Tetra Firma
Sweet trickling light filtered from the boughs of the leafy canopy above and splashed merrily along with the flowing babbling stream. The warmed late day breeze found its way into the moist burrows of all the breathing life about. Mindless light clouds flailed about the sky met the light aqua of the slumbering mellow sky. The crimson and beige shades upon the heights and strewn ornately over the living earth were a telltale sign of the coming winter. The cool rhythmic whisperings of the free wandering spring soothed the nodding life of the waxing day. The life essence about the scene was never suspected to be the sight of the most horrendous meeting place.
Night swiftly wrapped its dusty folds about the gay twinkling splashes of sun and dew. The icy breeze tangled itself beneath a pile of brown cracked autumn leaves and heaved them into the chaotic disarray of the ensuing night. Mysterious ominous clouds seeped over the blissful azure and choked the bleeding rays of streaming saffron. Pitch smoke of a moonless night oozed over the dampening scene. The dust stirred as the greasy pale mist frolicked insanely upon its tortuous breeze. Even the brook was suddenly stifled and motionlessly glossy as its pale crystal ripples and folds tumbled endlessly on in humility. The creatures of night slid from their dens and sharpened their blood-trained claws as their sticky wretched tongues tasted the air for prey.
In the distance a jagged silhouette blotted the dull gray shades of the featureless horizon. Slowly, barely twitching, the etched gaunt form glided nearer. The soft rustle of its draped dry cloak echoed in a deathly pause. Darkness seemed to cling to the frail looking old creature and slide along with it trailing like a bridal train.
Upon reaching a stagnant clearing it stopped without warning and just stood as a black pinnacle of ebony rising from the depths of the sullen earth. Seconds passed like a nightmare of deathly stillness and the entire scene stood in tension awaiting some strange happening. The trees themselves seemed to reel back in still horror.
Then when it seemed that the living forest could hold no more, a strange distant rumbling shook the leaves on the surrounding trees. Gradually it became louder until it was violently shaking the the earth and the trees of the clearing were swaying and dropping their autumn leaves. The ground surrounding the cloak fell into some bottomless lightless abyss and six twisting pinnacles of steaming a steaming black stone rose up several feet against the clouded sky forming a dark barrier against light. The stones meshed to form a black shell, curling like a snail's, over the evil duo and silence once more enveloped the scene.
Within the shell the dark cloak was enveloped in its home darkness. From the air before it a pale greenish glow slowly formed It grew brighter penetrating the dark cloak with a slight transparency. As the light grew stronger it illuminated a hunched form that looked into the black cloak through misshaped eye lids. Hanithe stood beneath the tight dome holding a metal torch with a greenish flame at his side.
After glaring into the shadow for a certain time he raised his hunched figure as much as possible and said, "We haven't much time. We must take her soon."
Without the slightest hint of movement the dark wraith replied, "Do not press the Dark Lord with your petty urgency."
"My men are becoming restless with my pro‹"
"Neither you nor your men hold any power!"
Hanithe's maimed face froze only momentarily before his warped facial flesh bent in a wicked grin. "I have no power? You who have no minions to speak of say the single lord of Corth with millions of willing soldiers at my command has no power."
Suddenly a ring of blackness formed around Hanithe's neck and he bent staggering to one knee. As Hanithe lay grasping at his neck the Dark Lord's cynical voice echoed in the cavern, "I have all the power you ever need be afraid of: the power to take your life instantly. Where would your mighty army be without their fearless general."
In an almost casual manner came the choked reply, "You wouldn't, I'm worth too much." After a pause the ring around his neck released and disappeared as suddenly as it had come.
"It's a shame the Dark Lord would be reduced to rely upon a force that was bested by a baby girl."
"Not true, there were hundreds of rebels and a wizard‹"
"Twenty rebels and a rather feeble old codger who, as I remember, made you what I see before me now." Hanithe's maimed body looked as if it has been melted in a raging furnace. His skin had a scarred look as if from many recent third degree burns.
Hanithe raged momentarily before he promptly changed the subject. "We must have her reasonably soon or she will be of no use to us. If she is not in my labs before she is physically matured we cannot bleed the immunity from her."
"I will have her at Hell's portal in the night of the third day. I don't tolerate waiting." As the dark lord spoke this final message his form slipped away through the wall.
Hanithe's warped face twisted into a twisted grin of triumphal cynicism. He turned a knob at the bottom of the torch and quickly vanished from sight.
Hours later as the inevitable dawn crept into the sky's horizon evil darkness oozed from the cracks between the stones. When the first of the sun's rays licked the rough surface the strange light absorbing dome changed. Its surface became glossy and fluid. The whole dark curvature had begun to collapse under the blasting rays of silvery sun, and sink retreating beneath the wholesome soil to leave nothing but a happy azure sky warming the world.
The sparks entranced him. Heat of fire felt good on his face in the shadows of early morning. The merry dance of the fire as it licked the already glowing metal was a rite of magic to him. Removing the blushing metal from the coals he placed it with his forceps on the neck of his anvil. It was hot enough to be bent with his hands now. It was moldable able to be warped or pounded into whatever shape he as the maker chose. Here was safety; between him and the metal there was an odd love and trust.
On occasion he would take a short rod of a soft metal and lengthen it. Slowly he would pound around the outside of the metal making sure to keep its roundness. Over hours of careful tapping he might lengthen it an inch or so. Eating and drinking of the heat of the forge for weeks might see the rod double or triple in length.
No one in the village could understand it. They would come and watch for an hour or less and would then walk off thinking he had been purposely making them bored by accomplishing nothing. Mostly he was kept busy with odd village jobs such as shoeing horses or making nails. Whatever it was it made him happy. His forge and anvil were his best friends in the world.
