A river sneaked its way through the land, creating a trail to the Dejewla Sea. Snow white and midnight black swans floated on the mirror of water as the river widened, their young trailing impatiently but obediently behind. At night when they slept, they could hear the lullaby of the river, gently soothing the young and hushing the beasts of the night. In daylight, when they continued, the river blocked their path, but offered passage across on slippery, moss covered gray stones. Silver streaks shot past them and they could hear laughter and shouting on the playful breeze. A clump of birch trees by the water's edge hid shy deer who peeked out at the strangers in their lands, their white tails standing straight up. Further ahead, a herd of wild white horses startled, pranced for a minute in acknowledgement, then galloped off into the distance, kicking up a cloud of dust as they passed. When at last the cloud cleared, a great black badger with a brilliant white stripe across its back glared angrily after the white horses, annoyed at being woken at such an early hour. On a hill, a huge yellow lion looked down at the land, then trudged back down the other side, ignoring everything in its wake. The five gasped and stared, but the beasts of Wiltieders feared nothing at all.
Starman walked in awe, gazing at the vibrant lights and sounds and intoxicating colors of Wiltieders. “I did not know such a land as this existed,” he whispered.
“This is nothing,” Legone spoke kindly, “compared to mountains.”
Indeed, as the days passed, the shadow of the Afrd Mounts in the distance grew visible, and each morning as the fog drifted away, the reality of where they were headed grew more tangible. At night, when the sun reluctantly set, forcing its beams to remain in the air for as long as possible, the lights of the mountains would shine.
“Are those fireflies?” Starman asked, watching the golden lights twinkle into view once darkness took over the land.
“Nay,” Legone explained, “they are the Iaens of the Mounts that glow in the dark. There is one for each home and they shine upon the doorstep. Travelers carry them instead of lanterns, for their light is eternal. Most of them produce golden or white light. The white light carriers are rare, but mayhap you will see them where we are going.”
The warriors relaxed around Legone as they prepared for a night’s rest. Crinte, despite the enchantment of the land, continued to watch their surroundings. Marklus lay back, the flowers behind his head flinging themselves out of the way before he could crush them. Alaireia twisted petals into a crown and held it to the wind until it carried it on its waves into the twilight. Starman lay facing the mountains, watching the mysterious lights twinkle.
“Swift, where do you live?”
“Ranges beyond ranges,” Legone replied. “We are only in the shallows. It would take a great many days to reach the high peaks where I dwelt.”
“We will stay in the shallows,” Crinte confirmed. “The house of Srackt the Wise is not far from us now.”
“How come we haven’t seen anyone?” Marklus questioned. “With beauties such as this land possesses, how can any stay away?”
“Oh, but the land is full of inhabitants,” Legone explained. “They mostly keep to themselves and live in the great oak trees we cross now and then. Most prefer the mountains to the shallows, though.”
“I have seen travelers such as us.” Crinte surveyed the land. “To the north, a small group camps. I thought it best to avoid them. One may see Crons and Tiders travel across Mizine together, but questions will arise when all four people groups are seen together.”
They were silent again beneath the shadow of the great gray mountains.
The next day, ever so gently, the ground began to slope upwards. Now, slabs of rock jutted out of the grass and the wild flowers grew over them. Eventually, they had to use their hands to steady themselves as they continued upwards, and the balmy wind became even more pleasant as they wiped sweat from their faces. Around mid-afternoon, Crinte paused and turned. “Look.” He pointed from whence they had come.
Far below, they could see the bewitching meadows they had just journeyed through, which seemed tiny and insignificant in comparison to the colossal might of the Afrd Mounts. Marklus, as he looked down, could hear the spirit of the wind and trees far below and the voices of the beasts of Wiltieders. He almost opened his mouth to tell the others what they said, but thought better of it as their voices faded.
Crinte led them on, and as they rounded a large boulder, he remarked, “Ah, the road at last.”
Starman stretched his nose to the air and inhaled deeply. “What is that smell?”
Marklus pricked his ears. “And what is that sound?”
“Welcome,” said Legone, “to the Afrd Mounts.”
