Chapter 3
Darion woke with a jolt and raised himself on bruised elbows. He tried to stand cautiously however his aching joints refused to stretch, ceased like an old motor. He crumbled to a crouch and rubbed his temples with his knuckles an exquisite pain stabbing through his skull. His head felt as if it had been crushed between two bricks and the throbbing became so strong he thought his brain was about to leak from his ears. His swollen tongue stuck to his palate as he closed his eyes tight and placed his head in his hands, hoping to squeeze the pain out through his forehead.
Like a light switching off the migraine ceased and Darion fell onto his back in relief, the headache exhausting him. Minutes or hours passed before he could raise his head and his muddled thoughts began to take form. He shuddered at the images of the monster in the room he so narrowly escaped. He slowly regained clarity of thought and replayed the last moments in the museum in his mind. His belief was absolute. He knew without doubt he had followed the old man through the painting and into a wormhole or some type of vortex that spirited him to a new world. What he knew to be impossible fantasy only hours before he now knew as fact. Supernatural forces did exist in the world and he could now attest to this as a witness. He did not try and rationalise it further, which was unlike him. He knew his survival depended upon him accepting unreal circumstances as fact. He had been transported to another place, most likely another planet, called Salnikov. This was the sum total of his knowledge and it was very likely it was no where near enough to survive.
His next conclusion disturbed him more. The painting clearly was his mode of transport and this was undoubtedly destroyed in the fire which, leaving him with two possible scenarios. One. He would not be going back the same way as he came and secondly unless he could find Isaac and the old man, he was not going back at all.
He scanned his new environment looking for Isaac and could not find any sign of his friend. He had little doubt Isaac, being the selfish beast he was, would ensure he was well organised before beginning any search of his own. Logic dictated to Darion that if they both went through the painting at the same time, then he also must be on Salnikov somewhere.
Now fully coherent Darion assessed his surrounds in more detail. He was perched on a rocky shelf wrapping him on all sides. The roof was honeycombed with a vein of hundreds of various sized holes allowing the sunlight to shine through the cave. The rocks around him were not the limestone type he expected to find in a natural cave, rather a sedimentary type piled in places and scattered in others. He picked up a smaller rock and turned it over and over in his hand. The face was smooth and symmetrical, the rounded edges suggesting it had been machined, a blueish tinge on the surface suggesting it may contain some trace metal. He dropped the rock that landed with a hollow thud and sidled his way along the shelf until he had to stoop and crawl tenuously towards the largest of the holes. He stuck his head through the gap and could scarcely believe his eyes. He was perched on the side of a large cliff, thousands of feet above the ground. He stretched his neck further and could see the face of the outside wall looking as balanced and smooth as the rocks inside the cave. He looked up and followed the cliff face that stretched a few hundred feet further and seemed to taper so he could not guess its true height. Below him the wall flared out to a conical base looking like huge upside down mixing bowl.
His eyes were drawn to the foundation of the mountain, surrounded by a moat of grass with paddocks radiating towards a forest several miles in the distance that seemed to encircle the mountain. Beyond the forest, Darion could see the line of a mountain range with a single peak reaching high above the others, a white capped witches’ hat reflecting the sun across a deep green valley. Further still he could see past the peak and in the vast distance another line of mountains covered in a haze of dirty white greeting a deep blue grey sky.
Darion tried to remember where he had seen this country before and it quickly became obvious. It was the old man’s painting. The colours and hues looked exactly like those in the picture, however the aspect was quite different. The painting showed a ground level view of a creek or river and here he was on the brink of the edifice looking down. The old man called the place, ‘Salnikov’ and he had landed in a mountain on Salnikov somewhere.
As beautiful as the view was, his dilemma was unchanged. He was perched on the side of a mountain and without growing wings he was going to have to find an exit either up or down on the outside of the cave. He picked up a pebble he thought again resembled a machined ball bearing rather than a stone, and leant a little further out of his hole. With a measured hesitation he let the marble roll out of his hand and watched it spin down the mountain, picking up speed until it disappeared quietly into the distance. With no foot holds or crevices to gain purchase and no path evident he decided there is no escape this way.
His returned his attention to the grotto and searched every recess in what he now saw was a much larger cave. He brushed his hands over the walls and floor and while the mountain was a natural object his alcove possessed an eveness like the rocks that could only be fashioned by tools and machines. Deeper in the cave each wall was symmetrical with a roof supported by sturdy and smooth pillars of rock. Life existed somewhere in this mountain and he became eager to meet the builders.
He examined the cave further and found huge stone benches cut into the walls with deep holes above each, the carbon shadows around them suggesting they may have once held lanterns. The walls and floor were covered in a red fine dust and the struggling light made the room looked unoccupied for many years.
‘Where there is a room there is a door.’ He said aloud as he felt across the face of the walls, this time with more care, as he searched for a lock or handle of sorts. The walls suddenly changed to a cold metallic texture and a few feet later became granular. He climbed onto some toppled rocks and stretched well above his head and eventually found a handle set back in the wall. With a little pressure it moved sideways, the entire wall opening on huge whispering hinges into a dim chamber only partially lit by the fast fading sun behind him.
He took a few steps into the dark and waited for his eyes to adjust further before he fully entered. As his sight improved he could see more detail. The walls were covered in enormous dusty relics hanging like trophies along each side. Huge swords, shields, maces and pointed spears lined the walls in their hundreds along with flat spatula objects as large as a man, with nodules of hard metal standing shoulder high against the walls. Most of the weapons appeared metallic. As Darion inspected them he could see they looked to be made of a tempered steel both strong and durable. Large granite boulders like canon balls were scattered across the floor. He could image the carnage one of the balls would cause if it were rolled down the mountain at would be assailants. They would be impossible to stop, the inertia gained from the drop crushing everything in its path.
He looked above him and saw a chandelier some fifty feet above his head, covering most of the roof. The setting sun reflected silver sprinkles of light off hundreds of glass teardrops hanging from golden tendrils spreading from its centre and lighting the roof and upper walls in arrows of white illuminating the room in a beautiful twilight.
Darion lightly touched a shield resting against the nearest wall and tried to turn it over. Without warning it toppled off its balance, almost crushing him as he jumped out of the way, its echo resounding off the walls in a deafening cacophony. He bent to study it closer and ran his fingers over the a smooth ovoid edge as long as he was tall, with two leather straps on the inside of the converse shell. It was covered in etchings forming a crest mirroring the mountain and ranges he saw earlier. A delicately carved forest surrounded a second, flat topped conical mountain as the centre piece and he assumed this mountain the same one he was in.
Such was the enormity of the swords and shields, he at first considered them to be nothing more than ornamental as the largest arms ever created would be unable to carry them however as he examined them mor
e closely he changed his mind.
The shield had welts and dents along its face, gouged into the metal. One sword was notched on each of its sides and some of the spears had the points completely broken off. He decided the weapons most definitely had been used for their practical purpose. Whomever held these weapons would be giants themselves. Darion surprised himself by accepting the fact there are, or were, giants. After all, why not, he thought. He had just seen the bogey man in the art gallery, he had been transported by means he could only describe as magical to a land he thought was likely another planet and now that planet was inhabited by giants. Quite logical.
He moved around the rest of the room and sensed, rather than saw, an opening at the opposite end of the hall. An oily odour crept into the room from that direction reminding him of a mechanical shed the smell both familiar and unpleasant. With no other paths evident, he decided to investigate the source of the smell.
