A Facet for the Gem (12 page)

Morlen watched the party gradually disperse, and glimpsed the scarred man whose eyes were on him again from afar. Wading chest-deep, the fellow seemed to give him the strangest look, one that felt almost familiar, though lost in some distant memory. Finally, diving down, the man vanished with all others, and the lake’s surface calmed once more.

Rematerializing one at a time in the quiet streets of Veldere, where most had closed their doors to the cold night, the liberated prisoners passed by one another inconspicuously with lifted spirits. Thoughts of bruising ropes and harsh lashes faded, and each of them stood marked by the shared memory of one who had cultivated hope in despair.

They would intermingle with the unsuspecting townspeople, find work in the same trades they’d practiced before, and continue their lives as best they could, though never fully healing. Feeling light and content, they went forward with such enthusiasm that the absence in their group went quite unnoticed. All had naturally assumed that each person going into the mystic doorway would choose the destination they were told.

They spread through the Eaglemasters’ capital, admiring its high stone towers and its many defenders who passed deftly overhead. And none of them stopped long enough to realize that the man whose face was scarred had never arrived.

Chapter Seven

The Crystal Blade in the Dark Mountains

D
ays passed far
too quickly in the Isle as Morlen wished for each to halt in motion, delaying the inevitable moment that no longer lay down the road, but at his feet. Now, it was an icy plunge from which he feared he might never surface.

As he stained his lips with the juice of an indigo apple, he began to wonder if this would be the last he ever tasted of the Isle’s fruit. Even if he had enough strength to make it back from the dark task ahead, would their sweetness be forever lost to him?

For a full year he’d called this place home, forgetting much of the cruelty that would soon try to choke him again as it had when he was younger. He had left that world behind, assuring himself in the passing months that he was able to face it once more. But first he must brave a place much worse, the place to which many before him had gone and turned back in shame.

Sensing his father, for the first time he did not welcome his presence, instead willing Matufinn to turn around, to go back, to leave him here for a little longer. But, coming into the meadow, Matufinn stood patiently as Morlen fidgeted under his watch.
Just one more day… one more hour… please
.

“Morlen,” Matufinn’s voice was hard, but not without sympathy, calling him out of safe ground, into the cold. “It is time.”

Morlen tried to hold this image in his mind, and after savoring it for a long breath, he cast it away completely, certain that if he recalled it on the path that beckoned, he would likely stumble. Getting up, he took the tied skins that held rations of food and water for his journey back, and they walked together down the lake’s pebbled bank, into the shallows.

Never having traveled through the lake’s doorway before, Morlen kept his eyes hungrily open when they dove in side by side. As they swam deeper, Matufinn’s hand gripped his arm, and a bright bubble suddenly rose in their path. It stretched into a wide nebula of light, and they propelled themselves closer while it curved around them, until they were no longer in water or any other substance. He saw distant reaches of terrain curve toward one another as though merely fabric through which he was a needle and thread, and drifted weightlessly, neither pulled nor pushed. Then, his feet stamped into barren earth, kicking up a thick cloud of dust.

He realized that they were far within the Dead Plains, seeing the Isle as a lean strip many miles behind. Marveling that they were both completely dry, he quickly strode to catch up with his father. And though he felt newfound exhilaration at being outside the shelter he’d grown so accustomed to, he could not shake the sense of doom that gripped him at the sight of the Dark Mountains, which towered a short space ahead. The air was frigid, and the first snows were likely to arrive any day now. But, there was something else: a different cold, worse than any other.

“High in these mountains stands the Crystal Blade,” said Matufinn, “the sword left for our people to claim, at the spot where Morthadus saw the rest of the Blessed Ones fall into darkness. This has been the tradition of our line since its start, signifying a young man’s rise beside his fathers. And now, on this day, you will take your place among us.”

Wondering aloud, Morlen asked, “Why here?”

His father smiled glumly. “To truly know the light, you must know the dark as well.”

Coming to a stop at the mountain base, Matufinn bade him to unstrap the rations he carried and set them on the ground. “Food and water will do you no good in there,” he said. “You must keep them here, for when you come out.”

Morlen’s heart sank at the idea of leaving behind the only sustenance for miles all around, and he tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere. “When did you first come to make the journey?” he asked.

Matufinn’s expression was solemn. “After my first battle with the shriekers, before I came to Korindelf,” he answered. “And after I failed the quest, your mother truly saw emptiness in me, upon our first meeting. And still, she saw fit to fill it.”

