Into the Raging Mountains

by Caroline Gill

  With ropes digging into her skin, holding her tightly bound, every day and with every breath, Laylada wanted to live. There had to be a way! She quietly prayed. Please, let there be a way!

  *

  There is time in the world for wonder. There is always time. It would be fair to say that neither of them had any idea how long they had been in the temple, nor how many days, seasons, or cycles had turned round the sun. Since Ilion had emerged, on fire with his new power, born of the mountain, he had been learning almost every moment. Eventually, and with a few scandalous failures he finally managed to tamp down the flames and heat of his body to allow contact with cloth and other skin. Because Alizarin had been holding both gemstones, neither had suffered from his initial chivalrous gesture of offering his hand to her. She had simply pocketed the topaz and reached out and taken his grip, the blue gem twinkling merrily, blazing and subsiding in a repeating pattern.

  *

  Holding her hand, he had done nothing else for a moment. He looked up at her, memorizing every absolutely normal detail. He counted the wisps of hair that floated across her forehead, flying away at the slightest breeze. He watched the tawny yellow-and-brown flicker in her pupils that danced with the surrounding flames, mercurial and complete at the same moment. Blue light shone from her hand like the cresting orb of sun bursting from behind the low mounds of earth, just over the edge of the world. Its light still managed to fill the spacious cavern only partially.

  Under his gaze, Alizarin grew charmingly self-conscious. His inquisitive eyes took in every detail. As far as noses go, her nose was just a nose. It was a regular nose, a simple mouth, nothing distinguishing it, nothing lacking. But her face as a whole, her very countenance was almost more beautiful that he could bear. It was her face, and its image filled his heart more than the miraculous water, more than laughter, more than rain falling on drought-filled lands.

  Even as her cheeks colored under his scrutiny, her eyes half closed in a sudden awareness of attraction: a singularly giddy feeling.

  *

  Alizarin felt as if she had stood most of her life at a glass paned window looking out at passerbys, aware but uninvolved. Awakening slowly to such intense attention, directed specifically at her left the young woman speechless. He had said those words, those words! I choose you! Everything she had been through, all the degradation, the frustration, and the pain all vanished from her consideration. There was only that one true moment, and the kindness in Ilion's eyes watching her every breath, memorizing every detail of her face.

  Pulling her close, holding the fires that raged inside of his heart calmly within his skin, with a slow grace Ilion gathered her into his arms. Alizarin felt as if she was floating. How does one heart hold this much joy? This much hope?

  When he finally leaned down to kiss her lips, her eyes closed, overwhelmed with the intense purity of her emotions. It was enough and more just to feel his lips first skimming her cheekbone, then the bridge of her nose, then landing lightly once, twice on her mouth. Alizarin couldn't think after that. Too many sensations, too much feeling all at once lit her soul, taking her words away.

  Some unknown amount of time passed. Neither of them cared in the least. The compelling fascination, the very rapture of the moment left them torn out of the passage of days and seasons. They were simply pulled into a natural orbit of happiness and hunger. It was not possible to get enough, to be enough, to feel enough!

  At some point, it did dawn on Alizarin's blissful mind that Ilion was barely clothed, that she was way too close to the edge of something extraordinary; an edge she did not want to fall into unaware. Pushing slightly on his shoulder, only a touch, she parted their lips and paused for breath. Rational thought, barriers of defense and innocence did not reassemble themselves quickly. Too much had changed too quickly and her world had just become much more vivid.

  “What is it? What is it, Alizarin?”

  “Who, who are you, Ilion? What happened? What happened to you? Why do you burn and not die?”

  She looked up to his face, his dear face, and could not help but notice the loss of his hair, just one of the many changes of his ordeal. Certain that Ilion would explain, that the strange transformation would make sense, she waited.

  “That is not his question to answer! That is not allowed!” came a shrill voice over the distance of the vast room.

  Startled, they shifted their weight defensively and searched for the newcomer.