He found a long smooth corridor with close walls and a roof dripping with a regular rhythm of water from an unknown height. The lights from the fading sun reached further along the corridor than he anticipated allowing him to move some distance before darkness became a problem. As he moved deeper into the mountain he felt a growing oppression from the millions of tons of rock he felt above his head and the air carrying a density he felt like a weight on his shoulders. Breathing became difficult. He could not see then end of the path and with little light he felt extremely uncomfortable. He needed to think of a better plan than to march into the unknown unprepared except for his wits which he knew were only the barest of protection at best.
He returned to the hall and with fresher air his judgement improved. There was simply no exit down the rock face so the corridor needed to be breached, however it would soon be too dark to see and even in full sunlight he could only travel a few hundred yards before the sun’s light failed him altogether. He had no lamp and certainly no matches.
He searched the larger trophy hall as he now called it, and found some walls partially collapsed either from a seismic activity or from warfare, closing the whole area in. He could imagine at some time the cave would have led to a very sizeable ledge that opened to the spectacular view of the mountains in the west.
He remember the notched shields and swords and hoped it was a natural event that shook the walls and not a war as he did not particularly wish to meet up with either protagonist.
As he searched for ideas, he noticed his hunger for the first time and added this to the long line of physical despair he would suffer without rapid relief. He also felt the waning sun giving way to an autumn chill suggesting a cold night ahead lengthening his inventory of threats to his life further.
With all the modern conveniences he took for granted for so long back home, he now realised he needed fire and he had no idea how to make it. The most primitive of Neanderthals could make fire but not him. He felt rather pathetic and even more so when he realised the sum total of all his out door adventures were a few weekends a year on his uncle’s farm and two bivouacs while in the school cadets. He was not even in the regular cadets but the brass band of all things.
He chuckled in a type of delirium only fatigue can create as he slowly continued his search of the trophy room. He found a cache of battle gear, most of which contained leather undershirts and jerkins and a sizable amount of splintered wood and no leaves, bark or any other material he could use as a starter for a fire.
He pulled one of the undershirts out of a corner and marvelled at its size. It could easily hold four men of his size with room to spare. He found a dagger, which for him was as large as a sword, and cut the shirt into shreds, rapped the cloth tightly around the blade and the rest he stuffed into his pockets and shirt front. He took some of the timber slivers and skewered them onto the blade.
He now had a sizable torch and a considerable stock of fuel, but still no way to ignite it. He sat down on his haunches and tapped the sides of his head rhythmically, trying to loosen free an idea that would help him make fire.
The idea first struck him as remote and fanciful and then it became far more plausible as he explored it further. Some of the shields had an ornamental quality, with glass and jewels embossed onto the surface. The jewels were beautiful and expertly crafted some convex and others concave and some solid tear drops of diamonds. He selected one and studied it closely and reasoned it could possibly double as an very effective magnifying glass.
While the sun had some heat left in it, he angled the glass so as to shine heaviest on the cloth then adjusted the angled and waited. Without tinder and a dying sun he had little scope for second chances when a brown ringlet appeared on the cloth and spread outwards in concentric circles until a small lick of fire sprouted from the cloth.
The fabric on the sword burst into a yellow and blue flame and began eating into the cloth and slivers of timber quickly. Without delay Darion set off down the corridor, hoping his journey would not take long as the first layers of cloth started peeling off in blackened sheets. He kept adding fresh shreds of cloth to the flame and jogged steadily along the path. Now he was deeper inside the mountain, he tried searching the walls and roof of the tunnel for some kind of access. The walls were smooth and as exquisitely constructed as the trophy room and appeared to form a solid tunnel with no openings on either side. The roof initially seemed to be far too high for him to reach or study but with the new light he could see it no more than thirty feet above him all of which reassured him that the cave had structure and he was not likely to fall into some kind of endless fissure. After about ten minutes of steady progress he came to a stop to re organise his lamp and to catch his breath. He knew from his running days at university that he had travelled maybe two miles from the entrance. He took stock of his fuel and determined he had enough pieces of shirt and wood left to last another thirty minutes, which would equate to a neat eight miles from the start.
He tried not to think of what would happen when the light extinguished although he felt confident he could negotiate his way back by touch from the even walls around him.
He travelled deeper and deeper into the cave and he could feel the breeze he first sensed back in the trophy room now noticeably stronger and while musty before, now quite pungent. Although repulsive the smell at least gave him a target of sorts to reach for, as it had to emanate from something or somewhere.
He set off again at a quick jog trying to get as far as he could while the light lasted, mindful also of conserving his quickly draining strength and careful not to lose too much moisture through sweat in his already dangerously depleted body. His mouth was now quite dry and his lips stuck together with a white paste. He could think of little else other than to find an end to the cave and locate some water.
He wedged the last of the fuel onto the dagger and held it high in the air. The smell in the cavern now so objectionable he was forced to throw up what little contents he had in his stomach. Even with a fresh torch he could only see only a few feet ahead and the real prospect of being left in total darkness spilt a wave of panic over him.
Without warning several things happened at once. Something struck the side of his head which pushed him against the nearest wall. A second blow, harder than the first, hit his shoulder and then another smacked into the back of his head sending him sprawling onto the ground, his lamp flying out of his hand. He felt something brushed his ear and sweep past him in a whoosh of thick air and landed dimly on the hilt of the sword he used as a lamp. A second followed and then a third. The whole cave seemed to come alive with flapping wings attached to a watermelons sized bodies, flying madly and slamming chaotically into the walls and Darion, tearing rents of skin each time they brushed him. He flailed his arms hopelessly above his head but did little to stem the tide of attacks. He felt blood trickling down his head as he started kicking and swinging arms madly trying to reach the dagger that still burnt fiercely with last of the fuel. He punted one of the creatures across the cavern and it cracked its
head on the cavern wall, dropping dead to the ground. He lifted his sword high and swung it helicopter fashion around his head, hitting two of the creatures across their beaks, dropping them to the cold stone floor. His relief was only temporary as two more quickly replaced the others in a frenzied attack. He barely had time to assess the ones he had just killed before he was overrun by the several more of the creatures flying down for the high cavern ceiling. He bent down over the body of one he had killed and quickly recognised the moth like shape although ten times greater in size than anything he had seen before. The creature’s red legs and wings were pointed with sharp ends, talon-like and each cut like a razor when they touched his skin. He quickly realised the mortal danger he was in if he kept getting struck and he needed to somehow escape. He decided to make a final run back the way he had come when another vicious blow almost knocked him out and the lamp again flew from his grip landing against a wall.
For a brief moment the lamp extinguished and he was left blind the darkness instantly smothering him, his eyes seeing only little darts of light the legacy of the lamp in his retina memory. The moths immediately ceased their frenzied attack and the cavern became quiet, the sound of the beating wings replaced by a cold nothingness.
Darion stared at where he thought the dead lamp lay and watched as a single spark fly briefly into the air and tumble turn across the cavern until it came to rest a few feet away. Immediately a line of fire erupted from the spark. In a split second he could see where the wall and floor of the cavern met, a gutter full of a black viscous liquid stretched into the grey distance, burning away from him like a fuse.
The canal of fire grew in speed until it disappeared around a bend. Darion could now see well enough to allow him to more easily avoid the giant moths whose attention was arrested away from him and toward the fire. He pushed himself to the opposite side of the corridor and saw a cloud of new moths entering the freshly lit cavern thinking no doubt lured to what they thought to be the sun.
