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The Beginning of a Novel
Stayed turned for my original SC br next week =) | | | Author: | | | IP: | static-4XXXX | | Date: | 04/05/01 03:04 | | Game Type: | Other | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 8, Min: 8
Lifetime Rating for |]agomar: 8.6667 |  |
Upper World
A
1.
He died two weeks ago.
It was one of those quick deaths. Only seconds before, he sat comfortably in his padded blue airline seat, a smug smile on his face as he devoured the last saucy morsel of extra-spicy thai chicken. He reached down for his bubbling cola, but before he could an engine erupted right beside him with a deafening shriek. The jet lurched like a stricken whale, then promptly tore itself to oblivion. It was an instant stretched into an eternity. The shattering roar, the brief screams of terror, the blossoming, consuming yellow flames - and then, immediate blackness.
Only for a moment. The darkness dropped away, revealing the tumbling remnants of his jumbo jet fluttering down into the sea.
Then reality sunk in, a little late perhaps. He was dead. How odd. Made sense though. Now what?
Relief might have been the primary emotion. A tinge of what could be called "heavenly joy" drifted about the borders of his mind, some of it seeping through, most staying out. The world below suddenly became not so much physical, as spiritual. Everything material seemed but a pale reflection of a greater metaphysical reality. Interesting.
He noticed he was being called somewhere. He might as well go. Without moving up, down, or anywhere 3-Dimensional, he arrived at his destination. One might say he went "beyond," though this term may be somewhat inaccurate.
In any case, there he was. The place identified itself as "Upper World." But one step below heaven, it stated, and certainly it seemed that way as an endless expanse of glorious green land, dotted with lucious trees, seperated by glittering blue lakes and fenced by snow-white mountains emerged as if from a mist. Far, far off into the distance, it appeared almost as if those white mountains turned slowly into black, foreboding versions of what they were. It might have been an illusion, though.
Then he was asked what he wanted to be. Be? That was confusing. It was explained to him, however, that he could chose to be any creature within this realm. Any was a very large term - it included such awesome beings as Dragons - even moons, or clouds. Perhaps he might be an insect, or a tree. Everything was thuroughly aIive here.
Maybe he'd just be a man again. That seemed best. He started to make his decision, focusing on his choice, when he noticed a troop of evil-looking black beings marching through the trees down below. Any perception of a blissful life in Upper World was shattered, and in that very moment his concentration slipped.
2.
The sun shone beautifully through the mossy emerald-green pillars of a forest when he awoke. Birds sang joyful cries to the morning as they flew about in the canopy, or landed on the forest floor to bathe themselves in crystal-clear rainwater.
He found himself curled up beside a particularly large tree, roughly surrounded by soft bushes. He arose, feeling better and more refreshed than ever before. Not that he could remember anything about his previous life - if indeed he ever had one.
He strolled out of the bushes, which seemed to smile back at his own grin, then stepped out into a clearing busy with the furious foraging of a pheasant flock. He laughed, completely at ease, thinking that perhaps those dark forms he had seen not 12 hours ago were only illusion. Walking up to a puddle, he looked down - and screamed.
Staring back at him was an awfully odd face - for a man, that is. Two large green eyes peered out of the water, under a thicket of tussled black hair, above a smallish nose, between two vertically curving ears, and embedded in a fair, pale-blue face. The rest of his body was 5 feet tall - if that - but at least seemed rather lean and graceful. His hands appeared long and delicate - maybe just persepctive - and draped about him was a long, dark blue cloak. Having recovered somewhat, he noticed a short black rod dangling from his waist, studded with a single jewel.
When he had regained his composure enough to release a queer little half-smile, he noticed the clattering of hooves behind him. On an instinct he retained from his previous life, he ducked quickly into the bushes, which seemed to curse at him as he broke their branches. Out into the open came trotting - an altogether odd beast. It seemed a great white eagle - only that, instead of talons, it possed four powerful, horse-like legs. Seated atop it was a man-like being clothed completely in purest white, with a beard of the same color to match his pale skin.
He looked as a god.
Suddenly, he spoke, with a voice flowing as a river:
"You may come out now."
Stumbling out of the angry bushes before him there appeared a small bluish figure, who bowed down humbly, and seemed terribly confused.
"Peace! What is your name?"
The creature appeared confused, blinking several times, then blurted out "Cerlo."
"Very well, you may call me Fomor. I heard you scream a short time ago. What for?"
"I do - I do not know, sir. I just - did."
"Hm. What are you doing here?"
"I was sleeping, sir."
"Why here? The town is but two miles distant."
"If I may ask, sir, what town?" Cerlo was growing more confident now, in spite of the stranger's overpowering presence, and felt he was ready to ask a question of his own.
"The town of Flemquin. You must know - many of your fellow Darlon live there. I shall take you."
With that, the great arm of Fomor came swooping down to seize the terrified little creature, and away they went like the wind. Within moments, the little grey towers of the town appeared clustered within a little valley delved into the woods. Small ports, perhaps six human feet high and of great thickness opened before them, and soon they were within.
Fomor stopped. Walking through the grassy green streets - or rather, "paths" - of the village were a myriad of creatures looking altogether very much like Cerlo.
"Let us take him to Kromlin," crowed the half - Eagle in an odd bird-like dialect, "he will know what to do with him."
The man nodded, and off they were again. Soon, they reached a regular dwelling of Man-size, and trotted within. There, upon a roughly-hewn boulder, sat an old, old man with a great flowing beard, pouring over a faded scroll. He arose, a ragged grey cloak on his shoulders, and smiled at them.