21
The Afrd Mounts
As the five climbed into the arms of the mountainside, they could see peaks towering far above them, reaching towards the heavens. In the distance, round stone huts perched precariously on high ledges, adorning the mountain peaks. Occasionally, Tiders and Crons appeared far off, winding their way through the crests. Rams bounded past them on their way to the heights, and a pool of water trickled by on its way to waterfall back to the shallows.
“I don’t understand,” Alaireia told Legone as she climbed beside him, “why you would leave a place such as this for the other side of the sea.”
“No, you wouldn’t understand,” Legone answered. “But if you had lived here all your life and were curious for more, you might.”
The mountain path led steeply uphill and sharply curved in places, as if it could not make up its mind which way to go.
“How far away are we now?” Starman called as he trailed behind, turning round and round so that his eyes could capture every glimpse of the behemoth mountain he walked upon.
“Nightfall should bring us to our destination,” Crinte answered from ahead. He glanced behind, noticing the others were quite a distance behind him. “Or morning, at this pace.”
“I hear voices singing,” Marklus remarked. “Sometimes near, sometimes just out of earshot. They are rich and ethereal, not like the way we sing, loud and boisterous.”
“There are many wild creatures that haunt the mountains. You have unique ears and can hear them better than us.” Legone looked at Marklus admiringly.
“They have gone higher.” Marklus looked up into the clouds. “I hear only echoes now.” Finding his heart beating in anticipation, he continued to gaze upwards, unaware of the path his feet trod until his foot struck a loose rock and he tripped. A rattle of stones jiggled under his feet, and for a moment, his toes struggled to grip a solid piece of ground. In vain, he fell on the path, his arms swinging widely. Everyone paused and looked at Marklus as he sheepishly picked himself off the ground, brushing dirt and loose gravel from his clothes and hands. Alaireia clasped her hands over her mouth but was unable to stop the ripple of laughter that burst out. Her shoulders shook in merriment as she pointed at Marklus. “You might want to watch where you’re going next time!” she choked out. “The voices of the mountains will take you away with them!”
Starman began to laugh as well, stopping to hold his side as he found himself winded from the climb up the mountain. Legone crossed his arms but even a smile of amusement appeared on his lips.
“Oh Marklus…” Crinte began, but a movement in the air above them caught his eyes. He looked up at the mountain ledge and two purple eyes stared questioningly, almost angrily, back into his.
“What is it?” Marklus asked as Crinte paused, happy to deflect attention from his mishap.
Crinte searched the mountainside again, but the eyes had disappeared into the shadows. “They know we are here,” he said, reminders of his one weakness throbbing. “Let’s keep moving.” He walked forward again, down the curving path and away to the right. Marklus followed, his eyes watching his footfalls closely. Legone ran a hand over his blue tipped arrows but he did not draw one. Alaireia, laughing no more, looked back at Starman. He grinned at her, and for a moment she hoped he could forget his sorrows.
Crinte studied the white creature, its wings slowly beating as if it did not need to hold itself up. Light shone out of its naked body, blinding those who dared stare too long at its glory. “We go to the house of Srackt.”
“Come, I will guide you.” The orb floated down the path. “You are not far from whom you seek.”
As night deepened, the five could tell they were certainly not alone. Yellow and white orbs drifted past them, guiding sometimes unseen travelers to journey’s end. Carnivores slinked past them, on their way to find amusing nocturnal activities. It was not until the wolves started howling that the mountains seemed unfriendly, and the five sensed how pleasant a stone hut on a ledge would be. Their pace quickened as much as possible in the darkness, but the light led them straight and true. Despite the light, Crinte turned his night vision back on to watch the heights above them. Every now and then, he spotted the purple eyes. Heart in his throat, he continued to move forward as his memories reminded him of the last time he had walked the Mounts. They were just as terrifying as they were intoxicatingly beautiful. He preferred a nemesis he could see and fight, rather than the shadows of creatures that felt they owned the land.
At last they walked upon broad steps that led upwards to a round hut, perched on a ledge, and as they climbed the winding staircase, a sweet rain began to fall, clearing all hostility from the night air. Lights danced around the hut, which looked as if it were carved into the mountain. Its sides were curved to buffet the wind, forcing it to go around instead of becoming hooked on sharp corners. A door without a latch hid within the rounded turrets of the hut, and when the five landed on the doorstep, the orb bowed. “Here is the house of Srackt.” It flitted away before Crinte had time to thank it.