He saw Cormach in these friends. Cormach, a smithy by trade, was the closest thing he had to a father. On the same wooden handle of the hammer he saw Cormach's hands and felt his grip. The same hands that had first shown him to form the metal.
His home was a humble shanty, but from all he did to earn it he believed it was a paradise. He sat down by the fire. Leaning back against the worn soft leather of the bellow. The air from the hot shades of burning orange pressed against his face singeing the tips of his dirty hair.
He could never explain fire's transfixing magic, but his trade needed not the unraveling of it's secrets, just the humble harmony with it's power. He lay basking in the heat. He glanced over at a pile of cold iron rods leaning against the door frame. Hetar had asked him to reshoe his horses and had bought the rods to be shaped. "A moment," he thought as he lazily let his head fall back onto the soft folds of the bellow.
As a feeble knock came at the door he was brought into awareness and he leaped up to answer the caller. As he opened the thick creaking door he saw a very short muscle-bound man. It was Byron, the messenger. Byron was dwarf-sized with a rough dirty look to him, who only came up to the smithy's thigh. He had thick eyebrows and constantly picked at them
"Grega," said Byron in his child-like voice, "you's needed by Ham doublequick." With that he was off and out of sight in seconds, dodging through the thick wooded area separating the Gregor's shop from the village. Only his small blurred footprints in the soft forest loam were left behind him.
Gregor's shop was out of sight of the village as Cormach had chosen. Cormach was a good man, yet had a great part of him that desired to independent of all else in the world which carried over much into Gregor's upbringing.
Ham, who's given name was Hamnagian was a short tempered stout man who controlled the village like his little checkers game. He was not exactly the usual type of lord like many other vassals. He was wise enough to know it would not have been healthy for him to live in a grand homestead over all of the others. For the most part his life was similar to that of the common people of the village. His days were spent legislating political disputes, roaming the village enforcing rules, and watching over the girl Kerea.
Gregor knew how much trouble Kerea could be to Ham, so trudged swiftly through the brush reaching the town quickly. The town was a bustling group of smoking buildings nestled in the cradle of the wild barely covering three acres. Many farmers lived with their plots of land farther down in the valley venturing to town to barter for food and supplies. It had been founded many many years ago, before the any of the residents were alive. Though it did not change much from year to year; the face of the drab sagging houses never looked drab to the people.
Heading through the center street he greeted familiar faces as he passed. There were many shops each with their own familiar style and odor. There was the baker with the smell of steaming bread, the butcher with the odor of blood. He met busy housewives with children clinging to them and even Hetar the farmer.
Gregor expected him to ask about his horseshoes, but to his great surprise and confusion he said in a tender voice, "I'm so sorry, Grega." With that Hetar walked off through the crowd leaving Gregor standing with an odd look on his face before he walked on through the crowd.
At the center of the homely village was a hut slightly larger than the others made of thick upright logs, fastened together. There was a ripe black column of smoke billowing out the vent in the top. Before Gregor could get within ten feet of the hut Ham came up to him excitedly mumbling and thanking him.
"Thank God your here," he said, "I've been callin' for you all mornin'. It just came and ripped the‹"
"Wait, Ham, Wait," Gregor said, "What came?"
"I don't know, a monster, huge," Ham stuttered, "It took her." Ham suddenly became solemn, "Gregor, Kerea's gone."
Gregor burst towards the entrance of the hut with a million questions in his mind. As his eyes glanced first into the hut they saw first evidence of the terrible scene. The oaken door had been shorn in two against the grain and left splintered in shattered pieces on the floor just inside. Gregor ran into the hut to Kerea's corner. The entire wall dividing her quarters from nature had been ripped and shredded by powerful razor-sharp claws. Items from her room were cast in reckless disarray through her quarters and midst the tangled wreckage of the crushed wall. The roof overhanging her end of the cottage drooped several feet lower than normal and bits of splintered wood still held by nails and ties dangled toward the ground.
A silver point of light among the mess caught his eyes. He bent to pick it up from under a shattered mirror. Barely filling the palm of his hand was a tiny flute with a leather strip tied to it. It was a strange metal with an ancient inscription he couldn't read in minuscule letters along the side.
It was hers. When he had found her as a baby in the forest near his shop it was hanging around her neck. He had taken her to his cot and soothed her whimpering with some food. She was a very beautiful baby with sandy blond hair. She had a small mark on either of forearms resembling a flaming sun. He had named her Kerea after his foster mother. Gregor loved her and in his heart wanted to keep her to raise, but his individualism prevented him. Hamnagian had his life saved by Gregor and thus feeling his debt took on the responsibility of caring for Kerea. She'd been raised well as Ham was a caring father to her. Ham had even created this extra room on his hut for her privacy.
As Gregor couched in the middle of the room the heavy-set Ham trundled to the doorway. Ham lowered and shook his head at seeing the carnage once more. Snapped from his trance Gregor stood and stepped to Ham.
"When did this happen? Where were you?"
"I, I‹," Ham stammered, "I was in the forest, last night."
"What were you doing in the forest," Gregor asked incredulously.
"I, uh, was following a girl," Ham tried to explain, "with wings. She made me." He was lost for words, "I, just‹"
Gregor looked dazed about the room and sank onto a nearby stool with his head in his hands. Ham, ashamed, crept out the front of the hut.
Gregor was lost in his chaotic thoughts when suddenly a rasping voice said, "She won't be coming back, at least not for a long while." An aged white bearded man stepped through the space of the missing wall and into the shade of the hut. He was strangely dressed, wearing a thin draping cloak of green and only soft riding boots upon his feet. The ancient folds of skin relaxed with the absolutely solemn look upon his face
"Who are you," Gregor asked rising to his feet.
"Peace, I have not taken her. My name is Granald."
"Where is Kerea?