"We found him," said Fomor, "in the bushes outside the town."
At a friendly nod from the old man the Eagle-like being and its master thundered off into the distance.
"Hello," squeaked Cerlo uncertainly, not knowing what to do.
"Hello," said the ancient figure, "I am Gondal."
"I - I thought you were Kromlin," sputtered poor Cerlo in surprise.
"Yes, I am that also. You may call me Gondal - for the most part, I prefer it."
A bit of a pause followed, which turned into a reflective quiet, which rapidly became an awkward silence.
"What do you want with me?" asked Cerlo frightfully.
"Nothing, really. You are free to go. I assume Fomor brought you here to show you this village. Are you new?"
"New?"
"Have you but lately arrived into the Upper World?"
"Well - yes, I have - I think."
"Very well," said the old man, "I suspected as much - many of your kind are blue upon their arrival, and indeed sometimes it stays. You should probably stay with me then. Your kind is rare in these days." Upon a questioning glance from Cerlo, he explained. "Ever more are chosing dark forms. I remember - so long ago - when there were none. Now, of those who come to Upper World, there are few - precious few - who chose figures of Good. Even clouds bare evil intent in these later years." He paused, gazing at Cerlo, a bemused yet thoughtful expression on his wrinkled face. "Yes - I feel you are more than you appear, young Cerlo. You will stay by me. You shall become our companion - for now. Our company leaves at daybreak, on a journey that will take us some time. I will see you then."
3.
Three dwarves, two rather strange looking creatures and one very odd beast - that is what Gondal had meant with our. As they trudged slowly through towering trees belit by a sinking sun, Cerlo wondered at their oddness. The first dwarf, supposedly a great King named Livin, had a face marked by shimmering blue eyes and a tumbling grey beard. His nose was long - for a dwarf - and somewhat hooked below eyebrows closely clipped. Draped grandly atop silver hair hung a glorious blue hood, of conical design, fastened by a massive diamond above a wrinkleless forehead. His cloak was blue with patterns of gold, and parted for an enormous glittering scimator, newly sharpened and ready for use.
The second dwarf was very different. Dark, brooding brown eyes lay below shaggy black brows and roughly ordered hair. The blunt nose, although not pretty, spoke of hardened character and heavy toil. Gloomy wrinkles made their presence known with every infrequent expression, and a ragged black beard shaped as a spade speared down from the rugged chin. A tattered brown hood fell over strong shoulders, and a hefty, well-worn axe fit snuggly in weathered hands. A man of little words, Fromlin was not always good company. But his past deeds, not always so honourable, and of which he never spoke, nevertheless proclaimed his worth.
Dirlo was the third dwarf's name. Unusually thin for the average dwarf - yet still far stouter than Cerlo - he brandished a human dagger a little too heavy for his arms. Brown eyebrows bristled above green eyes and below black hair, while his large nose bulged up from a hardened face. Although somewhat weak for his kind, he refused to let this impede him, and stubbornly bore a bag as great as that of Fromlin.
The other creatures were a wierd lot. Grotox, as the beast identified itself, was a Forest Wyvern, larger even than an elephant of Middle World. He was entirely green, and two powerful wings lay folded upon his "scales" - if they can be called such. Above a powerful long neck his head was arrow shaped, and somewhat ferocious. Yet his expression was both sad and deeply peaceful, radiating a wisdom below only that of old Gondal. The tail swerved about among the trees, and there were times when he seemed almost to dissapear into the forest - so excellent was his camoflauge.
The two remaining beings were dressed entirely in lime green and soily brown. Their tunics were of emaculate weaving, and often they, too, were lost into the woods. This was a bit of a problem, since the little creatures were to serve as guides through the dense trees - until the forest ended a few dozen miles to the North. Both creatures appeared quite fair and rather homely, and Cerlo, who was immediately taken by them, stayed rather close.
Gondal, of course, made the head of the party - if not in appearance. His ancient grey mantle hung losely over his even older but still formidable form, and his ragged beard descended far down below his neck to where grizzled hands clutched a dark staff. Worry seeped from timeless eyes as his bent figure ambled difficultly through constricting thickets. Yet all this wretched scenery cloaked his true power, and Cerlo felt safe in his towering shadow. An air of bemused friendliness enveloped him, and somehow he seemed to pair his every grimace with an inner chuckle.
The sun had set by now, on this their first day of travel. Only Gondal, Livin and Grotox knew their destination, and neither would reveal that secret just yet. The stars, twinkling quietly above the sighing wind, glittered into being. Something was odd about them - they seemed strangely out of place, and a bit too bright. One star, in particular - a red one, close to the horizon, caught his eye. Somehow it almost seemed to be watching him with an ominous glare, probing into his soul, find - no, that was foolish. No time for childish fantasies now.
They stopped by a particularly huge tree as the crescent moon sailed up above distant mountains. All above them rose towering pillars of mossy green, from which a thousand birds chirped their evening songs. The wyvern curled up in a neighbouring grove while the others dropped down in a small clearing amongst the old tree's roots. Gondal leaned against the tough bark, upon which he quickly tapped what appeared to be some sort of code. All remained silent as, far above, a little branch clattered a reply. The old sage patted a brief return, then turned to face his company, bidding them to collect some broken sticks and twigs. When this was done, Gondal kindled a small fire by uttering a quick command, and soon enough a flickering rudy glow enveloped the tired travellers.
"Very well," he started, "we came 30 miles today. We have started our journey - and only God knows when we will end it." The wyvern seemed to smile as his friend spoke these words, then pursed his great jaws as if to speak.
