Into the Raging Mountains Read online

  Soon, a black rock sat in the farmyard, exactly the same as the one Ilion had found in the hallway that had enclosed a living Alizarin in perpetual death. The donkey’s hooves stomped and he snorted twice. The black obsidian capsule vanished.

  Theress is gone, thought Ilion. Praises to the Light!

  *

  Theress is gone, thought Rethendrel. Lost. My whole life, my reason.

  *

  With an air of simple grace, unconcerned with any others in the yard, the little gray donkey walked back to its post by the doorway to the butcher shed and lay down again, nonplussed, chewing on a scraggly and bent weed that had wedged its way under the barn and grown tall and strong in an unwelcoming place.

  *

  Silence settled over the yard. It was a peaceful scene, except for the wounded man lying blood-soaked on the tufts of grass in the middle of the yard. Even he did not disturb the quiet for quite a while.

  “Samton?”

  “Samton? Are you there?” Rethendrel’s weak voice came again, insisting.

  “Samton?”

  Ilion's arm flicked a gesture of gathering.

  Rethendrel watched his blood seep into the dirt of his family's farm, dazed and troubled. Then he asked again, his voice floating in the dark, “Samton, what happened?” Ilion could hear the effort it took the dying man to even form the words. He barely heard Rethendrel's question: “What happened to my wife?”

  From the butcher shed doorway, the tiny donkey looked at the injured man, disinterested, as if his words were incomprehensible, chewing the remains of the stray weed, eyes half-closed against the coming of nightfall's rest. Almost, an observer would have believed that this was just a regular beast of burden. Except for the fact that the warmth of his stall lay in the other building, the animal barn. Yet there the peaceful creature sat, calmly by the doorway to the butcher shed, unmoving. His long gray ears flicked each time his name was called, but he did not go to the side of the injured man, his traveling companion for cycles, his caretaker. With a stunning apathy, Samton's jaw moved only to nibble a bit more of the few weeds that persisted at the edge of the barn door.

  Ilion watched it all, very afraid.

  What is this creature's weakness? What can I do to defeat it? It was quite obvious that the beast called Samton wanted Alizarin to complete her assigned sacrifice. And, probably he had some terrible way to enforce it. Should I attempt to sneak by the guardian?

  Rethendrel continued to call to Samton, as if mercy were a part of the animal's being. So lost in his own misery the bereft man could see no other way to live than to seek comprehension of his terrible loss.

  Rethendrel's shoulder and back wounds began to putrefy from the poison in the bird-beast's claws. As the deep wounds ripened and began to stink, Rethendrel's mind became more and more delusional, rambling in partial sentences, staring at the far away daystars.

  Ilion had seen what that same poison had done to the second priest of Kira. Now that he knew the monster which had inflicted both sets of wounds, he knew also that physical healing would not be enough. Only the cleansing, healing, and binding that the topaz light brought was sufficient to stop the death sentence those claws carried. And the yellow stone was lost to them, cast somewhere in the farmyard by the kitchen door. Even Alizarin is lost to me now.

  Rethendrel still didn't know anything about Ilion, although perhaps that was to the benefit of all concerned.

  Then, Alizarin sat up.

  Rather dramatically and with glassy eyes, clear of all lucid, rational thought, struggling for balance, she moved as a puppet to its strings. Gaining her feet, she did not look for him or even at her dying friend. Instead, she laid her head again down on the rough-hewn stump meant to butcher farm animals for consumption. Samton did not twitch a muscle. It was clear to Ilion that the nightmare beast compelled her.

  Her movements were jerky, uncoordinated and ragged, yet for all that, it appeared she was being forced again to cut her own throat. Although the means of manipulation were not evident, Ilion could only assume that Samton had gained control of the actions of the puppeteer. Even from his view, Ilion could clearly see that Alizarin's hand held a dagger. It rose slowly in the dim night air, as she fought to deny the pressure to move.

  “Trizzanen!” Ilion called out.

  The creature's eyes widened. With a snort, his mouth opened in startle and disgust.

