Into the Raging Mountains

by Caroline Gill

  Taking a different tack, Alizarin tried to talk to the jittery woman. It was a woman, that was clear, but so little else about the stranger was. “Do you want anything for freeing us from the cavern?” She thought perhaps she could assist the reluctant guide with something from their packs in return for her timely help. The blackened-rag-bound person had watched them both, held captive, but was not bothered in the least by that bondage. In response to Alizarin's question, though, the stranger let out a yelp and a sniffle, wiping her nose along the length of her sleeves.

  Ilion released the questing hand in disgust. He had no time for games and such. He knew that with his newly acquired power, he and Alizarin would be fine. We will fight whatever darkened creatures fall in our path. We will survive!

  With a curt nod of thanks, he turned from the pathetic creature, grateful to be released and gestured to his companion to continue on through the rockwall. Together, they turned to go, much relieved to be out of the room that had cost them so much in suffering and sacrifice. Alizarin went first through the portal.

  From behind his back, Ilion felt an inquisitive hand touch his belt again. Ilion whirled around, grabbing for her wrist, and as he did, he felt the flames of his indignation and frustration rise again. He held her wrist imprisoned. He watched her eyes darting here and there, refusing to focus on his face. Flames crept down his arms, spreading out across his chest from the ember of his heart's fire. The small woman shrank even more against the heat of his annoyance. But she did not let go. She stood still, afraid but unexplainably determined.

  Ilion tamped down the fire that crackled along his hairless skin, resolved to let her go, certain she meant no harm. Turning away, he was eager to follow Alizarin, afraid to lose her again.

  When the timid hand reached again for his belt, the regrettable response was instantaneous, almost beyond his control. Flames dripped forth from his hands, burning his captive's clothing which evaporated on contact with the heat. Without meaning to do so, Ilion had set their liberator on fire. And she burned quickly.

  The fire burst onto her as it would have onto a pile of dry kindling, flowing up her arms, growing bright and hard as it traveled. In a breath most of her body was on fire, as the stranger opened her mouth in shock and surprise. Her ravaged voice cawed out some unknown language in sounds of dire agony. Ilion stood in a distant state of shock, aware of his power but unable to stop the hunger of the heated air.

  Suddenly, he was pushed off balance. Alizarin knocked him out of the way as she practically climbed over him, reaching for the pitiable woman who had rescued them not moments before. As soon as she moved him away from the continuous connection of the intruding hand, the heat dissipated with a popping sound. He was relieved that she had managed to break the cycle, though he could do nothing to save the woman. And, much to his chagrin, he was stark naked again.

  The flames of protection had burned off all of his clothes as well. I am going to have to do something about that.

  With eyes of understanding and appreciation he only watched as Alizarin flung herself past him and grabbed the bonfire that consumed the woman, thrusting in her arm to establish a hold. In her other palm she still held the blue stone which blazed with its cerulean light. As she had hoped, acting purely on instinct, upon contact the surge of light extinguished the burning of fire's hunger. The wisp fell to her knees, burnt and wounded terribly; only the faintest mewling sounds emerged from the huddled char.

  Once the ravaging power of the heat had been quenched, Alizarin searched quickly in her pouch, her free hand withdrawing with the topaz stone. She wasn't certain why she thought it would help, but with no hesitation she directed its light to bloom and cover both of them. Like the crashing of waves onto a sandy shore, the surge of light pushed forward onto the surface of the damaged body, moving as an incoming tide. The ocher light would not be denied its claim. With its flowing insistence, the badly wounded woman emerged from the char as if she were a legendary phoenix reborn from the consumed ashes.

  Shock had clearly set in. She still lay on the ground, clenched in the position of a new baby, tightly in on herself.

  Alizarin took that moment and the few that followed to look around and take an accounting of the situation. The slight woman who had mysteriously helped them to leave the enigmatic confines of that irrationally demanding temple lay naked, curled up on the warm stone floor. Looking up at her companion, standing in the doorway, Alizarin was not all that surprised to find that Ilion was again at a loss for clothes.

