River Of Life (Book 3) (5 page)

The presence eased through the wizard’s bedroom, and slowly it
bent over Erelon.  Slightly it placed its hand on the wizard.  The presence was
slight of frame, yet Erelon took no chances.  Quickly he squeezed the body in
his left arm, his right coming up with the blade and lying it across the neck
of the man hovering over him.  The snake hissed with delight at the thought of
drinking blood.

Yet, the blade did not cut, as Erelon stopped himself at the
squealing voice of a young boy crying, “But you said to come early on the
second morning!”

With a grunt and then a sigh, Erelon’s nerves eased, his muscles
relaxed, and he released the boy to the floor and replaced his knife on its
stand.

“Wait for me outside,” Erelon’s command sent the boy scurrying
for the door.

Erelon emerged from his room a few moments later, dressed in a
huge coat made of some wild beast’s hide.  It made him look twice as burly. 
Below the robe was more thick clothing.

Handing the young boy a cloak and a pack, Erelon commanded,
“Hurry now.  Put those on.”

Quietly both slipped from the castle, but not by the front
door.  Silently they ascended stairs, crossed great pits, and passed by store
rooms and halls where men, women, and children now lived.  Finally they started
up on paths that were not finished with embellishments and geometric designs. 
A smooth floor guided by roughly cut walls chauffeured the wizard and the boy
through unknown, unmapped regions of the castle.  All the time, they continued
upwards.

It was winter.  The young lad had begged Erelon to allow him to
assist the wizard however he could.  Now Erelon was trying to find a hobby that
would free his mind.  The shadow had yet to attack, he had not called the
wizards to a council for months, and he had increasingly begun to worry for the
young wizard, Easton, who braved the magical world of the Humbas.

The young boy behind gasped as he tried to regain his breath. 
The higher they climbed, the less oxygen there was and the colder the world
became.  For a long time already Erelon had awaited this moment.  Festor had
told him of this relatively unexplored area and what a legend claimed that it
contained.  Yet, for the right temperature, the right time of the year, Erelon
had to wait.

The trail continued, but it grew rough.  It was cut into by deep
crevices, and the craftsmanship of the carving declined.  Chunks of rock began
to impede the progress over the trail, and then the path left the interior of
the mountain altogether.  The two adventurers were outside on the mountain’s
wall.  Snow monsters could be heard higher up the mountain, throwing chunks of
ice as the pieces bounced, rumbled higher, and then fell into the depths.  Huge
boulders of ice fell, slamming into the mountain wall, chipping it, and taking
more pieces of stone with them in a rush of snow.

Erelon shook his head and, looking up, muttered cautiously,
“Ought to get a gate placed in that door.  Some little kid is likely to wander
out here and get hurt.”

The maze led them between two chunks of frozen rock and then
across a thin rock ledge coated with ice and snow.  The nails of their boots
sunk down and completely disappeared.  The path at first led warily upwards,
observable for several moments, before disappearing over a bump.

The trail barely bobbed back and forth and was easy to follow. 
As Erelon and the young boy ascended to the top of the hill, the path became
noticeably worse.  Sometimes it became so steep that the path threatened to let
them slide back.  At times, they indeed lost their footing, falling to the
ground.  The two travelers felt as if they had become brittle, that if they
were to drop against the floor of the earth far below, they would shatter to
pieces as if they were crystals of ice.

The path led into the mountains, leaving behind the narrow
ledge.  Now the greatest threat became avalanches of white powder tumbling
down, burying them alive, not to be found until the thawing of spring.  Several
passes forced them to squeeze by, and at other places, the mountain peaks
spread out, creating valleys.  As Erelon passed through several such valleys,
he could hear ice popping underfoot as they passed across frozen ponds. 

As the hostile wind and crystals of ice made speech with the lad
impractical, Erelon began to think to himself.  Erelon could almost imagine how
these mountain valleys would make great areas in which to store a herd of beef.

