Tossing her head with a bit of joy and a dash of determination, for just a moment she missed the heaviness of her braid swinging against her back. No matter, she thought. No matter. “Take me as I am!” she cried at the cracked outline of a door. “Take me as I am!” And with all of her strength, the determined woman kicked the indication of an opening, daring the stone itself to defy her focused certainty.
It collapsed in front of her, shattering to the ground, a pile of rubble, no barrier anymore to her continuing journey, her admission. Without even thinking about traps or danger, she strode through, ducking her head only slightly to avoid scraping against the top edge of crazed stones.
“Ilion? Ilion?” she called out.
No one answered. Even though she had hoped to hear his voice, Alizarin did not really believe she would. She knew something had happened, something awful. Climbing over the scattered chunks of rock, she peered into the darkness, illuminated by her stone's light.
It was a rough-carved room, hewn from the mountain's heart, with no decorations, no beauty at all. It was just the gutted hole of sloppily removed rock, careening into a smaller and smaller tunnel. She could not see the end of it. Her light could not shine deep enough for her to see what lay ahead. There was no where else to go but forward, no other place that Ilion could have gone.
At first, she could walk upright, clutching the crags and crevices of the side wall for balance, but as the way led further into the deep recess, the opening grew smaller and smaller. Alizarin continued on hunched over. Then she crawled, and finally on her belly, scraped her way forward. Her hands bled, and her clothing was torn away bit by bit. Her hair was stuck to her forehead with the slime of perspiration and effort. The way only became less and less passable. The opening kept receding away from her attempt to reach the end and find her friend.
Finally, she could go no further forward, small as she was. There simply was no space to move in that did not close in around her like some giant snake's belly, engulfing her in its capricious vise. Reaching out with her gem's burning light, Alizarin opened her palm facing upward, shining into the impenetrable darkness, seeking the answer that lay at the end of the cramped and terrible passage.
There, in the darkness just ahead! A pile of something bounced off of the illuminating light. It was discarded clothing, recently worn. She did not even have to touch it or smell it to know that it was his. No body though, there was no body to accompany the bizarre refuse.
That is odd enough, to find Ilion's clothing but not him? If his clothes were left behind, he must have had some reason. He never appeared to be one inclined to strip down to his bare skin in all of our journeying together.
“What kind of place is this? What demented goddess demands these sacrifices of her petitioners? This is no child's tale, benevolent and reasoning. No, this whole arrangement of concealed doors and hidden rooms is a demeaning, exhausting, and ultimately futile attempt to reach a last remnant of hope, hidden so deep its very nature is squashed and obscured.
“Why have we bothered to come here at all?”
Squeezing her body forward over the barest passageway of rough stone, Alizarin managed to wedge herself entirely. She couldn’t move at all. She wondered at the stupidity of it all.
“Ilion and I would have been enough,” she mumbled. “This place is a trap as well. It seems perfectly clear by our reception that we will find no boon here. There is no help from above, no merciful gift that lightens our burden, just degradation and sacrifice.
“Why do I even bother? I will find Ilion and we will leave this pit of hardness, this stone-cold mystery that cloaks all beauty in its despair. I am finished with this! I am finished!” Alizarin shouted down the long and rock-strewn tunnel.
Asking the fire in her hand to respond, she blasted forward ahead and above her, cutting away the imprisoning, claustrophobic stone with nothing more than a gesture of her wrist. In no time at all, Alizarin stood upright again. Tiny particles of rock dust filled the air.
She removed the large sapphire from her pouch, the outside of which was a bit battered for the wear. The blue stone gleamed in her palm, almost a twin to the topaz even though the sapphire was so much larger. To the source of aquamarine light, she asked, “Send wind!” And the merry light that beamed from its heart sprang to life and with a whooshing sigh, pushed the choking sediment out and away from her.
Replacing the stone to the safekeeping of the bag, Alizarin felt free for the first time in her life. I refuse to be trapped! she declared in her own heart.
