Sometimes, in the grip of darkness, we must count the cost of dreams.
The cleft echoed with the pounding thunder of hooves. The dreadguard were only minutes away. The mountain gate offered safety, but it was sealed. Ishira's heart pounded rapidly. "Hurry, they're coming! "It's hopeless," Quintus peered into the niche where the key lay. "I can't get past the lightning screen! None of these invocations are working. I knew I should've bought a more expensive spell book." Captain Vandru shouted over her shoulder, drawing both rune-etched sabers. "Are you sure you're saying the cursed words right?" "Quite sure," Quintus answered. "Keep trying," Vandru ordered. "My steel will buy you as much time as possible." As her brother started the chant again, Ishira turned toward Mott. He sat a few feet away, back to the closed portals. He looked miserable, huddled in his indigo cloak, bandaged arms wrapped around in-drawn knees. Feeling the force of her stare, his head came up. His eyes were shadowed by his hood, but shone with a hard blue radiance. They sought her out as she spoke. Her words were a soft prayer. "I don't want to die." The muscles of his jaws clenched in sudden decision. Mott rocked to his feet and staggered toward her. "That's not going to happen." In front of her, he stripped away the bandage from his forearms. Despite the peril of their situation, Ishira couldn't suppress her curiosity. Mott had hid his flesh the entire journey. Quintus had speculated that their guide might be a halfling, with blood from the ancients ones, causing hideous deformity. She was about to find out if this were true . To her surprise, his flesh was pale but normal, marred only by a fine webbing of raised scars. Ornamenting the branching pattern, were small glassy beads embe dded in his flesh, a similar substance to the white crystal flake on the back of each hand. Mott couldn't meet her gaze any longer, flinching away from whatever response was coming. She reached out. Her finger tips traced the scars with a light touch. "They're...beautiful." He did look at her then. Transformed by hope, he drew himself up with a deep breath, and pushed past her. Mott elbow Quintus aside, making him drop his spell book. "Hey, what do you think you're--" "You wasted your coin on that book," Mott chided. "Whoever pinned it knows nothing of the Hidden Ways." Mott shoved both hands into the fire-cage. "No!" Ishira expected his flesh to burn. She thought the fire would hurl him away, dead. Instead, it wreathed his body, caressing him like a lover. When he did pull back, the fire-cage went with him. Quintus leaped to the niche and reached inside. He found a large bronze key, dull with dust. Key in hand, he ran to the seal on the gate, a six-sided crystal surrounded by key-holes. "Legend says, all but one of the locks must be turned. If the wrong one is chosen, the lock will reset itself. The picture in the book gives the order." "Try it then!" Vandru yelled, starting forward. "I can see the riders now!" Rooted in place by shock, it took Ishira a moment to order her thoughts. She forced herself closer to Mott, wary of the current dancing over him. The beads in his arms glowed with the same light that flooded his eyes. "Are you all right?" she asked, afraid for her strange friend. "I suppose so." He spoke as if from across some great distance, passing her on the way to the gate. Mott interrupted her brother as he jammed the key into hole after hole, turning it each time. "That won't work," Mott said. That is not how that key is used." Quintus paused. "It's not? How do you know?" The whinny of horses and the violent clash of swords drew her attention. Vandru was holding her own, weaving a web of steel around her. Good as she was, sheer number of dismounted riders had to prevail in time. Ishira faced the seal again. Mott touched it with both hands, grounding out the charges he carried. "The true key is the fire-cage itself," he explained. "Only one who can survive its touch is worthy to open the way." The crystal at the heart of the seal quickened to life, awash in incandescence. The gate opened with agonizing slowness, one side taking the seal off to the side with it. A thick patch of darkness lay within. Free of the fire, Mott seized her arm and Quintus' as well. He dragged thin inside. Cold enveloped her, a relief from the wilting heat outside. A cool breeze played with her hair. She turned her back on the tunnel, coming around. The battle outside was over. Gray-faced corpses in ancient rusty armor, the dreadguard were frozen in place, staring. It was doubtful they ever expected anyone to solve the puzzle and breech the stronghold they guarded in death. Captain Vandru retreated, facing the riders as she did so. They let her go. Once she got inside, Quintus tugged the gates closed, pulling on rings set on the inside of the doors. The gate closed, shutting out daylight. Ishira was still able to see a little; awakened, the scars on Motts arms cast a cold light that pulsed with a heart's rhythm. He turned quickly from her, to lead the way. Vandru sheathed her blades and hurried to stop him, spinning him back around with little curtsey. She grabbed one of his arms, inspecting it with a grim set to her face. "What in the Abyss are you," she asked. Angrily, he yanked free of her grasp, running away from the distaste in the