by L. R. Flint
“Help me pull everyone into a closer circle and we shall put wards around us, then I will sing over their bodies, hopefully to keep their spirits anchored to them.” I quickly obeyed the dwarf’s orders and helped him pull the sleeping bodies of our companions into a tight circle, around which I followed the dwarf’s directions in placing a strong ward against the approaching ghouls.
As soon as the complicated wards were set, the dwarf and I knelt where we could, amongst our companions, and the dwarf began to chant in a language known only to his people. The words of his song were haunting and fleeting, and the tune to which he sang, unlike the chorus of the ghouls, did not leave a taint of dread in my heart. As the song progressed, the pace picked up and from the forest around us came the sound of a wooden flute, then the tinkling of small bells, and then humming, followed by the soft sound of drums melded into the harmony of the strange song.
Suddenly the music and Kepa’s singing cut off, with a swiftness that had been practiced over centuries; the sudden end caught me completely unawares and I was crouched, ready to flee, within the second. I slowly relaxed as my sleeping companions began showing signs of waking, and the sunlight of a somewhat older morning broke through the treetops and dispelled the gathered mists like a wolf set loose on a flock of sheep.
No one really seemed to notice that they had all been piled on top of one another while they were asleep. All that seemed to matter was why we had not awakened them until now, a few hours past when we usually started traveling. I was glad to find that none of the packs had been touched, and that no weapons had been taken. After a quick, late breakfast, we headed on toward the icy mountains, the peaks of which we had caught a glimpse the day before, from the peak of a small hill surrounded by stumped and scraggly trees. Not too long before noon we reached the edge of the forest and started across a wide stretch of dying grassland. After crossing that, we arrived at the foothills of the Mountains of Ice.
~ ~ ~
The foothills themselves were not covered in ice, but a chill wind that bore ill tidings of the stuff blasted us from the mountain heights. The stretch of foothills was completely barren without a single green, or living, thing to break the monotony of them. Without the roots of plants to hold the dirt of the mounds in place, it was often whipped up into our unprotected faces by the howling winds which seemed to be trying to turn us back from our course. When we finally reached the last of the foothills Sendoa led us to the lee of a small, but protective mound, which kept the chilling wind off us and our campfire, which we greatly needed to warm ourselves and restore the knowledge that not everything was frozen. “As you noticed, when the sun was out, we were constantly having to lower our gaze so that we were not blinded with the reflection of the light off the snow covered peaks ahead,” Sendoa said and held out straps of leather to each of us.
The elf tied his own leather strap around his eyes. “These have slits for you to see through. Though they are somewhat constricting of your view, they will keep you from going blind or, in the least, from losing your sight for a while and receiving the most horrifying headache possible.” I tied the leather strap around my head and saw firelight through the two mentioned slits, though I had secured them a bit off-center. The sun was already approaching the Western horizon, so after a warm meal everyone wrapped themselves in their blankets and we drew as near to the fire as we dared, to keep from freezing in the bitter cold that Sendoa warned would come that night.
~ ~ ~
The next day we began our long anticipated hike into the icy crevices amidst the glazed peaks of the frozen mountain range. From the time we entered the labyrinth of frozen mountains to the time we departed it, the only thing we ever seemed to see was this: ice, ice, ice, and even more bloody ice. Throughout the first day I walked mainly in the lead next to Sendoa and we talked about the possibility of running into a basilisk. He was unsure if we would be able to kill it if we did happen upon one, because the mere sight of a living one would turn you to stone, while direct eye contact with one would immediately kill you, no matter how strong you were with magic—it seemed.
When I was not in the lead with Sendoa, or wandering further back in the line, talking with the others or finding some other way of keeping myself entertained, it was because I was too busy concentrating on climbing nigh vertical walls of ice. Once while we scaled one of the ice walls—which Erramun was lucky enough to be able to fly to the top of—Alaia lost her grip and fell on Mattin, who almost lost his own hold on the slippery ice before she passed him by and continued falling toward me. I was too intent on getting one of my woolen gloves unstuck from the ice to even hear Alaia’s scream, and she was nearly upon me before I realized that I sensed her falling toward me. I immediately stopped her midair and she came to a sudden halt less than a foot above my head.
