A Facet for the Gem (13 page)

“You are so close, so very close,” the voice encouraged. At that, Morlen wiped his tears and continued upward, gingerly. “I will not be here forever.”

Was the voice’s source as lost as he was? Perhaps in so deep that it had become a part of this place? It sounded different now. Almost hungry, luring him.

“But you will.”

He stopped cold, clinging tightly to the cliff as though about to fall. What? No… he must have misheard. The wind pressed him into the rock wall as though to fossilize his misery. Still, his muscles pushed on despite being fed by a choked furnace as he stretched over ground that even the drifting moon had forsaken.

“I will show you.” The voice returned even fuller.

Show him what, how much farther he had to go? The journey back out already seemed insurmountable.

“I will show you,” it repeated, losing its gentleness, “what you must be.”

His skin stuck to the cliff with each grasp as he rose higher, coming free with a sickening suction every time he sought a new hold. There was something different now—a new danger—nearer than he realized.

“The darkness,” the voice whispered, though agonizingly loud in his head. “The darkness is so sweet.”

And suddenly, utter anguish enveloped him. He had brought it into himself, let it pull him up until he was completely vulnerable. He screamed in pain, the intruder’s influence pervading him. He drove himself to break through the bewilderment it cast upon him, and kept climbing though his extremities now felt only the slightest tingle.

“Your flesh has already begun to rot, and your soul swims in the darkness. And the darkness is so sweet.”

He was nothing… no one. He deserved to suffer and perish.

“Let the lights that guide each man along his own path be lost, for I am the only true path.”

Light… There was no light anymore. Not for him. The realization that he would never escape began to take hold, jelling around him like a putrid cocoon. Still, somehow, his arms dragged him farther, and the trickle of blood in his wake would likely be a clear road back down, though he knew he would never take it.

Then, his numb hands slid over a ridge, resting flat on level ground that spread just above. Far too exhausted to care, he merely sighed and wondered if his torturous climb up the cliff face had only amounted to a few yards. He decided this would be his tomb, certain that once he lifted his head to see the vast distance beyond, he would finally be unmade, and would then submit his broken body to the foul rock that now dissolved it.

“You belong to me.” The voice burned now. “The others who came before were weak, but you are the weakest of all.”

Growling away all the toxic vapor his lungs now held, he heaved with every last ounce of sorrow and pain, channeling any emotion that hadn’t yet vanished to lift him. His shoulders and chest extended over, teetering pitifully on the ledge, lurching forward bit by bit to drag the rest of his dead weight. And finally, his quivering body made it up in a flat crawl that quickly collapsed, and he dryly kissed his doom.

He dared not even look forward; he already knew he was finished. But, the strangest glow beckoned his reluctant gaze. Scanning the ground, he realized with a shiver that this place already entombed the remains of countless others. Rows of decayed bones lay in mounds of dust, almost resembling the skeletons of men, but twisted, unnaturally stretched, with misshapen skulls bearing powerful jaws and fangs.

Finally, his sight braved the space past the scattered graveyard, and he wished immediately that he could retract it. But his wide eyes would not even close while they beheld the infinite chasm a few yards ahead.

The absence of light through which he’d trod now seemed a warm summer’s day as he lay prostrate before the unyielding shadow, basking in its slow erosion of his entire being. Its waters surged, rocking, as a beast rears back to swallow its prey, bellowing an utter silence that submerged him.

There, between him and the dark ocean, stood the Crystal Blade, its razor tip piercing the rock floor and its winged hilt extended to be taken, casting the gentlest warmth on his face.

Getting up slowly, he felt like a feather. And with each step closer to the abyss, his feet seemed to flutter, like he would soon evaporate into the black mists that beckoned him with ghostly fingers.

“YOU WILL ALWAYS BE WITH ME.”

Slouching at the resting spot of the sword for which he’d come, he looked on with awe to see many other swords stuck in the ground ahead of him. They stood together in a line along the darkness’s edge, each one with its own small crystal centered in the guard. The swords of the Blessed Ones, he realized, dropped from the grips of their masters who fell into the black mists. But, since the story held that Morthadus had escaped this place and lived on in the Isle, why was there no link missing?