"Yes," rumbled the beast, "now it is time you know about the first leg of our travels. When we reach our present destination, all will be revealed. Then, if you can't continue - so be it."
"You need not know much about me," spoke Gondal, "although most of you know enough to understand who, or what, I am. Cerlo knows the least; therefore I will tell him for now that I am a caretaker - a custodian, if you will."
Fromlin released a rare smile as he heard this, yet Cerlo, not understanding yet seeing something in the old man he could not explain, asked "then - are you a wizard?"
Grotox chuckled in that deep, stirring way of his. "Yes, you could call him that! A wizard he is indeed!" The dwarves grinned, looking at one another, while Gondal bent his head in thought.
"Yes - for now I will be a wizard to you, you may think of me so. There will come a day when you may know more." He paused briefly, then continued, "In any case, Grotox, Livin, shall I explain the purpose of our present trek?"
"Of course," spoke the wyvern, "do what you will."
"We are making for Elorin," spoke the wizard, "and there we should arrive in a month, at the latest. If I am correct, we should not be overly hindered on our path." Unnoticed by the others the wyvern briefly cast a worried look towards Gondal as he said this, who nodded quickly and continued on: "Emeon is a city of men and dwarves, hewed out of what once was a great grey mountain. Its citadels rise high above the land, and we shall see them long before our arrival. When we enter the Stone Gates we will meet with the king, who knows me well. There we shall plot our future endeavours. Those who wish to proceed shall do so one week later - and thereafter the dangers shall quickly increase. For beyond Emeon lies a great valley wide and bleak - I shall tell you its story when we arrive. It was for thousands of years the only true blemish upon this Upper World, and I fear its evils have multiplied."
"Yes," said Livin, "my people have told me the same. It will not be easy going."
"But until we arrive," growled Grotox, "be wary of everything. Darkness has entered even these woods, I feel it. Remember, especially you, young Cerlo, that even a black cloud, even a withered bush, or a shriveled flower - even these are agents for our enemy. In the days before - before it happened, these did not exist here."
"Agents for what enemy? And what happened?" asked Cerlo, now thuroughly frustrated.
"Ah, Cerlo," said Gondal, "you will know that soon enough - and then you will be sorry you do. But let me tell you this: those black mountains, those dark figures you saw as you entered this world - they were not illusions. And many worse things shall you yet see . . . yes, many worse. Now, we must rest, for another day of walking lies before us."
Cerlo, his mind troubled and his worst suspicions revealed, lay down upon the soft moss. Despite his moody disposition, he soon closed his weary eyes and drifted quickly to sleep. Gondal, Livin and the Wyvern stayed awake somewhat longer, and their worried mutterings spoke loudly of the future road.
4.
The next day was another stroll through beautiful green forests, as was the next, and the one after that, and the following. For two weeks they marched through the thick woods, hefting their heavy packs, sleeping by night under trees great and small. Finally, on the fifteenth day, they stumbled out of the woods with astonishing suddeness . . . and there before them lay a rugged land of tumbled boulders and trechorous cliffs. The little creatures bade their goodbyes and dissapeared back into the forest, with Cerlo, his former blueness now fully gone, still not knowing their true nature.
Gondal sighed.
"Well, this is where for the first time our journey shall become somewhat dangerous . . . we must be more wary then before."
Grotox sniffed uncomfortably in the ensuing silence.
"This land stinks of the enemy," he growled, and all but Gondal grew fearful with his words.
"I do not think he has come that far yet," pursed the wizard thoughtfully, scanning the landscape.
"Well, why don't we set up camp here for now, and then we may send scouts tomorrow," suggested Livin.
"Scouts? Bah - we set forth now or never!"
"Grotox, your impatience will doom us all!"
"Quiet, friends. Let us go onwards to that jagged rock in the distance; there we can rest."
Grumbling both Livin and the Wyvern agreed, and both trudged onwards through the treachorous rocks.
The going was tough; even the Fromlin, who had lived years in this terran and worse, occasionally stumbled on a loose stone. For the others it was far worse, and Cerlo would certainly have tumbled straight into a yawning gap before him, were it not for Dirlo. The wyvern simply ploughed onwards, while Gondal stepped forward stubbornly, ignoring the clattering debris.
Then Cerlo spotted something strange, just barely visible, near the horizon. A tiny speck - perhaps a great raven lessened by distance - drifted away from the ground and vanished into the South. He remembered the wyvern's warning words from some two weeks ago, but could a little black bird so far away truly do them any harm? At that moment, he slipped on another wretched little rock, and so the thought was thrown from his mind.
The dwarves muttered as the chosen rock grew nearer, and both Fromlin and his mate Dirlo would frequently inspect certain rocks for gems. Livin, who appeared above such a thing, pressed on heedlessly, chatting with Gondal now and then.
It began to rain.
"Bleh," scowled Fromlin at the sky, "accursed rain."
Their spirits seemed to sink, and even Gondal grumbled at his wet cloak. The wyvern snapped angrily at a few shrubs, and hissed in frustration when no shelter was found near the selected boulder.
There are times when discomfort can be avoided. This, apparently, was not to be one of them. With dismayed expressions the drenched troop settled for the night, huddling together, as the rain beat down and the sun set behind grey clouds.
As inky blackness settled upon the land Cerlo, growing colder and wetter by the minute, turned his mind to other things. Yes - two weeks now, since he'd arrived in this realm. That was as far back as he could remember - except a faint hint from the back of his mind that Middle World was a lot worse than this. How dare he grumble now!