I looked up and let out a relieved breath of air. I sent the dragonlady carefully up to the top of the cliff, where Erramun was waiting for those climbing, and after I finally freed my glove I continued the long and tiring climb, continually on the lookout for a loose hand—or foot—hold which could easily spell disaster. When I finally reached the top I insisted on fixing Alaia’s wings; she had been born with wings and, so, was not meant to climb with her arms as much as she had done.
~ ~ ~
While climbing another of the many ice walls, I again came close to falling, but that time as I helped Arrats onto a ledge which we were using as a stopping point midway up the cliff. I had knelt next to Mattin and each of us were pulling on Arrats’ arms, hoisting him onto the ledge. As I reached for my pack, ready to continue upward, my feet slipped out from under me and I toppled over the edge.
Mattin reacted swiftly and was able to grab my leg. While he took off his pack, I swung hundreds of feet above the treacherous valley floor and I realized that I could sense the exact distance between me and the frozen ground, far below. Mattin finally relieved himself of his pack and then we maneuvered me around so that he and Arrats were holding my hands, and with our combined effort, I was hauled back onto the ledge. “I have had enough of this ledge, get moving,” I said. I ended up in the back again, and as I reached the very top of the wall, an earsplitting crack rang through the air. I looked down just in time to see the ledge break away from the wall and tumble to the valley floor, where it shattered into millions of tiny shards.
The noise started an avalanche on one of the side slopes of the valley and I got to watch, from a safe distance, its devastating force as it swept swiftly along the jagged slope of ice. Someone above me whistled and I knew we were thinking the same thing, as the swirling cloud of snow settled into a fifty-feet-deep and two-hundred-feet-wide sheet of snow blocking the path we had so recently taken. We were lucky not to be buried alive under all that snow.
In nearly falling from the cliff I had learned that my sixth sense had grown sharper, so from that point on I concentrated often on honing it even further so that I could see my surroundings without the use of my eyes. I occasionally even enlisted the others’ help; they would throw snowballs at me—it was not a hard thing to ask of them—and I would defend myself while I had an uncut piece of leather tied over my eyes.
~ ~ ~
“How many more days until we are out of these cursed mountains?” I asked Sendoa. I almost stumbled over a chunk of ice resting in a blanketing of snow, because of the lack of attention I was giving my surroundings, but was able to catch myself before planting my face in the stuff.
“At the rate we are going, it should be another two days before we reach the wastelands.” I kept my eyes closed and leaned my head back, sufficiently sick of the snow and ice which covered the surrounding lands beyond sight. I again stumbled on a slab of ice, but that time I failed to catch myself and landed flat on my face. Snow fell down my collar and into my shirt, as my impact created a wall of snow flurries that showered down on everyone else. “If you break something it could add an extra day,” the elf warned, I ignored both his words, and the snow that melted in my clo
thes and turned into a small puddle around my stomach and chest. Izar came over and nudged my side with her boot, then scolded me for being lazy and told me to get up. I groaned, and as I pushed myself up, I held out the bottom of my shirt and coat so that the water would not run into my pants. I sat there on my knees for a moment, and watched the water as it steamed, and then cooled until it had iced over. “It is bloody cold here,” I said needlessly. Finally I got to my feet, reluctantly ready to pay more attention to where I was walking.
36 BEHEMOTH
I dumped my pack, quiet as possible, in the deep snow and stalked to the peak of the mound of snow on my hands and knees, careful not to alert whoever was camped just beyond. Something small and light landed on my back and my imagination turned it into a million different things; I almost decided not to reach back and grab it, but finally I did and was embarrassed at myself for what I had thought it might be. In my hand I held a white, knit cap. I looked to see who had thrown the hat and saw Sendoa smiling, like a little kid who had just played the world’s greatest prank on someone. I slipped the white hat over my dark hair before I continued to prowl up the small hill, at the top of which I paused to get a good look at what could be seen below, before crawling back down to inform the others of our neighbors.