"She has been taken by an evil force of the grave. Stolen in the mist of night. But come, we must leave immediately if there is to be any hope for her."
"Me?" Gregor asked, "Why?"
"This goes much deeper than a violent kidnapping. Come walk with me and I will tell you more." Granald motioned out of the hut. He said this so matter-of -factly that Gregor just followed blindly.
Gregor walked with him out of the village heading north. The live green pines wrapped about them in silence as the village faded from view. Only the rhythmic rustle of their footprints echoed in their ears. Suddenly Gregor realized what he was doing as if awakening from a trance. He stopped where he was and turned to face the direction of the village
"Where are we going old man," he shouted, "You said we would be speaking of Kerea."
"And we shall," he said emotionlessly in his dry raspy voice, "but follow a short way further to that tall pine."
The pine which was but fifty feet away was an immense feat of nature. Nearly three hundred feet high, the awesome tower of green dwarfed it's surroundings. Gregor again began trudging on ahead along side of the awkward old man seeming anxious to get there and frustrated at the slow speed at which the old man moved.
When the large tree loomed over head and the nearest boughs drew near, Gregor stopped. But the old man continued walking as if not knowing they had arrived. Gregor was about to warn the old man but He blended quickly into the tree and disappeared in between its stout green boughs.
Gregor leaned over in surprise to see that the man had entered a small opening, thickly covered and barely usable. He could see the man seating himself inside a darkened room within.
Being slightly wider than the old man Gregor had a rather difficult time moving in between the wiry branches. The room past the branches looked nothing like the inside of a tree except for the thick trunk in the center of the room. The truck was massive with a little fireplace built in the center. It had flat walls with a beige shade of paint and several pictures hung from the walls about the circumference of the circular room. Gregor sat in an overstuffed chair near the entrance. The conveniently placed chair fit his form exactly and he relaxed.
The man snapped his fingers and a fire lit in the fireplace. It was a strange fire that gave no heat. The builder of the fireplace must have planned for this for there was no flue coming out of the top of the fireplace.
"All right, Granald," Gregor said strangely eying the fire for a moment, "if you would explain what you said a while back about the 'evil force of the grave'."
Granald sat comfortably in his chair and looked at Gregor for a moment studying him. Finally he began, "Many centuries ago a rather large 'incident' occurred joining two worlds at their roots: Earth and Tetra Firma most commonly called Corth. Life from the other side is fairly similar to our own except in one way, our full sunlight destroys Corthan matter utterly in an hour. To be in any light but absolute pitch dark is very painful to all corthan life.
"The majority are ruled by a cynical tyrant named Hanithe. who thinks he is a god because has somehow released himself from the slow death of aging. Years ago Hanithe was a relatively handsome man until he was violently maimed when I and a group of corthan rebels rescued a child you have come to know as Kerea."
"Wait a second, why did Kerea need rescuing," Gregor interjected.
"For long years Hanithe in his consciousless pursuit of conquest has tried to find some way to pass safely to the surface of earth with his armies unaffected by our light. In the pursuit of this they have performed countless experiments upon captured rebels. All of these tests proved fatal until Keria's birth. Her mother was tested, but died in the process just as she went into labor. The experiment on Kerea worked giving her light immunity. We set up the ambush of Kerea's earth light test and left her for you to care for."
"If, uh, Hanithe, it is, already had the answer for light why did he need Kerea,"
"Let me explain. When the ex-rebel corthan performing the experiments discovered the solution in Kerea he realized the destructive magnitude of what he had done. He destroyed the formula, his notes and then himself in a fire making it look like an accident. I discovered what he had done and foresaw a terrible disaster if Kerea should remain in the hands of Hanithe. Alerting the rebels I created an ambush of Hanithe's light test."
"Why do they want her now?" implored Gregor with a look of interest.
"If they take a sample of her blood before she enters puberty they can extract the potion. I have protected the knowledge of her whereabouts thus far, but only weeks ago Hanithe made an alliance with the Terra Shadow and took her last night."
Gregor's breath caught in his throat. He was torn in his conscience. His heart bade him go, but every fiber of his mind longed for his forge and a simple life with no obligations. He had never wished for adventure and he really never wanted more than what he had. But from the beginning he had felt something strange for Kerea and wished he'd not let Ham take her. In the end his heart won over "I have to go after her," he began to stand, "I have to rescue her. How can I find her?"
Granald waved his hand and a wisp of alien air swept from nowhere to blow the forest loam of aged pine needles back and into the shadows of the corners. When the dust had cleared, an indent of a door etched into the ground was revealed. The latch lifted and the door was thrown wide open, making a hollow thump resounding in the natural hut.
"This is your passage into Corth, but before you leave you will need a few things." He shifted in his chair into a better posture. "You will need a companion." He said. He snapped his fingers again and Byron suddenly rushed in the door not knowing why he had done so. Gregor sat up in his chair in surprise.
"I, uh. Raelly, I wasn't‹," Byron began.
"It's all right, have a seat." Granald comforted him. He motioned to a chair next to Gregor that seemed just the right size for Byron that Gregor hadn't noticed. Byron sat as Granald continued, "You and Gregor have been selected for a perilous adventure."
At the word 'adventure' Byron's eyes lit with wonder and anticipation. He was nearly as old as Gregor and had lived his entire life in the village. His greatest fantasy was to go on a 'perilous adventure.' He eagerly agreed to go not even knowing the implications or how it would change him.
Gregor told Byron all the Granald had said and Byron set his head back with a confused look on his face. Several times Byron glanced from the door to Gregor and to the door again. Then the confused look turned to a noble look and he straightened up and in the most courageous and lowest voice he could muster he accepted.
