You shall forever be alone.”
As he finished reading aloud the words before him, two palms, glowing with an inner blue light, began to take shape on the flat surface of the obsidian, one on each side.
Even though he knew that this was a land of magic, Richard had been taken aback by the fact that his name had appeared on the rock, and the fact that they knew why he had come here uninvited.
“I have no choice, my path is set, no matter the cost,” he said aloud to the creatures he could feel, but not see around him, hiding in the dense, darkness of the forest, in a voice that was remarkably steady considering the uncertainty that was in his heart.
He took another step, this time voluntary towards the stone and the world seemed to hold its breath as everything went deathly still, as if in anticipation.
Richard paused, hands hovering above the glowing palm, wondering at the deafening silence, until he realised that he too had stopped breathing. So releasing his breath he closed his eyes in anticipation and placed his hands upon the stone as indicated.
A warm sensation seemed to infuse his body then, starting with his fingertips and slowly flowing through his hands, arms and throughout his being.
He opened his eyes and stared at his hands, which were on fire.
He stood there staring, detached yet unable to take his eyes from the horrific scene before him.
Surprisingly there was no pain, which a small part of his brain, the same part that had screamed not to touch the stone, knew could happen when severe burning took place.
As he stared, the skin on the back of his hands, beneath the searing yellow flames began to blister and peel back to reveal the blood soaked bones beneath. Then the flame spread, up along his arms, the skin parting to reveal the smooth fleshless bones of his forearms beneath.
Richard’s stomach began to reel and he fell to his knees, unable or perhaps unwilling to take what remained of his fleshless hands from the stone, for part of him knew this was a test that he must pass.
Knelling there in front of the stone, pain like he had never felt before or ever wished to feel again infused his senses driving every thought bar one from his mind, replacing them with pain. The one thought that remained, unwilling to be driven out by the torrent of pain sat in the corner of his mind.
“YOU FOOL, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” it screamed.
Blackness descended then, comforting, welcoming. Wrapping this thick blackness around him like a blanket against the cold night air, he drifted into nothingness.
Chapter Ten
Voices In The Dark
The darkness changed.
Richard opened his eyes.
The darkness remained the same.
Everything was blackness, all consuming blackness.
Were his eyes open?
He blinked them several times feeling the lids shut together and then part again.
They were open.
The darkness in this place, wherever this was, was impenetrable; he was unable to detect even a change in the shade of blackness around him.
He needed to find out where he was. He was lying down that he was sure of, for he could feel a light pressure on his back and along the back of his legs and head.
He moved his arms, gently probing his surroundings for any clue as to where he was; he could hear and feel water that lapped gently against his ears with every movement. Panic began to seize him as the thought that he might be underwater took a firm grip of his imagination.
He moved his hands towards his face, afraid to breath.
The resistance of water gave way to the freeness of air, and as he touched his mouth with wet fingers he drew a deep breath, a breath that smelt and tasted of damp. He licked his lips.
Salt, the water was salty and warm.
He was lying in water, floating maybe, like when he was a child in the salty seas that surrounded his home, feeling weightless and free, and dreaming of being a fish in the clear blue green water as it lapped against the black volcanic beaches.
He pushed his hands downwards trying to discern what was keeping him afloat, but his hands met no resistance save that of the water. So instead, he concentrated on his surroundings and something to hold onto, to enable him to get his bearings.
As he moved his arms around with a slow, gentle motion his fingers brushed something solid. It was as warm as the water he was lying in, for there was no discernible change in temperature, and he grasped it and pulled himself towards it.
As he neared the object that he had discovered, he rolled himself over onto his front, keeping his head above the water, and grabbed it with both hands as if his life depended on it.
Now with something firm to hold onto, he tentatively lowered his legs, and to his immense relief found solid ground beneath them. Placing his full weight onto his legs he stood up, but was only able to raise himself up a couple of inches, which left the water sitting at shoulder height.
With his feet firmly on the bottom, he allowed his hands to explore the solid surface of the object that he had grabbed. It felt to him like stone, rough but oddly warm to the touch.
Feeling his way along, he followed the edge to his right, but after several minutes came to the conclusion that either there was no end to the rock, or that he was in a stone bowl of some kind, as he felt as if he was moving in a large circle.
Something brushed against his legs.
He froze.
Had he felt it? He didn’t know, but just in case he decided to stay where he was.
There it was again.
It didn’t feel as if it was big, but he definitely wasn’t alone. He toyed with the idea of climbing out, but despite the company he now found himself with he reasoned that if it wanted to hurt him it would have done so when he had been unconscious, and anyway he had no idea what was out there on the other side in the dangerous little world that he had created in his mind, and he could end up succumbing to the hideous creatures that he was trying not to populate that little world with.