  “Who calls me?” came the booming voice Ilion had first heard back at the inn under nightfall's cover. “Who calls me by name?”

  “Trizzanen, I forbid this!” There was no other choice. Death was already standing in front of him. I choose this! Ilion's heartfire burned.

  “Who speaks? Who calls me?” The best stomped his hooves, ears pivoting in all directions searching for a sign or clue of the new presence. Anger, intense and madly focused made the beast's terrible voice a yowl and a command at the same time.

  Ilion held his calm, but just barely.

  With a sweeping gaze and a defiant snort the creature of nightfall demanded, “How do you know my name, fool? And why do you think to control me? Have you no fear?”

  “Trizzanen, she is mine! I forbid this!” Ilion's voice sounded as a trump on a clear, crisp snow-filled morning.

  From where Ilion stood he could see Alizarin's eyes regain their clarity and look around, even as the rest of her body was still held spellbound.

  Just to see how far he could push his luck, Ilion added, “There will be no sacrifice this nightfall! Go to your stall and sleep!”

  As unwilling as Alizarin had been to be led to sacrifice, the beast was twice as stubborn and fought the compulsion linked to his name. Straining against the given command, the little donkey dug in one foot and pushed forward with the others, battling the directions that the creature was by his very nature forced to follow.

  As the donkey moved away from the doorway, Ilion slipped in. Grabbing Alizarin, he threw her over his shoulder. This time I won't put her down. Not for anything or anyone! Lifting her and adjusting her weight across his arms and back, he shifted a bit until it felt comfortable. Turning to leave the wretched building, he could hear Alizarin's breath, coupled with sobs. “Shh, shh, don't cry, Baker! We are almost free. Don't cry. It's over.”

  Then his foot caught on Rethendrel's outstretched hand.

  Shifting his balance to hold onto her, the staff fell out of Ilion's grasp. Landing on the ground it rolled slightly coming to a rest within a few steps of his current position. He didn't even have to look up to know that the little, gray beast of burden had been freed of its compulsion. He couldn't bear to look.

  Even now the malice filled thing came barreling back at him, clearly visible in the coming nightfall's starglow. Ilion had but a moment to breathe and the monster was upon him, charging, knocking him to the ground. Alizarin's body bounced as she landed, a sickening sound. Ilion landed beside her, his head hitting the ground hard. Stars filled his vision, and he felt a sinking sickness, spiraling into oblivion.

  Ilion fought it off. Shaking his head, he refused to succumb to the pull of unconsciousness. Struggling to rise to his feet, Ilion was easily knocked down again with only a slight push.

  The bared teeth of one very angry donkey filled his entire vision. Imperiously, the booming voice came again: “Who are you, fool? I ask you again, how did you know my name?”

  Every terror Ilion had ever experienced filled him all at once. There was no kind death here, just savage, terrifying, soul-ripping darkness. My inevitable death.

  From the ground just beyond his reach, Rethendrel interrupted, “Samton? Samton is that you? Are you there? I don't understand. What happened? Where is Theress?” Rethendrel's ramblings went on and on. Pity was hard to give, but Alizarin's friend did merit it in spades.

  Ilion evaded the answer to the beast's demand, as it was the only power left to him. “I am no one.” he answered as viscous drool fell onto his cheek and eyelid from the frothing mouth. “As you know, I am no one at all.”
>
  An unearthly bellow echoed off of the empty buildings. “Liar! No one commands me! No one knows my name! You do. I will know who you are!”

  Ilion's bent arms just barely supported his back as he scrambled to get away from the snapping teeth. It wasn't much, but still he fought to escape the doom that breathed on his very skin. Ilion pushed back again, digging the hard packed earth into his wrists. One hand accidentally grabbed a part of Alizarin's skirt, then the other fell onto her leg. That was the only moment of success he was allowed. Horribly, one monstrous hoof lowered itself down onto Ilion's chest, pushing him down into the unyielding ground. There was no way to breathe and his lungs hungered for air. Even the slightest bit more pressure and his ribs would collapse.

  “How do you know me? Answer the question, speck!” the creature’s voice thundered around him.

