He took a moment to gaze into the pouch and inspect the mirrors. Both remained dark and unresponsive to his presence. Good. Perhaps the Prison Room mirror would be the only one infected. Pulling out the one leading to Kiernan’s Room, or perhaps a more apt term would be Kiernan’s Tomb, he pressed his thumb against the reflective surface and translocated.
After slipping the mirror back into the pouch, he made his way to the wall-mounted mirror that led to the room full of steam. From there, he began the arduous journey through the series of rooms that would return him to the Ti-Ock mine; Steam Room to Salamander Room, then Salamander Room to Mirror Room.
Scrambling up the three boxes to touch the mirror attached to the ceiling, he appeared at the underground river. An extended stint of shelf-scooting brought him to the crevice which took him to the Ti-Ock mine. A short nap and three hours later, the Ti-Ocks once again departed en masse and he could safely make his way to the abandoned mine area beyond the cave-in.
During his trek through the abandoned area he utilized his sunstone to light his way. It was just prior to reaching where the tunnel began its downward descent that he noticed the illumination in the tunnel grow brighter. It took him but a moment to discover the change in light was due to a glow coming from out of his mirror-pack.
Undoing his belt, he quickly removed the pack and flung it to the side. The top fell open and the light-worm emerged. Just as it had twice before, the light-worm inspected its surroundings before withdrawing back into the pack.
Curses reverberated throughout the tunnel as Holk vented his anger and frustration. He couldn’t take the mirrors with him. Whatever had happened to the first mirror had now affected a second, or perhaps the third as well? He wasn’t about to find out.
Once his vitriolic tirade came to an end, the reality of the situation hit home. There was no going back! Without the mirrors, he could never return to the Prison Room, Kiernan’s Room, or any of the other places in the chain of mirrors prior to the River Room. There was but one mirror within the River Room and it lay across a wide, torrential flood of water. He couldn’t even reach the Merchant to see about bartering for another mirror.
A dozen of the healing mushrooms rested in his pouch. Without the ability to return and gather more, he had best insure the ones he had were used with great care. Holk thought about Streyan and how the boy had warned him about going through the Arch. Had the lad known this would happen? He would sure love to find out.
Giving out with a kick, he sent the mirror-pack skittering back down the passageway. As he turned to continue along the path toward the Arch, light grew behind him as once again, the light-worm made its appearance.
It didn’t take long before the loss of the mirrors no longer bothered him. After all, weren’t strength, wits and steel everything a soldier needed to prevail? Such had been hammered into him long ago when he was naught but a green recruit.
Strength to persevere
Wits to overcome.
Steel to prevail.
Holk couldn’t help but crack a smile at memories of times long gone. His drill master had been as nasty a piece of work as anything that walked on two legs. But he had forged a ten-thumbed layabout into a skilled fighter. Better to rely on one’s abilities, than those of magic.
Whistling a merry tune, he continued on his way.
The room with the Arch was as devoid of life as it had been the previous time. As he stood before the Arch, his confidence began to wane. What if going through a second time altered things yet again? Dare he chance it? Dare he not?
Glancing toward the steps leading to the landing upon which Streyan had sat gave him pause. In the back of his mind, he wondered what the lad had been doing up there. Hadn’t the boy said he had been merely “passing by” when he saw the light from the sunstone? Passing by to where? Curiosity got the better of him and he walked over to the steps.
A search of the walls adjacent to the stairway failed to uncover any of the scribe’s markings. He looked up to the landing and the walls to either side. No marks were found there either. Could it be that this might be a way Kiernan had not explored?
In his journal, the scribe claimed to have explored every avenue except what lay beyond the Arch. But the same passage also claimed that he was immediately beset by Ti-Ocks. The thought occurred to Holk that perhaps the scribe hadn’t the chance to notice the steps before beating a hasty retreat. If that were the case… Better not to risk further complications with a second trip through the Arch; at least not until all other alternatives were exhausted. He ascended the steps.