Very simple, another corner of his brian contested, and he could see from the moody frowns of the others that their thoughts were very similar. Grotox, especially, was agitated - wyverns do not take well to rain, and become angry indeed when they're stuck in a storm. He thrashed his tail from time to time, until finally the ragged edges of the storm fled away into the night, and the moon once again sent forth its light. The pitch-black darkness slowly gave way to countless stars, and Cerlo began to look farther around the stoney plain.
Three huge, two-headed ravens stood before them, their dagger-like talons grappling the rocks.
Fromlin, shocked, siezed his great axe and struck the nearest bird, hacking it in two with a single swipe. The wyvern bellowed in startled fury and crushed the second with an iron claw, yet the third speared off into the sky with terrible speed, crying loudly in its awful tongue.
Gondal leapt to his feet, siezed the pack, waited for his companions and was on his way.
"Those were scouts for the Enemy - devilish rotten things!"
"Death be to them all!" bellowed the wyvern, and his rage was terrible to behold.
"Now we are surely lost!" cried Livin, "there will be wolves at least here soon enough - they'll sniff us out and tear us to shreds!"
"We shall see," grunted Fromlin, bearing his bloody axe.
The rest said nothing, and Cerlo wished now he'd brought a weapon of some sort. He held onto Dirlo's fluttering cloak, bracing against a rising breeze, as he struggled on, half-blind with terror, still recovering from shock.
"Those beasts were more evil than any I've come across," he gasped to his dwarvish friend.
"The same for me . . . I'll slay the next one we see!"
"Aye, and worser things than that," muttered Fromlin.
"We should kill only what we must," said Gondal, striding before them in terrific hurry, "lest we not become as the Enemy."
"But he is in these demons - with every one we destroy we weaken him!" breathed Grotox, struggling to make way against the unfamiliar stones ( wyverns are somewhat awkward away from the forest ).
"The more creatures we kill, however evil they are, the more like him we become," spoke the old man, and to that none could reply. They hurried on in silence.
More bone-chilling cries, far different from that of the raven, echoed across the landscape. Now they were in full fright, fleeing desperately from darkness all around. Grotox occasionally flapped his great wings to keep pace, and Cerlo ran until he broke - and then still more. Behind them, softly at first, came the quiet patter of wolf feet, getting closer, sniffing blood, baring their crooked fangs. The Black Wolves are horrible indeed, and now a thousand scrambled after their prey, hungry for blood, reckless with desire. The swoosh of their long black fur swooped to the company's ears, and terrified they dashed on even quicker.
Wild yelps resounded from behind, and Cerlo swore they couldn't be more than a hundred yards distant. He cried with pain as his legs protested their misuse, but suddenly, against the stary night, Gondal whirled about, desperately raising his staff to smite the oncoming sea of wolves a hopeless blow. But then with an ear-splitting crack an enormous boulder gave way below him, and below them all, plummeting them down, down to their certain destruction.
The snarling black beasts stopped short, and crowded around the caved-in rocks. They probed into every last crevice with eager jaws, and, satisfied, tore into one another in a wild, violent frenzy. If they could not devour their prey they'd consume themselves, and it would take the stinking purple blood of a hundred wolves to satisfy that need. Finally they trotted back towards their master, leaving behind only scraps of flesh and scattered bones.
B
1.
Cerlo came to his senses with only a dim starlight shining through the cracks of countless boulders. Badly bruised and broken, he looked about him, and suddenly beheld the massive clenched jaws of the wyvern, which startled him even more than his narrow "escape." He shrieked in fear, then grimaced as he realized just how soaked in pain he truly was. Fromlin wrestled with collapsed rocks beside him, scowling angrily at their unyielding weight. The boulders seemed to frown back, unbudging, resisting his every effort.
Grotox awoke, at first confused, then somewhat dazed, and finally ferociously angry. Cerlo had noticed the fury of the great beast when in wretched situations, and found it either humourous or frightening.
On this occasion it was the latter.
The Wyvern growled, straining against the massive roof. A boulder budged under his might, and, despite its own best efforts, was flung onto its fellows far below, narrowly missing Cerlo. A second rock, twice the other's size, thundered down from on high, smashing into its previously fallen companion with a shattering crack. Then, alarmingly fast, two more rocks tumbled down, hurtling into the collapsed stones - and rolling right through them! With a splintering roar the entire network of titanic boulders was thrown asunder, and once again the three were thrown down - down - down into a deeper, blacker abyss than ever before.
First the bottom rocks were dashed to bits on some far away floor, then the ones above those, then, after a bit of a pause, the howling travellers. Grotox crushed the rocks below his massive weight, and luckily his companions smashed into his back, rather than the jagged shards of forer stones all around them. Little difference it made ( a wyvern's armour is very tough ), yet nonetheless it saved them from a certain death.
Which was either a good or a bad thing.
There was another pause, then in the darkness the final black boulders came flying down unseen from above, pounding with terrifying blasts into the rubble.
Silence.
Finally, Fromlin sat up on the Wyvern's back. With a frown he felt his battered spine, then took his axe from his sheath, checking its damage. Not too bad. Smiling slightly, he mock-swung it in his hand - and remembered his companions.
"Grotox! Be you alive yet?"
Still quiet.
"Wyvern! Are you dead?"
No reply - and then a groan.
"Arr, you have much to learn for tact. Now get off my back."
"Next time you go about pushing rocks, consult me!"
"I need consult no one. At least we got somewhere."
"We're worse off now than before!"
"We are farther towards . . . something."