Then he withdrew a leather scabbard from within his cloak and handed it to Morlen. “This will have to do,” he said, “until Edrik can make one more suitable.”

As Morlen’s bones froze in the mountains’ shade, he tied the vacant sheath to the belt around his waist, unsure that it would ever meet the weapon for which it was intended.

“Remember, Morlen—with each step you take, you draw closer to an abyss that consumes all. You must be stronger in mind and heart than in body. None who went before you, not even I, were able to endure long enough to reach the Crystal Blade. He will lie to you. His power will turn your mind against yourself if you let it. And when your inner voice fails, His voice will prevail.”

“He?” Morlen asked, dreading the answer.

Matufinn cast reluctant eyes on the treacherous cliffs he and his forbears had walked, where even daylight was no guide. “The one who lurks in the shadows,” he said.

Fixed to the unfurling path that was imprinted with the footsteps of stronger men than he, Morlen said, “No one ever came back the same from this, did they?”

Matufinn fought hard not to show his apprehension. Shakily, he answered, “No one.”

Morlen took a step closer to the mountains, pulled by a force that would not easily let him leave. Slowly, he looked at Matufinn again. “I am ready, Father.”

Matufinn nodded. “Good.” And, able to say no more, he turned quickly, fingernails stabbing into the palms of his hands. Morlen watched him shrink amid the abandoned wasteland, and then faced the trail that called out to him now, its slope so wickedly inviting.

He held still for many long minutes, the sun’s heat barely a tickle on the back of his neck. The Dark Mountains loomed over him, steeped in a silence that could drown out the shrillest screams. With a mere pace between himself and ground where even the foulest insects dared not tread, he reached out with his mind to grasp all light that shone brightly behind. The light held him, begging him not to leave, not to go forward where there was none.

He stepped across, touching one boot heel down upon rock, then the other, and the cold immediately impaled him as he gasped for air, though each breath stung worse than the last. Suddenly the sunlight was dimmed by an invisible field that seemed to hover above this place, shining only on the world that felt so far away now.

As his hands scraped against the jagged outcroppings, a familiar flash of gold danced behind his eyes—not like the bright auras he had come to sense in the Isle, but something artificial. He strained to remember its source, and thought perhaps it could be a trick played upon him by the malevolent energy that lingered here.

Knowing he must strengthen himself against such threats, as his father had warned, he tried to cling to the many nurturing entities he’d left behind, summoning their collective radiance to light his path. But they were too far away, mere flickers now behind a sludge in which his sight quickly became mired, unable to break through. And finally, he understood he was alone.

But, what brought the most despair was not the unfathomable distance between himself and the prize. Rather it was the question that if somehow his mind and heart stayed intact through the journey in, would he have the strength to make his way back out? Or, would he be too weak? Would he be too nestled in the dark to even remember the light, falling limp with the Crystal Blade in his cold hands?

No. No, he must go on. Though his spirit might soon be spent, it had fire yet. Wrapping the cloak against his body, though it provided little warmth, he forged ahead over rocks so cold that they burned.

As he climbed through the meandering terrain, he felt he was being slowly choked by hands that crept unseen. Remember… he must remember. He had risen up from the shame of his old life and become something, when all had thought him nothing. But, truly, had he attained any greater knowledge, or tapped into the dormant reservoir of potential his father had been compelling him to unearth? Perhaps none existed for him. No… it did… he had always known of its presence, and had begun to see it more clearly in recent months.

Air was scarce now, and each labored breath coated his lungs with another layer of chilled poison. Standing in the murk of his own undoing, all he could do was move knowing it brought him closer to the vacuum that might shatter and absorb him. He must go on… He could not return to his father empty-handed and set out to face their enemies weak, as he had been upon fleeing them. They had watched a mere boy escape into the Isle; would they see a stranger emerge from it now? Or, would they recognize him clearly as the same fearful child?

The cold scorched his skin as he pushed higher, making his bones feel hollower with each step. How far had the others gone before turning back? How much did they withstand before their drive to go on simply broke? He suspected that his might begin to fracture before long.

Overwhelming isolation became a cascade of tar that weighed him down. His mind was a capsized boat in a sea of shadow, bobbing helplessly, sinking. Only silence remained, in which all experiences of growth and joy he’d ever had were laid out one by one like leaves, insignificant and brittle as they scattered away, leaving him empty.