At the top he found a hallway running perpendicular to the landing. On the wall directly opposite sat an empty torch sconce. Previously, the Ti-Ocks had come from the right. Peering cautiously around the corner, Holk discovered a dark corridor that extended without door or branching passageway into the shadows. To the left he discerned a second torch sconce just prior to the passageway vanishing into darkness. Since the Ti-Ocks had come from the right, Holk opted for the left. He could always come back and explore the right.
His hand clutched the sunstone tightly to his chest, allowing only a faint glow to illuminate the walls to either side. Once past the torch sconce, he discovered a scrap of purplish cloth, wadded upon the floor lying against the wall. He prodded it with the tip of his sword and discovered it to have been torn from a larger swath. Further inspection revealed it to be rather plain, but large enough to cover him from neck to waist and shoulder to shoulder. Thinking it might prove useful, he tucked it into his pack.
Twenty paces later, a distant greenish glow appeared in the corridor ahead. A moment’s pause showed that the glow remained constant. Interest piqued, Holk took tentative steps forward.
Neither sound nor odor could be detected coming from the corridor ahead. As he drew closer, the glow grew in brilliance. It was not a cheery green such as might be associated with the Spring Festival back home, rather it glowed a darker, more ominous shade; a shade that generated feelings of apprehension. Holk clutched his sword all the tighter and continued forward, intent on discovering the truth behind this radiance.
Another thirty paces and the fact that the glow came from within a room became clear. Ten more and he could readily determine that the glow came from something, something several feet off the ground.
By this time, the light from the sunstone was no longer needed. Holk slipped it back into his belt pouch.
At first he thought the glowing object rested upon some kind of truncated column, or perhaps a table. But when he drew near the end of the hallway, could tell that the object hovered unsupported three and a half feet from the floor. His feelings of apprehension were quickly turning into dread. Upon reaching where the hallway opened into the room, Holk came to a stop in order to give the room a quick once-over before entering.
The object looked spherical and roughly the size of a small pumpkin. The light bathed the room with a sickly green hue. To his right sat an ornately carved table upon which rested three bowls. Two were the size of cups and flanked a much larger one. The larger bowl was completely filled with a shimmering, green opalescence. The sight caused his gorge to rise. Swallowing hard, he ripped his eyes away and his stomach calmed.
A door loomed in the wall to his left. Arcane symbols covered its surface, the greatest density of symbols being in the vicinity of the ringed handle. The way the light was being refracted by the handle, Holk figured it to be constructed of some kind of crystal. What may have lain on the far side of the room remained shielded by the glow of the object. Only indistinct shadows of the room’s farthest reaches could be discerned.
From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the shaking of his blade and realized he quaked in fear like one new to the blade before his first battle. He turned his back on the room and allowed his gaze to take in the darkness of the corridor. Now no longer looking at the glow, his fear gradually subsided to a more manageable level.
If Streyan had in fact been passing by the landing as clai
med, then that would mean he had been either coming from this room, or to it. There had been no branching passageways or doors through which the lad could have gone.
Holk had half a mind to turn around and leave this room alone. Past experiences had developed a trust in his innate senses, and the fear the green glow generated clearly stated that he should give it a wide berth. Yet the question remained, what had Streyan been doing there?
Fear or no fear, he had to see where that door leading from the room went. If a mere lad could make it through unscathed, should not a seasoned fighter? Steeling his courage, he turned back to face the glow. It remained just as strong and fearful as before. Holk gripped his sword hilt firmly and stepped into the room.
His fear increased two-fold and sweat broke out upon his brow. Stepping quickly, he skirted the edge of the room and made his way to the door. There, he gripped the crystal ring and found it cool to the touch. The door swung open easily on well-greased hinges to reveal another hallway leading away from the room.