"Light," said Granald, "is your only defense against the enemy since neither of you are warriors." Byron was about to dispute this point with Granald, but was cut when Granald took from the folds of his worn cloak an ornately carved torch. Gregor immediately noticed the writing along the handle of the torch. It was in the same style and form as the writings engraved on Kerea's flute. "This magic torch I will give you will not go out unless willingly extinguished by it's owner. This light is not only harmful to life of the other side but also to stone, metal, and all matter from their side. Do not stay in one place for too long or the walls around you may collapse from the light. Do not ever extinguish it or you will be at the mercy of the enemy.
"Kerea is most likely being kept beneath the palace of Hanithe. The only way you may enter is by way of the surface. The tunnels made by the Corthans are lined with a polished black stone called Argoth. You will know when you have passed into their tunnels when it changes from white shale to Argoth.
"The tunnels are laid out in a circular pattern with cross passages like the spokes of a wheel radiating from the palace. Do not venture away from the palace or you may never find your way back.
"I suggest you make contact with the rebels. They bear a triangular seal with a seven pointed star in the center. I will warn you though, the rebels are a rough group and may not take kindly to foreigners. When you meet them you must shield them from your light and ask for Raldan their leader saying I sent you. To protect them from your torch without extinguishing it, you may place this cover over it." Granald took a cone-shaped object from his pouch which fit exactly over the uneven edges of the torch. "To meet the rebels you should find your way to the surface as soon as you cross over to Corth." The three stood and Granald held the torch and cover out to Gregor. As Gregor's hand touched the metal of the torch it ignited in a bright glowing radiance unlike a flame of fire. Gregor felt no heat from the wick.
With that and a few other words of council, Gregor and Byron climbed down the darkened hole beneath the hatch door. As they disappeared Granald bowed his head in a parting gesture to signal the beginning of their perilous journey.
The thick musty odor of an ancient tunnel reached their nostrils. The pale wooden door ascended above them as they climbed. The deep pit beneath the door was clogged frequently by small roots growing from the above tree. A wiry web of tough strands impeded the easy passage of the awkward two. Gregor usually used his foot to snap the roots, sending small puffs of ripe clay plummeting down the deep pit below.
The pit was adorned on one side with inch thick slabs of a rough white stone every foot and a half protruding several inches from the wall. The shaft, about two feet square, dropped down out of sight. It's warm sides were of hardened clay, partially weakened by the imprecating roots. Smell of pine sap and damp soil swarmed all about, lighting upon their clothes and mingling with their hair. Gregor lead on downwards holding the torch in his left hand. This made it difficult to climb well and would have been perilously dangerous if Gregor hadn't had the strong grip of a smithy.
Byron moved agile enough, but he did not quite possess the speed Gregor did, having much shorter legs and not being as strong armed for this type of movement. As Byron struggled to move downward, his frequent muffled grunts echoed wildly about them having nowhere else to go. Several yards down, Byron gripped a step that was especially damp. He reached his foot down to get to the next step when suddenly his hand slipped. Byron's other hand, which had been moving to the next step, desperately grasped for hold. Byron hit his back against the wall and dropped down upon Gregor. Gregor had been placing his foot on the next step and suddenly he found his foot pushed heavily into it. His instincts held and so did his feet. He pressed his back hard into the clay and struggled to push Byron up again. Byron held tightly to the stained ivory wall steps breathing heavily.
"Are you all right?" Gregor remained with his back against the dark wall staring up at Byron.
"Just a lilbit excited and a bit windud." Byron leaned facing the wall panting. His feet were placed carefully close to the edge of a step and he rested his head on his forearms. Byron quickly recuperated and Gregor began descending again.
About thirty feet down the walls became solid white bedrock smelling of salty minerals of the earth. A ways farther down the air became colder and damp. Gregor smelled it but said nothing. The stone seemed to perspire amidst the stagnant moisture of the vent. Byron had become infinitely careful of his step and quickly noticed the slickness. Several minutes of dissension passed intermitted only by several rest stops. The base of the climb came suddenly. Gregor looked down once, climbed a bit, looked down again and the floor was less than five feet from his feet.
The drop ended abruptly in right angles leading backwards from the steps into a long passage. The floor was a flat cold slab of stone laid into the warm earth. The rock was damp and nearly slippery with the cavernous air.
As Byron reached the bottom he sighed breathing a little heavy, "How fa down ah we du you think?"
"Far," said Gregor staring back up the shaft where they had come and holding the torch up. The tunnel from the bottom led east as best as Gregor could guess, based upon the directions above. The tunnel was about six feet tall and three feet wide. The curious dripping sound emanated from the darkened tunnel. Gregor, holding out the torch peered into the blackness. He turned to Byron, and asked, "Are you rested enough to walk a ways? I think I smell an underground lake."
"Nevuh felt bettuh," said an optimistic Byron as he boldly strode out into the darkness. He had puffed up his chest and was almost standing on his toes trying to look as big as possible. He proudly strode out into the darkness. Gregor stared as Byron disappeared from sight and then reappeared running. He remembered his macho look and, straightening, said, "Uh, um there's somthin up here you should, uh, see." He then turned around facing the darkness and waiting in a dignified pose as if he were a bride groom politely waiting at attention.
Gregor stifled a small laugh as he strode, on ahead to where Byron stood. The two companions, Gregor once more leading, slowly made their way down the tunnel. The dripping sound became louder as they progressed. It was farther than it had originally sounded for the echoes easily reverberated upon the smooth white rock walls. Even their own footsteps could be heard like a small quiet drum.
They finally came upon an edge. It opened up into a wide room with the walls lost in the ebony folds of the deep earth. The dripping noise was there in the room in front of them. A foot below the lip of the edge was the water level. Tiny stalactites extended from the wet ceiling; the drops that fell made ripples that meshed and collided chaotically upon the mirrored surface of the lake. Walkways had been hewn out of the stone circling the lake and meeting some place of the far shore.