He could see no purpose in trying to move further into the cave as even though he now had sufficient light, the frenzied moths still seemed too dangerous approach. He started moving back when he noticed for the first time the walls were not merely blank rock but covered in a mosaic of colours and drawings. He studied them with one eye while moth spotting with the other and now saw the wall as being a giant mural stretching along both walls as far as he could see. He gently touched the paintings running a soft hand across the wall the tactile sense as powerful as his any visual feelings. The brush work seemed as flawless as the works he had just seen destroyed in his own world’s gallery, the hues and textures, the mix of colours, the lines a perfect aesthetic piece each element of the work as significant as any other piece of the painting. Mile after mile of exquisite masterpieces, the composition creating a most extraordinary collage. Pictures of battle scenes mixed with those depicting family life. Men, women and children farming, stone masonry, sailors on rolling oceans, bakers, taverns, every aspect of human existence replicated on the walls. It may have told a story if read from end to end or simply the meanderings of an artistic mind, an ‘Ecole des Beaux-Arts’ as his teacher would describe art he thought belonged in that academy.
Darion pawed over the works trying to draw the life out of the art simply by runing his fingers over the walls. He wilted under the vastness, a mural only countless lifetimes of endeavour could complete.
As in the trophy room, Darion now knew the twelve feet plus human images were more than a metaphor or a poetic licence and in reality depicted the true size of the beings living (or had lived he reminded himself not having seen any brething examples) in these regions. From an artisitc perspective however, the absurd size did allow every sinew and muscle of these persons to be reported in minuscule detail in the paintings.
The creatures wore horned helmets like the gods of Asgard, their Valhalla the massive Mesa, the underlying image in all the works. The warriors were dressed in red, the traditional symbol of the martyr as they battled unseen foes. Try as he could, Darion could not see an enemy the giants fought only the results of failed battle. Dead men lay strewn across the battle field, with graphic features of limbless bodies and pools of blood spilling over the green of the paddocks. Scenes of destruction and charred land, streams of black smoke and ash filling the air and then in a compete antithesis the mural changed again to a more peaceful time of sunsets and children innocently at play.
He could have lost himself for hours in the land of the giants, but the putrid smell that initially drew him down the corridor he could sense was turning acrid now the oils were alight. He felt his breathing labour and a dizziness crept over him as his legs began to fell heavy.
He took a few further heavy steps along the tunnel when he heard a deep explosion thump through the cavern walls. Like a merecat he straightened to attention as he tried to guess what had happened. In an instant he realised the fire had found its source somewhere back down the path. He turned an broke into a full sprint down the cavern back towards the entrance, his lethargy gone as panic and adrenaline took over. He dragged his hand against one wall as he ran to ensure he kept a straight line and even at his best pace he could not hope to get back to the entrance for at least ten minutes even at his best pace and by then he thought it could well be too late. He quickly reasoned at least some of the fall out of the blast would need to go somewhere and since he appeared to be in a bottle neck he guessed that within a few minutes a sizeable fireball should be filling the cavern and undoubtedly cause him considerable death.
He ran harder through lactic acid filling legs and he could already feel warm air breezing past him as the fire pushed everything in front of it. Even the stench was warming and taking on an even more offensive taste causing him to gag as he ran. He rounded the last curve when something hit him hard from behind knocking him off his feet. He rolled to a crouch and watched as hundreds of moths sped past him their flapping wings drowning the rumbling of the advancing fireballr own wind. Darions marvelled at the survival skills of animals and their inate sense of danger driving their escape although much to his distress at a greater and likely successful speed. He reminded himself if he survived to find out why a collecive of moths are called a ‘whisper’ when clearly that was not the case.
He saw the bright oval of the entrance too far away and heard the maddening rumble of the fireball like rapidly boiling water closing behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the fire sweep around the last corner and bounce off the far wall in a wave of bloodshot and yellow.
He urged himself to his feet for a final dash as he felt the wave licking at his back. With a last effort he leapt through the entrance and rolled to one side, the blast a heartbeat behind him, shooting the full force of the fire into the trophy room.
Darion braced for the fire to fill the room but rather than splash against the western wall and bounce back on him, the fire blasted the side of the cave completely away in a shower of rock and heat. In only seconds the explosion ejaculated its energy out of the side of the mountain in a vent of lava and flame that ended as suddenly as it began, even the heat of the flames had spewed down the mountain, small wisps of smoke the only residual evidence anything had happened at all.
Darion lay on his back for a few minutes gasping air and finally recovered enough to sit and survey the damage. There was no sign of the moths who he assumed had either benn absorbed by the fire but more importantly there was no western wall at all. He brushed his singed hair out of his eyes and moved towards what was now a new window to the western world. Only moments before, small holes and cracks were the only openings out of the trophy room, and now there was a massive hole that gave an incredible panoramic vista of the entire region. The white tipped mountain on the horizon could now be clearly seen, and beyond the mountain a thin line of blue ocean.
As he looked west he felt an exhaustion he did not know possible. Now the euphoria and adrenaline of escaping a life threatening situati
on had passed, he felt completely spent and so thirsty and hungry he could not imagine surviving a night on this ledge. He shifted his attention from the view to the smouldering mess he sat in. All of the beautiful armory had been blasted out of the ledge leaving nothing except ashes and rubble. He bent and picked up the remains of a leather jerkin the torso shape remaining but the material fracturing in his hands and running through his fingers like black sand. He felt a pang of guilt twist his stomach as he knew his actions were responsible and a deep regret wedged itself in his mind. He always glorified art and now he destroyed it.
He took a deep breath of resignation as he turned and re entered the corridor. Light was no longer a problem as the remains of the fire ball provided quite enough for him to find his way safely. Fumes still filled the canal but now he thought them much less offensive giving him confidence a second attempt at the tunnel would prove easier.
He ambled along the path in a lethargy brought on by his emotional and physical exhaustion and the more he scanned the walls of the cavern the greater the breathtaking loss over came him of paintings where only minutes before spellbound him now were scorched and blackened beyond recognition. He continued down the tunnel and looked for any mural to have escaped the inferno and all he could see is brief dapples of colour meaningless without the rest of the art.
He buried his thoughts into a corner of his consciousness to explore at a later date, guilt being the last emotion he needed to experience at the moment as he continued trying to find an exit from the mountain.
He walked along the cavern for another half an hour until he saw a glow of brighter light dancing on the walls ahead. He turned the next corner and suddenly both walls dropped away and he found himself at the entrance of a room the size of a football field. An enormous crater smouldering with steam and smoke filled the centre of the room. He moved closer to the hole and covered his nose as the smell assaulted him. He gasped as he saw countless hundreds of body parts both large and small piled deep in the crater in a macabre funeral pyre. The carcasses look to have been there are an age and their decomposition leaving a pool of thick putrid tar. Darion could only hazard a guess but it looked as if nothing had disturbed the pyre since the bodies were interred.
He pondered the carnage in front of him and he could see some of the murals now makingsense to him. At some time there must have been a huge battle right here in this room and guaging from the numbers of oversized body parts he saw in the crater, it seemed the giants had come second. What concerned him more however was who and where the victors were. What could be powerful enough to destroy such vast creatures. He recalled some wisdom his father shared with him when he was growing up after he was bullied by the school punk and the words replaced the karate lessons he wanted.
“Son, always make sure you can run faster than the other fellow and don’t be afraid of the man with the scars all over his face, be afraid of the man that gave them to him.”
Whomever could destroy so many of these creatures would be very formidable themselves.
The shadows from the flames of the still burning rivers of tar jiggled over the roof and walls of the cavern and he suddenly understood why the pyre existed. Why not bury the fallen? Surely a soldier’s death should be more respectful, but how do you bury anything when the very floor you walk on is made of rock? He did not know why a proper cremation had not occurred long before, and why the dead were left to rot but burial was certainly not an option. He had more questions than answers although he started to feel some hope. The victor had to go somewhere. They could not get out the way he came so there must be an exit further along.