"Farther down! It might strike you now - a little late - that we needed to go up."
"Are you calling me a fool?" roared Grotox, growing angry.
"Not yet - but I might soon!"
"Um," came a hesitant whimper, "I don't want to interupt but - shouldn't we go . . . somewhere?"
"Cerlo! I had forgotten about you. You look like a crushed goat, but I see you're not dead!"
"You merge both stupidity and tactlessness, Fromlin," muttered the wyvern. "But it is good to see you alive, little creature. And I agree with your suggestion. There must be some way out!"
They began to search for some opening, some cave in the wall. It was pitch-black, so for a long while, they hadn't much luck. Now and then, Fromlin would stumble over a stone, and, after a torrent of grumbling, continue groping around the sides of their imprisonment. Above them all a few rocks still clung to the walls, and beyond them the deep, dark sky gazed down unwaveringly. The frozen talons of the night reached down into the pit to freeze them into inaction, while massive clouds blocked out the stars. Never had Cerlo so felt the wyvern's warning: he knew now for a fact that those black clouds were agents of the Enemy, whoever that was, and were searching for him, peering into every crevice and hole. They would find him, soon perhaps - and then . . . .
He looked up with renewed fright.
"Is that a cave there?" boomed Fromlin, poking around in the jumbled stones. The handle of his axe seemed to have found a chillingly dark hole - blacker still ( if possible ) than their surroundings. Cerlo staggered about blindly, finally colliding with Grotox. After much confusion they all stood near the apparent cave, trying but failing to glimpse what was within.
The wyvern siezed the nearest few boulders and hurled them backwards into the clearing. Fromin yelped in dismay, yet to his relief the entire wall didn't collapse - yet. Soon enough a hole just barely the width of a wyvern was revealed before them, and, with some hesitant apprehension, the three crept inside.
Just then the entire wall collapsed completely - and for the last time - behind them. They paused a moment, once rattling crackles had replaced ear-splitting crashes, then continued on in silence.
The cave grew wider. Enormous, course rocks formed its walls, sharp stones its floor, slabs of limestone its roof. On and on it wound, so that Cerlo, dizzy with sleep and pain and worry for his other, seemingly lost companions, began to lose track of time. Every step in the ever-present blackness seemed the same, every rock a copy, every minute a clone.
At least they were out of sight from those wretched clouds. And, as Grotox had assured them, rocks - even black ones - were too stupid by far to alert their master.
"Well," said Fromlin at last, "I think we must stop, for now. I feel dawn has come above - even though it has little effect here - and, after all, we must sleep sometime. We've been running or falling the whole night, and stumbling all of yesterday."
"Yes, for once you are right, friend dwarf," growled the wyvern wryly, "let us settle down here. Battered bones and unfulfilled nights trouble even me."
"What if the enemy find us here while we sleep?" asked Cerlo, and he surprised himself, for it was one of the first useful things he'd said upon Upper World. There would be many more.
The rest quickly agreed that such a situation was far from desirable, and so Fromlin volunteered to be the watchman for some, until Cerlo could be awakened, and after him, Grotox.
It seemed they would be in darkness for a long, long time.
2.
Cerlo awoke grudgingly, somewhat dazed, and groped for a soft rock. Finding one, he propped himself down upon it, rubbing his bruised joints, as Fromlin sunk fast into a deep sleep. Cerlo found he couldn't see as far as half a foot before him, and began to grow very frightened once again. He imagined terrible fanged bats swooping down upon him, or Black Wolves creeping down the rocky corridors, sniffing hungrily, or twisted, clawed creatures with spears and knives inching ever closer to his neck.
He shivered as a chill rippled down his spine. Again he wished for a weapon - any weapon - then remembered the wizard's advice as they fled from the wolves.
Where was Gondal anyway? And Livin? Dirlo?
In the resulting wave of worry and despair, Cerlo failed to notice a little black rat sniveling inbetween the rocks, peering up at him with twinkling eyes. The creature turned, paused, and darted away, the nearly unoticible pitter patter of its spindly feet dwindling off into the distance. Suddenly, recovering from his grief, Cerlo thought he heard something ( Darlon ears are far better than those of men ) - but discounted it as yet another symptom of Dwarvish snoring.
Nevertheless, he reached for a jagged little rock with which to defend himself, knowing what a pathetic measure this was, but wanting to feel reassured just the same. He felt the first stone. A little too rounded. The second one was better - quite flat, though still a bit blunt. The third was spherical, so obviously no good. The fourth . . . was sharp! It seemed oddly carved . . . and - was that a handle? Cerlo smiled - how foolish of him. No, it couldn't be more than a stone, but an awfully suitable one nonetheless. He hefted the little thing in his hand, although he couldn't even begin to trace its outline in the darkness, then slipped it under his cloak.
When it was time to wake Grotox, Cerlo once again fell into a deep sleep, blissfully unaware of what he had found.
Soon enough, they were on their way again. The prevailing mood was gloomy indeed. Their companions were lost, they were lost, and many of their provisions had been crushed. They persevered just the same. The going was not exceptionally difficult, and indeed Grotox believed they'd made at least 40 miles by the end of the day. For some reason, Cerlo forgot to show the others what he'd found, but, what did that matter anyway. Fromlin thought they had about 3 days left of provisions left with them, so they ate sparingly that night.
The next day was little different. A small river flowed before them, which they crossed without exceptional difficulty. Had they known this tiny trickle grew larger as it continued, then larger still, swelling, growing ever more foul, and eventually becoming the dreaded Xavus, they might've rather been burnt alive than cross it.