Bending down, her fingers hesitated just a moment before touching the discarded clothing. Alizarin knew that the pile could not represent a good thing. Yet, at least she knew he had traveled this way, that he was ahead of her somewhere in the dark and lonely heart of the uncaring mountain. Gathering the fabric across her arm, the woman of substance walked serenely forward, blasting her way whenever necessary, refusing to be cowed by the perception of loss and the resistance of the collapsing rocks around her. I may not know where I am going, but I won't go there on my knees, groveling!
Finally, the tunnel begrudgingly opened up, little by little. The opening that had been ridiculously small and then shrunk to admit nothing bigger than a large dog began to expand in increments until she could walk without obstruction. There ws no need to even move her body to adjust to the coarseness of the hewn stonework. Alizarin's eyes took in everything, searching for him. Where is he? Where? “Ilion? Ilion—?”
It seemed as if the thrice-damned hole traversed the whole of the mountain range. Alizarin refused to give up. Going back and admitting defeat was no option at all. The walls grew in height from just barely above her head to stretching high up. Another bend turned the pathway ahead of her footsteps. Maybe this is what I seek!
He had to be around the next corner. She called out to him even before she had turned the curve of the tunnel, before her eyes could see beyond the impediment of the towering stone walls. “Ilion?”
At first, the baker beheld only limitless darkness, engulfing her. Even the brightness of the yellow stone's light was like a tiny candle in a vast forest. It emitted a glow but it was smothered by the sheer vastness of shadow. Looking, squinting, searching, Alizarin clung to the hope that he was there somewhere, that she could find him, that they could be together.
Was there ever a happily ever after ending to any of mother's stories? Had they all been full of suffering and small-minded vanity? Do I really want to become a stationary rose bush decorating some divine building? Would she be content ever again in her life? Could she be happy without Ilion?
No. No! I refuse to grow dark and weary now. He must be here. He must be here! “Ilion?” Alizarin called out, her voice echoing across the largeness of the space. “Ilion!?” she screamed. “Ilion, are you there?”
Just the smallest movement caught her eye, the glint of something in the distance. What is that? Her heart was pounding in her ears, the blood rushing so fast that she was almost lightheaded. Ready to fight, ready to run, Alizarin sped across the enormous cavern.
She almost couldn't stop her feet in time to avoid falling into the deepest, plunging chasm that opened like lightning across her path, barring Alizarin from moving forward. It stopped her attempt to run to his side. From the edge of the precipice, she could see that something glinted in the distance. There was a person collapsed on the ground.
Alarmed and desperate, she yelled out, “Ilion? Ilion? Is that you?” The human body laying at the far edge of her eyesight did not move, did not appear to breathe. “Ilion! Ilion!!” she cried. Her courageous heart almost broke.
There was no doubt Alizarin could help him if she could get to him, but the cruelty of the deity that played with them both had blocked all chances of rescue. “Ilion! Ilion! Listen to me! Ilion?” Alizarin sat on the edge of the ragged void, and surrendered to tears of despair.
*
Something called to him across the distance. Someone called. Not the bug lady who alternately mocked and mi
sled me. Someone else, someone I should know. I should remember. His fingers reached out and touched the cool crystal goblet filled with the crimson strength of his life's blood. Everything was distant now, every concern floated just beyond his care, vaguely amusing, often pretty but nothing to fuss about.
It is so hot. So hot. Why do I burn so? His skin was chapped and chafed, his lips blistered. His eyelids were swollen against the rage of the fire, the burn of the pure flame. There was nothing left to do but release and move on, flowing away from the burnt remnants of his body, turning away from the pain.
He floated; he drifted serenely. So much clarity was gained in the instant he decided to let go. The complications of his life dwindled down to nothing. He had no regrets, no worries, nothing to attach him to the carcass fit only for vultures that lay collapsed on the floor. There are no more troubles. I am free!
He turned his silver eyes to the Harbor, to the Temple, and he knew what was required. Now I can do it! Those who see the problem must act to solve it. That is so true, he thought. It is exactly as I have been taught.
Stretching his arms, shining luminescent and strong, Ilion began his journey homeward. As he thought to leave, an intruding sound broke his concentration. It was a sorrow so deep, so profound that he could not turn away. There was no need to hurry. I must see what caused such terrible sadness.
