Through the Dark Wood

by Geno Allen

  Griss entered the clearing first, his feet nearly slipping out from under him. “It is not easy keeping one’s balance here. There is ice even beneath the snow.”

  Zam chuckled and followed, but the moment his foot touched the ice, all chuckling stopped and he was instantly afraid. Not afraid of falling, though to watch Griss make his slipping shuffling off-kilter way into the clearing, perhaps he should have been. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but a fear—slowly growing to a terror—crept up inside him. This place had called to him, but he suddenly feared what that call might bring.

  Griss on the other hand had found his footing and slid at will across the ice like a child at play. It was a side of him that Zam had not yet seen. And in his current state, it made Zam uncomfortable. He knew he must make his way across this clearing. He could see the other side had opened for them, but every shuffling step was, internally, almost more difficult than he could bear. The farther into the clearing he passed the more deeply his fear took root. “What is in this place?”

  Griss slid and traced a circular path on one of the larger sheets of ice and laughed loudly. He seemed to have forgotten his companion, lost in a moment of joy at having found this icy place.

  Zam looked down and saw that here and there the ice was so smooth it not only reflected the light that should have melted it, but it cast a true reflection. For a moment he held his gaze there, seeing himself in the ice, and panic laced its way through his being, tightening in his gut. He jerked his gaze away from the ice, unwilling to look any longer. I will look at anything but the ice! The panic was building. He felt trapped. Any moment something horrible was going to burst through the ice and consume him while Griss remained blissfully unaware, playing like a child upon the ice.

  Zam could not make his way safely without looking at the ice every few shuffled steps. In a trembling voice he wondered aloud, “How could this place, which held such wonder a moment ago, hold such fear and danger now?”

  Griss was now standing near the center of the clearing, peering down at his reflection in the ice. Zam fearfully and cautiously made his way toward him. When he reached the place where Griss stood, his heartbeat could have caused an avalanche had the snow been atop the hills. He could see that Griss was reveling in some moment of bliss, and at that, the panic tightened around, and needled its way through, Zam’s heart. Griss is unaware of the danger! He trembled. He couldn’t take another step. He couldn’t speak. He was suffocating in the terror, its grip tightening with every moment.

  At last Griss looked up from the ice smiling and heaving a contented sigh. Glancing around, he saw that Zam stood frozen with terror. Before he could say a word the ground shook and writhed and rumbled. Rocks rose from the ice and the way of escape was blocked.

  Zam stumbled back. “Griss! Help me! Elyon! Someone!” This last word was a terror filled scream.

  Quickly Griss wrapped his arms around Zam who was flailing in blind fear. “It’s all right, Zam.” he said gently, but Zam could not hear past the emotional storm that overtook him. He wanted to run and he tried to run, but there upon the ice in Griss’ arms he was trapped. His flailing attempt to escape the rumbling knocked them both to the ground.

  Griss raised his voice. “Zam! It is all right!” This time the words struck his heart and loosened the fear encamped there, but did not remove it completely. He stopped fighting Griss, and for a moment held still. His eyes fell upon the blockade rising in their path. He thought of Ellerion's wall and asked fearfully, “Was I not supposed to come this way?”

  Amid the rock which rose before them a dark opening began to form. It trailed away deep into the earth, far deeper and darker than the paths they had traveled so far. Zam’s gaze was fixed on the darkness before him, and he was unable to move. This place will be my undoing!

  Griss eased his grip on Zam. “It is all right,” he said again, and again the fear in Zam loosened, but did not leave completely. “I know the feel of this place, Zam. Not that I have been here, not among these hills. I cannot explain it, but this is a wonderful place. I know your fear—I have felt it before—but I am certain this place need not be feared.”

  Every word Griss spoke moved through Zam like an army reclaiming lost ground, driving his fear farther and farther back. But, just as it is in war, sometimes the enemy is too entrenched to be driven out all at once. A lingering fear held ground in the pit of Zam's stomach.

  “I cannot move, Griss. I cannot think. All I can do is tremble.” He paused as the remaining fear played scenes through his mind of all the terrors that awaited. “I cannot go this way!”

