by Ember Lane
He desperately wanted to see what was at the top, but Billy was trudging up the steps like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Frank wasn’t hurrying him up. Merl craned around the wizard, trying to get a glimpse of the great stones, but when Frank’s noggin didn’t get in the way, Billy’s massive body did.
“We’ll be up there soon enough,” Desmelda told him.
“Sorry about the waterfall thing,” Merl said, quietly.
“I think you and me both know it’s Billy that should be sorry. Tell me, what’s exciting you so much?”
Merl told her about the steps.
Desmelda shrugged. “Might just be the way…” She appeared to think some more. “Let’s say they’re the same. What of it, and why? Or how? How could someone duplicate a set of stone steps?” She made a clucking sound. “If what you’re saying is true, then it would have to be the work of the Gods. Only a God could conjure a set of steps into being, and only a God would be lazy enough not to alter them if he needed another set.”
“What do you mean?”
Desmelda grabbed hold of Merl, spinning him around. “Imagine you were a God and you need a set of steps. Now, we think Gods just click their fingers and things appear. What if it isn’t quite that easy? What if they have to imagine every single detail—draw it in their mind—what if that’s the process? So, you design your first set, and then you create them. Now, a need comes along for another set. Are you really going to go through the bother of creating a whole new set of steps, or would you just use the design you’ve already created?”
“You’re saying…” But Merl couldn’t quite get his head around what she was saying. The business of wizards and witches scared him enough. Gods? What right did he have to meddle or even comment on their affairs? But it did make perfect sense. If he found a favorite path his sheep liked, one that maybe didn’t stink of wolf turds, and they all filed along it without straying, he wouldn’t then use a different path the next day. So, why should he expect a God to? “This was made by the same God that made the steps in my dreams,” he said, and Frank stopped in his tracks.
“What did you just say, Merl?”
Merl and Desmelda relayed their conversation. “Seems a solid conclusion,” Frank said. “The question is, which God?”
Desmelda sighed. “How many Gods are there?”
“You lot had best get up here,” Billy said from the top of the steps. “You’ve got company.”
Merl followed Billy’s pointed finger and saw a semicircle of drexen welt gathered at the base of the steps and staring up at the four of them. He didn’t, however, get the sense that they were a threat. They all held their spears, but certainly weren’t pointing them, more using them as walking sticks. The three of them hurried up to Billy.
If Merl thought his wonder had already been stretched, when he climbed up the final few steps it was tested once more. The upright stone pillar they had seen from below was actually one of twelve all set in a circle with an equal gap between each one. Atop them, slabs of curved stone linked each. A path led between the two closest uprights to a big, rectangular altar, but a large shadow under it indicated a descending passage.
The descending steps!
“What the hell?” Frank said, striding between the stones and up to the altar. “The steps are here too. No way would Stormsurfer have ever got down even if he had squeezed through the tunnel.”
Merl didn’t know what to make of it, and all he could conclude was that Desmelda was right. “It must be the work of the Gods.” There was no other explanation. The stones were far too big for any to haul up the mountain. And what would be the point? Only Gods could afford such an indulgence. “Down the steps, get the staff, and we’re done.”
“How did Stormsurfer know this place was up here?” Frank asked. “You can’t see it from land nor sea, so how did he know?”
“Giants know everything,” Desmelda said, but then walked away as if she’d said too much. She stopped, whirling around. “You said so yourself. Are we sure Stormsurfer wasn’t waiting for you, Frank? Are we sure this isn’t all some grand plan?”
“How would he have known?”
Desmelda scoffed. “There aren’t that many ports on the western coast—not that you’re likely to spill onto from Three Valleys. There’s this one and Tzeyon Bay to the north, possibly Oestermach to the south. I’d say if a guess were to be made, this place is the more likely, especially if Tzeyon Bay was overrun.”
Frank dipped his head as if her words were too much for him. “A stretch,” he said. “A long stretch indeed.”
Billy started down the steps. “Anyone pack a torch in Frank’s ring?”
Frank slapped his head. “Nope. We left them all in the monster wagon.”