As his mind worked overtime trying not to work overtime, it came back to the memory of the fire and his fleshless hands. He touched his hands together; seeking to concentrate his mind. They seemed fine, there was no pain and all the skin felt as if it was still there. It must have been a dream; but if so what was he doing here, now.
BENEDICT...
The name rose up from the darkness.
He needed to find Benedict.
“HELLO, ANY ONE THERE?” he said gingerly into the darkness, deciding that he needed to take some form of action, but his voice seemed to boom in the stillness as if he had shouted.
Silence...
There was no response only the deathly silence of a deserted catacomb, not even an echo from his voice, which made his mind race even more.
“I NEED YOUR HELP,” he said, again his voice an echoless boom.
Silence...
“WE ARE IN DANGER,” he boomed.
Still there was silence...
Maybe no one was there or maybe they just didn’t want to answer him as he was their prisoner he reasoned.
Richard fell into silence, running over in his mind all the things that had happened over the last couple of days. There were so many questions with so few answers. He had to find...
Ssccrraappee...
There was a noise somewhere deep in the gloom.
Silence...
Ssccrraappee...
Again the noise came, this time louder and closer reminding Richard of a horses hoof on rock.
“Hello, who’s there?” whispered Richard, the boom from his voice mysteriously gone.
“We will ask the questions, you will provide the answers,” said a voice so pure and vibrant that it quickened the pulse, and yet at the same time had a definite air of power
about it, as if used to command.
“Why do you come here where you are not invited?” the voice enquired.
“I am in need of Benedict,” Richard replied.
“He is not here,” was the simple, cold answer.
“I know,” Richard replied, his voice composed. “He is in the ice lands far to the north, but the way is blocked by the mountains and an invading army, without him we are doomed.”
“Why come to us, what happens to your kind does not have any bearing on us.” The voice seemed colder than before.
“You are my only hope of reaching Benedict and thus to help my people. A people, many of you once belonged to,” he added in the hope of breaking through the coldness.
“Those days are lost to us. We have our own concerns in these troubled times,” it replied.
“Help me to reach Benedict, this is all I ask,” pleaded Richard.
“Do you ask too much? This is a question I ask myself, and what price are you willing to pay?” the voice asked.
“Whatever it costs, I must save my people. Your people.”
Silence... Almost unendurable.
“We will help you; the price will be your life!” the voice said, breaking the silence.
“My life? You would demand so high a price?” Richard asked, astounded.
“Yes,” was the cold matter of fact reply.
“Do you wish me dead for coming here?”
“No, we did not say death, just your life that is the price.”
“I don’t understand,” Richard muttered.
Silence...
“If that is what it will take to save my people,” Richard said after a slight pause, “then that is what I will pay, though it seems to be too high a price for your help.”
“You do not know what this will cost us. Your life might not be enough, only time will tell. The bargain is done; we will give you access to the northern wastes.” There was a finality to the voice that was disquieting.
Darkness, all consuming and total engulfed Richard before he could say “Thank you.”
Chapter Eleven
The Ice Wastes
Richard awoke with a start; the air was cold and a chill wind was blowing across his face dragging the breath from his lungs and causing his oxygen deprived heart to race.
He didn’t know why, but he was on his back looking up at the stars through a clear cloudless sky; he had never seen the stars so clearly or so many of them, and they shone with a breath taking clarity and intensity that spoke to his soul in a way nothing had before.
Even as he lay there staring at their shimmering beauty, the memory of the darkness began to surface, pushing aside the wondrous sight.
He turned his head to the left out of the bitterly cold wind and saw that he wasn’t alone. Two others were with him, whom he did not know. He turned his head to the right looking for the third, there was no one there.
Rolling onto his side, he shifted an inch or so of snow from his torso, that slid from the thick furs that covered him.
How long had they been lying there in the snow and cold? Where had the furs that he was wearing come from? These were just two of the questions that crossed his mind.
Rising to his feet he brushed the remaining stubborn snow from himself and crossed to the two figures beside him just as they began to stir. As they sat up he was greeted by the familiar face of Mark and the not so familiar face of Dorina. Both looked shocked at their new surroundings and Dorina for some reason looked angry.
“Where are we? And where is Claire?” quizzed Mark looking around and noting the abundance of snow and seeing only the three of them.
“Somewhere in the ice wastes would be my guess,” Richard replied. “Look there to the south, those are the peeks of Volar. As to Claire, I don’t know, we were all that was here when I came around. Maybe she didn’t make it through Fire Mountain,” he added in a voice full of sadness.
The others stood in silent contemplation as to the meaning of those words, their faces showing the sorrow that they felt for the poor woman who had been through so much these last few days.
“Can you detect Benedict Richard?” asked Mark in an effort to break the uneasy silence.