  Ilion looked up into the blackened pools of Trizzanen's eyes and did not blink. Only in frustrating the powerful beast did he gain any moments at all with which to think

  “Impudence! Well, death has called for you as well this day. Though in no particularly elaborate form. Crushing your ribs into the ground will be sufficient for me. However you learned my name it will not save you now.”

  Suddenly with a snort and a bellow, Samton danced away from trapped Ilion for a moment, startled. Ilion did not understand at first. Then he saw: half-lucid Rethendrel had grabbed the terrible beast's underbelly and cut upwards with his pouch knife. Ilion was amazed but grateful.

  The minor wound was a mere distraction to the creature.Samton snorted once more and without pause, stomped down on Rethendrel's head, crushing it instantly, without remorse or regret.

  The creature was pure hatred and it turned again with bared teeth, prepared to do the same thing to Ilion. Ilion had sat up slightly but had not regained his feet or his staff. In one hand the defeated man held his paring knife, almost certainly useless against this creature's vim and bile. The other rested on Alizarin's thigh, touching a tremendous scar.

  The beast advanced.

  Ilion gathered in, focused his need and prayed.

  Time did not slow its advance; neither did the beast.

  From his mouth, without his prior knowledge, came words of power, “Back to the seven hells of Drogos with you, Trizzanen!”

  Another door in his mind opened, to strange knowledge, to new wisdom. An oddly warm sensation trembled through his body, arcing from his head to his feet and then residing in his palms.

  Suddenly, actual fire bloomed from his hands. It flowed from Alizarin's thigh. From the center of the terrible scar, a red hot ember that had been quenched lit again. Struggling its way to the surface, it came burning out, leaving a blackened hole. Her body arched itself against the tremendous pain, an instinctual response even when spellbound. Pulsating with blinding power, it floated to the top of her skin and practically leapt into his hand. An immortal flame!

  Recognition lit in the terrible beast's eyes. Too late, the donkey-cloaked, nightmare creature saw its own doom.

  Ilion dropped the knife and all pretense of weakness. Something had happened. Something glorious!

  Then, Trizzanen burned. Consumed with the directed heat, the penetrating power of the cutting light, the monster was pierced through and through. Its foulness vanished in ragged clumps until all that was left of the fearsome, blackened creature was a small lump of coal formed at the center of its abysmal heart. Dull and pitch-black, it lay there on the ground, the only remnant of the ferocious being.

  Ilion was stunned by the power that had coursed through him, and grateful for his life. He had felt the hate and power of the creature, and known fear. He had seen the beast casually kill Rethendrel, and listened to it at the inn and traveling behind the cart. He reflected a moment on the loss of an entire family to the fell beasts.

  As sadness filled the empty places in his heart, the blazing fire of the gemstone dimmed and faded. Slowly, the light radiating from the center of the ruby withdrew until it looked to be nothing more than a beautiful stone that winked occasionally with the reflection of starglow.

  Only then did he see her agony. Alizarin lay writhing on her side, almost without words from the intensity of the pain of the gaping burned hole in her leg. Ilion knew what he had to do. He found his feet and he ran.

  He ran, away from her pain, away from her need which he could not fill. Running to the farmyard, he stood in the center. With a calmness he did not feel, he held his hand open, turning slowly full circle, waiting.

  There! A glimmer of yellow answered the red.

  Scooping it up in his hand, Ilion ran back to Alizarin's side, where she lay screaming from the excruciating pain, clutching at the gruesome hole past the bone.

  Gently Ilion placed the stone in her clenched hand. Blazing yellow light burst from her hand and radiated across her arched body. It was as if the sun had risen in the pitch of nightfall in the midst of depravity, in the middle of the barnyard. The light filled the wound, binding the flesh, erasing the damage. As it encased her in a yellow cocoon of sunbeam, the terrible burnt skin on her leg, shrunk, knit, and repaired.

  Then slowly the circle of the gemstone's light faded, dimming in radiance until Alizarin's palm again held a simple topaz stone.

