“The juice?” guessed Ben.
“It must be,” said Riverpaw. I suppose all that whirring was the statue juicing the apple. We can’t touch the juice, but it can.”
Evercloud pocketed the vials and turned back to the statue.
“That still doesn’t help us find the guardians. There must be someplace to fit the hammer.”
“Why not the hands?” asked Whiteclaw.
The hands of the statue were closed, but not all of the way. There were gaps, possibly large enough to rest the hammer in. Evercloud tried to fit the handle of the hammer into the left hand of the statue but the hole was too small. So Evercloud tried the right hand. At first it also seemed too small, but Evercloud was persistent and eventually, the hammer fit.
Once again, the eyes of the statue glowed and everyone knew that the hands had been the right place. Violet was the color of the light on this occasion, and again the statue began to produce whirring sounds. This time, the statue was also beginning to move. It started with just the arms at first, bending forward and back in jerking motions. Soon, the jerking motions spread to the rest of the statue’s body. The travelers stepped back a few paces, just to be safe. They continued their watch as the statue seemed to be gaining full animation. The movements were becoming less jerky and more fluid with each second, looking like a man stretching his muscles loose. Suddenly, all the movement stopped and the statue addressed them.
“Hello,” it said without moving its mouth. “My name is Tomaton. Thank you for waking me.”
“Hello, Tomaton,” began Whiteclaw. “I am Whi–”
Tomaton was not listening. He turned himself around, toward the back wall and began walking toward it. Once he had reached the wall, he cocked his arm back and raised the hammer. Then, in one swift motion, he swung the hammer at the wall with great force. A loud boom echoed through the room and a large slab of the wall crumbled to the ground. When the dust settled, the travelers could see that a passageway had been opened, revealing a staircase that lead up, further into the mountain.
“Of course, more stairs,” grumbled Riverpaw. “Why not a nice slide down?”
Tomaton turned back to the travelers and stood, motionless. “Please, let me know when you are ready to continue,” he said.
The travelers all looked at each other.
“I think that we’ve come to the point where we need to be ready for anything,” said Ben.
Everyone nodded in agreement and then turned to where they had their things, lying in wait. Riverpaw and Whiteclaw had no packs and hadn’t needed to carry water since the desert. Being bears, they also carried no weapons. In all respects, they were ready. The three men filled their packs and secured them tightly to their backs, taking care that they were neither bulky nor restricting of movement. Ben grabbed his blades and swung them through the air, stretching his arms and making sure he was comfortable with their weight. Tomas strung his bow and knocked an arrow, pointing it out the open end of the room, checking his sights.
Evercloud strapped his claw on, making sure that it was tight but comfortable. He walked over to Ben and handed him one of the vials.
“Here,” he said. “One person shouldn’t carry both of them.”
Ben nodded and placed the vial into his pocket. The men returned to the two bears and they all nodded that they were ready. Whiteclaw began to speak.
“We don’t know that the guardians will be waiting for us up those stairs, but now is not the time to hope for the best. We must prepare for the worst. Do not throw those vials for any reason. For all we know, they are the only weapons that will kill the guardians. Losing those vials could very well mean our death. Most importantly, stay together. These guardians have the power to keep the Ancients at bay. To think that one of us could harm them on our own is ludicrous. Be smart first and brave second.” Whiteclaw looked at all of them in the eye to make sure that they understood what he was saying. “Do any of you have any questions or confusions?” No one spoke. Whiteclaw nodded. “All right,” he continued raising himself up to his full height. “Now you must remember what it is that we fight for. We fight to bring peace to this world, to free the Ancients, to stop the Great Tyrant. Remember your mothers, your fathers, your sisters, and your brothers. Remember all those who have loved you and remained close to your heart. For it is that love that has seen us through the darkness of this world. It is that love that has been a light. See that light. Feel its heat. Now become that light. For it is now we who must banish the darkness for those who have done the same for us, and by everything that I am, every thread of my being, I swear that I will not fail! By the Everflame!” he roared.