woman's voice. There was anger in Ishira's voice as she answered the question for Mott. "He's the one that saved us all when spells and steel failed. When you disrespect him, you disrespect me." "But Princess--he can't be human." "Human is as human does," Quintus interrupted. "This quarrel does no one any good. Perhaps we should follow before he gets too far away and the tunnel branches." "I say let him go." Vandru employed an injured tone of voice. "We're safe now. We're inside the mountain. What do we need him for?" Ishira surprised herself with the words that came out of her mouth. "I need him. That ought to be enough for you." She ended the discussion, running after Mott, keeping one hand on the tunnel wall for reassurance. The absence of light left her feeling unbalanced. She called ahead. "Mott, wait up, please..." She fell over his kneeling form. Her breath slammed out of her. A rock bruised her right forearm as she sprawled. She cried out in pain. Rolling her over, Mott supported her head and shoulders, cradling her next to his body. His hood was in place again, and most of his forearms were rewrapped. But this close, the glow of his eyes created a comforting island of safety. Her hand touched the spot over his pounding heart. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'd heard you coming, but I didn't want you to see..." Her hand slid up to the back of his neck. She pulled his face close to hers. "Shut up," she whispered, kissing him softly, hesitantly at first, but with growing passion. She pulled back after a time. "What is held by my heart can never be common or mean." "Still," he resisted his good fortunate, "I'd think you could do better." She smiled. "I happen to disagree." Ishira heard running feet. A torch drew near. Apparently, Quintus had taken time to find and light it. He hung back a little as Vandru loomed over Mott and the princess. The warrior shook in rage. Her eyes narrowed in wrath. She dropped behind Mott, locking an arm around his neck. "Miserable piece of gutter filth. How dare you soil My Lady with your filthy touch." Mott pried at the arm crushing his throat. "Stop it!" Ishira demanded. "It's not what you think. Release him!" With a great deal of visa able reluctance, Vandru complied, letting Mott slump senselessly to the tunnel floor. Pushing herself up on her knees. Ishira slapped the other woman, rocking her head. "If you intend to stay in my service, you will kill this demon that drives you and make peace with Mott." Ishira messaged her stinging palm. The captain had a hard head. Vandru's voice was subdued as she blinked away a few stray tears from her eyes. "As you command, Majesty." Mott coughed, coming around. With a groan, he picked himself up, and staggered back to lean against a wall. His eyes produced a blaze that was searing. Vandru was forced to look aside. Mott's voice emerged hoarse, damaged. "Be careful," he warned. "There is a limit to the abuse I am willing to suffer." Quintus stepped between Mott and Vandru. "Quarreling helps no one. Why don't we see where this tunnel comes out. I, for one, am not fond of small spaces." Ishira nodded. "Fine. Lead on." The tunnel eventually led to an iron grating that barred them from a vast cavern that plunged away into obscuring darkness. Quintus and Vandru put shoulder to the porticus, trying vainly to lift it. The grate wouldn't budge. "We're so close," Ishira protested. "It can't end like this." "Maybe...if we ALL tried..." Quintus suggested. "Maybe you should just use the key," Mott suggested. "That central bar is flattened. There's a depression shaped like--" "The key from the outside recess. So, it has a purpose after all. Good thing I didn't leave it behind." Ishira watched her brother fumble through his pockets, looking for the artifact. It was of course, in the last pocket he checked. Quintus set it in place and snatched his hand back as the porticus lifted several well-spaced in spurts. "Well done," he told Mott. "You have a good eye for details." "It's not that," Mott confessed. "Now that you've come this far, I suppose I owe you the truth." "I knew you were hiding something," Vandru muttered. Ishira quelled the woman with an imperial glare, then shifted her attention to Mott. "I think I've already guessed your secret," she said. "You're no halfling. You're full-blood ancient--one of those that built the buried city we seek. Isn't that right?" Mott bowed to her, as if they were meeting for the first time. "You're right. I am the last. It has been my lot to haunt this place, stirring the dust, dreaming of a stale and distant past." "Then we never were in danger of the dreadguard?" Quintus said. "They would never have harmed you, and us by extension. Why did you let us in?" "Are you complaining? Isn't this what you wanted?" Mott asked. "You didn't answer the question." Ishira stepped up to him, peering into his burning eyes. They were luminous pools, full of secrets about to break the surface. "You want something from us here, in this place." "I want an end and a beginning. I want the dream to come again. Come with me." He strolled out into the cavern, kicking small stones from his path as he went. Ishira tried to follow but Vandru pulled her back, holding her arm with bruising force where she'd already hurt it. Ishira gasped in pain and was released. "I'm sorry, your