He walked around the fire and saw for the first time several doorways at the far end of the room. Two had stairs rising sharply with another three having stairs winding down into the mountain. He thought both logically and intuitively going down would lead out of the mountain’s base. The first door led to a path barely lit by the pyre and only a few feet in he found it blocked by rubble. He returned and tried the next with similar results. He did not try and think too far ahead but knew if all the doors were blocked he was short on alternatives.
The final path wove steeply down unimpeded, and he placed his hands against the walls to slow himself. He descended for around twenty feet when the stairs stopped and a path led into another tunnel this time only half blocked by a mound of debris. He stumbled over the broken rocks still warm from the fiery blast, the acrid air stinging his eyes causing him to blunder nose first into a solid wall.
He backed away with one hand held his nostrils the other running his fingers over the smooth granite surface of the wall and wondered why anyone would build a pathway to a dead end. He reasoned there must be an entrance somewhere. His senses became more muddled as each minute passed, his exhaustion robbing him of his normal abilities to make aconsidered decisions. He stepped back and sat leaning against the wall unsure of his next move. What seemed like only seconds later he woke with a start and for a few moments felt disorientated. He did not know how long he slept and the surrounds gave him no clue. He felt the dryness in his mouth one always has after a long sleep even though he felt as if he had only dozed. He did nothing else for the moment other than examine the problem of escape.
He began searching for rocks to stand on and made himself a solid series of steps. He thought if the whole matrix of tunnels were at one time inhabited by giants, then any door handle would have to be at giant height. He climbed his makeshift ladder and reached high above his head feeling his way across the face of the wall. He pushed his hand tentatively into a round opening in the rock and felt a handle. With one easy movement the handle twisted and the entire wall opened towards him, knocking him off his perch, and sending him sprawling on the floor.
He found he could breathe easier with fresh air streaming into the opening, making his hair blow back off his face. He peaked through the portal and saw it lead to another corridor this time well lit with lamps and torches along the walls to his left and right. His opening appeared to be one among many tunnels running perpendicular to this major pathway. To his left the path slopped gently down and to his right climbed equally gradually.
He felt strangely compelled to travel up, contrary to his good sense which demanded he head down and eventually outside. The urge to climb became so powerful he believed only by heading up would he find the answers he needed. He took another step into the main tunnel and his opening closed silently behind him, leaving no seams and no evidence it ever existed. He searched his pockets and found a coin and placed it against the spot where the door had been. He didn’t really know why he did it but he felt sure sometime in the future the door may prove useful to him.
With his choices made he began his assent and unlike moments earlier, this path was well worn from what seemed like heavy use and all about him appeared smooth and ordered. The roof reached high above him and out of reach for someone of his stature and the path was wide enough to walk at least fifteen men abreast.
He stopped suddenly certain he heard noises ahead. He listened carefully and he could hear two distinct voices moving in his direction, one loud and commanding and the other replying to the first in grunts and monosyllables.
Darion searched for somewhere to hide. He wanted to have a good look at the owners of the voices before announcing himself to a possible race of giant warriors. He frantically looked for a nook or recess in the smooth rock to spy the voices and could find none.
Quickly he turned and ran down the path gaining himself slightly more time to think. After putting some distance between him and the voices he began taking the torches off the wall and stamped on the flame extinguishing them and replacing the blackened stumps back in their holdings. After a few minutes he cleared a good dozen from the walls leaving a very dark portion of the corridor. He pressed against the wall welcoming the dark where only a short time ago he cursed it.
He crouched into as small a package as possible when two men rounded the curve and str
aight into the dimness.
The voices, which sounded impressive and huge a moment ago in the odd acoustics, exited mouths of quite a normal size, both men no taller than Darion and dressed in the same battle regalia he saw in the trophy room.
‘These blasted lamps have gone out,’ stated the more vociferous of the two unnecessarily. ‘I thought I told you to have the Canals checked regularly. The Night Of Celebration is upon us and things need to be in order. Is there any part of what I am saying that you find particularly difficult to fathom? If the canals to the Convecticle are not well lit at all times then I will hold you responsible. Do you understand me?’
The second and more taciturn man merely nodded and kept walking, counting the spaces where light should exist with a wagging finger. He continued to count ignoring the first man’s berating.
‘Have you listened to a word I have said? Perfection is required here sergeant. No-one will give me any quarter if there are mistakes and I give you none. I want the people to look upon this great city of theirs with pride, speaking in ever glowing terms of the magnitude that is Mesania and confirm for themselves their mastery over all the lands.’ The man was punctuating each sentence with a point of his figure towards the second man
‘There are visitors expected from south of the Silver Rapids and the Tower of Dragan and west to the great ocean’s shores and all will leave marked by the opulence and splendor of this city. Already the Sentinels have eyed long caravans on each of the West and East roads. Sergeant, some enthusiasm for the task, every minute detail is critical.’
The sergeant ignored his superiors posturing. It was common for this one to talk too much, his pompousness only further confirming what he had always thought of the highest strata of the military. Lots of noise but when it comes to the real work send in the Royal Guards. This one the men called ‘Blisters’ as he always seemed to appear when all the work was done.
The black blazonry of the Captain of the Guards made him almost invisible to Darion, giving him hope his own singed and tattered clothes may afford him the same camouflage. He pressed his back harder against the wall as the two men passed perilously close to his position without noticing him, the Captain in particular too busy with his oration to be distracted.
The sergeant however stopped and began looking curiously around the shadows while the Captain continued down the path, oblivious to the absence of his partner as he moved his lecture to the importance of nationalism when dealing with visitors.
After a minute he noticed his audience remaining behind and he swung around.
‘What the blazes are you doing man, keep up and you might learn something to take back to the barracks. I’m not speaking for my own benefit you know, merely trying to educate you low level brutes. Now out with it man, what are you doing?’
‘Sorry Cptn, but it seems to me a little strange so many lamps in one sector should all go out at once when we have passed hundreds in the last five sectors and have found no problems.’
The sergeant took a torch off the wall and began examining it in the feeble light.
Darion held his breath, if the sergeant re-lit the flame he would surely be discovered and he was not confident any story he could fabricate would be believed. He noticed for the first time the broad sword that hung on the sergeants back and did not want to see if he had a propensity to use it. The Captain’s impatience saved him.
‘For goodness sake man how many times do I have to tell you about the skills of delegation. This is not a job for you. Get one of the men to do it. You are the Sergeant at Arms of the greatest army on Salnikov. You do not dirty your hands with menial labour. You will never progress up the military ladder if you persist with this annoying hands on approach you have. The men will never respect you. Hard and harder that is how you rule, hard and harder.’ The Captain stood hands on hips as if admonishing a child.
‘Now after this inspection we will go to the barracks and you can order some men to come down and re-light the lamps. Simple. Make a decision an execute your commands. You will appear competent even if you are not.’
‘Yes Sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘But why would these lamps and only these ones all of a sudden go out, it makes no sense.’
The Captain let out an audible sigh and shook his head.
‘All right Sergeant here is a theory for you that should appease your appetite for the curious. Firstly answer me a question. How often are the lamps refilled?’
‘Weekly sir,’ said the Sergeant in a tone that bordered on the insolent.
‘And, do the people filling the lamps do so on some type of preset rotation so as to account for which have and which have not been filled?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘Then may I suggest that in this instance, because one whole segment is out, that these same people have missed filling these lamps as scheduled. A simple check of their log books and stores should find the right parchment recording this sort of thing and you will find I am right and the riddle is solved.’
‘As you say Cptn,’ replied the Sergeant wearily.