Once in the passageway, he closed the door and the glow vanished. He leaned against it as a sigh of relief escaped him; his fear and dread dissipated rapidly. But then his fear spiked anew upon noticing that the blade of his sword held a subtle, green glow. Sheathing the blade did much to quell the rising fear, however, portions of the hilt held the greenish glow as well.
The glow came from the pommel and the crossguard. The section where his fingers had held it glowed not at all. It was as if whatever portion of the blade that had been exposed to the greenish glow, now exuded the same greenish luminescence. Holk didn’t know what this meant, but didn’t think it would improve his situation. Allowing his gaze to linger where the steel glowed green, he failed to feel the fear rising within him as it had earlier. Since he could discern no ill effects, and wasn’t about to cast off his weapon, he kept the sword sheathed and continued on his way.
Chapter 15
Striking the sunstone to once again produce its light, he left behind the room with the green, glowing object. Holk had followed the passageway only a short ways before noticing a rise in temperature. Subtle at first, the air in the tunnel grew warmer the farther he went.
The corridor curved to the right, grew narrower, and when it once again proceeded in a straight line, light appeared in the distance. Not the greenish light as encountered in the previous room, but rather the normal light such as a torch or lantern might emit. Comforted by the normalcy, Holk hurried on.
The light grew in brilliance as he drew near where the corridor opened upon a large cavern. The temperature increased rapidly during the last twenty paces of the corridor. Pausing just before the entrance, Holk took in the odd sight before him.
Six large, rough-hewn monoliths rose in a somewhat circular pattern from the cavern floor two-score paces away. Within the ring formed by the six, a seventh laid skewed on its side. Holk couldn’t see most of it as one of the six constructing the circle obscured his view. The monoliths were the source of the heat.
Upon the ground near one of the stone spire’s base sat a lantern which turned out to be the source of the light. A closer inspection of the area surrounding the lantern revealed an over-stuffed mirror-pack that looked rather familiar.
Streyan.
Though the cavern appeared deserted, Holk figured the boy couldn’t be far; not if the lad’s mirror-pack was there. After another quick scan of the cavern, he moved as quickly and silently as he dared toward the pack. He was ready for some answers and this time wasn’t about to allow the boy a chance to get away.
Ten paces in, he found the boy. As he neared the ring of stone monoliths, more of the seventh came into view. Streyan lay upon its stony surface, stretched out on his back and looking to be asleep. Holk grinned to himself.
Another ten paces and the lad had yet to realize he was not alone. Holk quickened his pace and inadvertently kicked a loose stone across the ground toward the nearest monolith. Its impact against the stone spire resounded throughout the cavern and the boy sprang to a sitting position.
“No!” Hopping off the fallen spire, Streyan raced to beat Holk to the pack.
The boy sped faster toward the pack than Holk thought possible. Streyan closed the distance and amazingly, was going to beat Holk to it.
Holk refused to allow the boy to gain access to the mirrors. Drawing his sword and leaping at the same time, his body crashed into the boy’s not two feet from the pack. The collision knocked Streyan off his feet and sent him sailing through the air to land with an “oomph” upon the ground between two of the upright monoliths. In a flash, the boy was back on his feet.
Standing astride the pack, Holk menaced him with the point of his blade. “Not this time, boy.”
Streyan looked at the sword, then at the pack, then assumed a petulant look as he returned his gaze to Holk. “But that’s mine.”
“I’m not taking it.” Thinking of the light-worms that had emerged from his mirrors, Holk used his foot to shove the pack several feet across the floor behind him. When Streyan tried racing around a monolith to circumvent him and reach the pack, Holk matched his movement and foiled the attempt.
The boy moved back within the circle of monoliths and stood next to the fallen one; his gaze never once straying from Holk. When Holk moved to enter the ring, an alarmed expression came over the lad.
“St…stay where you are.”
Holk shook his head and continued advancing. “No, son. You stay where you are.”