“ALL WILL FORGET THEMSELVES, AND KNOW ME.” The voice stung.

And as he stared helplessly into the outreaching gulf, he wanted it to take him, crush him.

“THE LIGHT IS A MERE INTRUDER. IT CAN BE SWEPT AWAY, EXTINGUISHED. BUT NONE CAN EXTINGUISH THE DARK. GIVE YOURSELF TO ME NOW, OR SUFFER.”

His toes stretched forward, arching up, preparing to step forth. He was fading, giving in to the darkness. But then, stopping just inches away, he wrenched his focus from the dreadful sea.

“I…” he stammered, legs wobbling, “would rather… suffer, than let myself be chained.” Then, wrapping his trembling fingers around its fine white marble grip, he drew the Crystal Blade swiftly from the cold ground that had housed it for so many centuries, and savored its gleam as he turned his back on the mists.

“YOU CANNOT LEAVE! WE WILL NEVER BE APART!”

A thousand minuscule icicles punctured the back of his neck, driving him faster down the unforgiving cliff, whose deceptive footholds sent an avalanche of small rocks tumbling below. But the Crystal Blade shone like a torch onto trails that had been hidden before, and it held the cold somewhat at bay.

“THERE IS NO ESCAPE FOR YOU. WHATEVER ROAD YOU TAKE, I SHALL BE WAITING AT THE END.”

The freezing blast enclosed slick fingers around his limbs, trying to pull him back. But, he pressed on, scraping urgently down the sheer slopes he’d taken ages to scale, giving a fair amount of skin and blood to one ledge after another. His sight was fading quickly, as were all other faculties, his lack of sustenance no longer going unnoticed. He had to get out; he could not bear the thought of perishing here, after coming so far.

“I AM YOUR ONLY STRENGTH… ALL ELSE HAS GONE FROM YOU… ONLY I REMAIN.”

Walls were smashing him, shaping as they saw fit. He would never make it out of this place. His body would freeze to become a snugly-fitting boulder upon the mountainside. Each step was slower than the last, invisible ropes binding his feet to the presence that still felt so close behind.

“POWERFUL… YOU COULD BE SO POWERFUL.”

He would soon be nothing, pulverized into the dirt. But, the treacherous incline began to slacken, gradually tapering off, until—there! He saw the end, waiting far below. Now, more than at any previous point in this trial, he wanted to scream, stepping toward the boundary that seemed more distant than on his climb up, the boundary that divided him from the light.

“THERE IS NO ESCAPE. YOU BELONG HERE NOW.”

Dragging chains through a magnetic swamp, he drew closer to the base… closer… not much farther now.

“I AM COMING.”

Closer… he was almost there… it was below him… only a few feet. If he could just tilt, fall forward…

“YOU WILL ALWAYS BE WITH ME! ALLLWAYS…”

The voice faded to a sinister echo as he threw his body past his feet, tumbling painfully down the sharp mountain base. He slammed chest-first onto the flat earth beyond, gasping for the soft night air as though having just escaped the clutches of an ocean grave.

His throat’s utter dryness finally revealed itself along with all other bodily hunger in the wave of heat now flooding him. With marionette’s arms, he clamped both hands around one of the awaiting ration skins and hastily undid the tie that sealed it. Pulling it to his mouth, he sputtered violently as each gulp of water washed down the sands of a timeless thirst.

Urgently undoing another pouch, he chewed handfuls at a time of the sweet boiled oats it contained, speeding them to his stomach with more generous swigs from the water skin that he soon emptied. Finally, his throbbing muscles could move no more. Letting his consciousness slip away, unconcerned by how many hours, or days, had passed, he sprawled out beneath the moon’s offered blanket.

And behind him, the Dark Mountains sat indignant, no longer holding their potential captive—or the sword they’d guarded for nearly a thousand years, which sparkled so elegantly now, ready at his side.