As it was, it was but another stream. It might've been a little uncomfortable, somehow, to walk across, but it could be done.
Hideous, deformed fish crept out of the water to observe their crossing.
That night, they rested much as before. Their disposition was solemn, for they only had enough food left for another day. As Cerlo kept watch, he thought - no, he was sure he heard a distant rustle, and thought about waking Grotox. As he did he began to doubt himself, thinking it might only have been paranoia, and eventually decided it was all an illusion.
He would later make a pledge to himself to never doubt his Darlonian ears ever again.
3.
The third day dawned far above. Fromlin sensed it, dwarf that he was, and so they struggled to their feet to begin yet another long trek.
There was no reason to suspect anything was wrong. All was quiet besides the rythmatic trudging of their own feet, and the cave remained as tediously the same as ever.
Twilight was thrown like black bedsheets upon the unwilling day outside, yet still there was nothing. Cerlo rubbed his eyes in pain at the ever-present darkness, and suddenly he knew he was surrounded. There was no need to see - he simply felt.
Not a word was said. Then crackling jitters trickled out from the swarming masses all around them. At least a hundred huge, ghostly pale eyes glowed dimly - very dimly - under their own light. Hideous little pitchforks and spears were grappled by twisted arms and deformed hands. Cerlo gulped, as beads of cold sweat slipped down his brow and into his eyes. Barely perceptible in the faint glimmer were terrible, hunched monstrosities not much bigger than himself, each with three "hands" ( claws may be a better description ) and vicious little fangs.
Three seconds had passed. An unbearable wave of psychotic fear, followed by a sincere desire to die, followed by an overpowering feeling of being helplessly caught smashed into poor Cerlo like a single, unstoppable tsunami. Then, like an aftershock to an eruption of terror, came the fury of a guilty man when caught. This, coupled with righteous loathing, made a powerful combination. As his eyes finished adjusting to the dim new light, Cerlo siezed his tiny stone and lashed out passionately at the nearest creature. It toppled over with a shriek and its fellows rushed forward to avenge, but Grotox, startled to action, halted them with an earth shattering roar. Fromlin leap forward with his axe, and hacked away at the howling masses. The wyvern hurled himself into battle, and was met by unearthly shrieks of terror. Spear clashed with scales, axe ripped through rotted flesh, and through it all Cerlo stabbed manically into his foes. The little stone seemed to move with a power of its own as it darted about like . . . like a demon, tearing its opponents apart like a knife slices through old rags.
Grotox's thundrous bellow echoed forth once again as he consumed an entire enemy troop in his massive jaws, then flattened another with his great talons. Desperately battling against overwhelming odds, the three somehow hacked, cut and chopped a way through the frenzied masses, then turned tail and fled down through the cave. Retreating from battle is especially humiliating for a wyvern, but Grotox tolerated it gladly as they tumbled . . . up . . . the cave!
They were climbing! Cerlo threw himself into the ascent as the lightest of breezes wafted against his cheek. Renewed he ran faster, with Fromlin just before him and the Wyvern but seconds behind. Caught between hope and terror the three forced their way on in a near hysterical burst of action, climbing ever higher, hurtling every closer to the surface . . . .
But it was no use. Cerlo's legs began to burn, hardly at first, than every more, and finally they seemed alive with unbearable pain. Their pace slowed, yet they realized and thrust themselves forward faster than ever before. Once again they tired, and this time they lacked the energy to continue. Cerlo gasped with pain, wailed with dissapointment, cried out in blind terror . . . he stumbled . . . .
And there was Gondal, striding down terrible and menacing from above. An enormous silver sword lay in one hand, and his great staff rested in the other. His long beard flowed, his white cloak rippled and his unfathomable eyes burnt with rage. His every motion radiated incalculable power, and he bristled with a wrath more terrible than can be imagined by inhabitants of Middle World. The pursuers shrieked as if one, their horrible dismay echoing throughout the cave. Panicked they fell over one another, scratching and clawing, squealing like pigs in the slaughterhouse. With lightening quickness they vanished into darkness, their chilling cries reverberating on for quite some time after. It is said that, to this day, the Eastern entrance to the Cave of Xavus still echoes with those very same screams.
"Come, we must hurry," was all Gondal said.
4.
Ah - how wonderful it was to be back above the ground!
Gondal was back to his old self - ancient, ragged and looking rather wretched. Cerlo found it hard to believe he was the same being as his liberator . . . but, I suppose it had to be true.
Grotox hadn't stopped grumbling since they left the cave, which, according to Gondal, was very unusual for him. As Cerlo had learned from a smirking Fromlin, there is no greater dishonour for a Wyvern than to flee from battle - only to be rescued by an obvious superior. Every now and then, Grotox would hiss angrily at a random target - the last time it had been Cerlo - in a very effective attempt to express just how infuriated he truly was. Wyverns, though renowned for their wisdom, ferocity and strength, also tend to be terrible exhibitionists when it suits them.
Dirlo had told him all that had happened. When the rocks had given way underneath Gondal the "wizard" disposed of them rather quickly once the wolves left, to uncover Dirlo. Livin was nowhere to be found, and neither, of course, were Grotox, Fromlin and Cerlo. Hence, the wizard and the youngest dwarf had scrambled to the surface together. Gondal had heard the further collapse and searched again, but to no avail. He then had told Dirlo of the possibility that the others had found Xavus cave, and so they'd set out on foot towards the Eastern Entrance. Apparently, they found Livin rather close to that opening, to which they arrived a day before the other three did. Gondal retained a vigil by the entrance, and when he'd heard shouts coming from within he'd cast off his cloak and dissapeared into the darkness. The rest Cerlo already knew, so it was pointless to repeat.