“It’s okay, there’s actually plenty of light down here,” Billy called up.
Merl furrowed his brow and rushed toward the altar, though Frank beat him to it. “Hold tight, Billy, wait for us.” He equipped Scaramanza and began descending the steps. Merl followed.
The passageway was quite tight even for Merl, but it didn’t go too far before it spread out to a square chamber that was marginally smaller than the ring of stones above. Torches bled white light, though whether they’d just burst into flame or burned eternally, Merl didn’t know. Ahead of the steps, Billy’s massive frame blocked all.
“Can you see the staff?” Merl asked.
“Oh yes, I can see it,” Billy said.
“Sure can, Merl,” Frank added, and then Merl heard the sound of falling water. How he hadn’t heard it before, he couldn’t comprehend, but as soon as he had, it was plain as day. His legs became leaden, and his courage vanished. Butterflies returned to his stomach but weren’t content to stay there. They invaded every part of his body. Desmelda threaded her arm through his and helped him forward. They drew aside the other Frank and Billy.
A small chancel lay before him. Water dripped in silver curtains down its two side walls, pooling in a deep gutter and washing away to the rear of the small room. A cylindrical rock sat in its center, and a staff thrust upward from its center. It was no craggy wizard’s staff cupping a milky orb and sparking with crackling magic. It was a mere wooden stave the color of varnished oak and edged so that all of its sides were flat. It was shod with a silver cap. While the staff’s mere presence made Merl gasp, the wall behind made his legs go all queer. Their strength fled, and only Desmelda’s supporting arm held him upright.
The wall that faced him had been carved and chiseled to resemble a bust, and the face that stared out at them was Merl’s. Merl knew what he looked like. He’d glimpsed his reflection a number of times, not least as he hurtled open-mouthed toward the bucket-sized lake at the bottom of Three Face Mountain.
“That’s you, Merl, that is, like,” Billy said. “What’s your noggin doin’ looking outta tha’ mountain?”
“Not a bloody clue,” Merl gasped, holding on to Desmelda for dear life.
“Well, that changes things,” Frank said. “If we had any doubt about Merl’s importance, it’s gone now.”
“Might jus’ be a looky-likey,” Billy added. “There was this bloke in Three Valleys that looked like my cousin Greg’s younger brother’s mate’s…” Billy paused, scratching his bonce. “Uncle, I think it was his uncle, but it…” Billy smacked his forehead and blinked. He approached the staff. “Let’s just pull this thing out an’ be done with it all.” He jumped up onto the stone pedestal and tugged at the staff. “Stuck,” he said, tapping his lip and trying again. He huffed and puffed but to no avail.
“I think we all know the only one that can pull the staff out will be Merl,” Frank said as Billy jumped back down.
“I’d kind of like a go, anyway.” Desmelda jumped up and tugged away, but admitted defeat quite quickly.
Merl approached The Staff of Morrison White, though he couldn’t take his eyes off the bust behind. It was smiling at him. It was welcoming him, and it appeared to have a little glint to its eyes. Merl
tried to understand what the hell was going on, but like a lot of recent things, it was beyond his comprehension. He tugged at the staff, yet found Billy was right, it was stuck solid.
“Nope,” he said. “It’s stuck solid, jus’ like Billy said.”
“Then there must be some kind of trigger, some form of switch,” Frank said, and they immediately began searching around the little room. The sides of the pedestal revealed nothing. Nor did the falling water on either side. Billy pawed over ‘Merl’s’ carved face, prodding its eyes and pinching its nose, but again, nothing. They all retired away from the room and sat by the steps. Frank offered a water canteen around, but Desmelda demanded wine.
“You haven’t tried yet, Frank,” Merl said. “Billy’s tried, Desmelda’s tried, and I’ve tried, but you haven’t.”
“Not a lot of point,” Frank said. “The staff is meant for you. Look, look at the bust behind. It’s you, Merl, no two ways about it.”
“What have you got to lose?” Desmelda asked. “Don’t tell me a big, brave warrior like you is scared of failing?”