  Griss still held Zam in a protective embrace. “It is all right to be afraid, Zam. But consider the fears you have already faced. Consider the actual dangers that have assailed you. Have you not been protected? Have you not conquered fear before?”

  Zam's mind raced.

  Griss continued. “The night we met, you faced a hoard of Shadow Vermin alone, and stood ready to battle them to the end. Elyon led you alone to face and slay the dark dragon Crimthorn, who held Southern Darlandis for more than eight hundred years. Now I ask you, if he has protected you thus far and you have followed his lead to this place, what can stand against you? And why do you fear?”

  The battle inside Zam was more fierce than any he had ever experienced. There was something he could not reconcile. When he had seen his reflection in the ice there was something about his own eyes.... The simple answer was there was something in Zam that Zam feared. His trembling turned to shuddering. “I do not know the things I should. I trust that I have been protected, because I can see that I have been, but Griss, if I speak the truth, I do not trust that I will be.”

  Griss’ eyes filled with understanding. “You do not believe you are worth protecting is more to the point, Zam.”

  The words cut straight to Zam’s heart. The fear that remained tried to rise up and drive him to flee this place, but long-buried sorrows, freshly uncovered, overwhelmed Zam’s fears, ripping raw a gulf in his emotions. He wept.

  They remained there a long while, Zam with tears falling and Griss attempting to comfort his friend. At length the kind warrior spoke. “Zam… young Zam….” he sighed. “I have felt this pain. Only today, in this place, was I reminded of my turn from it.” Zam wiped at his tears, and Griss continued. “Here upon the ice, seeing my reflection so clearly, I was given comfort. I am not the man I once was. I had somehow forgotten in recent years the distance I have come. Zam, you have a distance yet to travel. And I believe, for you, it begins in there.” He pointed to the cave that now opened before them.

  Zam would have expected the terror to return at that suggestion, but instead he felt anger rush through him. Taking his staff in hand he threw it toward the cave. “I will not!” he shouted, surprised by the venom in his own voice. The staff landed a few feet shy of the cave and skidded, coming to rest just inside the darkness at its mouth.

  Zam looked at Griss with sadness. “I’m sorry, Griss. I don’t know what came over me.” As soon as he said that, fear began one more creeping bid for his departure from this place.

  “I know, Zam. It’s all right. I will not make you go in there. I cannot make you, but I believe if you go you will be safe.”

  Zam turned back toward the opening and his jaw dropped. There, where the blackness had seemed so consuming, lay his staff, glowing, illuminating the dark opening. Jewels of every color sparkled, embedded in the ice all about the cave walls. Suddenly not so fearful a place, were the words that ran through Zam’s mind. He let out a confused chuckle as he wiped his tears. “My staff... how–”

  “Where did you get this staff, Zam? In all my days I have never seen anything like this.”

  Zam was equally dumbfounded then he remembered Graffeon’s inscription in his book. Today I hewed a branch from the second tree in Elyon’s garden. It is now a staff for Zam. May it serve him as I serve Elyon. He shook his head in disbelief. Graffeon's words... In that moment, the fear and the sorrow he'd felt, crum
bled. He stood up on the ice and offered a hand to Griss—not that he was much help pulling so gigantic a man up from the ice. “It was a gift... one that I have neglected. I did not understand its value.”

  Griss was struck again by the good fortune poured out on Zam in this journey. “It is one of several astounding gifts you have been given,” he said as he gained his feet. “Look at the jewels about the cave there. You will have no fear when it comes time to buy your friend’s freedom.”

  “Indeed,” Zam said, wondering at the beauty hidden there.

  Griss said, “I once read somewhere in my travels with Raim Sabbar, ‘I will give you the treasures of darkness, riches hidden in dark places’... or was it secret places?”

  The words resonated inside the young adventurer.

  Griss continued, “Grim this place seemed, Zam, a moment ago, but now you see it for its true beauty. I have learned a truth during my time in Darlandis, though till now it had only proven metaphor: the darkest places often hold treasure, if you are brave enough to venture deep and with you bring light.”