  She wasn't hard to spot. Alizarin had never seen the like. If this was the temple's tutor, it definitely chose an odd representation.

  Waddling towards them both over the destruction of the cavern's floor as if it were smooth as silk, a round bundle of a person came huffing and puffing. Alizarin wasn't sure the speaker was a woman, other than the voice. That was certainly screechy enough to fit right in at the market in Dressarna. There was no doubt that her voice could be heard above the neighing of farm beasts and the tumultuous noises of trade and barter. It had a commanding quality even as the sounds grated on her ears. The rags that seemed wrapped perpetually around the being drifted on in bits and snags, leaving a trail of detritus behind that scattered in her ample wake.

  Storming up to them as if Ilion and Alizarin had offended her with their very breathing, she first addressed Ilion with her scorn. Peering up at him, she demanded, “Do you even know yourself, I wonder? You stand there full of fire, full of yourself and your own mighty accomplishments. Yet to me it seems you are missing some very valuable things. Are you ready to go fight the monsters that walk your lands, then? Have all your questions been answered so easily?”

  “Easily?” he answered, flabbergasted. “Easily, you say? You have almost killed me several times now, asking me to sacrifice my blood and my breath just to get your damned attention! Do you ever stop to wonder in your exclusive contrariness, that people won't come to worship at the altar of self destruction? The best people won't ever come, knowing how little you care for our pathetic and tiny lives. You have no right to talk to me about self-knowledge, cloaked as you are in anger and vengeance! The being that stands before us, that answers our desperate call is no less than an empty shell!”

  With a heart full of indignation and ire, Ilion finished,“With help like yours, we are better off alone, fighting our own fight. At least then we know who we can trust and when to watch our backs.”

  Her response was unanticipated. “You act as if I have attacked you, as if the trials and tests you met here haven't been of your own making! Even then, regardless of the cost, you cannot deny that they have forced you both to find a greater strength and knowledge of your own possibilities.”

  They both stood there, hands intertwined, pondering that new thought. Seeing their confusion, the bundle of bossiness continued on, outraged and gleeful at the same moment. “Why is it you humans always look for solutions outside of yourselves? As if some mighty force is going to swoop down in response to your petitions and save you from your own sloppy mess?

  “You have come with some power and a bit of knowledge, and those gifts alone have taken you far. You stand before me, the first petitioners in generations able to balance their needs against their gifts. Ages have passed in the waiting. Do not think to malign me with complaints of inattention and obstruction: I gave you exactly what you asked for!” Her voice spoke with a menacing thunderstorm rumbling underneath.

  Ilion's face looked troubled for a flash of a moment and then cleared. Alizarin did not understand.

  She attempted to placate and interpret, to bridge the widening gap of communication between the seekers and the source,“We came as humble seekers. Why can you not just give us the needed assistance? This is your fight too! We do not ask so much that you could not have given easily without any effort as powerful and ancient as you are. There is no need for further argument.” Looking up at Ilion, confidently standing beside her, she said, “We must find the means to fight the nightmonsters that walk in the skins of friends and strangers. That is why
we came to you, that is why we stepped through the fires and games. Can you help us? Will you help us?”

  Rags wrapped around rags, shifting their gaze. After a slight pause, the ball of being replied, “Child, and I mean that kindly, if you cannot see the assistance already granted to you both, I have little left to say.” Staring back up at Ilion’s face through veiled eyes, she abruptly changed the subject.

  Staring at him, her voice demanding an answer, the temple guide said, “It appears that introductions are in order, though. Your name is?” She looked at Alizarin standing next to him, resolute, and inquired with a honey voice, layered in rudeness, “And you are?” She let the sentence drawl out, a question with a threat attached to Ilion's trained ears.

  He just stared at her obscured, belligerent form, uncertain. After a pause, she continued, “A favorite poem of mine comes to mind: Unreceived, Unrelenting, I came to you. Unanswered, unnoticed, I left.