Chapter Eight

The Invited Enemy

M
orlen spent the
next two days trekking back across the Dead Plains, with his cloak drawn against the newly falling snow. But this winter chill was mild next to the cold still clinging to him from the Dark Mountains, and now that he basked in it, he found it less severe, less threatening.

All mystery was gone this time when he approached the Isle, recoiling slightly as its thick mists swirled to receive him. Warding off a shudder, he let his body sink through, and breathed a sigh of relief when he emerged free on the other side. The dangling apples shone in vain as he passed beneath the trees, but their lost appeal to his appetite was nothing mourned, instead making him more aware of a hunger for things untasted.

Soon he was met by a radiant outpouring of affection, one he had long taken for granted until feeling it now like soothing ointment over a wound. They were waiting for him—all of them. Hundreds of lions gathered near the Isle’s southern edge, ready to greet and follow as in their first meeting.

But, he could not do with the permanence of such a welcome, knowing he must soon set out again for a world of decay. They seemed to sense this in him, parting like bright waters to either side while he strode through the woods, though still he felt their potent energies holding close.

The frost pressed a gentle embrace against the ever-temperate forest, and penetrating flakes decorative and soft like flower petals only made him long for the sleet and sunken steps of the outside. His father worked in the distance with his sword against a whetstone, grinding a razor sheen that reflected a dance of flames beneath it. And when he drew near, neither of them uttered any sound in acknowledgment. They merely stood, as aware of one another now as when many miles had stretched between them.

“I felt a great presence leave the world, when our backs turned, and you confronted your trial,” said Matufinn. “And I grew afraid when the short number of hours it had once taken me to be turned away from that realm passed, and passed again, and again. But still, even before you returned, I knew”—he looked at him now—“if our paths diverged again, I would never have any reason to fear for you.”

Matufinn’s pride held him warmly, slightly cheapening the imminent display of his prize. His possession of it, too, seemed already a foregone conclusion. Still, he withdrew the Crystal Blade from its makeshift scabbard at his hip, raising it up with both hands for his father to see.

But, it was not the weapon itself that drew Matufinn’s wonder, but rather the validation it brought. “It was there,” he said, “just before the dark mists?”

Morlen nodded, pleased to be providing the answers for once.

“And,” Matufinn continued, “you saw the other swords?
Their
swords?”

Morlen affirmed again with a grin, “All of them.”

At this, Matufinn’s eyes held him tighter. “All?” he whispered. “Then, that means Morthadus must have returned there at some point.” This weighed heavily on him, though his expression of delight grew much wider. He felt as though he had stood beside Morlen and seen this for himself, knowing too that there was still so much more for them to see. And they would see it, together.

Morlen nudged the Crystal Blade higher in a discreet gesture to let him hold it, but Matufinn graciously declined.

“It is yours,” said Matufinn humbly. “You are the most worthy.” A final smile followed in the wake of this, no longer shining down at Morlen, but straight on. “Come,” he said more seriously while Morlen sheathed the sword and retrieved his bow. “We must—”

But Matufinn stopped short, mouth tightening as though against some knifing pain, and Morlen felt it too, like a thousand locusts clouding his vision. Someone else was inside the Isle, a large number of them. An entire legion, an army, was passing through, moving quickly toward one destination.

“Felkoth,” Morlen said, knowing Matufinn already understood. But how could he have possibly gained entry, unless… they had been betrayed. He needed not even declare it over the indignation building in his father from the same realization.

Matufinn boiled, pacing closer toward the invading force. “Veldere. He means to position his entire army there. They’ll fill the city in a matter of seconds, and the Eaglemasters won’t be ready. That is why he never tried to stop me… so I would let them in.” His eyes peered far off, swimming with guilt for the danger he’d inadvertently brought to so many.

Morlen suddenly had a sneaking notion as to whom Felkoth might have planted within the prisoner group. The image of his disquieting stare unearthed a memory of peril he’d left far behind. Now, it was returning for him, and for what he’d taken, what waited, buried, tantalizing his mind brightly.