Frank gave her a look that Merl reckoned could have turned her to stone if he’d tried a little harder, but he pushed himself up, groaning like he’d just climbed a mountain, and ambled over to the staff. Without even bothering climbing up onto the pedestal, he gave the staff a tug—and fell backwards into the chamber as it slid out of its stone socket.
A silvery-blue glow erupted from it, painting the chamber’s stone with its radiance before advancing up the steps.
“Bloody hell,” said Billy, squeezing his eyes shut in the blinding light.
Frank stood holding the iridescent staff. Its two silver-shod caps pulsed with power and bled it into the stone.
Desmelda pointed toward the chancel and to Merl’s bust. “Look,” she said.
“Bloody hell,” Billy repeated. “Yer noggin’s on fire, Merl.”
Merl stared at the carving of his fiery face as its golden lips spoke.
“You are now the bearer of the Staff of Morrison White. This staff is the gateway that will unlock the Power of War. The Power of War is the Fourth Ward of Arthur14579. In order to access the lore of Arthur14579’s fourth ward, you must master the first three. The Staff of Morrison White is soulbound. It will only pass to another upon your death. Should you fall, the staff will reappear here and can be claimed by the next soul that meets its requirements.”
Merl’s stone noggin fell silent. No one else spoke for a while. The silver power faded. Merl’s face faded back to stone, and a shaft of silvery-blue light then drew them zombay-like back up the steps to see the strange stone circle glowing, throwing silver light upward. Merl’s heart skipped a beat. They were surrounded by the drexen welt who had gathered between the stones, but the little monsters weren’t encroaching within the circle.
“Bugger,” Billy hissed. “Frank, drop the staff n’ give me my stupid sword.”
Merl held out his hand for his cleaver.
Frank walked up the steps and stood at their top. The staff glowed brightly, magnifying the bloom on the stones, and the drexen welt fell to their knees, kissing the ground and wailing.
“Bloody hell, Frank, I think they’re worshipping you, like.”
Frank looked a little overawed. Merl definitely felt overawed, and Desmelda looked plain confused.
“Do something!” Desmelda said, as the drexen welt rose and fell in supplication to Frank.
“It might come as a surprise to you, but I’ve never been a God before,” he said through gritted teeth.
Desmelda shuffled alongside him. “Can’t you douse the staff’s glow or something?”
He glared at her. “Can’t you give me an idea that I might actually be able to do?”
“Walk,” she replied. “Walk toward the steps, down the steps, and get back to the bloody boat as fast as possible. That’s what we can do.”
“We’ll do that, then,” Frank said.
“I think they’ll expect you to go first,” Merl added, but why he said it was a mystery to him, along with a hell of a lot of other things—in fact a list that kept growing and growing.
“You and me are having words later,” Frank growled at him.
“What did I do?” Merl pleaded, feeling really out of sorts.
“You’re going to tell me how your face came to be carved… Never mind. Let’s get outta here. I don’t like being worshipped. It… it makes me itchy.”
Frank walked forward, the glowing staff by his side. The others held back a little. Billy pushed Merl forward.
“Go on, you might be their God too.”
“Then they shouldn’t have tried to chop my noggin off, should they?” But he marched forward all the same, and remembered how they’d all hesitated, and suddenly realised the terrible truth. They’d stopped attacking him when they’d recognized him, but he’d killed them anyway—Frank had, Billy and Desmelda too.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he vowed.
The drexen welt parted and swallowed Frank into their ranks, but then he bobbed atop them as they lifted him high and carried him away. Merl tried to push their grabbing hands away when they pushed him up too, but he soon found himself held aloft. His stomach lurched when they started down the stone steps. Memories of them tossing their dead off the mountain earlier panicked him for a moment—perhaps even a tap or turn, though certainly not a phase—but that passed as they began chanting. Beside him, he heard Billy shouting in panic, and Desmelda crying out, first in fear, but then in insane delirium.
They somehow passed along the narrow ledge and had to duck as they entered the long tunnel. The group spilled from it, and more drexen welt lined their way down, cheering and chanting. It was dusk by the time they arrived at the beach. Hundreds of Drexen greeted them. Stormsurfer sat in his boat, its oars crossed over his knees. He had a giantish grin spread across his weathered face.