In a blink, Ilion was no longer beside his exhausted body, bleeding onto the uncaring stones. Instead, he was beside her. A woman was weeping. Great tears of despair and loneliness welled from her, echoing across the room. A woman? A woman he knew?
Craning to see her face, obscured by her hands and cloak, it took a moment before he knew her. Alizarin. “Alizarin! Alizarin!” he called to her, voicelessly. “Alizarin! It's all right! I am here. I figured it out! I know what we need to do!” he cried to her unhearing ears. His words made no sound, no splash in the desperate sobs that shook her shoulders. “Alizarin!” he tried again. “Alizarin!”
But she did not hear him. She could not. Her tears fell and sizzled on the heated ground.
Ilion knew then that he needed his body to speak to her, his only chance to tell her what he had figured out, the path to safety for both of them. With great reluctance he returned to the charred and pitiful body. Barely a remnant of his power remained with him, only long enough to command his lungs to rise again, against their imminent collapse.
He coughed twice. Each time it felt as if a dagger ripped across his chest. Only determination pushed him forward. I must tell Alizarin. I must tell her!
He raised his head weakly. It fell back to the ground. Stars filled his vision, stars that mocked him. Throwing one arm over his body, it took all of his effort just to move to his side. Again Ilion pushed through the pain and the growing numbness and staggered to his knees.
“Alizarin—” he spoke with determination, but no word emerged. His lips moved but Ilion had no water left in him. He tried again, tried to speak only to be met with harsh air moving over scarred lungs and voice. Looking around, desperate for water, anything to parch his thirst, to raise his voice. His need was so little, his desire was so great.
The heartless roly-poly guide had quit him, it seemed. She did not come for the cup of his blood. She did not come in response to his need. There was no doubt in his mind that she sat, at that very moment, off to the side, terribly amused by his quandary.
Ilion looked around through slitted eyes that could barely open, trying to see anything at all that would help. The crystal of the glass glittered grandly, full of the remains of his energy and drive. It was a libation offering that had been granted no acceptance, the last hope of a dying man. No one would help. Nothing was left of his life's duties but to tell Alizarin the truth he still remembered, even as it began to fade from his consciousness.
With a bitter struggle, the frustrated man commanded his body to move. A few meager shifts of weight and balance and he was there, back at the stone bench, back at the crystal goblet. Arms shaking, he rested the majority of his tedious, unstable weight across the sturdy stone bench, grateful for the support.
Summoning his will by force, he lifted the crystal in his upturned fingers, the play of light dazzling his already weakened eyes. The delicate glass suddenly seemed so fragile. His eyesight was consumed by the ruby-red blood that swayed with the difficult effort of returning the goblet to its resting place in the shallow alcove. Taking it down had not seemed so hard. Replacing it took almost all the life left in him.
There was no spit in his mouth, no words of offering he could actually utter. So he closed his eyes and prayed. This is my sacrifice. This is what I offer. We must have your help to continue, the enemy is too great! Take my blood, take my life if you must. Save Alizarin, save Baby wherever he has vanished to. Give me some guidance, some tool to fight the nightfall monsters that dog our tracks and infest our friends. He thought awhile longer, pondering if he should add anything to his request. Oh, yes, he pleaded. If you want me to live, give me water soon. I am not sufficient alone.
Ilion's hands slipped down from the alcove's ledge, touching the rough carved wall, every bump a massive sensation. At the end of his energy, with the last of his lifeforce, Ilion reached out to grab the staff, waiting just at the tip of his fingers. Bleeding and naked, halfway out of his mind, he felt the sudden ceasing of the unrelenting heat cross his tired and beaten body with the force of a thunderstorm. Even in his weakness, the removal of the direct intensity of flame gained him a small respite.
With the lever of the staff to balance his step, he slowly stood. Looking up to the ceiling, up at the burning flames of pure sun's light, Ilion waited for an answer. No longer heat-blasted, but injured and thirsty enough to drink the ocean dry, the worn man waited, watching for a sign. As he turned his head to view the whole of the room, he saw Alizarin in the distance, crying. His first thought was to go to her and tell her what they had to do. We have to go back to Dressarna! The Thief of all Thieves reigns there, a canker on the heart of the world.