The wizard had been importing essential stores of food for some
time now for a siege he expected soon.  Erelon deducted the wraiths would come
down on them with vengeance.  The siege of Kintex had not gone well for the
wraith’s army.  Though Kintex was all that was left of the kingdom of Westeron, they had not been able to take it.  Now the wraiths were splitting their
forces further to attack the home of the wizards.

The wraiths were not completely content with the outcome of
events.  They were not occurring as the wraith’s had seen in the future they
had chosen.  By now the wraiths had wished to occupy the country of Sirus, but
instead they had yet to destroy the wizards, their greatest enemy, or
completely finish Westeron.

Yet, with the advent of a siege, Erelon wanted to have fresh
supplies that they could easily replenish without importing.  In these valleys,
grain could be grown and cattle fed.  Early summer Erelon would have the
dwarves cutting safer paths and farmers planting the ground.  Yet this was not
what the wizard had come for.  Erelon had come in search of a hidden cave in
the crest of the mountains.

It was said in this cave were created, during the winter months,
the greatest ice crystals—crystals that contained the very essence of winter. 
The legend told of crystals perfectly tuned by a winter breeze that blew
through the caverns.  They made music, they sang songs, ballads of winter. 
Erelon searched for one crystal, one that had a mischievous spirit within it,
one that had entrapped the demon of winter within its transparent walls.  It
was the dissonance within the ballad.  It was this crystal the wizard looked
for.

They stepped into another valley, yet no apparent opening led
out.  Erelon looked around, gazing in all directions.  Every shadow, every
movement of snow that seemed out of place, he studied for many moments.  It was
a dead end, the last valley in the mountains along this path.  In here was the
cave he needed to find.

The wizard took a couple steps, and a high pitched crack pierced
the air and rang down the canals of his ears.

Erelon turned to look at the lad behind and said, “Slow and
easy.”

The boy’s eyes were wide with fear.  To drop through the surface
of the table of ice at this height, with the warmth and protection of the
wizard’s residence far behind, would mean certain death.  Slowly the two moved,
the floor below them popping and cackling.  Wind swept the snow from where it
had covered the smooth surface of the lake, casting the snow into piles. 
Erelon’s feet sank deep, and as he stepped, dead grass could be seen crushed. 
He breathed deeply, relieved that they were once again standing on firm ground

They went on, leaving deep holes in the snow where they had
passed.  The canyon took a bend, and a wind greeted them with a cloud of cold
white powder.  For a moment, they were both blinded as the ice burned into
their faces, yet the world cleared and both men could see.  It was not a
hospitable sight.  The world had not changed; it was still no more than cold
gray rock tortured by snow, except for one tree, blooming with pink flowers. 
At the tree’s base was a narrow trail leading again upwards against the
mountain’s surface.

“We have to climb that?” the lad whined.

“No,” came a calm response from the wizard.

He was admiring the tree that braved and stood firm in the
winter weather that killed everything else.

The wizard, after a few minutes of silence, explained, “That
narrow trail leads up and around the peak into more valleys that are almost
impossible to reach.  If one continued on they would come to the ocean.  If
events get bad, we can hide in there and protect it effectively for at least a
few years.  The paths in are narrow and dangerous.”

The wizard standing at the base of the inclined path counted out
ten steps past it.  Grabbing a small shovel from the lad’s pack, he began to
sweep the snow from his path.  As he uncovered a large red stone, smooth and
shaped like an egg, Erelon wielded the shovel faster as he gained excitement. 
A few moments later, he uncovered a hole in the rock wall.  It was so small
that it forced Erelon to crouch.  Once inside, the wind stopped, giving them
some relief.

“Should we light a torch?” came a question from behind the
wizard.

“No,” came a vehement response from Erelon.

Reaching into the lad’s pack, he pulled out two sticks, smoothed
until perfectly cylindrical and at a size that easily fit in a man’s fist.  The
wizard dipped the top of each into a jar of jelly-textured goo.  Casting his
hand over the sticks, Erelon said a few elvish words and then breathed on
them.  Where the jell had touched, a low red glow lit the stick, yet they did
not produce any heat or fire.