The drexen lowered them all to the sand, and as one they scrambled to the boat.
“Best say something to them, Frank. Be rude to just leave,” Merl told him.
“I don’t speak—”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Frank stood at the boat’s bow. “Behold,” he shouted. “The Power of War!” and he held the staff aloft. Lightning burst from it, flashing in dusk’s gray sky.
Frank’s new flock of worshippers all fell to the ground as Stormsurfer dipped his great oars.
Guilt riddled Merl. No matter what he did, he couldn’t rid himself of the sight of the drexen dead.
14
Merl thought Billy was a master of underestimation. As Stormsurfer rowed toward the great ship, its true size became clear, and Merl’s wonder grew. Frank was right, giant ships were giant. Merl had never seen a ship before, apart from the burned-out remnants near the jetties by the tavern. He had no other frame of reference that could tell him exactly how huge the ship really was. All he could imagine was that since Stormsurfer was about the size of a house, and a house was four or five times the height of a man, the giant ship was about that many times larger than a normal ship.
“It’s a biggun,” Billy said, looking up at it.
Desmelda sat on the row boat’s forward thwart with her thumbs pressed on her temples. The little journey up and down the mountain had apparently given her a banging headache. Frank looked dead, just as he had done since they’d been out of reach of his tiny flock of worshippers. He’d lost all his color and kept repeating the words Morrison White. Stormsurfer, on the other hand, couldn’t stop chuckling. Merl had the distinct feeling that the giant knew more than he was letting on, although the giant hadn’t actually said a word since he’d begun rowing, so it came as a bit of a shock when he suddenly beckoned Merl over. “Merl, I have a surprise for you.”
Merl sat at Stormsurfer’s feet and looked up at the great man. “To be honest, and thanks ‘n all, but I’ve had me fill o’ surprises today.”
Stormsurfer laughed. “I’ll bet.” He carried on rowing, and his ship carried on
growing.
“I feel kinda sick,” Merl said, as the rowboat pitched and yawed with the swell.
“It’s worse this far out. We’re beyond the bay’s shelter. You’ll be fine once we’re on Wave Walker. It’s too big to be bothered with these little waves. Now,” he grinned and leaned in to whisper, “that is until you get to the Straits of Cavaner. The waves, well, Merl, they are hundreds of feet tall. Then she rolls, oh how she rolls.”
Merl gulped. “Sounds…”
“Terrible, I know, but Wave Walker will prevail. Now, as for this surprise, are you sure you’ve had enough today?”
“Absolutely sure.” Merl nodded furiously.
By the time they drew alongside Wave Walker, it was so big that the ship’s side blotted out the golden horizon. It rose hundreds of feet up, and the tops of its masts were lost among the hatching stars.
“How are we going to get up there?”
Stormsurfer winked at him. “I’m not the only one on the ship.”
Merl woke to the sway of the sea, then yawned, spluttered, and stretched. He rubbed his tired eyes and stared up at huge, dark, seasoned wood planks that lined the ceiling. A tar-like substance oozed between their joints, and they sounded like they were pressed too tightly. Their constant groans and whines put the fear of varying Gods into him, as did thoughts of the ship sinking. He warily looked inside his head, checking for of any new banks of text or flashing pips that might have appeared during his sleep and thankful that, on first inspection, there appeared to be none. The last thing he remembered was sitting on the giant ship’s great deck and being told to wait while Stormsurfer went off in search of his surprise. He clearly hadn’t stayed awake long enough hear whatever it was, unless it was the hammock he currently found himself in. One thing he was absolutely sure of was that he currently lay in a large, canvass hammock.
If it was, Stormsurfer was right, the hammock was a surprise. It was a surprise how big it bloody well was for a start. From pinched-in end to pinched-in end it must have been the size of the giant’s rowboat, and its towering sides were about three feet above him. He lay in its bottom like a tiny bed bug, and he wondered how he would get out.