It was good to have the company reunited. Cerlo felt a great deal lighter, and slept far better than night than he remembered doing for many, many days. Above them there was not a cloud in sight, and the stars shone down gleefully onto the weary travellers. Only three remained ill at ease: Grotox, Livin and especially Gondal. Despite his will Cerlo felt his worries return as he looked upon Gondal's tensed face the following morning.
"We near Emeon," spoke the wizard before they left, "and it may be that we will reach it today. This land is far different than before - so be wary . . . and always expect the worst."
A vast plain of broken rocks glinted orange off the rays of a rising sun, so that Cerlo felt he was walking through a flickering lake of fire. This illusion dissapeared quickly as dull grey clouds moved in from the north, eventually blanketing the land in a thin veil of silver. It was far colder here than it had been in the cave or forest, and Cerlo wrapped his cloak close around his shoulders.
"Gondal," he asked, moving closer to the wizard as their campsite dwindled away out of sight, "If everything here is alive, how is it ethical to eat?"
"Well, my friend, not everything in Upper World is of the same scale. Stones are only half alive, for example, capable only of expressing emotions, particularly those of irritation, hatred and joy. Now plants . . . plants are unique. Take the Great Trees - wise beings, older even than many dragons, forged before this realm was finished. Then there are plants such as corn, not really alive, hardly conscious, unfeeling, and certainly posessing but the faintest hint of a soul. With every death of a corn plant its soul is immediately reincarnated into a new birth, so nothing is actually killed. All lesser plants share this, so eating them is not murderous, or even unethical - merely the way of things. In any case, we don't seem to have much choice," mused the old man with a quiet chuckle.
"What will we do when we arrive at the city?"
The wizard sighed, and looked very tired.
"Many things will be revealed to you then - I hope. Until that time, focus on the road before your feet, and do as I say. Things will only become more difficult from here." A long silence followed, broken only by the constant clatter of clumsy feet among sharp stones.
"Cerlo - I've been thinking of that rod of yours."
"What - this one?" he looked at the little jeweled stick dangling from his buckle.
"Yes. Rarely have I met any being with one - and I do not know what it might be for. But I think it better that you give it to me, so I can study it further. Or you can keep it, of course; the choice is yours."
"Hand it to me, friend Cerlo! I have a long knowledge of such things, and to me it seems almost dwarven made," exclaimed Livin, striding up beside them. Old Gondal smiled and nodded at the suggestion, and so the odd little rod was handed over to the dwarf, who quickly slipped it under his tunic.
"One final thing," said Gondal as Livin once again dropped behind, "did you pick up anything from the cave of Xavus?"
"No, no . . . nothing," bumbled Cerlo, convincing himself that the little stone was far too insignificant to be mentioned. Come to thing of it, he'd never actually looked at it in the open . . . but that would have to wait.
"Good," returned the wizard, and for a moment his expression seemed to calm.
On they went.
5.
Far off in the distance twin towers speared up into the heavens. At last they were nearing Emeon. Fromlin carried an axe stained with blood, having slaughtered four spying ravens some time before, with Dirlo's help. A few eagles had landed near Gondal just after, alerting him of a great Black Wolf pack fanning out to scour the area. The troop had wearily veered from their Eastern Trek, diverting to the South, until the noble birds returned to report a safe passage ahead.
Before them a lay huge white plain, stretching on and on until, just when it seemed endless, it halted abruptly before a mountainous outcrop of stone, from which emerged a titanic bastion bristling with towers, fortiments and, rising above them all, those two massive citadels.
During the few hours that lay ahead they would be utterly exposed, and a heated debate formed on whether to continue at night or press on now.
"Evil things lurk by darkness," worried Grotox, "and we might not see the spies reporting us before it is too late."
"We cannot go now!" protested Livin, "before we had gone half way we would be spotted and set upon by Krackons!"
All shivered at the name of those horrible beasts, even Cerlo, who didn't even know what it described. Somehow its mentioning sent a deeply primal fear down his spine, and once again this Upper World seemed less kindly than before.
"I am sorry, my good Dwarf, but I fear I must agree with Grotox," spoke Gondal after some consideration. "The wolves are away now, but they may pass by here again around twilight. We must be safe by then!"
And so they set off. The rocks behind them shimmered with distance once they'd traveled for an hour or so. The plain seemed composed of a bright, silvery power - perhaps crushed quartz - which reflected every beam of light streaming down onto its surface. Their tracks were large and obvious in their wake, but of course nothing could be done about that. As the city ahead grew ever larger they scanned the sky for enemy scouts, yet thankfully nothing could be seen.
Cerlo thought he heard a dull, muffled rumble so faint even his ears could barely detect it. He'd learned from experience not to doubt his hearing, and so he spoke now with little hesitation.
"Excuse me," he piped, "but was that thunder? It was far off, but I thought -"
"Sshh!" Grotox hissed fretfully, and the entire company stood frozen on the bleak plain, listening intently.
A long time passed. Just when Gondal was about to speak, the sound washed over them a second time. Dead quiet again.
"D-did you-" began Cerlo, but Fromlin silenced him with an angry frown.
Another rumble, this one decisively louder than the last two. Whatever it was, it was coming closer.
Grotox slowly turned his head to face Gondal's. A wretched, beleagured expression lay on his face, and his eyes were sadder than any Cerlo had seen before. The wizard turned to face him, in silence, and released a long, exhausted sigh. The wyvern powerful jaw relaxed into a resigned, sardonic grin.