And then, he heard it.

“Hello.”

It sounded so friendly, giving him the only comfort he’d felt after what seemed an endless age in this place. He waited, praying he hadn’t simply imagined it, though hope had all but gone.

Then, suddenly, it spoke again. “You think that you are lost.”

Yes, there was no question about it. He knew that he was.

“But,” the voice continued, “how can you be lost, when I have found you?”

Excitement began to stir him as he pressed on sluggishly through the mountains. “Can you hear me?” he asked sheepishly. Quiet was all that followed, and he feared the voice had gone.

But then, out of nowhere, it returned. “We are together.”

He swelled with relief, certain that if he were to be left alone again after sensing another presence in this desolate place, it would destroy him. Keeping calm now, he climbed, listening intently for it to speak. And, when it did, he welcomed it more than he would the sun.

“I am here.” The voice sounded young, and it was aching with the same pain this place inflicted upon him. “You will always be with me,” it reassured, like a companion traveling with him while he braved the steepening cliffs. “You have been here long… but not as long as I.”

Long? How long had it been? Hours? Days? How much longer could his mind last as his body deteriorated?

“I can help you. I can make you strong, though you are weak… weak…”

The bolt of gold struck behind his eyes again, and he started to remember. Strong… something that could make him strong.

“You could be so powerful. Come with me. Not far now. Come closer, and you will see.”

“Where are you?” he called hoarsely, scaling the rocks like a blind man whose other senses had perished as well. But, there was no answer, stranding him in a deathly panic as he trudged higher. “Please!” he begged. “Please don’t leave me!”

Rocks gave way beneath his ill-placed feet when he clawed upward, forcing him to cling for dear life onto white-hot needles. Gasping uncontrollably, he pulled himself up with arms in spasm, finally writhing onto a ledge like a slug.

And then, so quietly, it returned. “I am coming.”

As he lay face-down in a cloud of dust made by his own wild panting, elation from hearing the voice soon overrode exhaustion, causing his legs to slowly spring to life. He stood shakily and looked around in all directions, though visibility was scarce. Coming from where?

There was nothing. No refuge, no aid, no end to this ordeal except for the path behind him. But then, something strange caught his eye: the faintest gleam, almost a sparkle, up high in the distance, like a single star in a dead galaxy. Could it? No, it couldn’t be. His father hadn’t mentioned seeing it even from afar.

“I am here,” the voice repeated, louder now, luring his mind away from the mysterious object that was quickly veiled as he marched on. The cold was so thick, like quicksand latching onto him. He wanted to rest so badly. But, were he to bed down anywhere on this unnatural ground, he feared he wouldn’t wake.

“Others have come before you, and they knew me well. Soon, you will see the plan I have for you.” The voice was like a rope to embrace as he thrust himself farther up. Plan? Perhaps it knew the way to the Crystal Blade. And perhaps it could lead him back out again! He climbed as the blood retreated from his fingers, turning them to sharp ice. “Please,” he panted, “please… What is your name? Where are you?”

“I am here,” the voice repeated. “You will come to know me well. Closer… you must come closer.”

The cold was upon him worse than ever, and he soon realized it was no longer coming externally, but from within. “I…” he muttered, “I… want… to be with you.” The slope forced him to flatten his body and crawl slowly upward. He ripped through a thousand hungry mouths and cried out, wishing for the agony to simply end him.

“I am the only way,” the voice returned. “Follow me, and you will be spared.”

He knew it was his one lifeline, and that he must cling to it, no matter what. But, how far away did it lead, and what would meet him on the other end? Hours seemed to pass with each eviscerating slither up the mountainside, its unseen heights mocking his feeble gains.

“Please,” he called out to the voice’s hidden source, “please help me.” He was weak… so weak. He was lower now than in the years he’d spent crouching in weeds to escape boyish scuffles. He was nothing.

Moving inches at a time, he was sprawled out limply like a corpse, and suddenly he could no longer hold back the tears that encrusted his eyelids with ice. He had no conviction with which to make them cease… no enlightened outlook that could overcome them… nothing. He was still as hopeless as he’d ever been.

But then, he began to remember: buried… something buried… gold. Yes! That was it! He remembered now. It waited to be unearthed, to make him strong, because he was weak. He could use it to change himself. Why did he even bother to keep climbing? What prize existed that could possibly be greater than the one he’d left behind?