“One thousand,” he breathed with delight.
It had not taken Callderwallder long to disassemble the man of metal his sister had brought to him. He had diagrammed all of the pieces and how they fit together. He had never imagined that he would enjoy this work as much as he had. He had poured over studying each piece of the man, day and night, exhausting himself. When he had gleaned all he could glean and felt he could create a replica, he set to work at a more ferocious pace, pouring and molding and hammering and fitting. When at last he had completed the work, he felt a magic resonate in his stunted bones that was more addictive than any sensation he had ever known.
He was a creator. The suffering of his life ebbed away and the grip of this new love mastered and possessed him. He immediately demanded a metalworking team from his sister, and he drove them as they had never been driven. One could say that Callderwallder had become manic, but manic is only a slight degree of the obsession that had claimed him. The men of metal were Callderwallder’s epic masterpiece. As he stared at the rows of men, each exactly like its brother, his blood boiled with impish glee.
“Retrieve my sister,” he said to the man at his right.
Callderwallder walked among the rows of his creations, waiting for her to arrive, and when she did, he extended his arms toward his army and smiled a smile that could only have been born of madness. His lids stretched wide to reveal eyes that pinned his sister to the floor, and he giggled as he spoke.
“One thousand. One thousand!!”
Faedra did not share the glee her brother exhibited, though she was moderately impressed. “Will it be enough for him?”
“Bring him to me,” said Callderwallder. “He will be pleased. I know he will.”
“He will return of his own accord, brother. I have no means to call him to us.”
Callderwallder’s mood soured at this news and he rolled his eyes, dropping his crooked arms. “You say he is your Holy, Sister?”
“Yes.”
“Then pray… pray hard.”
The small man grumbled and tossed a wrench upon the ground. It landed with a clatter and he limped out of the vast room that housed his precious men of metal.
•••
Callderwallder stayed to the dank and the dark clutter of his room in the days that followed. He took his meals with derision and kicked at his stacks of books with malice. He could not wait to know how his army of metal creations would be used. He had done his part; he had done what had been asked. He wanted the payoff. He wanted to be celebrated for his work. Five days in the agony of his own mind did Callderwallder reside, before the perfect stain of his queen sister arrived at his door and said:
“He has come. He is here.”
Callderwallder swiped at her with his arm as he limped quickly past her. He dragged his unwilling body to the room where his masterpiece waited. He could not be bothered with his own physical impediments now. It was time. It was his time.
As Callderwallder entered the room, his jaw dropped. It couldn’t be. It was not possible, yet it was unmistakable. His sister… she had been…right. Towering over Callderwallder and the metal men of his creation was a being of pure, luminescent power.
It truly is, thought Callderwallder, the Holy.
His arms were raised, and with a force unseen, he willed the army of metallic men into motion. Callderwallder watched as they marched in place, swung their arms and turned their heads. The Holy was like a puppeteer.
“Incredible,” he whispered, but loudly enough that the Tyrant took notice of the tiny man’s presence and stopped controlling the army. He moved slowly over to Callderwallder and stooped down to meet the man.
“You made these for me?”
“Yes,” responded Callderwallder, his milky eye bulging.
“You have done much in little time. Yet, I require more.”
“You shall have more, oh Holy.”
The Tyrant paused as he looked down at the crippled form of Callderwallder. “You have suffered, have you not?”
“Yes, my Holy.”
“Would you like to relieve that suffering?” asked the Tyrant, and Callderwallder’s eyes grew wide. “I can give this army life, but I need someone to command it. I need someone who understands suffering. I need someone who understands vengeance. Are you this someone?”
“Yes,” said Callderwallder. “This world…rejects me.”
The Great Tyrant turned toward the army of metal and released a blanket of energy toward them. Without delay, the eyes of each man glowed with violet light and the room seemed to fill with a dull hum.
“Command them,” said the Tyrant.
“How?” asked Callderwallder.
“Use your mind.”