"We shall struggle to the end, of course," the beast muttered. Gondal nodded, and returned the smile. Cerlo, clouded with worry, found time to realize just how far back their friendship must stretch. Thousands of years? Perhaps.
A fourth rumble.
"Come! Quickly," said the wizard calmly, and, leaping onto the wyvern's back, he was off, with Livin close behind, followed by Fromlin. The remaining two, starring at each other perplexed, seemed caught between confusion, fear and weariness. They watched the others bound away, until Fromlin called out and they raced in pursuit as if shaken from a dream.
Now the sounds shook the ground like an earthquack, and their ear-splitting thunder seemed closer than ever. As Cerlo ran he noticed a long, black finger was stretching across the sky, almost like a warped streamer of some larger cloud, tainted by evil. The finger wavered as further rumbles ripped into the ground, then curved down to earth, still seeming small and far away.
A cold chill spilled down Cerlo's back. The finger approached, growing larger, blotting out the sun. Further streamers snaked out from the darkening horizon, merging with the larger one, flowing down, down into the soil. The thunder had ceased, and now a wierd, indescribable sound trilled across the plains. Its every tone stabbed the travellers with blinding terror, and only Gondal seemed staunched against it.
The finger touched ground not a thousand feet before the companions. Without changing course, they ran towards it. Twisting, writhing, the streamer seemed a vast tentacle overcharged with pain and hate. The sound stopped. All sound stopped. The movement stopped. All movement stopped. Time stodd still. The travellers waited, completely quiet, silenced by terror and foreboding. Cold sweat flowed down Cerlo's forehead, and he trembled uncontrollably as the long, black finger split in two near the horizon. The ragged, torn edge of the streamer shrunk down into itself, then vanished. Before the gates of the city stood . . . .
6.
Cerlo awoke.
He lay on a massive stone slab, at least seven or so feet long and five wide. Soft, layered blankets lay draped both above and below him, so that he felt suspended in nothingness, completely at ease and relaxed.
Then the memory returned, and the feeling, like a bucket of icy water splashed down upon him. He leapt out of bed, to a yell from Fromlin of "He's up!"
The other dwarves came bumbling in, chuckling, and patted Cerlo on the back, explaining in broken sentences just what had happened. Gondal shushed them all as he strode smiling into the room, and bade them all sit down.
"I suppose you'd like an explanation," the old man started, and to that Cerlo nodded eagerly, just recovering from his remembered fright.
"I must say I was nearly as frightened as yourself! Those were Krackons, four of them, no less. Many of us will never see anything worse, although some," and here he looked directly into Cerlo's eyes, "will. It is difficult to describe a Krackon, and certainly not suitable for this time of day, in this room, within this city."
"So we're inside the city now!" exclaimed Cerlo, who'd rather feared they'd ended up somewhere far worse.
"Yes indeed we are, thank the Dragon! I will tell you what happened first, then, followed only by the little bit you must know about Krackons. Then nothing more, for you need your sleep. After this night we will all meet with the King, but I fear he is not in good spirits, for he has lost many men already in these parts."
"You need not know much about our confrontation. We were lucky we were so far west yet, where the power of the Krackon is still weak, and so close to Emeon, where a few great emissaries - I mean, great 'wizards,' - still dwell. Just the same, I shall confess to you, my young friend, that I was desperate. I raised my staff as the Krackon came for us. I struck the one soundly, but it was no use. Poor Grotox fought furiously . . . they are tending for him now. One Krackon descended upon him, the other three pursued me . . . but then the great city trumpets rung loadly across the plains, and out from the city rode Faragor and Werac, two mighty wizards, followed by a great host of men and dwarves.
"The Krackons did not flee. They must have been accustomed to their power in the East, and not have realized how it weakened now they ventured west. The warriors of Emeon are renowned for their skill and magic, and we killed two Krackons before the rest fled. Nonetheless, the soldiers were deeply shaken, and a good number of them perished in battle. It was a bitter fight, and we can but thank the Maker that we emerged triumphant. A hundred miles East, I believe, and it would have gone poorly for us."
Cerlo listened, absorbed, and looked out through his little window. What a world he had come into! Was he safe, even now? And what evils lay ahead of him still? What was so bad about the East, anyway . . . and what had Gondal meant with "the Maker?"
The wizard chuckled. "Ah, I see you have many questions. All will be answered tomorrow. And no, I do not think I shall tell you more about the Krackon. You need rest now.
"But tell me, one last time . . . did you take anything from the cave?"
"Well, n-no, no, I didn't," stammered Cerlo, not knowing why he was lying, yet feeling terrible because of it. "Why?" he asked, hesitantly.
Gondal gave him a very odd look for some time, before his face gradually relaxed. A mask of bemused friendliness covered a worried interior. "If you did - beware! Yet I shall take you at your word. Now - to bed!"
"But-"
"Tomorrow!"
With that, he turned to stroll out of the room, followed by the others. Cerlo sighed uncomfortably as he climbed back into his monolithic bed. He really ought to have a look at that stone - and confess to Gondal. Somehow, from somewhere within him, he thought both notions repulsive.
I hope to turn this into a novel. These are only the first 2 chapters. So far my teacher has given it straight 100s all the way through, woohoo! If you have any criticism regarding adjectives, go read the text again, and see if your opinions change. I attempt to write poetically, so don't give me whiney adjective comments. Oh, and any mistakes are done on purpose to make sure you're paying attention =) |
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