‘Music to my ears Sergeant, then all is well, make a note of the section and lets proceed.’
The two men marched down the corridor and Darion could hear the Captain’s lecture continue unabated until there was silence again.
He learned a great deal about where he was from the brief conversation. There was shortly to be a ceremony, in a city called Mesania, that he was apparently in the bowels of. Most importantly it seemed soon the city would be filled with thousands of visitors from surrounding regions which could allow him to pose as a visitor rather than as an trespasser at least until he could decide on a plan of action to firstly find Isaac and then the old man.
He walked up the path taking more confident strides now he knew his situation had improved from desperate to hopeless. The sergeant said ‘five sectors.’ Darion did not know how far that actually was but he did know it was within walking distance which was gratifying. The promise of food and water forced him forward because he was tired beyond belief, filthy and lonely.
After about twenty minutes of steady ascent he noticed the artificial lights in the tunnel fading and being overwhelmed by a more powerful, natural light from around the next bend. He stopped to tuck his shirt into his filthy pants and ran his fingers through his hair with one hand, and brushing the remainder of the dirt from his shirt and pants which only marginally improved his appearance. He marched purposefully so as to appear as if he was familiar with the surrounds.
The tunnel ended abruptly in what Darion could only describe as an enormous mall. It was still enclosed in rock but appeared to be lit and ventilated by giant flumes and shafts that drove straight up through the roof until they became tiny pinpricks of blue in the distance. So many shafts pocketed the roof they easily lit the entire area and it was only then Darion realised he must have slept far longer in the tunnel than he had thought as it appeared a new day had dawned while he slept. He stared at the roof and the mighty columns of light. Nothing like this existed on Earth and it further confirmed he was not part of some illusion conjured by the eccentric old man. He had left his planet.
The conversation in the tunnel told him there was a meeting place called the Convecticle and he thought this as good a place as any to start his search for Isaac. He walked boldly through the doorway and tried to look inconspicuous stopping as a throng of people rushed past him. Scores of people dressed in grey slacks and brown shirts tucked tightly into their belted pants commuted up and down the length of the mall disappearing in and out of the many corridors joining onto the main area. Shop vendors traded clothes of similar colours and design hanging on racks both in and outside their tents displaying a variety of sizes happily none matching the giant figures in his cave. In a scene not unlike a middle eastern bazaar hundreds of tents, banners and a variety of traders, were bartering loud and purposefully while preparing food and encouraging shoppers to inspect trinkets. Street performers fr
om painters to jugglers littered the many paths and open spaces and the smells of the hot strips of meat roasting in portable braziers made his parched mouth water. He had an overwhelming desire to grab a handful of the nameless foods and stuffing them in his mouth.
He noticed almost immediately the stares from the passers by. If he thought he could merely meld into the crowd he was greatly mistaken. He could not have looked more conspicuous if he ran naked and screaming through he mall.
His clothes proved to be a problem. Each person he saw wore the same banal fashion, the greys and browns blending them in to the colours of the mountain. As he looked more closely he noticed each right arm of the people were covered from wrist to elbow in different coloured amulets etched with waves of rings and curves, Some bright blue, others purple, and others dark greens or shining yellow. The design was the same for each, but numbers differed. The least numerous seemed to be people with black amulets who also wore black cowls and stood somewhat imperiously over the rest.
Ignoring the stares he received, Darion continued his march when he began observing what he thought to be a hierarchy of importance based on the colour of the amulets. The pale green and white invariably stood aside to allow those wearing yellow, blue, purple and black to pass. Similarly those in blue deferred to those in purple with the few wearing black allowed free range of movement, confident everyone else would stand aside.
Although initially appearing chaotic, Darion could see a rhythm in the movement of the crowd. Each commuter travelled at a good speed with not one body bouncing off another as is so common in crowds he is used to. As the superior colour approached, the lessor would make way and then resume the journey. He smiled to himself as he saw the logic to it all. The higher the colour, the higher the importance. By far the least numerous were the handful of black amuleted people both men an women strolling around the shops ignorant of those around them ducking a weab=ving out of their way. The greater proportion of the populace seemed to wear yellow, white and pale greens. The blacks would travel in any line they preferred and the others would defer to them.
His naked arm caused confusion to more than one passer by who did not seem to know if they should let him pass or walk past him. He quickly moved out of the maelstrom of people and into an alcove as he was creating a chaos of traffic. The collision of bodies he caused quickly sorted themselves out among some curses and threats he didn’t exactly understand although the inference was clear.
‘From where have you sojourned stranger?’ asked a voice next to Darion making him jump. He turned around sharply and was greeted by the smiling face of a young man no older than himself, who wore the vivid yellow arm band he saw in the mall. The man’s friendly grin disarming Darion immediately.
‘From a long way away friend,’ said Darion, keen not to speak too much too soon as he had no idea of what linguistic protocols existed here. He also did not want to create too elaborate a lie difficult to sustain. He decided to let the speaker do the asking of the questions for the moment and he would react as best he could. So far he gave away nothing about himself and it was most certainly true he indeed came from a long way away.
The young man chuckled, ‘That appears self evident judging by your exotic dress and bare arm. I pride myself on some particular skills in geography so do not be afraid to name a place as I know all the cities even if I have never visited them.’
Darion sensed he needed to take care, it was just his luck to have an expert question him but he thought he would take a gamble, after all, he had literally nothing to lose.
‘I would hardly call where I come from a city friend, more like a very small township two days journey past the great mountain.’
The young man’s eyes widened noticeably.
‘You have come from beyond the Ice Mountain?’ asked the young man. ‘You must tell me all there is to tell, as there would be adventure for any travelling that path. Tell me is the mountain really made of ice and so smooth you can see your reflection in its walls and do the great white bears number in the thousands and do the winged ones fly around the summit day and night looking for meals of young maidens and can you see the world from the peak?’
Darion could see his attempt at keeping to simple truths was impossible and unless he interrupted the young man he would have a hundred questions to answer and a hundred lies to remember.
‘Wait, wait,’ said Darion holding his hand up, ‘you have asked a mouthful and I would be happy to answer in full, but as you can see the road has not been kind to me and I am in great need of some food and drink before I perish right before your very eyes and you will have to go to the Ice Mountain yourself and wrestle with the bears for your answers.’
Darion felt proud of the way he managed to slip into the formal language of the young inquisitor.
‘Of course, how impolite, please let me provide for you and then perhaps you could honour me with some brief tales of your journey,’ said the young man still smiling. ‘My name is Le Bow and my family live not far from here in the Lesser Ships. Please come if you have some free moments, you are obviously here for the Ceremony, but if you have no other prior engagements we would be honoured with your presence in more salubrious surrounds.’
Darion knew he could tell a story as well as the next person but to a room full of people where each lie could unmask him as a fraud seemed particularly dangerous. At the very least he would be fed and rested before he was jailed, so he gratefully accepted.
‘I would be most pleased to accept and I hope my feeble life may be of some interest. My name is Darion and I don’t mind telling you Le Bow I am very eager to just sit somewhere quiet for a few minutes.’
Le Bow's smile widened and he jumped forward impelling Darion with him as he zigged and zagged through the crowd. Once out in the open, Darion could see Le Bow’s yellow amulet and he prepared himself for the now expected stoppages to allow the higher orders to pass. Le Bow however seemed oblivious to the conventions and ducked and weaved among the throng of people never once needing to stop. Darion could see the young man’s strategy. He would search ahead every few paces and ensure he took paths which would avoid contact with the higher orders. Darion found it difficult to keep up to the young man’s sharp reflexes as he bounded from left to right, in and out of corridors, the whole time making remarkable progress.