  Like two goofy toddlers, they looked at each other, in shock and wonder and incomprehensible joy. Relief. Looking for the first time at one another, as if they were finally, truly seen. Alizarin, freshly relieved of devastating pain, healed of all injuries, smiled a true smile.

  Ilion fell on the ground next to her, laughing so hard it hurt. He could not speak for gratitude. They watched the distant stars while their hands touched. Finally, he exclaimed, “What a quiet and beautiful nightfall it is, Baker!”

  She could only nod, so out of breath from laughing.

  They lay on the battlefield, gazing skyward, supremely happy to be alive, to have made it through. The world was a great and glorious place filled with awesome and awful creatures. We survived! There was still so much to do.

  For a moment, though, Ilion and Alizarin just looked at each other.

  Then, the determined squall of a very mad, very forlorn, very much abandoned baby split the night's quiet.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Duty of Knowledge

  There was no trail. Mostly he moved through the nightfall-cloaked forest on guesswork. Assuming that he followed men as skilled as his father and uncle, Cethel made the most devious and subtle choices. And so, he kept their trail in sight, or more specifically, in hearing.

  It was not much different than following ghosts, his signposts being the barest crackle of a crushed leaf, the slightest bend and twang of a twig returning to its place, the general direction they traveled, and sometimes a low, guttural voice. Though unfamiliar, their language was distinctive. Considering they carried Laylada with them, they had no trouble keeping a steady pace. Then again, how heavy is a young girl for so many men? No doubt she weighed less than the game they usually hunted. Of his friend, he had no sign or sound.

  Because of their forest skill, Cethel was obliged to stay far, far back. He was always on the edge of losing the trail, always on the edge of getting caught by the superior hunters. Fluidly, the intruders traveled most of the breadth of the forest away from the village's borders. It was farther than Cethel had ever been, except last cycle's three-day trek.

  Then, he had gone with his father into the wilderness and had been left there, sleeping around a warm campfire. When he awoke in the morning, the fire was ashes and buried coals. The packs, the blankets, and the guidance of his wise parent were all gone. All he had then was his blanket, the clothes on his back and his knife.

  Four days later, Cethel had returned to his mother's kitchen, somewhat scrawnier than before but with an air of a man and not a child about him. It was capability under pressure, the hard won knowledge that survival alone was possible with all he had been taught. The boy had grown in ways hard to name but clear to see. His father had only nodded u
pon seeing him at the supper table and life went on for the forester clan. Cethel gained more respect around the home and was expected to accomplish more than ever before.

  Grateful for every skill his father had taught him, Cethel tracked dangerous men now. With darkness cocooned around him, his only guidance was the furtive sounds moving farther away. They were still for a moment, and then he followed. Still again, and he took a few more steps. He even thought enough to leave a pile of rocks or twigs every fifty steps or so. His father would find him with ease. His father would be proud.

  Soon, Cethel was to go on his first big hunt alone and had spent some time preparing for that event. He had expected to hunt a large animal, something fierce, something too large to carry home. He had gotten his wish, much to his regret. The young man hunted big prey now, and he knew for certain that they hunted him.

  *

  As stealthy as he was, the youth never noticed the occasional movements in the brush behind him, never saw the rustle of the piles of leaves nearest the ground. When he did listen for following signs behind him, there was only the stillness of the tiny forest prey, waiting the passing of the nightfall predators.That was why they were the Kings of the Hunt, and they would not lose their prey.

  *

  Her mouth tasted like death. Dry and nasty, some type of stink coated Laylada's tongue and lined the inside of her cheeks. She did not dare swallow. But she could not spit. The gag prevented that. She tried to open her eyes, but that proved impossible as well. Only her ears were unmuffled.

  Language flowed around her, but meant nothing. Low and guttural exclamations, harsh and brief, they were like no words she had ever seen or heard. Who are these people? What happened to me?

  Looking for Azure, searching the trees behind the berrybriers, that was the last thing she remembered. That, and hands grabbing her, pulling her down, impossibly, into the hard-packed dirt. Coming back to consciousness, carried on the shoulders of fast-moving men, she was now completely lost.