Callderwallder looked toward his thousand creations and closed his eyes, envisioning what he would like to have happen. A metal man in the first line turned and threw a devastating blow at the head of another of the metal men, denting him badly. The Tyrant smiled and buzzed with pleasure. Callderwallder opened his eyes and gasped.
“I am sorry, my Holy,” he said, shaking with fear.
“Do not be sorry. You are now the master of this army, and you will use it to make this world pay for casting you aside. Do you accept this?”
“Yes,” said Callderwallder, falling to his knees. “Yes, my Holy. Thank you for this gift.”
“Now, rise Callderwallder. By my grace, you are master.”
Callderwallder rose to his feet and a devious grin crawled across his cracked purple lips. “I shall make them pay.”
“There is one thing more I shall require.” The Tyrant reached down with his long, blazing arm and scattered the shards of some bone-white metal upon the floor in front of Callderwallder. “I shall require a weapon.”
Chapter 29: The Mystic Mountain
“How do you think Tenturo is coming along?” asked Tomas as he, Ben and Riverpaw sat upon one of the immensely high ledges of the Mystic Mountain.
“I don’t know,” said Ben with a shrug. “I hope he’s faring better than we are.”
The Mystic Mountain was the largest of all the peaks in Ephanlarea. It was so large that no one in Ephanlarea had ever reached its peak; in fact, no one had even seen its peak. The Mystic Mountain stretched above the clouds and no soul knew how high. Some of the eldest people who lived around the mountain would say that the mountain had no peak. They held staunchly to the belief that it was the home of the Holy and was indeed infinite in its height. Only the Holy, infinite in his power, could attain complete ascent.
It was on the ledge of this mountain, after hours of flying as high as he could, that Riverpaw had stopped. Frustrated, tired and unable to continue any further, he now sat on the edge of this ledge, staring into the clouds and pondering the monumental size of a mountain that a flying bear could not reach the peak of.
“You’d better go talk to him,” said Ben.
“Why me?” asked Tomas.
“You’re the warm one.”
“I’d like to know when being the warm one will begin to come with benefits?”
Ben, again, merely shrugged.
Tomas huffed, sighed and lumbered over to the far side of the vast ledge, where Riverpaw stared at the sky.
“You know, your father used to do that,” said Tomas, taking a seat directly next to the bear.
“Do what?”
“Stare at the sky when what he was really doing was looking within…you’re very much like him, you know.”
“He would know how to reach this peak,” scoffed Riverpaw. “He wouldn’t be sitting upon this ledge searching for an answer.”
“Yes he would,” said Tomas. “Come on, think about it. This is a puzzle, just like finding Harena was; just like finding Dendrata was. It’s meant to be some sort of test.”
“I know…you’re right, Tomas. I just…”
“You’re frustrated,” finished Tomas. Riverpaw grunted his affirmation. “It’s fine to take a break, but don’t give up. The last time I sat at
op a mountain like this, it was your father who talked to me about the meaning of the Everflame. I’ll never forget that moment because it’s not often that people speak truth from their heart like that. It’s not often that people let you in like that…not that your father was people…I mean…can bears be people?”
“Tomas,” interrupted Riverpaw.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s fly again.”
So the brothers Floyd grabbed onto Riverpaw’s back, and again, the bear attempted to find the peak of the Mystic Mountain. Up through the cloud cover and into white oblivion, the only things the travelers could see were the ledges upon the side of the mountain. Everything above and below was white. The wind howled in their ears as Riverpaw ascended further and further into the sky. An hour passed, and the brothers could feel Riverpaw’s energy beginning to ebb away. Ben Floyd took the initiative.
“Land on a ledge, Riverpaw!” he shouted against the wind as loudly as he could.
Riverpaw didn’t need to be told twice and was thankful he did not have to be the one to call an end to the flight. The bear panted and sat upon the ledge, trying to slow his heart rate and catch his breath in the thinner air.
“This isn’t working,” said Tomas, stating the obvious. “We’re not finding the trick.”
“I agree,” said Ben. “We should have reached the top of any peak by now. I don’t care how large this mountain is.”