Within a few minutes they exited the mall and moved into a smaller, less congested side tunnel. The pair rushed along for a few more minutes and down several more tunnels, each smaller than its predecessor.
‘We’re almost there,’ called Le Bow over his shoulder at a puffing Darion. Le Bow stopped in front of a lamp similar to the ones Darion extinguished earlier and pushed gently against the adjoining wall. With little noise the door opened to reveal a well lit and comfortable looking room quite capable of holding a party of thirty. He motioned for Darion to enter and sit in a cushioned chair as he disappeared into an annexure.
Darion collapsed into the chair relieved to finally be sitting somewhere safe. With much clanging of plates and cutlery, Le Bow returned a few minutes later, arms filled with assorted breads and pies, and a pitcher of clear water. He deposited it all on a small table and stood smiling towards Darion.
‘The others do not appear to be here. Please have some refreshments and I will return presently.’
Le Bow left the room and Darion launched into the food and drink trying to restrain himself from gorging lest he become ill. He drained the pitcher of water immediately and felt instantly refreshed. The pies were a salty mixture of what tasted like beef but looked like chicken and smelled like lamb, but delicious none the less. Le Bow also provided several different types of cheeses and a fresh loaf of fruit bread all of which being far superior to the crumbs Darion expected he would find from the scrounging he had planned.
When he finished eating he sank back into the soft cushions and moments later fell asleep.
He woke gradually and found himself in a large
and comfortable bed, the blankets and sheets tucked closely about his shoulders, his head sunk low into the downy pillows. Still not fully awake, he thought his whole adventure to date was a dream.
‘Awake at last,’ said a pleasant and soft female voice from a chair in the corner.
‘You sleep like a fleeing villain who has found some unexpected sanctuary.’
Darion lay speechless as he watched a girl sit forward and examine him. She had an oval face and full red lips smiling at him compassionately. Her deep blue eyes pierced him and her long brown hair cascaded like a river over her tiny shoulders. Darion could not take his eyes off her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and part of his muteness came from the fact beautiful women, or women of any sort for that matter, rarely spoke to him and never in such a playful manner. It was moments like these that he wished that he looked and sounded like Isaac.
‘Who are you?’ he asked lamely.
‘Oh, it speaks,’ she said teasingly. ‘I was told you have bountiful stories to share from the outside world, but so far all I have heard are some snores and snuffles.’
Darion grinned and clumsily tried getting out of bed until a quick look under the covers showed an acute nakedness. The young woman giggled gaily at the look on Darion’s face.
‘Don’t worry, your clothes are safe. I just thought they needed cleaning as you seem to have brought most of the dust from your journey with you. You have very strange apparel where you come from Darion. I found it most difficult extracting you from your pants until I discovered what that long metal clip was for.’
Darion flushed a bright red.
‘Did you take my clothes?’ he asked sheepishly.
‘Why of course,’ she replied. ‘I will see if they are ready.’ She started to leave the room and when she reached the door looked back briefly.
‘I think I would like to see more of you Darion, if that is possible.’
She giggled as she threw him a sultry wink of her gorgeous eyes making Darion’s heart thump so hard he thought it would split his sternum.
He dropped his head back on the pillows and blew a long breath out of his mouth.
‘What just happened.’ He said out loud.
What seemed like an hour later, Le Bow’s head appeared around the corner and he entered carrying a bundle of folded clothes.
‘You’re awake, good. You slept the entire night away Darion. Your travels must have exhausted all your reserves. Here are your clothes, I took the liberty of relieving you of them while you slept. I hope you approve.’
‘You took my clothes?’ asked Darion comprehension slowly dawning on him.
‘I hope that was appropriate, I did not mean to offend.’
‘Not at all, I am very grateful for your help Le Bow, it is just that a young woman I met in here earlier told me she took them and I don’t mind telling you I felt more than a little embarrassed.’
‘Young girl you say, yes that would be correct, it was my sister Le Carra, she took a great interest in you the moment I mentioned our acquaintance. Ignore her Darion she is mischievous little sprite and quite manipulative if you let her be. She tends to like getting her own way and can become quite churlish if she doesn’t.’
‘I’d imagine she would get her own way often,’ said Darion.
Le Bow laughed again. It seemed to Darion that he was just about the happiest soul he had ever met.
‘Yes Darion, she has a certain way about her and can at times be annoying.’
Darion felt comfortable with Le Bow but was still guarded in what he needed to say to his new friend. Before he committed himself to some fanciful story he thought he would find some more answers.
‘Tell me Le Bow, my sense of time seems to have deserted me along with my clothes. Can you tell me when the ceremony will take place as I am supposed to meet a country man of mine and he too does not know the city? We have only heard rumour of this great city and have never travelled here before.’
Darion felt safe he would not cause too much suspicion from quite legitimate questions from a new arrival.
‘Why Darion, I would take you to the Convecticle myself of course. You are unlikely to know what position I hold in the city. For the next two months at least I, and others of my rank, have been engaged to intercept and entertain any newcomers to the city from the Peripheries. So you see, our meeting was not exactly accidental. I saw the confusion you caused in the markets and left to your means a major traffic flow problem would have ensued. As part of my charter I suppose I am meant to keep you out of trouble if that is not being too offensive?’
‘Not at all,’ said Darion with obvious relief in his voice. ‘Where I come from we also ensure things run smoothly during festivals and we use what we call ‘Police’ to keep the peace.’
‘Police,’ mused Le Bow. ‘That is an interesting term. Yes. I am a police for two months.’
He laughed out loud.
‘Get dressed friend Darion and I will show you some of the sights of this great city of Mesania and while you come from fanciful places yourself, I am certain you will find my city spectacular. But first, do you have accommodations?’
‘I am afraid not Le Bow, I hoped you would help me find some.’
‘Better still, you will stay with me. You still owe me some stories and besides I think my sister would insist.’ He gave Darion an elbow in the ribs causing him to blush from his neck to his cheeks.
The two men left Le Bow’s rooms and headed back to the market place where they again dodged and weaved through traffic until they reached an enormous spiral staircase winding in ever decreasing circles like a absurd molecule hundreds of feet into the roof of the mountain.
‘This is a most extraordinary construction,’ said Darion as he looked unhappily at the climb. ‘Your people are remarkable engineers.’
Le Bow furrowed his eyebrows. ‘But surely you know we did not build this. Your town must be far removed from the rest of the world to not know the teachings of the Jharnell, the Book Of Lore.’
Darion knew he was on unsteady ground. He kicked himself for not thinking clearly. He need only remember the giant trophy room to realise the original inhabitants were giants and not people of Le Bow’s species. Le Bow’s people somehow came to occupied the mountain and did not construct the city. He did his best to cover his mistake.
‘My people are simple farmers Le Bow and have no knowledge of anything except the seasons and when to plant and harvest. In fact I came to Mesania without the good wishes of my family. They think travel is a frivolous endeavour when the fields are in harvest.’
‘This is not good at all Darion. We must stop at once and find some empty chambers where I can at least give you a précis of Mesanian history. It is vital, of greatest paramounce. We will get bowls of fruits, breads and cheeses and you will listen in awe. I am afraid your tales are going to have to wait, your education must come first.’
Darion noticed his friend had stopped laughing obviously considering this a serious matter. He watched Le Bow scramble in and out of different recesses looking for a vacant one. He was quite literal in his desire to start immediately.
With Le Bow as his instructor and his farming alibi credible, Darion felt confident he could find out all he needed to know and thus begin his search for Isaac and the old man.
‘So what do you know?’ started Le Bow as he pulled a knife from a hidden scabbard and began cutting into what appeared to be a blue banana.