He turned instead in the light rain and lifted his fist to knock at the solid sandstone door. It cracked open before his hand could touch it, and warm yellow light streamed out, clearly highlighting his face to the tall Cron beyond the door. A bearded face peered out at them and a deep voice chuckled. “Crinte, I was wondering when you would appear. Come in, come in.”
The door opened wider to reveal the beaming face of a much older Cron. His thick head of hair and beard were speckled with silver and gray. There were crinkles and wrinkles around the lines of his nut-brown eyes and rosy round cheeks. His figure was stout and he wore a deep brown jerkin and sandals on his feet. He laughed as the five trailed out the rain, and the deep, throaty sound of it made them feel at home. In a rounded corner of the room, a fire burned merrily in the hearth while a kettle sang over it, white steam pouring from the spout. A round table with six chairs around it sat near the fire, but a great cushioned chair was closer. On the other side of the room, fruits and vegetables hung from the rafters along with smoked meats and an odd collection of furs. Here and there was space for invisible doors, and in one place, a ladder led upwards, disappearing into the sky.
“Welcome to my home in the Mounts,” the Cron was saying.
It was Legone the Swift who narrowed his eyes. “Srackt the Wise,” he said coolly. “Is this what you call yourself these days?”
The Cron’s receptive face did not change. “Legone the Swift, is this how you would greet an old friend? Ah, but no time for words tonight. You all must be tired from your climb.” He shut the latch-less door, which blended back into the wall, and walked over to the fire. Pulling the kettle from the heat, he poured its contents into five mugs sitting on the table. “Take these,” he gave one to each of the warriors, “and rest.” He waved his large hand and a door slid open. He ushered the five inside and the door slid shut once more.
The bedroom was white with curtains hiding each bed. As the five began to remove their weapons and sip the warm liquid, they felt the tiredness and ache of the journey lift from their bones. They fell into feather soft beds, and right before their eyelids closed, they heard the music of the night. Voices lifted in song tumbled through the chimney and permeated the house, filling every nook and cranny. They sang in a language of old, songs of celebration, songs of sorrow, songs of beauty and of nature, songs of war, songs of peace.
When at last their songs became mixed with dreams, the sweet rain ceased falling and the five slept. Starman had never dreamed before. When he slept, his mind slept as well. Now, the vivid colors were both exciting and terrifying. He felt his pulse quicken at times, then slow again as he found himself traveling and exploring, two things he never associated with himself. But as he went, he found himself enjoying the strange and exciting events until at last he found his family, safe from harm and well in spirit. With that thought, he began to hope.
Marklus rested, but even in his dreams he could hear the voices singing, lulling him to a deeper slumber. Yet when he opened his dream eyes, he found himself looking at what seemed to be a black tower, rising out of the ground. Around it, fog or smoke drifted, hiding its watching eyes from him, and him from it. He wondered, as he stared at it, if he should be afraid to face what was inside. But it seemed much had already happened, and his soul was too tired to fear anymore.
Alaireia tossed uneasily, flipping over to hug another pillow in her sleep. Dreams were omens, symbols of things yet to come, and what she saw did not make her very happy. She was standing on a ledge, and around her there was a terrible heat. The air was thick and foul, causing her eyes to water. In spite of that, she did not appear to be leaving at all. In fact, she pulled out her Clyear and held it to the light. She whispered to it gently and then, in the most unexpected gesture, she turned and handed it to the person standing beside her. She could hear herself giving it away, telling the person to take it, and the thought of ever giving the Clyear away made her feel cold.
In his dream, Legone did not think he had anything left to lose; he assumed the quest to the Great Water Hole would take his life. But as he lay on the ground, hiding from his oppressors, a thought struck him and he realized there was a way for him to win. He lifted the object he held in his hand and blew hard, and he saw the smoking canyon open and swallow him whole.