Majesty, but he has bewitched you. Don't let your heart betray you." "I hate to say it," Quintus broke in, "but Vandru could be right. A little caution wouldn't hurt." "It might in this case," Ishira argued. "We're out of supplies, remember? Besides, the Dreadguard are back there. Whatever lies ahead, has to be better than curling up and dying of fear and indecision. Sometimes, the only way out is through." "Fine." Vandru drew both swords once more. "But I'm keeping my swords at hand until we're out of this place." Ishira smiled. "Whatever makes you happy." She hurried to catch up to Mott. He waited for her where the rough floor became suddenly smooth, except for decorative vines carved into it. The meandering channels were choked with the dust of centuries. "You know, it wouldn't hurt for someone to sweep this place every now and then." Mott grinned at the easy camaraderie she offered. He ignored her suggestion, speaking his heart. "Please believe me, I could never hurt you." "Don't you think I know that?" She took his hand. "Where to now?" He pointed at the vine patterns as Quintus and Vandru caught up. "These will guide us. Notice, there are several distinct types: ivy, grape, tanglewood, and nightbloom. They represent the four sections of the city." "City?" Quintus peered questioningly about. "There's not a building in sight." "They are lost in folds of darkness," Mott explained. "You won't reach any of them unless you follow one of the vine paths." "Which one?" Ishira asked. "The grape vine leads to the storehouses and kitchens. The tanglewood takes you to the barracks, workshops, and armories. The ivy leads to the surface once more, to a place surrounded by sheer mountain walls, with gardens and orchards." Mott stepped onto the nightbloom path, drawing Ishira along. "And what about this path?" she asked. "The temple, library, and palace, with its great hall where long dead kings once sat in judgment. You came seeking the dreamstone. If you are found worthy, it will give itself to you." "What happens if we fail this test?" Vandru asked, suspicion dripping from her words." "You don't have to try for the stone. That's your own business. Those that fail the test are claimed by the city. It's how the dreadguard add to their numbers." Mott stopped, turned, and crossed stares with Vandru. "I think you'd make a fine recruit. There's a lot of rage and darkness in your spirit, a lot for nightmares to feed upon." "We have to continue," Ishira said. "My brother needs the power of the dreamstone to sweep the invaders from our lands and reclaim his throne. Our cause is just. That must count for something. It's got to be enough." "We'll see," Mott said grimly. "This way." The nightbloom engravings led them off until there was no other pattern visible to torchlight. Ishira had never been enclosed in so much darkness. It seemed to have an actual weight, daunting her spirits. She began to talk in a whisper, but caught herself, strengthening her voice. "Mott, what can you tell of the trial we face?" "It is different for everyone. To reach the stone, you must embrace both dream and nightmare. If you are defeated, it will be because the wings of your desire weren’t strong enough to carry you, or else they carried you places you shouldn‘t go." "Nicely cryptic," Vandru complained. "If the prize were easily attained," Quintus said. "It would have no value." Ishira saw buildings spat out by the darkness, huddling together for encouragement. Green-veined marble, the structures were massive in scale, bracketing a common courtyard. Within the open space were pillars that balanced connecting blocks high overhead. Inside the crowned columns lay a gurgling fountain. Its edges were the sculpted petals of a flower. Its bowed pistils provided jets of water. The flat pads of a water plant floated within the fountain, supporting violet flowers with streaks of gold. "How beautiful!" "Thank you," Mott said. "I dreamed it just for you." He pointed at one end of the courtyard. That is the great hall, where I will wait for you." He pointed at another side. "That is the Temple of the Other World, where you will be tried." "What other world is there?" Ishira asked. There are those who believe that we live in two worlds; one in which we believe ourselves to be awake, and the world we walk through in our sleep," Quintus explained. "One is said to be as real as the other, though the rules change from one reality to the next. Things are possible in one place that are not in the other. The dreamstone is supposed to be able to change that." "It does," Mott said, "though there is always a cost." He looked deeply into Ishira's eyes. His own were troubled. He bowed in farewell. "I hope I see you again." "I'm sure you--" He didn't wait to hear her words. Mott turned quickly as if he leave were only possible if done at once. She watched him run toward the great hall until the shadows swallowed him. Her brother appeared next to her, touching her shoulder. "I know it's hard to make one's heart behave," he said. "But I don't think it's wise of you to offer him hope for something that can not be. I don't want to see either of you get hurt." She kept anger out of her voice, knowing her brother meant well. "So you're going to hurt me instead by throwing reality in my face? Have we not come here seeking the impossible? Are we to