‘Not too much evidently,’ said Darion carefully. ‘Perhaps you should start at the beginning or give me the Jharnell to read while I am here.’
‘No, it is not that simple. The Seeress and the Blacks keep the Book to themselves and only by special audience will they permit you a viewing. They guard it jealously. We are all however educated at an early age as to its contents. It is a wonderful history Darion, our race was quite spectacular at one point,’ he dropped some banana into his mouth and kept ta
lking. ‘Today we have few enemies and none powerful enough to disturb us, so we grow fat and indolent, preferring to enjoy ceremonies and feasting in our idleness. But such is the destiny of victors. How though can we enjoy our victory when there are none left to challenge it. It seems a hollow supremacy. I sometimes yearn for the old days when men from all the Ships would prove themselves in battle and by doing so escape the boundaries of their birth rank.’
Le Bow became morose and contemplative but soon remembered his audience.
‘I am sorry Darion, I should not speak so, especially to a stranger. I should be grateful for my lot. I sometimes feel however I can do much more with my life. You see, I am born to the yellow rank of menial labourers and will never leave the Lesser Ships except for visits. I will die of this rank as will my children and their children’s children and there is nothing I can do to alter this fact. Even my sister, who I think you have noticed is of a singular beauty, the flower of the Lesser Ships, coveted by the higher orders, will marry within her rank and so the line is perpetuated. Only through honour in battle can we escape our place in the hierarchy. But I digress, let me speak of other things, some dark and others happy.’ Le Bow handed Darion a knife and an oval purple and green fruit he looked at suspiciously.
‘You marvelled at the Staircase and I too, even though I have seen it countless thousands of times, am still in awe at its magnitude. There is none other like it. An army of men could line the steps and still be able to travel freely along it with room at either end.
Le Bow took a deep breath and continued. ‘It was almost a thousand years ago to the day when we came to this part of the world. Great ships carrying hordes of my people alighted on the beaches of Salnikov and marched eastwards in search of new beginnings. We were a people in exile Darion, our lands ravaged and scoured by a nameless evil that still haunts the bravest man’s dreams. A single beast we give it no name, but you must know it. It is the enemy of all things who exist in freedom. A living horror of flame and fang, the destroyer of all and impossible to resist. Our greatest warriors were killed by the nightmare and the survivors were left to fend for ourselves. Farmers and bakers, shop stewards and tailors all mingling together and all bearing arms some for the first time in their lives. We fled the monster’s wrath and travelled across the oceans in search of a new home, where we could find peace and succour.
We disembarked from the ships and shouldered our meagre belongs and moved off the beach as quickly as possible still feeling the eyes of evil on us from afar. It was a long march and we did not know the way but in the distance we spied the Ice Mountain and always used it as a beacon of hope and a target for our focus. Days passed and many perished along the way. The aged and infirmed, the young and many of our women could not bear the hardships. Our exodus totalled one hundred thousand and we lost more than half along the way, their bones scattered to the winds as we could often not afford a stoppage for proper burial in our flight.
We found hostility everywhere we went. Although now Darion you live in fertile farming region to the West but back then the lands appeared barren and sterile and the beasts who roamed here we found different from our own and vicious beyond description. But always we headed to the Ice Mountain in the distance an omen of hope.
Eventually we reached the mountain’s feet and felt safe for a time until they came. Evil as terrible and foul as the one we fled from. Winged beasts Darion, horned heads and clawed feet sweeping down from the heights and dropping on our host. Some of my people were slaughtered where they stood and others were carried away for who knows what purpose. Horrors unimaginable. The people wailed, ‘why did we leave only to be slaughtered by flying nightmares in alien parts.’. Le Bow was now standing his hands clenched into fists.
‘But worse came. The snow bears joined the melee and killed more, tearing into their flesh where they lay. We were lost Darion. Lost. Our end inevitable, we faced extinction as a peoples. But then it happened. Out of the ashes of our defeat rose one man forever hailed as ‘Saviour’. He took up a great sword and rallied our people. He led us into battle and he fought like a thousand men. Darion, his sword hummed as it bit into our enemies. The Saviour rallied us and we answered his call. Our soldiers led the way but so too did our cobblers and our bakers and our masons. They all fought side by side. No Lesser or Greater Ships, no colours, no gender. Together we fought, for verily it was our future that was the prize. We are a proud people and slow to anger, but here we fought with all our power, led by the great Saviour and our enemies fled in terror at our wrath. It was the second greatest victory in our history and the day we came of age as a people.’
The whole story transfixed Darion. He watched tears stream down Le Bow’s cheeks, as he stood straight, proud and tall. The effect so powerful, Darion struggled with his own emotions.
‘After our victory we took counsel together. We had reached the Ice Mountain but could not remain in such a brutal environment, so we treated our wounded as best we could and continued east, looking for free land to settle. After a week’s march a forest appeared and we took care not to separate from each other. Somehow the canopy of trees calmed our fears and the trek became bearable. For days we meandered through the green sea nearly fifty thousand strong living off the plentiful fruits of the forest. We made crude but comfortable camps and for a time we felt safe again.
The Saviour led the way of course, always our champion, the reason we survived thus far, but one day we awoke with a terrible trepidation in our minds. The very air around us seemed to shimmer with the heat of our fear, striking down even the bravest of our people.
Again the Saviour whispered soft and strong words of encouragement and protection.
He pushed us onwards, past our fears, and eventually through the forest until finally we came to an enormous hollow. A hundred leagues across. A giant circle of clearing and in its middle the most beautiful sight in creation. The giant mesa you sit within. Granite slopes radiating light, shining like the sun’s rays, lighting the world in a cloud of silver. We were drawn towards it and to a desperate and despondent people it looked like a sanctuary of hope.
Our march continued until an urgency seemed to sting us to move quicker. Have you ever seen a crowd panic Darion? A stampede is more accurate. The gossamer bonds the Saviour wounds around us snapped in an instant. We fled in all directions, terrified beyond our senses of something we could not even see. The greater number of us ran swiftly towards the Mesa but not quick enough, for within seconds, out of the sky came our nightmare. It landed in a thunderclap and stood eyeing us with a macabre pleasure in its chilly smile freezing the blood in our veins and an aching in our bones.
It looked even greater than before, dwarfing us all. It shot a plume of smoke and fire in one direction incinerating a thousand men in an instant. It clawed at their burning remains and with its terrible cleaver sliced through many hundreds more.
Nothing could withstand Darion. The very ground it stood on crumbled and split in protest at having such a foul thing trespass upon it. And then he was there. The Saviour, who alone could resist the beast. They fought a mortal battle, the clash of sword and cleaver deafening. Whole trees toppled at every contact, clouds of black soot hung above them. For each deadly sweep of the giant cleaver, the Saviour parried with a strength and deftness infuriating the monster until it became uncontrollable with rage. It struck harder and harder each strike weakening our Saviour. Who could withstand such an onslaught? Two deadly strokes weilded by the beast almost cleaved our Saviour head to toe but again he managed to absorb the attack. His eyes filled with dismay and then to our eternal grief we saw him flee.
Women wept and men were screaming for him to return but in vain as the Saviour disappeared into the forest. In this instant we were defenceless and awaited our finality. Surely the beast would end us here as the prize for defeating our champion. But no. To our amazement it ignored us as if the slaughter and carnage were a mere prelude to the true battle. The beast followe
d the Saviour into the forest in a blaze of fire, setting trees alight with each footstep. Explosions slowly abating and disappearing into the west.