  “Perhaps you should have looked elsewhere if you sought for simple or easy as I have never been fond of either of those traits.” Her words dripped in strong, unnamed emotion, hard to identify, even harder to adeptly address.

  Something had changed, but Alizarin could not tell what. “Wait! Wait! We did not mean to offend you! Wait!” she cried.

  But the ancient crone was gone. The thrice-damned, blasted woman had vanished again and they just stood there, stunned.

  “So much opinion with so little information!” Ilion said. “It doesn't seem as if she or the temple knows or cares about our plight.”

  “At least we all can agree that it is up to us lowly humans to fight the canker on our world,” agreed Alizarin. “That was so ungratifying. Isn't the temple guide supposed to help us? Aren't we supposed to be given answers to our heart-felt questions? Instead we were met with challenges, enigmas, sacrifice, and near death. Why did she ask to be introduced right before she left?

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings for you, Ilion. but I don't know that there is any easy way to state this: I think your temple guide is insane.”

  He could only nod. This interaction had been nothing like his visits to Mira-Sang. There everything seemed peaceful and calm, all knowledge flowed through the old stones, there for the taking, there for the asking. Here, it was reluctantly, painfully gained and then only in small, minute steps with an unclear goal to reach any true conclusion. The umbrage taken, fairly dripping from her words, made Ilion revisit her responses to his questions.

  Perplexing and vague, but when had this particular temple not been? He bent his thoughts to the puzzle: what had they gained? She had taught him about using the staff to hide himself from external forces. The staff! He had not thought of it. Where is it?

  He looked around with a small bit of chagrin, amazed at his momentary abandonment of such a valuable weapon. “Where is the staff?” he spoke aloud as he searched.

  Alizarin's eyes flew open. “The staff? You lost the staff? Oh, no! Oh, no, no, no!” With a great deal more agitation, she started to look as well.

  Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. He walked back to the mountain floor that had borne him to the surface, full of determination. The point of his miraculous emergence had closed. He knew though. He knew the staff was buried deep, down in the pit, covered in the cooling lava, sealed away forever from his hands.

  Surprised at the loss, his heart grieved. The removal of the powerful artifact from his control was shattering. And yet … and yet … Ilion couldn't help thinking he had missed something. What am I missing?

  Reviewing the events of his continual nightmare in his mind, the overwhelming feeling of suffocation almost encased him again. He had fallen into a pit, staff in hand because—because Alizarin had shot the power of the topaz gem almost directly at his feet! “Why did you blast light at me? Before, why did you aim your fire at me?” he called across the small distance that separated them.

  “What? What did you say?” She looked perplexed.

  He repeated his question, feeling his tongue specifically pronounce every syllable against his teeth. The confusion on her face said it all. He didn't have to even hear her answer to know she had never seen him coming. Whatever had occurred between the two of them had been accelerated by other forces, only in part using the powerful light of the yellow gemstone.

  He shook his head. It was odd, but he still felt as if he was complete. He didn't miss the staff's powers, just the physical support. A thought crossed his mind. With a simple direction within his head, he adjusted his mind's thoughts just so, following the familiar pattern.

  Alarm spread on Alizarin's face as she glanced at him, seeking to understand what had happened with Ilion. “I didn't shoot at you, Ilion.” She began. “I never saw …” her words trailed off. “Ilion? Ilion!?” Her voice rose as fear clenched her for a moment. Alizarin was alone again, alone in the huge, uncaring cavern.

  “Where are you?” Still hoping for a reply, Alizarin's eyes began to search frantically around the vast room. Amidst all of the towering darkness, she stood. Then, a hand touched her shoulder with a caress. Almost spinning around, familiar arms gathered her body into an embrace. Softly, she whispered in confirmation, “Ilion.” She could feel her muscles relax. Safe again.

  As soon as she felt his hands, her wide brown eyes registered his face. The glee was unmistakable. “I can control the power by myself now, Alizarin. I can become invisible without the staff!” The excitement in his voice was charged. “The staff was just a tool to help me find the correct pattern! Ha!” He laughed with joy.