“It is a camp of goblins.”
“What?” Izar asked. “They live all the way out here?” I shrugged; I would not have guessed that anyone would set up residence in such a cold place.
“They sometimes travel out here to get away from enemy clans.”
“Could we skirt around them?” Alesander queried, and I told him everything else that I had seen.
“There is a long, low mound of snow to the right of the camp. We would have to crawl past it, I think, but it should be possible to get around them, undetected.”
The mount was too short to safely hide a person with a pack on their back, so we each took a turn to crawl past the camp, pushing our own packs ahead of us. While I awaited my turn, I turned my attention to the goblins. They were all drunk and there were moments of uproarious singing, followed by bawdy laughter, as at least one of their number made a complete fool of himself. Occasionally they would meander toward the snow bank, but never close enough to detect us as we passed quietly in its shadow.
I was half way across when I heard the tell-tale crunch of snow being trod upon; the sound neared my hideout, so I waved for the others to get out of sight, just in case. I stopped so that the sound would not alert the goblin to my presence. I lay there as still as I could, wanting nothing more than to race across the clearing, or stand and attack, but knew I had to resist both options for a moment.
The goblin stopped just above where I hid and I could hear him sniffling, I hoped it was because he had a cold and not because he had caught a taunting scent on the air, particularly one that spoke of warm blood. The goblin grunted and I continued to wait, ready to spring at the first hint that he knew I was there. I heard a deep intake of breath and the drunken goblin thudded to the ground in an unconscious heap, which was not good either, because the others realized he was down and came to fetch him. As near as he was to me, and with as many goblins as raced toward me, there was no chance that I would go unnoticed.
I raced across the small stretch remaining between me and the mound’s end, as the goblins fumbled toward their fallen comrade, then turned and chased after me. I easily caught up to the others as they sneakily crept away.
“Hurry! We have got company,” I yelled, and the five other elves let loose a small volley of arrows and each one found its mark deep within goblin flesh, as we ran around the corner of a huge mound of ice.
A deafening hiss from ahead brought us to a quick stop, and if I had been paying attention, I would have recognized the presence of an enormous being within an ice mound. The wall of ice was rammed into from the other side and the entire thing shattered into a multitude of pieces that flew through the air beyond our group, some of them crushed the helpless bodies of goblins.
“Basilisk,” Sendoa shouted. We flung ourselves to the ground and buried our faces in the snow, taking no chance of gazing upon the basilisk—unless we were being grasped in its cavernous mouth, and on our way down to its stomach (at which point it would already be too late).
Knowing I had to do something about the basilisk, because waiting around for it to eat me was not an attractive choice, I bent all my focus on my sixth sense and the entire landscape suddenly mapped itself out to my sight—every contour of the ground appeared to the scrutiny of my mind. I tightened the leather strap around my head so that if my eyes flew open I still would not be able to see the creature I was about to attack. In my mind I could see the basilisk’s huge, white body towering above me. I cast my view up the body, or neck (whichever it was), and on toward the head. The basilisk looked like a white snake of impossible size, but with see-through, fin-like flanges that protruded from the sides of its head.
The basilisk hissed again and the air throbbed with the noise, then its head flashed toward me with lightning speed and I barely leapt out of the way, before the beast’s head thudded against the ground where I had just been. The serpent let loose a keening noise, which gave me the impression that it was just a young one, and it called for the help of its betters, but it could also have been a sound of pain—I did not know. While the creature was distracted, letting loose its mourning sound, I grabbed my bow and shot an arrow at the base of its huge head. The small wound did nothing to hurt the beast, so I blasted it with fire.
The basilisk hissed in anger as the fire scathed its hide, so I tossed my bow toward my discarded pack—it would be useless against the creature of ice. I sent more fireballs shooting at it and they exploded and expanded on contact with the soft scales. The beast hissed and thrashed around, as its body was pockmarked with small burns from where the fire had begun to eat through to its flesh. Eventually, it realized that I was the source of its pain, so it began to creep slowly closer to me.