  Shaking her head, the baker said, “It appears that this talent of yours uncontrolled is more danger than help, Ilion. You can't go around burning off all your clothes if you are startled.”

  She knew he heard her, but he did not reply. Instead, he busied himself unwrapping his pack. With ease born of repetition, he removed all items and two blankets of crimson from the pile. Placing them aside along with two necklaces, he wrapped all the amulets, scrolls, money, and silver into the one remaining cloak. Taking one robe for himself, he pulled it around his body and secured it on his shoulder using a spare amulet. The other he rolled lightly on his arm and walked over to the mute woman. Offering it to her for covering, he expected no response. Her eyes were alert and aware but her attention was inward, diving into unknown places.

  Taking a corded amulet from his hand, Ilion removed the metal piece and wrapped the length of the leather around his waist. He left another such necklace on top of the second cloak with a gesture. Turning away from the nearly disastrous results of his untamed gift, he felt a degree of shame in his heart for wounding such an innocent woman. But he knew to the core of his being that his gifts of fire and invisibility were all that stood between his and Alizarin's utter destruction.

  So, as painful as it was and apparently would be, Ilion had to learn an iron control of their uses as soon as he possibly could. They could not afford any more unfocused or unintentional lapses. Even with the baker's support and ability to clean up his messes, Ilion felt as if he needed a moment of singularity to clear his mind. He walked to the corner of the tunnel's edge, the division made of magic and rock, and gathered in. The answer lay in his mind and in his control, and so he sought desperately for understanding.

  *

  Alizarin sat stunned as the last of Ilion's wild fire was subjugated by her stone's quenching light. Even though she had thought it would stop the flames, she had not been sure. After all, when have I ever had to put out fire with the light of a gemstone? And yet, it had worked. And, somehow, she had known it would.

  Was it the teachings of her mother's nightfall tales, springing into her mind, blooming where the seeds had long ago been planted? Or perhaps new knowledge brought by wielding the light of the stones to her own ends? She couldn't begin to guess the source of her inspiration. Alizarin only knew she was glad of it. Whatever burden came from holding these peculiar stones, it was worth the cost to save the life of another.

  Both her companions were immersed in their own internal worlds. She was confident from the teachings of her mother that they would each emerge from their self-protecting cocoons as the moment of clarity and peace was reached. For herself, Alizarin sought to understand the persistence of their strange benefactor. Why did she come? Why set them free from what was bound to be an indefinite prison?

  Yet, this little woman had come, fearful and desperate, and opened the way to escape. Alizarin could tell even as she had charged past Ilion to break the surging connection between their two bodies, that the woman had placed her hands again on Ilion's purse. Why? This was a clumsy and oblivious thief if robbing was her intention.

  Reaching down to push new-grown hair away from glazed eyes, she noticed that one hand was still clenched. The hand that had reached for Ilion was closed tight in a fist. Had she succeeded in taking something from him? Her curiosity was peaked. “I hope you don't mind,” she mumbled to the distant gaze of the fallen woman.

  Gently, she peeled back the fingers, one at a time to reveal t
he object so tightly held. There, in her newly restored hand, still clutched in her tiny grip was a scroll. The peculiar wax seal still covering its edges, she recognized. She had last seen it on the scroll meant for the Fire Maid.

  Sitting back on her heels, Alizarin had to think that one through. Where had the scroll come from? They had left it at the balancing scales in the first room. That seemed so far away now, a lifetime's journey. Why did this stranger have it? Then Alizarin realized the obvious truth: the enigmatic woman was not taking anything. She was replacing it!

  She was replacing the scroll into Ilion's pouch. But why? It had been delivered to the temple of Bira, assuming that this was indeed the place. Surely the Fire Maid lived here and would thus receive the message?

  Shaking her head, Alizarin could not answer the questions that bounced around her mind. At least, not until her companions awoke. Covering the woman with the cloak that Ilion had left, she sat on the ground, half closed her eyes and prepared to wait.