only dream for our country and not for ourselves?" She didn't wait for an answer. Taking the torch, she started for the temple. Vandru and Quintus followed a few steps behind. With both the fountain and the great hall behind her, Ishira pressed on into the face of the unknown. The darkness thinned as she stood at the temple entrance. Ishira faced Vandru, setting a hand on her shoulder. "Wait here, guardswoman. If we fail, do not attempt the trial. You will be free of our service. I expect you to leave this place, and build your life anew, somewhere else." "My place is with you," Vandru insisted. "Not this time." Ishira shifted her glance to her brother. "Quintus, wait with her. If I do not return, you can take your turn--or not." Vandru offered one of her sabers. "At least take this." Ishira shook her head side to side. "No. This is a test of mind and spirit, not a passage of arms." "It's my throne on the line," her brother said. "Perhaps, I should go first." "I love you, brother. You are a great king, a middling enchanter, but quite inept at adventuring. Of us three, I have the better chance of success. Let me do this for you." "I must concede the wisdom of your words, Ishira. Come back to me, please. It is a royal command." She smiled. "Then I certainly must obey." She entered a building of black glass. There were festive lanterns strung within, fashioned from paper. Passing under one, Ishira saw that the light they provided came from glowing beetles crawling over a core of flowers. The insects had long bodies like pieces of frozen moonlight. Drinking nectar, they ignored her. At the center of the temple, in a ring of braziers, stood two elaborate frames, each containing a full-length mirror. The silver-edged glass was bright with refracted light. The other mirror was jet, set in polished copper. A spear of blue light shafted down between the relics from a hole in the roof. Ishira looked up through the ceiling as she drew closer. Far out of reach, she saw a stone hanging in space. Somehow, she knew this was the dreamstone she'd come seeking. As she stopped before the two mirrors, Motts words returned to her: 'you must wade through dream and nightmare.' Is that what these mirrors are? Gates to hope and despair? What am supposed to find within? She studied her image in the bright glass, seeing beauty marred by dust and fatigue. Her clothing, worn and torn by hard use, hardly suited her. The image in the mirror changed. Her hair became a jeweled pile atop her head. She wore a tiara set with emeralds that matched the color of her silken gown. She wore long gloves that extended past her elbows. Slowly, this fantasy image began to dance, whirling across a dance floor. Men she'd known from court trailed her in formal wear. She was handed from one to another, kept in constant motion. It was a vision of happier days. The air filled with the soft strains of music. Ishira reached out to touch the glass. It vibrated against her hand, bathing her fingers with a cool silver light. She began to hear the words of the men in the mirror. They kept saying the same thing, over and over--pleading, demanding: Choose...choose...choose...!" She closed her eyes, stepping sideways to escape the lure of all she'd lost. She opened her eyes upon the dark glass and saw nothing. But a cold current of air hit her. The black mirror spilled terrified scream across her, weak, river bating wails of despair. A chorus of suffering souls. A violet light grew deep within the black glass. It illuminated the warriors of the horde, their fur-clad women and children. They were savaged; battered, slashed by claws, ripped apart, and strewn haphazardly across a battlefield. Shadowy demon-shapes with red lantern eyes chewed the flesh of the living and dead. And strolling in the heart of it all, Ishira saw herself, lighting her way with a pulsing blue jewel--the dreamstone. The silver-framed mirror offered her a world of the past, a world of dream. The copper-edged glass offered her the dark pleasure of vengeance, a torrent of blood. Neither vision found a place in her heart. The past was gone. Among the suitors, there was a missing face, someone she wanted to see who wasn't there. As for the battlefield, she found she didn't care for the price of victory. She saw that using the stone on the invaders would make her people far worse than the enemy. Saving their kingdom would destroy its soul. She backed away from both options, turned, and fled the temple, dropping her torch along the way. Just beyond the entrance way, Quintus caught hold of her, ending her headlong flight. "Ishira, are you alright?" he asked. "What happened?" She just held onto him for awhile, hiding her tears, giving her pounding heart a chance to slow its pace. Her brother made soothing sounds, stroking her hair. Finally, she pulled away, meeting his stare. "We can't do this," she said. "Some choices should never be made." "But the hoard will win. All we lost will never come back. Is the alternative really that bad?" "It is. You must believe me. I've never lied to you." "Alright," he said at last. "We'll go back to our people in the hill camps. We'll give up our land and find somewhere else for our people. Say, where's Vandru? She was just here." A dread suspicion filled Ishira's mind. She tugged on her brother's sleeve. "Come on. She's gone inside, after