Happiest of all was Crinte as he slept in the house of Srackt the Wise. The following purple eyes had faded from his mind and left him adrift, closing his mind to what could be. He dreamt he stood at the edge of a pool. Behind him, a green forest lay thick and hazy. Before him, he could see cliffs, and a stream pooled into a river leading upwards into them. As he looked, he realized it laid out his path for him, so he followed it to a winding passageway, guiding his way into the bluffs.
22
Srackt The Wise
A beautiful sunrise graced the mountainside and dew shone like crystals everywhere it lay. As the sun reached out to capture the dew, it shone like mirrors in its brilliance, and all those who saw it counted themselves lucky. A rainbow dared to glimmer for a moment, offering its colors to the sunlight before dissolving from whence it had come.
The five awoke to the flavors of fresh herbed bread and the sizzle of pork wafting through the walls. Refreshed, they dressed eagerly and found their way back to the main room. Sunlight streamed in from high windows and a thin male crouched by the fire, slowly turning the meat. He did not bother to acknowledge the five as they filed into the room. Crinte felt a vague cloud pass over his eyes as he glanced at the unknown figure, but it faded as soon as his gaze drifted away. The front door stood open and the tall Cron who had bade them enter stood in the doorframe as he did every day, basking in the glory of the mountain sunrise. He turned as they filed into the room. “Ah.” He closed the door.
Crinte moved to his side. “Srackt, please let me introduce my companions. You know of Legone the Swift.” Legone crossed his arms. “This is Marklus the He
aler from Zikeland. I have told you much about him.” The Cron reached out his large hand and shook Marklus’ firmly. “Alaireia the Lightfoot from Srinka in the Forests of the Ezincks, and Stamen the Trazame, called Starman, from Trazamy City.” The Cron shook hands with each of them and his dark eyes dared to twinkle.
“Welcome, friends of Crinte the Wise. I am called Srackt the Wise. You must have dark stories for my ear. Come, we will eat and discuss.”
“You are the name changer,” Legone remarked coldly. “And none other than Crinte’s father.”
Srackt looked questioningly at Legone as he pulled out a long pipe. “True. I am sorry the words I last spoke offended you, but I am not sorry I spoke them. I am curious to hear about your time across the sea. I fear my words have come true after all.”
Legone scowled but did not speak another word.
“Now,” Srackt said when at last they were seated around the table and enjoying a warm meal, served by the strange, thin male. “Tell me why you have come.”
Crinte looked questioningly from Srackt to the man sitting beside him, eating ravenously but avoiding eye contact with everyone.
Srackt, following Crinte’s gaze, waved his hand nonchalantly, brushing Crinte’s concerns away.
“As you know,” Crinte started, “the turned ones from the other side began invading our lands some time ago, stirring up fear and forcing us to take up arms. But they don’t appear to be concerned about destroying our lands. They aren’t raiding and pillaging. They come. They kill. They leave. I believe they are scouts, exploring the layout of our land, seeking out our weak spots, and seeing how much resistance they meet. Once they have gathered enough information, they will all come to conquer us, a war we are unprepared for. Legone, who has been to the northern side of the sea, knows there is a darker power leading this onslaught. The only way for us to stop this war, once and for all, is to take out their leader. I propose to go to the Great Water Hole, their base, and accomplish this feat. I take with me the best warriors in Mizine. Legone will serve as our guide; he has been to the other side before. Marklus will serve as our Healer. I cannot pretend we will not have close calls, especially in their territory. Alaireia carries the Clyear of Power, which is handy for getting out of a tight spot, and Starman wields the sword with a skill no one else can boast of. I know the journey will not be easy, but as we go we call armies to our sides and take the war to the Great Water Hole. My hope had been for Ackhor the Cron to unite the armies of Mizine and lead them across the sea to fight with us. As you know, he once served under King Arden of Norc in the land of Cromomany. As a gift, King Arden granted him the fortress and the lands beyond it where we based the Eka Fighting Camp, to recruit and train warriors to fight with us. Through our secretive efforts, with Alaireia serving as messenger, we inspired Crons and Tiders across Mizine to join us. Ackhor believes the army we raise must stay behind to defend Mizine. I say we attack before our enemy becomes too strong. Srackt, I ask for your help in uniting the armies of Mizine and bringing them across the sea to fight with us as we take our stand at the Great Water Hole.”
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 16