  *

  The burnt woman lay withdrawn. She absorbed the course of events, aware and present, but separated from pain. The fire had consumed her. It was an eerie feeling to be ravaged so completely, to be taken into the gentle arms of death's embrace and then released. For a moment, as the man had sent pure flames coursing through her skin and along her veins, there had been a brilliant white concussion within her self, not in her heart, not in her mind, not in her body, but in the whole of her. The feeling was rather like thunder following the sharp flash of lightning, the inevitable consequence of playing with fire.

  Yet, if she did not help, it appeared no one else would. And she had watched them come to her secret hiding spot, full of bravery, brimming with confidence; she could not let that opportunity pass. It is a rare quality amongst humans, to live without fear. Or rather, as she could see now, living with fear walking beside them, these two had chosen to gamble with hope. It was their greatest defense and their only shield.

  The painful shock of the flames had overwhelmed her initially. Her defenses were unguarded. Shoring them up after the initial singing would have been best, but she was so concentrated on returning the scroll to the man. She had found it in the opening room, balanced on the scales. All the rest of the items she had replaced for another visitor's true need. But she had taken the lock of hair, safe in her pocket, and held the tiny scroll, wax seal unbroken. There was no doubt that many had died to bring that knowledge to its intended recipient. She was merely the last messenger. The hair had burned with everything else, gone rightfully so to the hunger of the flame.

  She had known the singular moment that precedes death and thought only of her father, of seeing him again. Abruptly, hands held her, arms wrapped her within a tight embrace. In that moment she felt the urge to sing again. But she didn't open her mouth.

  Energy flew into her like a bowl filling with warming soup, renewing every bit, erasing all scars and restoring lost talents. The flame always rewards sacrifice, she thought. She was almost far enough away from her tired body to finally see his dear face, and then with a sudden pulling motion, she awoke in a blink.

  Naked on the ground of the temple, her hands ached of pressure. The scroll was gone. Looking at her hand, searching the ground surrounding her, she could not locate it. Did I succeed? She hadn't thought it possible.

  Yet, it did appear that one of the two of the travelers had it back in their possession. Clearly that was the next required act, ensuring the delivery of the scroll. After that, she would have to see them prove their worth only a bit more. Could they help her? Would they help her?

  With a grace she had not felt in years, her renewed body easily sat up, pulling the crimson cloak up and around her baby-soft flesh. Her hair fell in rings about her face. All the wrinkles were gone, as were all the scars on her hands and wrists. She couldn't help admiring the changes for a moment or two.

  My toes have never looked so good, she thought randomly. Soft and lustrous as her hair was, it was a simple joy just to run her fingers through the spirals, feeling the simplicity of the bouncing return. She had no idea nor did she truly care what she currently looked like, but the youth of her renewal was not to be argued with. Accepting the blessing for what it was, she stood with grace and suppleness, rising as a mighty cat from her perch, ready to hunt.

  Both of the travelers were still near her. The woman who healed her sat just a few steps away. The man, the brooding, complicated, and extravagant man stood in the corner, cloaked in his power, traveling in his own mind. She could sense that he was seeking answers, though the questions were unclear. These people had not meant her harm, yet they had harmed her. They had not meant themselves harm either, and it was obvious how well that had turned out. Clearly their journey in the temple's realms had changed them, revealing possibilities she had not sensed before.

  Upon her rising, she could sense the awareness of the seated woman. Still holding a yellow stone in her upturned hand, she seemed ever ready to protect her companion. Wrapped in crimson, secured with silver and leather, the stranger stood.

  *

  Alizarin's eyes were only half closed. Her awareness was fuzzy but that changed immediately to respond to the new movement. She felt compelled to stand as well, in order to address their benefactor. “I am sorry.” She said. “Sorry that he hurt you. It was not our intention.”

  Seeing the woman clearly for the first time, Alizarin was a little shocked. Looking at her face, her body and her hair, Alizarin could not understand why this woman had practically enshrouded herself in nasty rags and bits of clothing. She had a fine, well-built body, a beautiful face and shining hair. The stranger seemed to have grown a few fingers taller during the whole dramatic exchange. They were now approximately the same height. “Well, you seem to have made a good recovery, after all that. Are you all right? Can we help you somehow? You opening this door to set us free was an answer to our prayers.”