As they turned the corner going left they found an ornate fire basin with a strange smelling liquid filling it. Slowly Gregor lit the surface of the bowl's contents and pulled back quickly when it sprang into fire.
The fire had an an inanimate feel to it and something seemed odd. It gave light but one could not smell smoke or feel heat in the slightest. Gregor pondered on this, but noticed that the torch he had been given had the same look to it. There was an identical basin to the right of the main passage which he nimbly lit.
The rims of the fire bowls were in a dazzling layout. There were slim holes punched in the golden plate and filled with white rubies that cast blue radiance upon the walls. The upper flames angled beams of swarming saffron through greenish gems and into the crystalline depths of the glistening lake. The lake seemed to have no bottom, but only sheer sheets of white as walls plunging deeper than imaginable into the earth and beyond.
Soft sounds of awe escaped Byron's tiny lips and he brushed at his eyebrows delicately pondering his own strange thoughts. Gregor pulled himself out of his daze and shook Byron into awareness.
"We must go. Time is passing and every moment further dooms Kerea. Come." Gregor's solemn words let rush the sense of bravado in Byron once more. They set off along the left path still glancing about in awe.
When they had left and were out of sight of the splendid illumination, the pair of flickering flames were snuffed out letting fall the depths of sable.
The caves were white walled with dark-striped patches in select places. The striped patches sweated a thick clear gel forming a glossy exterior to the wall. The two walkways did not join again as far as Gregor could see. The path they were on wound on through large caverns and small. The water was to the right every walkway and in every room. The light from the magic torch Gregor held refracted with the smoothed plate of the water reflecting it onto the walls around and bouncing on for infinity down the ivory walls of the water filled crevice. The water level always remained constant as the pathway rose and fell, sometimes up to twenty feet above the water or fractions of an inch from the water level.
Byron's bravado had cooled somewhat and he walked calmly aside Gregor with a curious look upon his face as the two silently followed the snake-like unbranching path. In several places the pathway grew very short and Gregor had to bend over to make it through. Byron just smiled and walked through missing the ceiling by a clear two feet.
"How fa du these things go?"
The question from Byron startled Gregor at its suddenness after the long minutes of awe filled silence. "I don't know," he said glancing back the way they had come.
"We're not gettin' any daeper eitha. I don't see how we're supposed to find anotha world down here." Byron glanced about as he walked. "That wata bugs me. It's too clear."
They continued walking again with their own ideas and wonders. As they were walking watching the water Gregor suddenly stopped holding back Byron. Directly in front of them the walkway had collapsed and sunk into the water. It could still be seen barely poking above the water several inches down, but it did not seem to be connected to anything.
Leaping the gap was impossible because a long strip had collapsed. Several yards of the white sanded floor lay in the water suspended by some mystical force barely peeking over the top of the glossy surface of the water.
"What now Grega?" Byron was staring blankly at the fallen segment of the walkway while tickling his right eyebrow with his little finger.
"Well we could go back, but that might take too long. Those stones look unmoving enough, try stepping onto one," Gregor suggested.
He glanced at Byron who was nervously remembering his bravado at the start of the trip. Byron took a small step back and said, "Um, but, uh,‹ if I tried to do it and discovuhed they was loose then I'd fall into that strange wata and drown. If you did it I could help you hold on the edge to steady yuhself." Byron looked a little ashamed but tried to keep his strong face.
"Very well, I see your point." Gregor handed the torch to Byron and knelt down onto the edge of the broken walkway. He swung his legs from under him and out in the air over the stone. The piece of walkway was near three feet out so Gregor had to flip over facing down with the stone behind him to reach it with his feet. He bounced once and shot his legs out toward the stone. He had aimed correctly and his feet landed on it squarely.
At the moment his thick soled boots touched the large white mass of stone the rock moved effortlessly away from him with the slight momentum that Gregor's lunge had put on it. Gregor's legs slipped into the crystal water of the underground lake.
The water was not cold surprisingly. Gregor clung tight to the edge, but did not immediately pull himself from the water, but stopped looking down. The lower half of his body was not visible below the water. About a foot below the water level his body simply vanished as if cut cleanly off at that point. He could feel his legs, but it felt as if they were being pushed upwards.
Byron, leaning over to see what Gregor was looking at, gasped when he saw and exclaimed, "What the devul!?" Byron began pulling at Gregor's arms to get him out.
"Stop, Byron. I'm fine, I think." Gregor pushed himself downwards further to try to get his head beneath the disappearing point. He immediately stopped and was pushed upwards again by some force beneath. He stopped where his weight countered the force on the other side. He stood floating in the water and let go of the ledge. "Byron, if I don't come back from wherever I'm going don't come to save me, just go back to Granald and tell him what happened." Byron nodded dumbly.
Gregor closed his eyes and took a breath. He dived as best he could head first downwards. Byron watched in horror as Gregor's body disappeared and his legs reappeared above the water.
"Grega! Grega! Say somthin'!" Byron looked at the legs sticking upward from the water shaking and wriggling.
Suddenly Gregor's body came up from the void again with an excited look upon his face. "I found it, Byron! There's a whole world on the other side of the water, only upside-down." Gregor clambered up on the walkway again. "The water," he explained, "the water is the entrance to Corth. Come down and see. The water isn't cold at all."
Byron, with a puzzled look on his face sat down at the edge of the water. He slid in watching his legs disappear as he went. "Grega, you sure 'bout this?"
"Yes, absolutely, just flip right over. It's a little dizzying at first, but it's over fast."