Looking at his father, whose reluctantly returned stare melted from one of triumph and adventure to one of goodbye, Morlen opened his mouth to stop him speaking, but he was too late.

“Get to the lake, Morlen.” Matufinn’s voice held no panic. “Get to the lake before they do, and do not stop, don’t turn back, no matter what.”

His own voice still scrambling clumsily as he struggled to stall his father, Morlen found no words as Matufinn darted off, summoning deadly speed toward the enemy horde. Not here… not now. They were going to set out together, begin their journey far off at a place of strategy, in secret.

The lake would soon be overrun, and to flee the Isle on foot would only invite Felkoth’s servants to track them. But, his father had spurned the notion of retreat altogether. There would be no escape for them both, at least none of Matufinn’s design.

He started to run along his father’s trail, though it would soon mingle with the tracks of those who wished to torture and kill. He had to catch him, reason with him, before the chance was lost.

“Swords ready!” belted the leader of a battalion on the army’s flank, marching behind Felkoth within the Isle. The torches they carried through the sunlight were unintended for illumination, and the pounding of their steel-toed boots rose like war drums. “If he shows himself, do not take his head right away. First cut seventy pieces of flesh from him, one for each of ours he’s killed.”

“It isn’t man that troubles me here,” answered one at his back, glancing nervously around their perimeter into the dense, silent forest. “You’ve heard the stories about them, when they came out long ago, so many…”

“Dry your skirt!” the leader looked back contemptuously, brandishing his torch. “You know what to do if we come upon them.” He gestured to the round clay vessels slung in sacks over every man’s shoulder, each full of oil with a small hole bored into the top, corked by cloth. “But pray they eat you if one more whimper leaves your mouth, or I’ll light you myself.”

Mocking jeers broke out on either side of the reprimanded soldier, only to be just as abruptly silenced. “And I’ll cut the tongues from each of you if you don’t quiet down.”

Their expressions hardened behind him, offering no apologies as all continued forward silently. The overnight reversal of their roles as unchecked slave-drivers to expendable cattle was wholly unwelcome. Power-drunk off of a year’s reign over all of Korindelf’s people, they shivered now under the sobering call for structured obedience.

“The king says two dwell here,” the captain continued. “The scum who thought himself worthy to take your wretched lives, a privilege reserved only for me, and a boy, the one who outran you limp fools even as you gave chase on horseback, with the shriekers under your whips. To think, that his blood is worth more to Felkoth than yours.

“He sends us into this alien realm, and leaves his pets to hold the city,” the captain hissed. “As though there’ll be a soul left to rule over in Korindelf when we’ve sacked Veldere, and roasted the Eaglemasters on spits with their birds. Better to enjoy what sport we can now before none remains, after we’ve made a corpse of the dog who calls this place his home. Better to begin with the young one, see how many flies he can draw strung up from tree to tree as I improve my archery.”

He let out a loud cackle that those behind him halfheartedly echoed, thinking it their obligation, when suddenly a stout whistling arrow cut it short and hammered through his chest plate. He staggered back in shock as his shaken subordinates sounded the alarm, and the stealthy attacker flew at him from the woods, snatching his torch with a menacing flash. Then the man bolted with it raised like a beacon to draw their fire, all in such a fluid motion they could barely get a glimpse of his bearded face. Battle horns erupted from neighboring ranks as they unleashed copious volleys at the streak of flame near the army’s edge. And they ignored the fallen captain now under their feet, unaware that the wicks of his projectiles had been lit.

“He’s still in range! Fire!” the other members of the group bellowed at each other. “There! He’s slowing! Fire! Fi—” A quaking blast abruptly muted them, decimating the battalion and spraying the nearby woods with flames. Thick smoke rolled over the legion, driving fear into the concealed soldiers as they sputtered through the toxic haze, unable to get their bearings.

Their allies waited for them to regroup, shouting into the billowing fumes so those trapped within might hear which direction to follow. At first, they seemed to give calls in response, beckoning more guidance as they neared safety. But then, all at once, they fell silent.