“I can’t even tell that we’re making any progress,” complained Riverpaw. “There are clouds above us and clouds below us. This ledge looks exactly like the last one. Nothing’s changed at all.”
“Riverpaw,” asked Ben, “can you fly again?”
“Now?”
“Yes, but alone. Fly up through the clouds again.”
“I don’t get it,” said Riverpaw, standing up after having gotten his energy back.
“I just want to test something. Fly up above the cloud cover, alone, and when you reach the first ledge, come back down to us and tell us what was there.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first strange thing I’ve done on this journey,” said Riverpaw, and with a shake of his head, he launched himself back into the sky.
“What are you thinking he’s going to find?” asked Tomas as Riverpaw left the brothers’ sight.
“I think he’s going to find the reason why we haven’t gotten anywhere,” said Ben, waving his arm and motioning for his brother to follow him.
The Floyds walked to the edge of the mountain ledge and Ben looked down at the clouds below. Tomas cocked an eyebrow, but remained silent, trying to see just what his brother was looking at among the fluffy, white clouds. Then, like a geyser, the head of a furry bear came hurtling up toward them, out of the clouds below. The bear shot through the air and quickly came within sight of the two brothers. Riverpaw slowed his ascent and stared, gaping at the men, his eyes growing wide.
“Ben?” he called.
“Yep,” said Ben Floyd.
Riverpaw landed on the ledge, and with one paw, gently prodded Ben in the stomach. “You’re real,” said Riverpaw.
“You were right, Riverpaw,” said Ben. “We weren’t getting anywhere. I don’t know what kind of magic this is, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“So, we were just flying past the same part of the mountain over and over?” asked Tomas.
“It seems like it,” said Ben. “Every time Riverpaw goes up through the clouds above, he was coming out through the clouds below.”
“So, we can’t fly to the top of the mountain,” said Riverpaw.
“That would seem to be the case,” confirmed Ben.
“Well that’s great,” said Riverpaw with sarcasm. “So what are we supposed to do?”
“The only thing that we can do, continue trying different things,” said Ben. “My first suggestion is that we should try climbing.”
“Climbing the mountain?” asked Tomas.
“Umm, yeah.”
“With our claws?” asked Riverpaw.
“We don’t have claws,” said Ben, “but, yes. Tomas, give me one of your arrows.” Tomas did as his brother asked and Ben promptly snapped the arrow in two pieces. He then crossed the pieces to make an X and laid them upon the mountain ledge. “We’ll climb through the cloud cover to the next ledge. If the arrow is there, we come up with a different plan. If the arrow is not there, then we know we’re on the right track.” Tomas and Riverpaw did not seem impressed with the plan. “Come on, it couldn’t hurt to try.”
“Sounds like a lot of work,” complained Tomas.
“Stop whining,” said Ben. “Just follow me.”
And with that, Ben walked to the mountain’s face, found a handhold, and began the process of climbing the Mystic Mountain. It took the travelers two hours to climb the rock wall into the cloud cover and then to come out on the other side. When they reached the next ledge, they were covered with sweat, and coughing from dry throats.
“Is it here?” asked Ben. “Is the arrow here?”
“I don’t see it,” said Riverpaw, licking his paw where the mountain had cut him during the climb.
“All right,” said Ben. “Then let’s keep going.”
So they continued to climb. Each time, Ben used one of Tomas’ arrows to make sure they were not repeating the same ascent, and each time they made it to a new ledge, they found no arrow. For hours they crawled up the mountain, until they had been cut, bruised and beaten into exhaustion.
“We can’t go on,” said Tomas.
“Then sleep,” said Ben. “We will continue when we wake.”
The travelers slept without disturbance for hours upon the ledge of the mountainside, and when they woke, Ben Floyd drove them onward and upward once more.
“We need to eat,” complained Tomas, after a half day of arduous climbing.
“Try for a bird at the next ledge,” shouted Ben as he clung to the mountain.
“I can’t,” argued Tomas. “You used my last arrow on the mountain.”