"Whateva you say," said Byron halfheartedly. Byron closed his eyes as tight as he could and took more than enough breaths, before he dunked himself under. Byron came up whirling as if he had whiplash. His head spun and whirled for a moment as he adjusted and look around him. A dull light came from below the water. And illuminated the room slightly. The small room had walls which were pitch black. To one side, where the walkway would have headed, were several large blocks of stone floating in the water. Byron pushed them aside as he made for the ledge to get out. The water seemed to roll off of him as he climbed out and he found himself standing dry staring down a pitch black passageway leading to adventure. The passage of pitch was about four feet wide and six feet tall.
Behind him, suddenly, Gregor pushed through the surface. He must have dived straight down because he rose high out of the water. He had the torch with him and somehow the fire had not gone out under the water. After reorienting himself, Gregor stared down at his torch in awe.
As he climbed out he said, "I though for sure it would be extinguished in the water and that we would have to relight it. I already had the flint ready when I dived, so I wouldn't have to fumble around in the darkness for it."
As Gregor climbed to the ledge the water on Gregor's clothes seemed to roll off him as with Byron's. He stood for a moment looking at his clothes, to the torch and back to his clothes again. "It seems, my friend, that we are dealing with powers we don't understand." Byron stood tense leaning with the black wall supporting him. Seeing Byron's condition Gregor asked, "are you all right?"
"Yeah," Byron answered absentmindedly, "I think so." He was starting to realize the magnitude and implications of this adventure he had volunteered to experience.
"Come let's go," said Gregor, "Kerea may already be in danger. We must find our way to the surface to meet the rebels."
At this restatement of their mission a look of resolution came into Byron's face. He would no longer journey for himself; he would do it for Kerea and the world. "What ah we waitin' for?" He regained his posture once more, but not with as much personal bravado as earlier.
"We shouldn't talk or our echoes will be heard. Come on, hurry, look at the walls." The walls were becoming glossy and fluid and small droplets had begun to form on the ceiling. Gregor began jogging off down the tunnel trying to make his footsteps as quiet as possible. The walls were made of Argoth as Granald had said and near no light reflected off its jet black coat. As they ran they barely stopped short as Gregor noticed a wall in front of them branching off in two side directions.
"Which way," asked Byron quietly as glanced down both tunnels.
"Right," Gregor whispered, "I just have a feeling." They jogged in what Gregor figured a southern direction, but Gregor could tell that the passage began to curve east.
They had not gone far when they found a small passage branching off to the left. Byron who was now leading darted left with the torch in hand. In a moment he reappeared in the junction and whispered, "A stairway this way."
Gregor nodded and followed him down the side passage. When he entered the room Byron was a few steps up a stone-carved spiral staircase. Gregor followed up the stairs barely being able to keep speed with with his nimble companion. They continued up several flights of stairs finding a side passage about every two levels.
As they began to see light ahead on the stairs they slowed and moved cautiously. The source of light was a window casting a pale greenish light through the tunnel. They approached it and looked carefully out over the sill.
What they saw seemed wholly foreign to them. A green sky striated with bluish clouds stretched across the ceiling of a rugged valley. The soil was a rusty red color with small out outcropping of green leafy trees. The terrain was awe inspiring with high pinnacles of rock stuck up from the ground high into the sky. Domes of rock and mighty jagged arches filled the valley from one end to the other making a plethora of niches, caves and gorges.
The terrain was not what caught the unfortunate adventurers' eyes. Down below them in the peaks and gorges of the valley a battle was raging. The scene of carnage was sickening. Unending forces bearing the banner of a clawed wing and a five-pointed star poured from the north. They were adorned with polished scimitar-type blades, double-bladed barbed axes, flaming arrowheads and spiked blood-red armor.
Their opponent was cornered in the valley with an impressive defense. Flying over the heads of these doomed soldiers was the emblem of a triangle and a seven pointed star. Their dead was piled across the valley and they were losing ground quickly. The banner of the rebellion suddenly was hit by an angrily flaming arrow and caught fire. As Bryon and Gregor turned their eyes from the window the seven pointed star fell to the ground.
Gregor and Byron descended the steps a little and sat on the stairs silently. Byron looked worriedly up at the window before turning to look into Gregor's eyes.
"We must go on," came Gregor's halfhearted command.
"But, the rebellion has failed," Byron pleaded, "How can we save her ourselves." The next thing Byron said hit Gregor hard as a brick. "Let's just forget this place and go home."
Gregor felt a pain within him. Had he been wrong? Should he have stayed in his shop this morning? What was he doing here in this Tetra Firma? If only‹, "No," Gregor said aloud startling Byron. "We can't leave her here." Gregor stood up. "Hanithe's forces will come to earth soon and we won't have a home to go to. Unless we stop him."
Byron stood for a moment in protest as he weighed what Gregor had just said. He took frequent looks up at the window and down the stairs. "Wae'll go. 'Til we win or die tryin'," he said in a tone of voice Gregor had never heard. Byron who still held the torch lead back down the stairs. They had to be careful of their step because some spots of the stairs had been melted on their way up and had a slick black film on them. Gregor accidentally discovered this and fell down a few stairs before he regained control.
After descending a flight or two of stairs Byron stopped to let Gregor catch up and rest a minute.
"What's ah plan," Byron asked.
"If we travel on the lowest levels we're least likely to be discovered until we get close to the palace."
"Grega," Byron asked, "What do we do if we ah discovuhed?"
"Let's hope we don't have to find out."
Byron nodded nervously and waited for Gregor to signal him to continue down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs they paused before Byron lead them south into the tunnels again.
They moved so rapidly that they almost missed an intersection with an east to west passage. Byron glanced back at Gregor who signaled a left turn heading east.
Gregor figured that they must have entered one of the main spokes of the wheel shaped tunnel system and were headed for the center. "Faster," he whispered back to Byron and they put on a burst of speed. The pair moved swiftly and silently past two more cross intersections.