  The red-clad woman watched her. Does she understand our language? Her gaze lingered on Alizarin's lips as she talked. She gave no answer, just a nod of acknowledgment. Alizarin did not take the slight as rudeness, at least not intentional rudeness. Though a few moments after the woman's gaze floated away from her face, Alizarin's words faded into silence.

  It was odd, to say the least. She was not afraid of this new woman, and yet, she felt that she had to protect Ilion, who still stood in the middle of the opening to the tunnel. She couldn't see him, but she knew he would not leave her willingly again. Some part of her was certain she could hear him breathing, even at that great a distance.

  The stranger walked past Alizarin, or attempted to. Alizarin blocked her progress by standing in her way, refusing to allow an unknown person access to him. The red-robed woman tried again, twice more. Only then did she bow her head in a slight nod and sit back on her heels in a posture of waiting.

  Alizarin did not mean to be distrustful. Indeed, she did not want to be. In her heart, she still felt guilt and regret for the destruction and pain that Ilion's uncontrolled reaction had caused the woman. But there were so many unknown dangers that she could not determine, that Alizarin refused to risk recklessly by giving access to Ilion to a woman with unknown intentions.

  They faced each other in a kind of stalemate, Alizarin standing feet apart, hands on hips, the stranger lightly squatting staring at the ground just in front of her feet. She wasn't certain what she would do if the red-clad woman attempted again to push past her guard, though she was certain it would not be pretty. They both waited for Ilion to finish. She hoped that his withdrawal from the quenching and healing would be fruitful and so was reluctant to interfere. The moments sped past.

  Her joints ached slightly. Waiting was something Alizarin had done so much of in her life that she was very adept at it and at the same time, incredibly impatient. She lifted the weight off of one knee, stretching her leg. The other woman used the opening to spring forward from her crouching position and lunge across the remaining space. She flew at Ilion as if she
had wings, rising on the warm currents of air. Although she looked to Alizarin's eyes rather like a bug caught on a spider's web when she stopped and then vanished.

  Alizarin waited for an explosion. She waited for the woman's body to be hurled burning from the place where Ilion had been standing. Nothing happened. It was odd how often nothing happened in her experiences. There was no sound. There was no movement.

  There was just Alizarin standing in a room with two invisible people having an invisible conversation or an unseen fight to the death. Her certainty that the other woman did not wish them harm was the only thing that stopped her from jumping on her transparent back, pulling her off and throwing her across the floor. Surely, Ilion could handle her intrusion, or so she hoped.

  *

  Deep in his own mind, he sought the bloom that had brought him knowledge twice before. Ilion knew that specific control was the key to their survival and any success that they might be able to achieve. While he gathered, he petitioned the Gods, whomever was listening, whomever watched over him and preserved him so miraculously, for some kind of a guide. What good can come of unbridled talent? He had already seen its devastation, wielded lightly.

  It was necessary. The question that rocked within him was whether he could find the connection again. Reaching with the pleas of his heart and soul, Ilion delved into his hidden mind. Uncovering layers, digging for answers, Ilion lost all track of time and place. It was as if he used the sharpest knife to pull back layers of bulb, skin and structure, skin and structure. Slowly his awareness drifted farther down, floating between his awakened life and the source of his dreams.

  He knew he was there, in the midst of it all, but it was as a speck of dust amongst the vastness of a mountain range. Aware but minute, present as a part of it all, Ilion's soul danced with the eddies and currents of creation. It was a joyous experience. It was exceedingly simple.

  After a lifetime of freedom from care and worry, Ilion sent his needs out on the breezes of forever. He could not have spoken of the length of his journey or of its success. Almost imperceptibly, though, he began to rise out of the depths of dreaming wakefulness. Soon, his bright soul gathered speed and streaked to the surface of his conscious thoughts. His ability to think and talk exploded within him.