“Why didn’t you tell me it was your last?” scolded Ben.
“Why were you using his arrows anyway,” argued Riverpaw.
“Well, no one said anything about it at the time- aarggh. It doesn’t matter. We have to keep climbing. We can’t stop now.”
Riverpaw and Tomas knew that Ben was right. For some reason, the mountain was not letting them fly to its summit, but climbing was producing a more positive effect. Each ledge they reached looked different from the last. The temperature was dropping as they climbed and the air was growing thinner all the time. They were certainly getting closer to the top of the mountain, but they feared how much further they would have to go. Riverpaw’s claws were grinding down and were no longer sharp. Tomas had sweat so much that his clothing had hardened from being repeatedly soaked with sweat and then dried. Ben’s lips were cracked from hard breathing and his fingers were bleeding from poor handholds. The traveler’s bodies were running out of time, even if their spirits were enduring.
Yet, up into the clouds they climbed again. How many times, they had lost count. Their muscles ached and strained as they pulled and pushed against the cold rock, over and over, and as they reached the next ledge, they rolled across the flat surface and gasped, unable to go on. Relief rushed through them and they relished the temporary reprieve from the climb.
“All I see are stars, Ben,” said Tomas, barely able to speak. “All I see are stars.”
“Sleep, Tomas,” said Ben. “Sleep now. We can continue later.”
The travelers slept for how long they did not know, but when they had reached that final ledge, their bodies would not allow them to continue and the warm retreat of unconsciousness enveloped them as the clouds did the mountain. They slept high above the land of Ephanlarea, in the places that children can only dream of, and where the highest of flying creatures do not dare to travel. They slept in this place the old minds of the world name impossible and unattainable. What lies in these spaces the world knows as impossible? Wh
at awaits the few who ignore the presumed laws of what cannot be done? As Ben Floyd slowly opened his eyes from slumber and looked at the stars that twinkled amid a sea of black, he knew what gift was given to those who persevere where others fail. It fell to him slowly, as it had to Evercloud as he lay in the Valley of Morsus. Ben reached one bloodied hand into the air and lightly took hold of the eagle feather that fell to meet him.
“Lithlillian,” he whispered, and the sky exploded with light. Deep in the blackness of space grew colors and shapes that Ben had never seen, as if a great being were coming to life before his eyes. The light moved, twisted and bloomed as it stretched in the void. Colors of yellow, green and purple rolled and painted the black canvas. Ben imagined that it looked as though the peak of the Mystic Mountain extended out of the boundaries of the Earth.
And then he saw her, bounding down from an interstellar precipice. The large pads of a she lion, carrying her sleek and tan form down from the sky. Her muscular body was massive and lithe. She moved toward the exhausted and broken travelers and whispered, heal. It was as if the wind blew through their cores. It lifted them, and they felt no pain in their muscles, they knew no aches in their bones. Their minds were no longer doped and lazy, and their spirits burned with the lightness of hope.
The she lion exploded into a million points of light, all around them. The travelers swung their heads in awe, and watched as the tiny orbs of light danced in front of their eyes, before rushing back together to create the form of a giant woman. The hair upon her head was cropped short and was light, like the coat of the lion she had been. The muscles in her arms and upon her back were like the chiseled stone of the very mountain. In fact, every inch of the massive woman seemed as if it were carved and hard. Lithlillian wore no clothing; yet bore no shame for her form. She spun her head quickly and stared at the travelers. Looking down at them with sharp eyes, like those of a predator. Her lips pursed and her pale, blue eyes flashed, rimmed in black like her lion eyes had been. The woman was pale and fair, yet powerful and harsh. Lithlillian was a warrior. She was the Queen of the Mystic Mountain. Her heart was an ever-raging battle of fire and ice, indomitable in every way. She knew no equal in strength, had no peers in power; she was the roar of the wild beast. She was Lithlillian, daughter of the Earth and Sun, spirit of the mountain unyielding.
Everflame: The Complete Series Page 68