Unable to do much else, and needing to give myself more time to come up with a plan, I slowly gave ground to the huge beast, though I did not pay much attention to where I was going, other than making sure there was nothing behind me to stumble upon—a sure way of quickly ending my life at that point. I knew I was in serious trouble when I suddenly backed up against a tall, ice wall. At my short moment of hesitation the basilisk moved in for the kill. The enormous head of the serpent dove toward me as I looked back in its direction, and I had no time to jump out of the way before its huge jaws engulfed me, and I was launched high into the air. For a moment, I seemed held in suspense, almost a hundred feet above the ground, and then I began my descent back down toward the basilisk’s gaping maw.
My first thought, as gravity kicked in, was a hope that I was not going to die; that immediately changed when I thought of the small village I was now a guardian of. The problem was no longer simply that I did not want to die—but I could not. There were still plenty of things I had to take care of, promises to fulfill—and also a prophecy. I was entertained momentarily by the thought that the man who had made the prophecy would be turning in his grave, as I plummeted toward my death. I was engulfed in a horrible stench as I fell into the mouth, and then further down the throat, which was wide enough that if I had lain crosswise, neither my feet nor my hands would have been able to touch either side.
I quickly pulled my sword from its sheath and buried it as far within the creature’s neck as I could. I finally came to a stop, and hung there for a moment to catch my breath before I made my next move. I created an enormous fireball, with more explosive power than all the previous ones, and sent it flying along the passageway of the beast’s throat, down to its stomach, where it sank into the decaying things already stored there. I did not have to wait long before I heard the enormous explosion, and felt my host writhing more wildly than before. One second I hung there, waiting, and the next I was splattered by the remnants of the basilisk’s last meal, which had been blown into reeking smi
thereens.
Soon after, the creature let loose of everything that had been in its cavernous stomach. I heard a loud gurgling only moments before the contents were spewed from the basilisk’s insides, and I was swamped by who-knew-what. Luckily the contents quickly passed me by and I was left with only a thick layer of the basilisk’s blood dripping down my body. The basilisk thudded to the ground, too weak to move—or near death. My weight pulled the sword from the top of the cavernous throat, which was spread horizontally like a huge tunnel, extending far in both directions, and I landed on the soft, fleshy floor below.
Shortly the creature’s blood flooded toward me, up the basilisk’s throat, so I turned and jogged along the tunnel toward the mouth, where I hoped to find an easy escape route. The basilisk’s jaws were clamped together in death, and I got a good view of its fangs, the smaller ones were longer than I was tall, and the two larger ones(in its upper jaw) were simply enormous. Thick venom dripped from the tips of the two larger fangs and I studiously avoided the stuff. The blood had begun to pool in the basilisk’s mouth and I doubted that gills would be of use in a pool of blood, so I looked harder for a way to get out of my fleshy prison cell. There was a groaning sound that reminded me of a tree branch about to fall; I looked around for what could be making the noise, but noticed nothing for a while. Using my sixth sense to see, rather than my eyesight, I could not see the section of sunlight that pierced through, between one of the smaller fangs and the basilisk’s gums, but when I next walked past I could feel a slight breeze sifting through my hair.
I walked to the small tooth and shoved it; to my joy it rocked by the roots, which barely held it in place. I leapt up and grabbed ahold of the jagged base of the tooth and sawed away at its roots with my dagger and free hand. As the second root snapped, I launched myself backward into the basilisk’s mouth to land in two feet of blood. The released tooth fell and splattering the whole area, including me, in more blood. I hoisted myself over the two fangs of the lower jaw that bordered the now gaping hole, and swung myself through the open space and onto the welcome, snow-covered, and ice-bound earth. The overpowering stench of the basilisk’s regurgitated food swept over me as I stood up, and I welcomed the fresh air, even though it was bitter cold.