Gregor could just see another two passageways branching off just ahead when a large group of wiry wicked looking Corthans leaped out in front of them. They were all dressed in black tight fitting armor. The armor was curved wickedly in the corners upon the shoulders and around the waist. The edges of the curvatures had sharpened razors embedded within them. The armor of the legs was similarly fashioned, but with a wicked barbed knee spike. They wore softened leather shoes with which to move silently about. The shields and helmets bore the seal of the clawed wing and the star. The shields had three razor sharped runners with which to ram some unfortunate victim.
The moment the soldiers came into view of Gregor and his torch they began screeching in pain and clutching their faces. Some ran off down darkened corridors and some hit walls and knocked themselves senseless. One man, a large ugly twisted one, adorned with barbed spikes from atop his helmet bore through the pain and charged madly at Byron, with his head down.
Byron, not quite knowing what he was doing pointed the torch straight at the bristling charging maniac. The soldier, not being able to guide himself, smashed against the wall and fell over backwards onto the flaming torch.
The torch seemed to not even be touched; it passed into the soldier and Byron watched in horror as the flame protruded out the front of the man's chest. Byron dropped the torch and the man fell gurgling to the ground in front of him. Then silence once more enveloped the scene.
The torch which lay in the cavity of the fallen soldier's chest continued to melt away his flesh and armor. Gregor carefully grabbed the torch from the center of the man's remains and held it carefully before offering it back to Byron.
"No, Grega. I don think so. I saw what it just did."
"The light," muttered Gregor, "It's so destructive." The place on the floor where the torch had lain had a deep depression in it
They both stood and ran past the maimed forms of the soldiers, staring in disbelief. Their footsteps quickened and they saw three more intersections pass by. Ahead there was a strange light source. They saw it get bigger and brighter until it sat glowing green fixed to its wall in front of them. The light was constant and unchanging. It emanated from a strangely made lantern of clouded glass and thin wire. Gregor stood beneath it with the torch and thought of a plan of action.
"We must be at the edge of the castle. Now we go up." Gregor looked down the path to the left and right. "This way." Gregor stood and walked along the right path. They could see the sharp curve of the inner ring clearly now and almost feel the heat of the inner castle.
A very short distance down the corridor a passage lead right again with a fairly steep incline. They ran up this and found it rounded and turned about the direction they came from going upwards still. At the end of the incline the passages branched off again, undoubtably forming the next level.
Gregor led Byron swiftly turning right again. There was another trap door that opened wide beneath them and only Gregor's momentum saved him. He slammed into the far wall of the pit. Byron had been behind him enough to have stopped in time. He leaped to the other side with expert agility and braced himself against the wall to assist Gregor in getting up.
"Maybe we'll travel a little slower now and look before we leap, eh." Gregor stood and caught his breath before continuing. They slowly stepped along the passageway checking for crack lines in the floor. They came to another passageway leading off into the distance right. There was another trap door at the intersection, which they walked around safely.
Softly padding their way, they came to another passage which lead to the next level. A trap door lay at the landing of this entryway but was easily maneuvered around. They slowly walked up the ramp and were about to turn the corner when another silent moving troop rounded the corner coming down.
Gregor was so surprised he fell backwards. The torch hit the ground, but Gregor still held it's comfortable grip tightly. They had traveled so slowly that the floor had already begun to melt while Gregor and Byron were on their way up. The momentum of Gregor's fall caused him to slide backward down the ramp. He put his torch-bearing hand out to slow him which only melted it more rapidly. Byron, who had been following Gregor was tripped landing ungracefully on Gregor. The heap of flailing arms and legs slid down the slope gaining speed until finally they reached the bottom and fell backwards down the trap door.
The shaft was a dark ancient creation that smelled of dried blood and moldy cobwebs. Gregor and Byron, who had dropped ungracefully down this went sailing and tumbling over each other. The pit was on a slant and the unsightly pair ground against the wall. Finally about a level down they were dropped moaning and groaning into a pain-filled heap.
They arose stretching and massaging their battered bodies. Gregor retrieved the still flaming torch and held it up to see where they were. The walls were made of the smooth Argoth, reflecting nothing but black back at them. The room was a contained box with the only exit being the chute they'd fallen down. There were assorted bones littered about the room
"Grega, are you badly hurt?" asked Byron who was standing rubbing his back muscles.
"No, just some bruised. How 'bout you."
"Well, I could raelly use a good night's sleep, a good hot meal and a wife. But, since all of them are very fa from here, I might as well fuhget it." Gregor was relieved that Byron was back to his old humor again.
"I don't know about sleep or a wife, but I have a little food," Gregor offered.
Byron raced over to Gregor's side collecting the meager ration of bread and cheese which he wolfed down in seconds.
Gregor stood and looked up the chute with the torch. The side where the torch had slid down was slick with melted Argoth. As Gregor withdrew the torch he accidentally let the flame touch the wall. A large amount of liquefied Argoth flowed out of a cavity where the flame had passed. He stopped for a second thinking before he turned to Byron who was eerily eying a skeleton in the middle of the room. "We've got to get out of here," said Gregor grabbing Byron's attention, "and the only way I figure we can is if we go through there." Byron looked at where Gregor was pointing and found himself staring into the blank wall opposite of the chute.
"I dunno 'bout you, but I cain't walk through walls," Byron said in comic disbelief.
"We won't pass through it. We will cut a hole in it with the light and walk through it."
"But, how do you know that there is even anything behind that wall."
"I figure that we are at the very roots of Corth; on or at least near the bottom level of Hanithe's palace. If you were Hanithe wouldn't you put Kerea in the most secure place as possible? That place would be straight through this wall, right." Gregor was pointing the torch straight at the wall opposite the dropping chute.
"Yeah, I guess," Byron shrugged
Gregor hopped to the wall and placed the burning torch flat against the sleek black. The surface around it began to bubble and roil. Gregor slowly moved the torch in a large circle over the wall. As the torch moved away a wide gaping crack was revealed which bled black liquid.