“That way,” Richard said pointing directly north, for he had sensed the use of magic the moment he had come round, both from the south and the north. “If the magic I can sense that way is still Benedict that is. It feels different, somehow desperate, but it is still in the same direction.”
“How did we get here?” prompted Dorina whilst looking at the two men with a quizzical look on her face. “I don’t remember a thing after entering the gate.”
“Me neither,” replied Mark, “I don’t remember anything after starting up the path and entering the vegetation.” He visibly shivered at the mention of the last, but could not give a reason as to why.
“All I can remember is pain,” answered Richard in a quiet voice.
“What?” asked Dorina with an edge to her voice.
“Nothing. I can’t remember anything other than the path either,” Richard said over emphasizing the word path.
“Hmm,” responded Dorina eyeing Richard warily.
“Let’s get moving,” said Mark glancing back at the peaks of Volar beyond which lay their home. “My nose feels like it’s about to fall off.”
With that image firmly in their minds they checked their gear, finding to their surprise that they had been restocked with food and water, and in addition to the thick furs that they already wore, massive fur lined cloaks had been left for them to help shield against the bitterly cold winds that they were already encountering.
“Thank you whoever you are,” Mark said to the surrounding air, as he wrapped a thick woollen scarf around his neck and lower face.
They gathered their heavy packs to their backs and set off north, in the direction Richard had indicated with new hope in their hearts, as somehow they had passed the impassable and a need to complete their mission infusing every step that they took.
The snow was shin deep and every step that they took required them to drive their legs through making the going incredibly hard, added to which the constant cold wind whipping at their clothes and their exposed flesh drove them to a virtual halt. At first they each made their own way through the compacted drifts, but within a few hundred feet they all came to the conclusion that only one of them needed to exert themselves so and the others could follow behind.
Once they had realised this they continually changed who was leading, for it was the lead man who compacted the snow allowing those following to exert less effort, and began to cover a greater distance. Even so they had to stop at least once every hour to catch their breath and take their bearings, and with every step they took their feet began to succumb to the constant numbing cold, so that by the end of the day it was a relief to remove their boots and warm their feet with their hands.
It was then, at the end of that first day when their feet had lost practically all feeling that they discovered the extra water skins. They were buried deep in their packs and were embossed with a two pronged flame, one red and one blue.
Richard dabbed the end of his finger with some of the water that smelt sweet, like honey and gingerly tasted it. To his surprise it tasted exactly as it smelt, like honey, but as it passed his throat and slid down to his stomach it was like fire.
His first reaction was to grab his throat as the fire flared first there, but then it passed beyond, infusing his limbs and banishing the coldness. As the feeling in his feet returned he again silently thanked the voices in the dark.
For the next two days they travelled hard, for urgency fuelled their tired limbs and aching bodies, and as the hour’s slipped by they lapsed into a silence that took a considerable toll on their minds.
In all that time the
only visible sign of life in that barren white wilderness was a lone eagle that circled high above the mountains, searching, seeking its next meal.
***
Kina watched the travellers as they made their way across the deep, cold windswept snow in search of the Black Knight, Benedict.
She was good at watching, her eyes were the sharpest of her kind and even from this distance; amongst the peaks of Volar, she could see them easily.
Her sharp eyes picked up movement to her left.
Concentrating fully on what she had seen, she forgot the three travellers for the moment and searched for the tell-tale sign of her prey.
***
At night they set-up camp as best they could, in the lye of rocks that had been exposed from under the thick unending blanket of snow by the fierce wintry winds.
They huddled close together, sharing what warmth they could, and ate a cold meal as there was a constant lack of fire wood in this barren landscape. It was then that they would sip the precious fire water, as they had named it.
As the days past, the feeling of magic to the north grew stronger and stronger, as the distance to their quarry closed, and as they pulled further away from the peaks of Volar, the sensation of magic from the south faded, until it was like a tiny buzz in the back of Richard’s head.
The intensity constantly altered also, as if there was less being drawn at times than at others but at all times magic was being used, which concerned Richard no end for he knew that no man could sustain this level of magic for that long without dire consequences.
In all directions the horizon was flat, not a feature marked the landscape, no tree or mountain except for a perpetual mist that hung on the horizon just out of reach, obscuring the peaks of Volar that it had swallowed on the third day, thus the wind howled across the land with nothing to stop it from bearing its full chilling force on the weary travellers.
At night, when they had to sleep, they were forced to scrape out a shallow hole with their swords and knifes, and hunker down behind a wall of packs and furs out of the full force of the unending wind, for as the days past the rocks that had been of use before had been left behind with the mountains that had born them. During the day they would just lay their packs on the snow-covered floor and crouch behind them, trying to lessen the winds vicious bite.
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