the dreamstone." They ran inside. Seeing Vandru before the mirrors, they hurried over to her. The warrior spun around, keeping them back with her weapons. "I won't let you throw our people's future away," she snarled. "If you've no stomach for what must be done, I'll take care of it." "No," Ishira begged. "Not this way." "Yes," Vandru said. "It is my destiny! Look!" One of her swords swept toward the mirrors. The black glass showed the same battlefield as before with one difference. Vandru was the one in it, giving nightmare life. The other mirror showed a throne room full of the rich and powerful. And seated on the throne, receiving the admiration of the multitudes, was the guardswoman herself, majestic, triumphant, adorned for worship. "This is mine, and I'm keeping it." As her words echoed away, the mirrors rotated to face each other, leaving a person-sized gap between. Above, the dreamstone brightened, casting down a fierce radiance. Vandru backed into the glare. She dropped a sword, reaching for the prize. "Come to me!" Vandru cried. "Noooooo!" Ishira cried. "Don't..." The light brushed the flesh from her bones. Muscle and entrails turned to mist. Warrior leathers hung loosely. Vandru screamed until her tongue melted away like candle wax. Her hair caught fire, falling in burning strands. Her upturned eyes exploded, leaving empty sockets. The true horror wasn't the transformation, but the simple fact that it didn't completely kill her. The blue light dimmed, and Vandru staggered toward them. Her skeletal fingers clawed the air in entreaty. Ishira stumbled back against Quintus. His arms enclosed her. They watched as their friend turned with resignation, marching away. Her place was now with the Dreadguard. "We have no more business here,” her brother said. "Let's go." Ishira wanted to leave, but her body felt like it belonged to someone else. Her knees buckled. She'd have fallen if not for Quintus' support. "Take a deep breath," he said. "We'll go when you're ready. It might help if you cry." "No," she said. "If I start, I might never stop. There's so much to cry for." He said nothing else, letting silence hold them both as time came unhinged. Finally, she was ready. Quintus picked up the torch and led her back to the fountain. She sat on its lip, listening to the cheery splash of the water. The sound was oddly soothing. "When you're ready," her brother said, "we can push on." Her eyes rose to the great hall entranceway. Waiting, a cloaked figure with electric eyes stood there. A new strength poured into her. "No. Whatever future I have is here. Go back without me. I'll be alright." "In this damned crypt? I can't leave you here, of all places." "Honestly, I'll be fine. Come say goodbye to Mott." She crossed to the great hall. Hovering in the entranceway, Mott was just out of reach, his face blank with indecision. It didn’t seem to know if joy or sorrow were called for. "I'm glad you survived," Mott said. "When are you leaving?" "I'm not--unless you don't want me." "Don't want..." His face broke into a huge grin. The light of his eyes hit her with palpable force, making her tingle. "You have brought my heart and my dream back to me. Now this city and I can both live again." He rushed to her, gathering her against him with a ferocious strength. She smelled the sweet fragrance of assorted flowers mixing their scents. Whirling in capricious dance above the temple, ghost lights appeared. They multiplied feverishly, spreading, chasing the darkness away. The vine-paths chiseled in the floor ignited in celebration. A storm of light brought all the buildings into sharp relief. An unwanted visitor, the previous aura of sad neglect departed. "All we need now are people." Mott said. "Why don't you bring your scattered people here. They will be welcome." "I'll go for them now," Quintus said. "But...what about the dreadguard?" Mott's grin turned wicked. "We don't need them here anymore. I think I'll send them out to play with your friends, the horde. These invaders still have a few lessons to learn."
I tried to leave a review on this one before but AD was acting up and I left it on your message board! But let me leave it here now for the record! EXCELLENT.
Reviewed by Hasan Abood
9/7/2004
Whoa! Lee, this is a story that I would enjoy reading over and over again! You are talented and I'm sure you got a future ahead of ya! I wish you success always!
I agree with Ms. Bailey on this one. You are able to bring a captivating picture with your work very quickly but able to build it from there, you got a talent to make things become real in words when you write. I can see why you made it to the Hallow magazine, you are good at what you do. I have a respect for your talent in three fields of fiction.
The reader lands right smack dab in the middle of an event, but you bring us into the picture very quickly... and almost immediately the story and scene become more real than the chair where I sit reading.
As to the message... you and I ARE giving the same message... and it is always a choice, heh heh...
Yes, this is a captivating story; I want to read more, more more...
Judith
A cerebral dark Mystery of the Third Age..The serenity of a Roman statesman is interrupted by a wild-haired wanderer. The zealot seeks refuge from the powerful demon pursuing him, and not only that, but tries to recrui