  Zam turned and strode to the ominous opening, taking hold of his staff. It continued to glow from end to end and illuminated the passage. He turned to Griss and said with resolve he had not expected, “I must enter alone.”

  To say that Zam had lost all fear would be untrue, instead he had resigned himself to the belief that he had been protected thus far, and would be still—despite his fear. The amazing staff in his hand aided that belief.

  Griss looked at him for a moment then nodded. “If you have not returned by nightfall, I will camp here at the cave’s mouth.”

  Zam turned again to face the darkness. “Thank you, Griss, for having strength when I did not.”

  “You are welcome, Zam. May Elyon decide in your quest.”

  Zam took the first step into the cave, and his heart beat more rapidly. With each step he saw more jewels all around the cave walls. They were not raw stones, but cut and finished, as if by a master craftsman. After a while, he said, “This is wealth greater than many kings, I would think.” The statement was intended for Griss, but looking back Zam realized he had traveled far and the entrance was nowhere in sight.

  The path wound its way deeper and deeper into the earth. Here and there the ice that made up the walls reflected the light more intensely and Zam saw that the path branched off in other directions. Each time he was certain he’d gone the right way.

  After traveling a long time Zam stopped at one of the many openings off the passage. Looking in he discovered it didn’t extend far. It was an alcove no more than seven feet from its mouth to an intricately framed ice mirror on the far wall. Zam willingly gazed into his reflection, and he was startled to find that the reflection was not true.

  He saw himself, but older, clad in a king’s armor, a great sword strapped to his side. He was certain that it was Elyon’s Flame, the High King Zamora’s weapon of old. There in his eyes he saw hardness and a lack of compassion unbefitting a king. Upon his brow rested a circlet of gold and silver with twin Fierisen leaves wrought upon them. He was as a king of old, but as he gazed deeper, something was amiss in his heart.

  He suddenly felt the years strip away, and in his mind’s eye he saw himself confront the young king of Cairemia and his adviser. The adviser proved an evil man, and having fallen at Zam's feet as though dead, he lay unconscious. Zam took the adviser’s sword, his position, and his head there before the king. Again the years passed and Zam felt all love, all that was good, drain from his being until greed, envy, and hatred were all that remained.

  Again he witnessed this other him as he took the king’s sword and his life, claiming the throne for himself. Greater years passed in moments and Zam watched himself rule Cairemia as a tyrant king of old. His deeds were harsh and cruel. He felt he was being pulled inextricably into the vision. So, with great effort, he turned his gaze away from the mirror.

  He was cold inside. And, at first, unmoved by all he'd seen. Slowly his compassion and selflessness flooded back in. He almost couldn't stomach what he had just witnessed inside himself. It was unconscionable. “I am not that man! I will not be that man!” He felt the need to shout it. He needed to hear it, and desired that any who might somehow know such things resided in his heart would hear his refusal to follow such a path.

  He began walking again, shaken by his reflection. Some time passed and he approached another alcove. He determined he would not look, but he had already glanced and what he saw caught him off guard. There in the mirror he saw himself clothed as a shepherd. Something about this reflection seemed amiss as well, but he could not see what.

  As he gazed, he was abruptly pulled to the slave market. He looked about and saw no sign of the beautiful girl he had painted. Even more abruptly he was pulled back and saw Griss shackled and guarded by the royal guard of Lord Neereth of Knighton. Zam ran in fear, coming to the market. His heart ached and he was overwhelmed. Griss was gone. Raine had been sold. He was suddenly pulled forward and found himself atop the familiar hill beside his old dwelling on his master-father’s land. He saw that he’d had a chance to save Griss, but had not. It pained him. He'd left Griss to die and had not taken the chance to save Raine.

  His mind ran again to the slave market. He saw Raine as she was sold to a so-called nobleman with obviously vile intent, and though Zam carried a bag of jewels from the cave, he was a mere shepherd. He felt he could not speak up, and she was taken. His valiant victory over Crimthorn was not enough to mask the pain of his cowardice.