Handing one to the lad, Erelon kept the other heatless torch for
himself and started down the narrow tunnel.  Very little noise came to them
except for their own heaving breath that caused a heavy white fog to hang in
the air before them, which they again breathed in.  Slowly as they progressed,
the round cave widened so that Erelon did not have to crouch low, yet the rough
ceiling of the tunnel continued to rub his back.

Through the tunnel, music came to their ears.  A flute and
chimes drifted along the breeze as if some orchestra of fairies had found the
peaceful seclusion of the winter’s mountain hall inspirational.  As the light
grew in power, so did the music, as if it accompanied the light.  As the sound
grew, melodies and harmony could be heard whimsically telling the story of
winter and the legends surrounding this harsh season.

The torches cast a low red glow on the walls and floor, marking
all grooves and obstacles, yet doing little to reveal the hidden secrets of the
passage.  As the red glow of their torches grew fainter, they knew they were
closing in on the end of the tunnel.  Slowly the passage opened wider, and a
three foot drop brought them into a huge cavern filled with natural light
glaring off of ice and snow.

Ice crystals reflected the light so that a splash of color was
sent flying through, decorating the world in a beauty that not even the elves
could replicate.  As one crystal would reflect light, dividing it, another
crystal would pick up each ray to further subdivide it until it was a
continuous cycle of rays dancing from crystal to crystal, each ray of light and
beam of color changing continuously.

Thousands of lights were reflected all at once so that the
entire chamber was filled with light that had been at first blinding.  Both
squinted their eyes so that tears flowed freely as their eyes tried to adjust
and filter out the excess light.  Erelon even drew his hand over his closed
eyes as the light beat against his eye lids and still burned.  Slowly he parted
his fingers, allowing a little more light in as they opened up.  Slowly he drew
his hand away and blinked several times.

Erelon descended the steps carved by wind piling up snow and
then freezing it into blocks.  The ice formed chandeliers above and mirrors on
the walls, and they burst from the ground and made chairs and tables.  Several
trees with the pink blossoms lived, adding a organic element to the cold
world.  Only during the winter months did this tree blossom and grow.  During
the warm months of the year, it looked dead and naked, and for this reason,
many men who did not know about their miraculous beauty had cut them down.

The chamber was filled with the musical ensemble as flutes,
chimes, and bells all rose together.  Yet as Erelon listened and felt for the
melody, he could place a sound that did not feel right.  It was a mischievous
sound, playing with the melody, changing tempo, and its own sound as it
wished.  The air that flowed through the chambers had wrought the crystals into
the sounds needed, and now for those that knew where to find the musical
caverns, they played beautifully.  Erelon did not know if the Humbas had built
this cavern years ago, or if it were the original inhabitants of Suragenna, or
if nature itself had through years of trial and practice magically formed this
amazing cavern.  Erelon knew it had been around for ages, and that these
caverns had been unaltered by men as far back as he could find it mentioned in
manuscripts.

Yet the slightest outside force could change the form of the
crystals, causing the ballad to change.  Some legends claimed if the alteration
was severe enough, it could bring the cavern down completely.

Turning to the lad, Erelon fervently stated, “No fire, and try
to keep noise limited.”

Crossing behind the boy, Erelon took from the pack a tube
container along with a saw, which had a blade encrusted with diamond powder, a
tool barrowed from Bahsal.

Without another word, Erelon proceeded farther into the caverns,
following the musical sound that did not match the melody.  Erelon had crystals
of ice growing from his full beard, and white areas on his cheeks and nose
where ice had settled.  He still held onto his heatless, glowing torch,
pointing it around towards the darkest corners, crystals sucking in its color
and light and spraying it into the world along with the light they obtained
from the world outside the caverns.

The wizard had left the boy far behind before finding what he
had been looking for.  The other crystals in the cavern distributed the color
and light from his torch so that the world could enjoy the beauty.  However,
this one squat crystal absorbed the red glow, and into its point it
concentrated the color.  Greedily, it stole the red glow and kept it for
itself, not sharing but keeping the color to make the world envious.