figured it out. He had offered a stone from his own pocket.
She tried to follow his example. She picked up the ruby. Waiting for catastrophic consequences, she glanced nervously around. Nothing happened. The wall drawing of the mystery doorway stayed exactly the same
Looking at the scale, she could see that the feather still balanced against all the other items. Trying to understand the puzzle, she placed the ruby back into the balance. Again, nothing happened. No wondrous door opened. Everything stayed the same.
He is gone. I am alone again. And, while she had grown stronger in the days she had spent traveling with him, while she was sufficient in and of herself, Alizarin did not want to lose him. If happiness is a choice, then I choose you. She had said those words from her heart bravely, truthfully. Ilion had not replied. But that didn't make her offering any less pure. She could only control her own will.
Ilion was gone. And, the thought of losing someone else that she loved was unbearable. Faces spun in her mind: Rethendrel's frantic face, then Mother's, Gretsel's, and Baby's. Her mind began to shut down, frantic. Thoughts became chaotic as her fear of being left came round and round, smashing into her. A wave of dizziness passed through Alizarin, weakening her breath, her pulse.
“Stop it!” she yelled at herself, at her panic, at the silliness of breaking down at this critical moment. Stop. Stop. Stop. Gradually her breathing slowed down, no longer panting. Her pulsing blood subsided in its urgency of emotional response.
Gathering her very self together, tying her flying hair into a simple braid, Alizarin bent her mind and all of her remaining energy towards getting the blasted door to open again. Ilion had offered something from his own purse, something valuable. Once he had offered it, the reaction had occurred and changed the structure of the wall.
Fishing in her purse with her free hand, she withdrew her three stones. They were the most valuable possessions she had. She chose one of the topazes, its yellow light glinting merrily. Placing it on the scale to balance the feather, her eyes watched the wall, certain that the door would open.
The light that illuminated the details of the portal grew stronger, but the actual rock did not reveal the true opening, swinging
ajar. It was something, what she had given; it just wasn't enough. What else could she give?
Parting with the sapphire seemed odd. It isn't truly mine. Her mother had said, “Give this to Him.” So, though it was in her possession, it was not hers to offer. She had a few bits of clothing, odds and ends, nothing that she would consider valuable. Nothing worth a gold dagger. The only thing she had was her body, and its not as if she would part with a little toe. What else is there?
Alizarin's hand reached out to the scales and took the gold dagger, turning it in her fingers, examining the scrolls and decoration. There were some words there, written in glyphs, though it was hard to make out the details. Pushing her hair out of the way of her eyes, she stared at it, struggling to make sense of the tiny glyph. Turning it repeatedly, she wished for the brilliant light of sunshine to be able to see clearly.
Picking up the topaz from the scales, she asked of it, Light! The gemstone bloomed forth the brilliant piercing yellow light of midday in the middle of harvest. Leaning in, she looked again at the dagger's design. The words were there, the meaning clear: Sacrifice.
Sacrifice? What do I have left to give?
She thought, examining all possible options. Her mother's cloak? But it was all Alizarin had left of her. Not that, it is too dear. What could she sacrifice? What would be enough? She looked deep into the shining light of the yellow stone, knowing with surety that she could not offer either stone. They had their own secrets and purpose; they were not to be used in the balance. To balance the feather, to balance the feather … what should I … what do I have to give?
It was a moment of decision. Alizarin's hand closed tightly around the elaborate hilt of the dagger. Using her thumb and index finger to hold it still, with a sharp decisive swipe, Alizarin cut off her braid. Laying the dagger back onto the overburdened dish, she picked up one of the gold bags that had fallen to the floor. Opening it gently, she placed the thick rope of her hair inside of it. Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer and softly laid the overflowing bag onto the top of the pile that balanced against the feather.
Into the Raging Mountains Page 45