“By the Everflame!” the others shouted in unison.
Whiteclaw turned to the statue, poised in the doorway.
“We are ready to continue.”
Into the Blinding White Light
Tomaton led the way up the staircase at a constant pace, never slowing, never stopping for a break, his violet eyes floating through the darkness. Hammer in hand, he moved forward, metal feet clinking against the rock. No one spoke. Speech was unnecessary and only distracting from the objective. Tomaton’s violet eyes lit the way, giving them a vague idea of what was in front of them. His clunking feet urged them on like the beat of a battle drum. They had been travelers, hunters, adventurers, and searchers, and now they prepared themselves to be warriors, unrelenting, efficient, hardened and invincible.
Whiteclaw had stirred something in them. Possibly something they didn’t know existed, something instinctual, primal, animal. Philosophers of the day might find it curious to see such anger born from a speech concerning love. Strange are the ways of the mind, and stranger is the fuel of emotion. Each one of them had found that ‘one thing’ during Whiteclaw’s speech, during that sobering moment that only times of true passion can evoke. That moment when a being reveals to itself the things that it already knows. That moment that we see, within the mirror of our souls, the reason that we choose to live each day. And we do, though we may forget, choose to live each day.
For Ben, that one thing was truth. He anguished in a world full of gray muddiness and confusion. He yearned for life to be black and white, once and for all, right and wrong. No more masks, no more compromising, simplicity and purity.
For Tomas it was peace. Not in the sense of a world without violence, but in the sense of personal serenity, stability, tranquility. No man can be a pacifist in a world that no longer affords him the quiet moments of his own mind.
For Whiteclaw, it was his son, his student, and the legacy he would leave to him. He could not leave this world knowing that he had allowed what is wrong to live on without fighting for what was right. He fought for change. He fought for the future.
Riverpaw was driven on by his desire to win the hearts of his Kingdom. Every bone in his body ached to show that he could be great. Showing them that he could protect them from danger. He would be a rock by which they could shelter themselves from any storm. He would be their champion.
Evercloud wanted the world. Most men did. But most wanted it for greed or power, reasons that were evil and base, reasons that were for the benefit of the individual and the detriment of all else. Not Evercloud. Evercloud wanted the world because he saw within in it light and beauty, and he wanted every other creature on this planet to see what he saw, feel what he felt. He wanted to show everyone that life and living were a gift and not a cruel tragedy. And he knew that he could be the one to show them the way.
It was these things that drove them up the staircase. It was these things that were moving them, so resolutely, onward. These things that were all that they were. These things that were their own definitions, the reason that they fought for every single life-giving breath they took. Their hearts. Their souls. Their Everflame.
They could see the end of the passageway, a flat circle of white light that grew larger and larger with each step forward. It was a light at the end of the tunnel, as if they were making their way into the arms
of salvation. The hot stagnant air of being enclosed in rock was now being replaced by crisp, fresh air. They moved ever closer to the light and the air became colder, slightly chilling. The silent passageway, once filled with only the sound of Tomaton’s plodding steps, now howled as the wind blew against the exit, like breath over a bottle top. They were only feet away from the exit now and could see that the last stairs leading out were covered with snow. They were now being hit in the face with flakes, gone maverick from the storm outside.
They emerged from the passageway into blinding whiteness, biting winds and a flurry of snow. They were upon the peak of the mountain or at least very close to it. Tomaton continued to trudge on, leading the party down a path that cut between two sheer rock walls, creating an alley. The alley was easily one hundred feet wide and the path was flat, as if some ancient architect had made it that way. Down the alley they walked, heads turned from the wind, doing all they could to shield themselves from the relentless elements.
Suddenly, Tomaton stopped walking and turned to face the travelers.
“Destroy the guardians,” he said.