  That reflection struck home. He pulled himself away from the mirror. I feel every bit the coward, every day. Sorrow welled inside him. His eyes were downcast. He did fear that he would run when adversity came.

  For a gleaming moment the staff in his hand grew brighter, reminding him of the place he now stood; a mysterious and mystical cave among hills dreaded by generations of men in a land feared by nearly all who dwelt in Cairemia. Courage pushed against the sorrow, edging it out. I will stand. “I will stand against any adversity. I will stand against any who try to lay claim to those I love.” With that declaration upon the air he began his downward march again, determined to face whatever the mirrors displayed. The next one he found showed himself, but having become enamored of the adventurer's life, he never returned to Galwen’s family. Neither did he see Raine safely home after her rescue. His life turned to seeking what he could gain from the valiant deeds he was capable of. And valiant he seemed. The reflection showed him strong and sure, but there was something hollow in his eyes.

  He pulled away. This reflection could one day prove true. I could become that man. I do not desire to, but there is part of me that so longs for the recognition of my deeds. I could actually become any of the things I've seen in these reflections... depending upon my choices. “And that’s the point of this place.” His fear was that he did not truly know what he would choose when the time to choose came.

  He approached another mirror farther down the passage. This was the most disturbing to him yet, even more so than Zam the tyrant king. The reflection was him, dressed as he was now, but his eyes told an evil tale. Gazing deeply, the months leading up to fall passed him by. He saw this reflected version of himself standing in the slave market holding a bag of jewels from the cave. Before him a slave trader paraded Coriaeran women. Though dressed more modestly than he would expect, he knew the type of slaves these were. He knew also that Raine would soon be brought out to sell. A battle crossed this other Zam’s face and all at once he was overcome by the desire to be master, not servant. Disregarding the reason he had come, this detestable variant of himself purchased a woman, the most desirable Coriaeran on display. Then he and his prize left the market, never for a moment thinking of the fate that would befall Raine.

  As Zam watched this reflection, he shouted, “He could have freed her!” A dark thought dawned. But then she would not have been his… mine.

  He turned from the mirror and was sick. He reeled from the foul in
tentions he discovered in his own heart. Could he really make such a choice as that? Did he really desire so much to be master of another?

  Now every step he took was heavier. How can I be certain I will not prove to be one of these hated visions of myself before the end? His heart ached from all he saw as he nearly stumbled into another mirror. There in the ice he saw the weakest, most frail version of himself he could possibly imagine, yet the weakling made choice after choice to face danger, and at every turn, he succeeded. Zam was disgusted by how weak this character was, and dumbfounded by his successes. The reflection was him if he had never grown a single muscle. But when he looked into this Zam’s eyes there was a startling strength. Zam wanted to know how to gain that sort of strength.

  He pressed on, hoping the next mirror would paint a more pleasing picture yet, but it did not. The Zam before him was unkempt and slovenly. He watched as this version of himself conversed with an adviser, of sorts. The reflection seemed every bit himself, but this Zam was more desperate. He saw himself ask advice and seek wisdom from any who passed, be they thieves, beggars, knights, scholars, or children. From the educated to the lowliest and least knowledgeable in the land, he took their words as truth, no matter what was spoken.

  Razzic, the adviser who stood before his reflection now had taken to traveling with him. Zam watched himself begin to believe only what his adviser said until anything spoken by anyone else could not be true. If it was not said by Razzic, it was not truth.

  Zam looked away from the mirror, somehow knowing Razzic was real, that he would one day face him and need to stand his ground against the advisor’s cunning and persuasive words. Zam looked again to the reflection and instantly pulled away.

  Razzic was speaking to the unkempt, reflected Zam, and the stubby, shrew-like man shifted and shimmered in an unwholesome light and Zam saw him for what he truly was: a dark and gangly version of the man, with muscles like thin cords but more shadow than flesh, having evil yellow eyes. His words wrapped themselves around Zam as fetters, binding him, tightening against him, but the reflected Zam could neither see nor feel the bonds.