Willing to wait no longer, the scattered soldiers formed up again as Felkoth’s army pressed onward, its missing forces merely notches carved from the sides. Still, every man scanned apprehensively for any sign of the one who pursued them.

“He means to divide our number,” said one through gritted teeth, nursing a burn on his neck. “If we separate, we’ll crumble one by one.”

Then, many heads turned focus just beyond their perimeter. “What’s this?” another grumbled, viewing a round object that appeared at first glance to be an apple hurled at them through the trees, soaring in from above. But as it somersaulted in a bright arc with a burning cloth protruding, they quickly understood what it was.

Those in its direct path scrambled to avoid the destructive impact, when an arrow flew out from the same location and shattered it yards above their heads. It erupted in a fiery fountain that rained down while they took cover beneath their shields, completely enveloped in the shroud that fluttered lower amid blazing foliage.

Soon, similar warning cries rang out farther up in the midsection of the force, followed by another explosion and more chaotic shouts, indicating that the entire army was being strategically split up. Coughing raggedly, eyes in searing pain, the disoriented invaders knew they now had no choice but to abandon rank and file, diverging from their intended path. With flickering torches as the only light to guide them out from under the smothering blanket, they forged into the uncharted Isle and whatever snares its troublesome inhabitant might spring.

Morlen stumbled as the legion’s collective menace singed him like hot coals. Gradually he began to see rising flames through the canopy of trees, and the fire leapt from grove to grove around the smoldering epicenter where the first blows had been struck.

Felkoth’s army was still dangerously strong—merely bleeding from its wounds, not crippled. There was no more space to observe now; every stride would bring him deeper into the fray, beside sightless dogs that walked with teeth bared.

And while the thickening plumes drifted closer, he could not help but see ghostly hands take shape, reaching to choke him again. How long would it be before he could look into the dark, and laugh heartily, unafraid? There was no better opportunity than now for him to find out.

He stepped as though tracking the keenest of deer, though the role of hunter no longer belonged to him here. Many beasts were distressed, fleeing the Isle’s northern stretch that withered in fire. But, he could feel some near, watching him carefully, though the threatening flames kept them at a distance. He only hoped they would have the sense to stay back, or soon there would be no refuge for them.

Throngs of intruders were close, following the blaring horns in a wayward current he’d have to cross as quickly as the one whose surprise attack they still feared. The nearest wave ambled across, stragglers batting at curtains of ash that clouded their view when he seized his window, lunging out from the trees to whip by the last of their group. Panicked yells summoned a dozen reckless shots that hit the ground long after he’d already passed, and he had no chance to stop, as the next battalion was far more dispersed.

He slowed for nothing, skirting more bewildered ranks to press through the engulfed forest as apples blistered open with steam overhead. Then suddenly, he careened into someone, one of the soldiers, who slammed to the ground while three others wasted no time swarming in with arrows drawn, and he stumbled to a halt.

He stood motionless, staring back at his enemies, frozen to the core.

“Is it him?” one rasped, aiming for his throat.

Fear shut down his instincts. All training, every lesson counted for nothing in this moment, wiped clean from his existence as he absorbed the intent of those before him and finally had his answer. He was not strong enough.

They released their volley, and still he could not move, fixed to ground that would taste his death, when a great lion lunged from the trees and growled terribly as the three arrows pierced its ribs and shoulder. His heart wailed, though he had no breath to voice his grief as the sinking creature stubbornly straightened up, turning razor eyes upon all four soldiers who hastily tried to break away. It sprang forth and brought down the middle archer, and the rest fled while it gave chase out of sight.

A thunderous roar shook the air, unfading as it traveled deeper into the burning woods. And Morlen desperately tried to follow, no matter how far off course it drew him. The deafening rumble parted even the smoke, ringing louder in the truest declaration of courage, stretching into the fire where Morlen could no longer follow. Then finally, the roaring ceased its forward course, resounding in place but slowly falling quiet, until even its echo sank through the soil. And Morlen heard it no more.