Tomaton turned back along his path, and they watched him move forward, now noticing the gigantic statue before them. Easily thirty feet tall if not more, stood a statue of Tenturo the griffin. The statue looked over them with a noble, yet menacing, stare. His wings folded against his body and ears pointed back, he seemed as if he were about to pounce on them. The toes of his massive paws were as high as Evercloud’s waist. They stood in awe, wondering if the real Tenturo were just as big. He must be close now and if Tomaton’s words had been any indication, so were the guardians.
The group felt invincible at the feet of the statue. They would soon be in the presence of an ancient being, fighting alongside a mythical power, bent on defeating the darkness. They readied themselves to attack, adrenaline warming their bodies and spirits. They remained attentive and searched for Tomaton so they could follow his lead.
As they looked back upon him, however, they noticed that he had stopped at the foot of the great statue. Tomaton climbed up on one of the mammoth paws and cocked his arm back, raising the hammer just as he had done to uncover the passageway. He struck the statue and a gonging sound echoed over the mountain. A crack appeared upon the leg of the statue and Tomaton raised the hammer to deal another blow.
And then they heard it, high in the sky, a sound to dominate all sounds, the cries of a beast. But no ordinary beast could make this sound, only a terrible beast, a tortured beast. The cry came again, chilling their blood, locking their joints like a nightmare. Their eyes searched the sky and finally, they found them. Two black shapes glided through the blizzard above the travelers. They flew closer and closer, the party now able to see their gigantic black wings. Tomaton continued to pound at the statue, sending cracks all along the body, but the group could no longer watch Tomaton and his hammer, for behind them had landed the guardians.
Two horses, each as big as the statue of Tenturo, landed and closed wings that looked like they belonged to a giant raven. The black beasts released their terrible cries at the travelers. They dragged their hooves in the snow, dipping their heads, indicating they meant to charge. They shook their manes wildly and the group could now see that their necks were not covered in hair, like the creatures of the earth. Instead, they were covered with writhing serpents, like the fell things that only the blackness can know. One of the creatures reared upon its hind legs and blew a jet of fire high into the air. These beasts were created to bring death.
“Retreat behind the statue!” yelled Whiteclaw, and the party ran through the snow, the guardians charging behind them.
They ducked behind the statue as a jet of flame narrowly missed Ben. Tomas spun and unleashed an arrow at one of the beasts. It flew through the air and met the guardian directly in the throat. The arrow lodged itself deep in the hide of the beast, but caused no effect.
“The juice!” called Ben, the wind howling as if trying to silence him. “Put the tip of your arrow in the juice!”
Ben took the vial out of his pocket and emptied some of the contents onto the tip of Tomas’ arrow. Tomas spun, ready to release the arrow into one of the beasts, but they were gone. Suddenly, a cry came behind them and the guardians landed on the side of the statue where the group had taken cover. One of the creatures kicked Riverpaw, sending him flying into the rock wall. Tomas wheeled himself around and unleashed his arrow, burying it deep into the flesh of one of the guardians’ chest. The great thing reeled and fell to the ground. In shock, the other guardian took off, disappearing into the sky. The wounded beast lay upon its side, unmoving, yet still breathing.
“It’s not finished!” said Ben. He poured the rest of the vial onto one of his blades and ran at the beast. He climbed upon the creature, aiming to get at its head. Giant serpents struck at Ben as he walked upon the beast. Swinging his blades, he cut them down before they reached their mark. Ben reached the head and the beast’s black eye stared at him.
“Tell your maker, the Ancients shall return.”
Ben plunged his blade into the creature’s eye, all the way to the hilt. The great beast shook and Ben was thrown from it, into the snow. They watched as its massive body convulsed and slowly disintegrated into the air, leaving no trace of its existence.
Evercloud ran to Riverpaw who was just pulling himself back up. Riverpaw was all right, with the exception of cuts and bruises.
“Where did the other one go?” he asked.
“Don’t know,” said Evercloud. “But I’m sure it won’t be gone long.”
They returned to the rest of the group, keeping their eyes to the sky. Tomaton continued to pound away at the statue, which was now cracked over its entirety.