This was the last anyone heard of either of them Darion. Did he survive? Surely not, but if not then why did not the beast come back to finish us off and if the Saviour was victorious then why did he not return to our acclamation and worship? The enigmas of the day are still discussed with passion around tables in all the houses in all the Ships a thousand years after the event. My own opinion, as humble as it may be, is that they annihilated each other, dying at the end of the others weapons.’
Le Bow fell silent and sat down, his brow covered in sweat, the story taking a physical toll on him. Darion thought him lost in a type of prayer, if that is what these people, like his own, do in times of distress. After a few moments Le Bow seemed newly invigorated, his eyes shining bright in the half light of the room.
‘But I have yet to answer your earlier questions friend. Where did the Stairs come from? The beast left as did the Saviour and all around there was fire and confusion. A great portion of the forest had erupted into flame effectively blocking any retreat so forward we moved. The Mesa had a presence now holy to us, a spiritual aura calling. It looked to be a natural home with the inbuilt defence of its isolation. We were afraid and did not want to be afraid again. We saw security and a future only previously we could not imagine possible. As the beast left our physical environment the people felt a great lightness of heart and we rallied for each other. The roof of the Mesa was our goal. We sent out scouts to search for paths and they quickly returned with stories of great easements wending their way up and across the granite walls of the mesa, ever upwards until they disappeared into the clouds.
We were depleted Darion but still a formidable number and although exhausted, my people have an essence that cannot be quelled. Our resilience sustained us as we took our final steps to freedom. We climbed in great numbers and found little flora or fauna to inhibit us, the starkness of the cliffs curiously calming our fears because any enemies could not secrete themselves.
After hours we found a vast ledge that to this day has been lost in antiquity. We could stand hundreds of men on it and the vista towards our ancient homes in the West made some openly weep. Below the forest blazed and in the distance the bleakness of the Ice Mountain chilling our bones and on the horizon, glimmering many leagues away, the ocean, fare welling us forever.
The ledge sat on the side of an enormous cavern eating into the mountain. We struck many lamps and ventured inside exploring each corner. We marvelled at sights before us as the darkness fell away. Beautifully polished floors and walls, wonderful tapestries and art but all of an oversized nature. We knew we needed to meet the occupants and throw ourselves on their mercy and perhaps live in a peaceful co existence. We had nothing to offer them in return. Refugees from war torn parts exhausted, pitiful and desperate for a benevolent tenant.’
Le Bow was pacing the room, his hands and arms pointing and waving, his instruction now a soliloquy, forgetting Darion existed. ‘After only a short period our presence was detected. We heard huge horns tumultuously ringing and filling the caverns. Our emotions swung between fear and excitement. My people thought that surely these were horns of welcome. They could not have been more wrong. Within minutes the cavern filled with giant men. Huge forms carring axes, cleavers and swords. Horned caps covered their heads and they stood twice as high as our tallest warrior. Hundreds of them teemed into the cavern and began another slaughtering our people.
No one was exempt. Women, children and the aged all dispatched with cold indifference. No quarter was offered my people as their blood began to run in rivers. But unlike the evil that drove us from our homes and the evil that swooped from the mountains these creatures were men, oversize to be sure, but men nonetheless and men who could bleed. If they could bleed we knew we could battle them.
Le Bows focu returned and he locked eyes with Darion. ‘Darion, I have never heard of our people since in such a mood. It was as if all the injustices ever perpetrated against us, every murder and every injury needed to be avenged instantly. We took up our arms and defended ourselves. We fought as a great organism, thousands of people wielding their weapons in unison cutting down our enemy and cursing them as they fell.
We forced them back into the bowels of the mountain, driving them like cattle into the matrix of caves within. Finally there was a last stand of giant and man in a vast hall. The battle waged for hours with neither side calling for clemency. The floors filled with crimson blood and screams of despair and victory bellowed and bounced off the walls and still the fighting continued. Finally we threw down our weapons and our people looked around them. The creatures were utterly defeated. They lay in their hundreds bleeding and dead, an obscene mountain of flesh including many, many of our own.’ Le Bow released a deep breath and slumped into a chair.
Have you ever seen a battle field Darion? The tale is well remembered and accounted in our Lore and in the Jharnell particularly the scenes my people recalled of the field of victory. Brave men screamed as they entered their death throes, pleading to be killed to relieve their pain. Others died silently, their life leaking out of them and onto the hard stones. Some of the wounded could not be mended so great was the damage done to them and this was especially so with the giants with whom we had no knowledge to tend them. These we euthanised as we had no medicine and others less injured we treated with care and caution but ultimately they too died.
In our search of the thousands of bodies for survivors we found the greatest of losses. The son of our long dead queen, herself killed by the beast in our homelands, lay cold and still on the granite. He was the last of our royal lineage. Only a boy in his mid master years but with him went the last vestiges of our ruling line and it is how the blacks came to power curse them.’ Le Bow spat on the ground.
‘With heavy hearts we piled the bodies in great pyres and filled deep pits with these gross obscenities. Two great mounds of the enemy and an equally repugnant one of our own people. We could not bury them, how do you bury in stone and our future was still not assured. This may have only been the vanguard of a giant army. We could not cremate as we had little means of sustained fire. No, we could only make the cavern an eternal crypt for the dead. When all had settled and the mountain was ours we planned to send back masons to seal the crypt and artisans to paint the walls of the caverns in remembrance. What a mournful job that would be creating beauty amongst such devastation and rottenness. The tomb however was lost to us and to this day we have been unable to find a trace of it. So we left the dead with little ceremony and escaped the great hall through doors we found in the rocks.
A thousand years has passed and the land has been rocked by quake, flood and fire and many times reshaped by tectonic shifts and the cavern has never been found. Even within the last few days rumblings and explosions have been heard deep in the Mesa. We have often searched for the battlefield, to find the bones of our people and give them proper burial, but alas to date it has been fruitless.
So there you have some of our tragic and heroic history. You stand in awe of the magnitude of Mesania which was built by stronger hands than ours. We did not create merely conquer, an endeavour lauded in our history even by myself however there is a part of me ashamed of a victory where we annihilated another race, especially one holding such romanticism to me. Giants. Would it not be an adventure to meet a giant. Alas, genocide is nothing to be proud of.’
Darion guessed some of the story from the murals and the residue of the battle in the cavern. He did not know why, but he thought it best at this stage to remain silent about the caves. He knew he could find the entrance again if necessary and this knowledge may help him at a later date if he needed a quick exit strategy.
He was impressed with the intellect of the young man in front of him. Le Bow was a thinker and despite what he said about being part of a caste of menial labourers, as a man he did not appear t
o merely accept things as fact. He could see the defeat of the giants as necessary and could even defend the actions as self defence but still could see the demise of the giants, at the very least, was a horrific result.
‘It is a wonderful story,’ said Darion finally. ‘You tell it with skill and passion I thank you for sharing it with me.’
Darion bowed low to Le Bow and acknowledged to himself how easily he slipped into the mannerisms of the Mesanians, so much so, he thought the odd bow or two may make him even more credible. He was not prepared for Le Bow's response.
Le Bow took Darion’s hand and kissed it.
‘That is the greatest compliment that anyone can give. You either know our customs well or our races may not be dissimilar, even though we are separated by many leagues.’
‘As a friend once told me Le Bow, there are things called good manners and they are equally as important anywhere you travel.’
‘The friend is wise,’ said Le Bow.
Darion felt comfortable with Le Bow. Considering his circumstances he was fortunate to find the young man. He now had a guide and mentor in the customs and geography of the land who would be invaluable in the days to come as he tried to locate Isaac and find a way home.
“There are those who believe evil
only exists in others but if we all think
such then surely evil exists in the speake also”
Jharnell 3/523/526