Spinning about, Streyan shot toward the gap between two monoliths directly opposite where Holk was about to enter. “Don’t!”
Holk rushed after. He wasn’t about to let the boy get away; there were too many questions that needed answering. As he passed through the monolithic ring and entered its interior, green tendrils of glowing radiance lanced outward from his sword blade.
The sheer unexpectedness of their appearance brought him up short. A moment after they connected with the monoliths, Holk was knocked from his feet by some unseen force. Before hitting the ground, another blow reeled him into the side of the fallen monolith.
Green haze swirled like a rapidly growing vortex in and around the ring of upright monoliths. None of the haze held presence within the spired circle.
Holk managed to gain his feet only to be thrust upward four feet off the floor. The unseen force held him in place for the span of two heartbeats before throwing him back to the ground. Just prior to hitting, the force changed direction and back into the air he went.
“What…?” he began, but a blow to his diaphragm knocked the air from his lungs.
The swirling haze intensified its rotation. Though buffeted from side to side like a rag doll in a restless child’s hands, Holk heard not a sound to indicate who, or what, was doing this to him.
After being slammed against the side of the fallen spire, Holk had a moment’s respite. He spied Streyan through the haze to where the lad stood several feet beyond the ring of monoliths. The boy bore a sad expression. His lips moved as if attempting to communicate, but his words couldn’t penetrate the swirling, green haze.
Using his left hand as support against the fallen spire, Holk regained an upright position. A glance upward revealed that the spinning haze extended to the farthest reaches of the cavern. He returned his gaze to Streyan, but the boy no longer sought to communicate. The lad had retrieved his mirror-pack and now stood with hand raised in farewell.
“Wait!” Holk yelled as Streyan’s other hand moved toward the mirror-pack’s opening. Before another word could be uttered, the air turned viscous. The space around him appeared unchanged, yet over the span of several heartbeats, movement became all but impossible.
The swirling of the green haze increased in speed. The thickening of the air inhibited movement almost completely. For the first time since boyhood, Holk knew true panic.
He turned eyes wild with fear toward Streyan. His plea for help stillborn; it was all he could do to merely separate his lips to breathe. Inhalation g
rew labored as his chest worked against the restriction imposed by the thickening of the air around him.
The boy’s lips worked again, and though Holk could not hear the word, knew it to be “Goodbye.” With that, Streyan slipped a finger within the mirror-pack and vanished.
Constriction increased and Holk could no longer extend his diaphragm to draw in breath. Pressure built evenly across the entire surface of his body as the air grew ever more rigid. Discomfort quickly grew into throbbing; throbbing into pain.
Asphyxiated induced dots danced before his eyes. The beating of his heart could be felt throughout his body as blood sought to continue along its lifelong route. Vision blurred, darkened, then he knew no more.
At some point, consciousness returned; and so too did pain. From the tips of his toes all the way to the top of his head, his body throbbed most unpleasantly. He cracked open an eye and quickly shut it again as the contents of his stomach sought to surge forth.
It wasn’t the pain that had caused him to react so, but the world around him. A mist enveloped him, one that was neither wet nor cold. In fact, he couldn’t feel it at all, nor smell it for that matter. A dark purple in color, the mere sight of it had triggered the nauseating reaction. Taking a few breaths to calm his stomach, he steeled himself and opened his eyes.
He barely had time to shift onto his side before a spasm deep within his stomach sent its contents up and out. Closing his eyes did much to quiet his belly. Once the spell ended, he rolled onto his back and kept his eyes shut tight.
The possibility of having struck his head came to mind. Pain and nausea were common to soldiers after receiving a blow to the head. A brief examination revealed neither an enlarged bump, nor an area tenderer than another. Still, that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.
Recalling recent events did little to convince him he hadn’t struck his head. Vague memories of Streyan, stone spires, and being tossed around like so much chaff in the wind did more to convince him of serious head trauma than anything else. If he had, his situation had just grown direr.
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