  That troubling situation settled, Ilion and Alizarin made imminent plans to leave the cavern. Walking hand in hand, his clothing a bit singed, packs shouldered, the two were ready to leave, certain they had found all that they were looking for. On their way, they exchanged short versions of their encounters within the temple.

  Alizarin was alarmed at the idea of cutting one's body to gain liquid He couldn't explain it to her, but Ilion still knew it was the right act.

  She flipped his wrist over, seeking his wounds, sure that her eyes would find ragged edges, flaps of skin still healing. There was no mark on his skin, no indent, no indication of scarring, just a thin silver line that ran the length of each cut, the lingering mark of his accepted offering.

  *

  Ready to venture forth and face their many enemies, the only real problem they encountered was the lack of any type of door. There was no obvious way to leave, no way out.

  Ilion shook his head. “This is ridiculous,” he said pointedly, glaring at the ceiling and towering walls. Talking to the abyss and to the ears that he knew listened to every sound he said, “This is absolutely silly. You don't want to help us, but you won't let us leave? Whatever your original purpose, whatever your reasons, you have become broken and diseased. Never would I have thought to encounter madness here. And yet, it is abundantly clear that you have no direction except to thwart anyone else from fighting on.”

  His words echoed across the room, journeying far before the sounds rebounded and returned to their ears. If any more rebuke would have challenged the quixotic mood of the being that even now ignored them, he would have spoken it fairly. Only the sound of his scathing address returned, though. No roly-poly bug of a daft old woman appeared, ready to argue, entice, and challenge.

  Alizarin pulled the stopper off of her canteen and filled her mouth with warm, stale water.

  Ilion was quiet for a moment before he tried again, this time coaxing the reluctant and mercurial guardian or guide to let them leave. “We have to go,” he said. “We have to leave. You know that. You don't want to help us. You are afraid. That is understandable. You don't know who to believe or what is happening in the wide, vast lands above your mountain. Safety is not found in burying your knowledge. Let us leave. At least we can fight!”

  The intercession of a quiet step greeted the end of his plea. They both turned quickly as a split in the side wall began to crack open with the light of true magic. A figure emerged, clot
hed in black, hunched and shy, skittish and timid. Seeing them watching the doorway, the newcomer flinched visibly, as if it wanted to run away from their stares.

  It started briefly but did not vanish entirely behind the weight of the stone portal. Partially concealed behind the massive boulder, only the upper portions of flyaway hair and obscured face were visible. It said nothing.

  Not wanting to startle someone so obviously skittish, Ilion took Alizarin's hand and they made their way slowly forward. Pausing each time they saw the figure flinch, watching as the terrified person contemplated bolting away from their presence, they were purposefully cautious in their approach. As they neared the stone doorway, more of their frail helper became distinct. Clad in rags as well, it resembled the roly-poly guide, but the similarity ended there.

  No sounds, no counsel came from its mouth. No words of wisdom or of despair. Watching the eyes intently, Alizarin could see the fear and the desperation that drove the fragile person. What it must have paid to help us! she thought.

  Nearing the smooth edge of the boulder, Alizarin's free hand opened forward to light the pathway through the opening and beyond. In as soft a voice as she could muster, Alizarin whispered to the stranger, “Thank you. Thank you. We could not leave without you. Your help is appreciated.”

  Strange eyes and an even odder face turned up to look at her, watching Alizarin as she passed. They stood in the opening of the wall, ready to move forward, onward when Ilion felt a light hand touch his belt.

  Reaching down with the trained reflexes of a gatherer, he stopped the tiny hand from withdrawing. He thought at first that it was attempting to steal from his pouches. But the hand was empty. Shrinking against the weight of their stares, the intruder watched them both, so small and unassuming in its manner and carriage. Complex and nigh on incomprehensible in its needs, it shied away from contact, lightly pulling on Ilion's imprisoning grip.