“What is Tomaton doing?” asked Tomas.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Whiteclaw. “We don’t have time to guess why he destroys that statue and it doesn’t seem as though Tenturo is coming. That thing will be back soon and we have to be ready for it. Tomas, your arrow worked beautifully. Evercloud, pour a bit of your vial over his arrow. We should be able to wait for the creature under the cover of this statue until it returns and decides to land.”
A cry came from the sky. The second guardian reappeared and flew high above their heads, shrieking in anger. However, the creature would not land. They waited and waited and all the time, the shrieks never came closer.
“The blasted thing won’t land,” said Ben.
“Then we’ll have to bait it,” said Whiteclaw.
“Bait it?” said Tomas. “With what?”
Whiteclaw answered: “With me.”
“No!” yelled Riverpaw. “What are you saying?”
“Tomas,” said Whiteclaw, ignoring his son’s protests, “I’m going to walk out there, when that thing comes for me, release your arrow.”
“It’ll kill you!” cried Riverpaw. “You can’t! Let me go instead!”
Whiteclaw walked over to his son and pressed his forehead against his son’s. “Everything will be all right. I must do this.” Whiteclaw backed away from a stunned Riverpaw and walked out into the snow, alone. Instantly, the guardian took the bait. The beast shrieked in the sky and dove at Whiteclaw, blasting fire from its evil maw. Whiteclaw looked into the sky and whispered at the beast. “Come for your death.”
The guardian came closer and closer to him, falling like a meteor from the sky.
“Shoot it!” Riverpaw screamed at Tomas.
“It’s not close enough. The arrow won’t reach it.”
“It’ll kill him! Do it! Shoot it!”
The creature was almost upon Whiteclaw now and he raised himself up on his hind legs to meet it and roared: “COME FOR YOUR DEATH!”
“NOOO!”
Tomas released his arrow and it sped toward the guardian as the beast descended upon Whiteclaw. All eyes were upon the arrow as it flew to meet its mark, as if they were willing it to stay true. The arrow met the beast in the throat and it fell, crashing down upon Whitecl
aw.
“FATHER!” screamed Riverpaw as he ran out to him.
Evercloud poured the rest of the vial upon his golden claw and sprinted out toward the beast as it lay paralyzed on top of his uncle. He reached it and slashed at its throat as tears stung his eyes. Over and over, he sent his blades tearing through the creature’s flesh. He raged in the agony of loss until the guardian disappeared to join its twin in the nothingness.
Riverpaw bent down and looked at his father. “You’re going to be all right,” he said. “You are.”
“You,” said Whiteclaw, licking his son’s face, “are going to be just fine.” And with that, Whiteclaw’s eye grew still and he passed, forever into the blinding white light.
The Gift of The Wind
The wind had stopped. The snow had stopped as well and only the last few flakes were left hanging in the cold air like the seeds of a dandelion, looking for a new home. But there was no refuge on the mountain and there were no words either, no touch, no sight, no smell, nothing. All was loss. They knelt around the body of Whiteclaw, wondering how the world leaves us so quickly, so finally. Kneeling there, staring at him, it seemed as though they had died in his place, even as they drew in one shallow breath after another.
Something nudged Riverpaw from behind, but he paid it no mind. His muscles weren’t feeling up to turning his body around, to see something that most likely didn’t matter.
“Who was he?” asked a softly rumbling voice.
“His name was Whiteclaw,” Riverpaw said almost inaudibly. “He was my father.”
“The memory of Whiteclaw shall live as long as my own,” said the voice. “For I am forever in his debt as I am, also, to the four of you.”
Finally, the weary heads of the travelers turned to see where these words of kindness came from. The sun broke through the clouds as their heads turned, giving warmth to their chilled expressions. Their eyes adjusted to the light and then they saw the very thing for which they had been searching. Before them stood the Ancient, Tenturo, master of the wind, the great griffin. The Ancient arched his sprawling back and opened his silver tipped wings as the last pieces of rock fell from his body.
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