Gregor accidentally touched the liquid and quickly drew back his hand in anticipation for the burning pain, but none came. The thin oozy piles of melted Argoth were as cold as the solid wall itself. Gregor grabbed a handful of the melted stone and squashed it through his fingers. It did not stick to his fingers, but rolled like the water had onto to ground.
Gregor then remembered his work. He had almost completed the circle and was ready to cut through the bottom part. He cut through it and the thick heavy stone dropped into the space where it was recently melted.
"Stand clear Byron," Gregor said, "I'm going to tip it in onto our side." Gregor began melting just the front of the bottom so it would lose its support and fall inwards. The stone gave quickly and fast as Gregor could move his torch out of the way the stone rocked and dropped with a heart stopping thump.
Gregor leaped through the opening with his torch held in front of him. His eyes met an empty room. It was circular about thirty feet around and had a round pillar in the center. All about were tables with strange instruments on them and just to the left there was a table with leg and arm restraints. The room was lit by several green-fire torches which gave the room a sinister look.
Gregor ran across the room looking everywhere for Kerea as Byron climbed through the hole. On the opposite side of the room was a staircase leading up to the next level.
Gregor bounded up the stairs full of excitement and bounded into the middle of a room on the next level. Just as he entered, a large bulky creature leaped on top of him knocking the torch from his hands. Gregor rolled out from under him and ran to the side of the room and grabbed the torch. It was then that he got a good look at what had attacked him.
It was a figure barely human-looking that picked itself up from the floor where it lay. It's face had been melted badly and his skin in every place visible was warped and sagging. All hair from its head and on its face had been burned off by the terrible incident that made him what he was. His back was massively hunched and he walked with a limp as he ran at Gregor.
Gregor realized that this must be Hanithe who was charging him. With all intent of harm Gregor put forth the torch. Hanithe, completely unaffected by the light, laughed at him and knocked the torch out of the way as he charged. Gregor was smashed into the wall, shocked and amazed. Hanithe drew from his boot a small twisted dagger.
Just then Byron came flying up the stairs and rammed into Hanithe, knocking him to the ground. Gregor, still slightly disoriented, grabbed the torch and ran across the room to a spiral staircase leading up. As he did so, he yelled to Byron, "Find her!"
Gregor ran up the staircase for flights at top speed. Finally he came to a locked door. He threw himself at it until he remembered the torch he carried in his hand. It was but a moment's work to melt the lock and throw the door wide.
He emerged upon a broad battlement. A foreign sky showed clouds and a dense mist had descended. Gregor, looking for something to protect himself with, found a straight sword of a strange fiery metal honed to a prime edge that didn't melt when it was near the torch. The handle was engraven with foreign markings like those of the torch and flute inlaid with tiny bubbles of solid crystal.
Gregor, now more confident, wielded the sword and prepared for Hanithe to come. The blood channel of the blade was a depressed burning strip of amber running all along the length. As Gregor swung it about, the blade became an orange brilliance of flame and instinctively he lifted it towards the heaven of this alien new world. Suddenly a mass of clouds roiled overhead and a sudden bolt of lightening struck and the sword in answer screamed with its deafening roar. Gregor's light-brown hair burst into a pulse of streaming shining gold and as the thunder returned its final reverberations the swords singing became focused within Gregor.
Suddenly Hanithe leaped through the doorway wielding a wicked looking blade stained blood-red. At seeing Gregor with flaming sword and flowing hair, Hanithe's face took on a look of sheer terror. He looked as if he had seen a specter from a million bad dreams. He shakingly dropped his sword to the ground.
Gregor walked slowly toward Hanithe not knowing why he was doing it and pointed the blade directly at Hanithe's face. He watched the fear burn in Hanithe's mind as the flaming sword reflected in his eyes.
Hanithe broke, and ran for the edge of the balcony. In the split second as Hanithe leaped into the dead air a bolt of lightning pierced through the sky and struck him. Another and another shot of lightning grabbed hold of him. The cumulative force of the lightning turned Hanithe to a thin mist of black ash which disappeared into the breeze.
The clouds broke and a light green sky with a blue sun blasted down upon Gregor illuminating his blasting hair which now returned to its original color. It expanded filling the entire Corth with its glowing radiance.
From the doorway Byron ran in suddenly to see Gregor standing exhausted leaning on the sword with a confused look on his face. A few seconds later a young girl with silken sandy-blond hair ran out onto the battlement. Upon seeing Gregor she cried aloud and ran to him.
"Kerea," Gregor said, "you're safe. Thank God."
Suddenly Granald walked through the doorway and stepped over to where Gregor and Byron were standing. He paused several feet away for a moment and in an instant changed to a tall well-dressed man in a purple robe. Atop his head was a thin golden crown and he held a golden scepter with the familiar ancient writings inscribed on the sides.
"I thank you Gregor," he began, "for saving my kingdom and my fair daughter Kerea."
A look of awe and almost suspicion came over Gregor's face.
"Don't be surprised. My name is Emperor Granald of Corth. Hundreds of years ago my father ruled Corth. Our family was blessed by this world with life eternal until we should decide to end it ourselves. My brother, Hanithe imprisoned my father who committed suicide in shame. I could not kill Hanithe and by birthright could not dethrone him. You by using my father's sword reincarnated his spirit in yours momentarily which made Hanithe panic and kill himself." Granald walked to Gregor and put his heavy hand on his shoulder. "You have saved this world from endless torture and given me the chance to heal her." Granald offered his hand to Gregor and Kerea walked to Granald and hugged his thigh.
Gregor and Byron shared looks of amazement and then Gregor reached his hand out to Granald's hand and shook it with a confident grip.
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