Calling his attention away, a small beam of light sparkled in the corner of Ilion's eyesight, above his head and almost behind him. Turning back to find its source, Ilion saw a miracle. The crystal goblet, the glass cup brimming with his blood left as a desperate offering, now held the purest water. No trace of his sacrifice remained.
Where did my offering go? Who switched blood for water? Those questions and others flitted in his head, but Ilion's hands took no thought of why or whom, they just reached for the gift. Grasping the glass gently, careful not to spill a drop wastefully, Ilion lowered the crystal to his parched and blistered lips.
He drank deeply. Ilion tried to only sip the water, tried to take in slowly the gift of life's continuation, but his thirst was so great that, without pausing for breath, he drained the cup. Grateful, deeply moved, uncertain of meaning or consequences, the exhausted man simply swallowed. Holding the emptied glass in his hands, he could feel the rush of hope flood his veins, renewing. A clarity of vision wiped his mind of troubled thoughts and vague understanding.
Lifting his hands, Ilion replaced the miraculous goblet, its incised cuts glinting in the light of the flames above. Before his grateful and astounded view, the cup filled again. It brimmed with sparkling, clear water. With great eagerness, he gladly drank from the offering cup again and again.
And again, until he could hear the water sloshing in his belly. Ilion could feel the flush of strength fill him to bursting. Every time he returned it, every time it refilled, his heart lit with glee. He did not want this moment of kindness, of miracles, of relief and surcease to end.
When he was certain he could drink no more, Ilion took the full cup and held it up in the air, crying with a restored voice, “Thank you for the gift! Thank you!” Tears of gratitude fell.
“Can you help us?” he implored to the air around him, certain he was heard. “Will you help us? We still need you. Not all has been abandoned. Stay in this hidden place no longer. Come with us and fight!
”
Only a small measure of surprise, yet Ilion's heart still jumped when her hands touched his. Little gnarly hands, full of bumps and warts took the cup from his grasp and emptied the liquid into her own mouth. For a moment, he glimpsed underneath the cowl and cloak. Ilion was certain he saw the eyes and the face of the roly-poly bug lady, that he had seen their depth. Was there something else there as well? Some other emotion covered in layers of disguise, hidden amongst the rubble, obscured in plain sight?
Wiping her mouth across the back of her sleeve, she remarked only, “Not yet. Not yet. You have filled the cup. You have drained it as well. Yet, you also did not forget to offer the final drink to another. Perhaps I appraised you wrongly, little jaybird.”
Ilion could have sworn she clucked at him like a mother hen regarding her wobbly chick. He tensed again.
“Almost, I am persuaded. Almost.” The clucking stopped. Her voice hardened, “But the question still stands that I asked you before! When have you ever been a true friend? Answer that, and I will help. Answer that, and you won't need me at all.”
His gaze immediately sought across the heat blasted room to where Alizarin sat crying. She did not know what had happened. She had not seen the miracle! Looking back to the stone bench, Ilion was unsurprised to find the mercurial being had vanished again.
Naked as the day he was born, Ilion began to close the distance between his friend and himself. After all, she is my friend. I have been true to her, haven't I? he thought. What is a true friend, anyway? I have been kind to some and generous to others.
No matter how he tried though, he could not think of a long-lasting friendship that had involved him, really involved him. The closest relationships that occurred to his mind were his time with Kalina and, far back in his past, the annual childhood visits from the red-robed priest. Why is this important? Why does the answer to the quality of my personal attachments even matter? They were fighting nightmare monsters not schoolyard bullies.
What good does friendship do in a battle against darkened power? He still walked toward Alizarin's weeping form. A thought flashed across his vision then, like a reflection in a polished stone mirror: Rethendrel catching the back leg of the nightfall beast, cutting upward with his pouch knife. The man had stopped a killing stroke that meant death for Ilion, just for a moment it was true, and the duplicitous man had paid with his life for his trouble. Yet, it was his friendship with Alizarin that had moved his hands. It was that, and his final comprehension of the destruction that fell-beast had wrought on the whole Corded family.
Into the Raging Mountains Page 47