Dawn approaching, Tarmon sat amongst slumbering companions, wondering what perils this turn of the day would bring. Only Kifter was up, the Fife already over by the ridge searching through the half-light for a clue to help them succeed. A snort behind alerted the Tard to their Kyboes. Shifty and restless, they crouched where they had lain all night with no desire to move. A reminder of what they were up against, his watch during the early short-turns had not produced any fruitful ideas either. Annoyed, he still could not see how this could be done.
Needing to stretch his legs again, he had already stood with the Fife earlier, but come away when no insights were forthcoming. Rising to his feet, the Kyboes would stir if anything untoward was to venture into the sleeping camp. Expecting the turn to be a fine one, but the rising sun would do little to help their predicament. Ferocious attacks from those despicable Souls would be the same no matter what the weather was doing.
Standing where he had left him, upright and rigid, Kifter was a handful of paces away from the ridge. Tarmon approached. Initial signs were not good. “Any inspiration?”
“There has to be a way,” Kifter said, frustrated. “I checked in both directions but… every way is the same. This is as good a place as any to enter.”
“It is,” the Tardanian agreed.
“At some point, someone has to climb that ridge.”
“Yes, they do.” Tarmon was respectful of his friend’s process of elimination, but the outlook was still bleak.
“How soon do they come at you?”
“It can vary. The initial strike is moderate to draw you in,” Tarmon explained, staring over the ridge at the increasing band of light where the tree line ended. “Then they strike like a wind of terror. It is as if you have something they want, so they attack you from the inside. This distracts you to the point of forgetting to escape. That is one of the most frightening aspects, and where the danger lies. Only when you pass beyond this ridge will you be rid of them.” Recognising the glazed expression etched on the Fife’s face, Tarmon had seen it before. A seductive appeal to attract the unwise, many had succumbed to the temptation. “Kifter!” The Fife did not respond as if in a trance. “Kifter!” the Tard repeated, the slender figure drawing back to the present. “Do not be foolish and think you can do this,” the Tard warned. “A person convinces himself he can, but it is a grave error. Tell me Kifter, you are not thinking this, are you?”
Breaking into an embarrassed grin, the lure was strong. “Yes..., it is tempting.”
“I have stood where you do now, most young Tardanians do, but it is a test of one’s character to listen to reason. Enough people have fallen for that enticement. This is reason enough to keep you out.”
“What choices do we have then? A nagging feeling keeps telling me there is a way. I must hold onto that.”
“That feeling may be true, but if it is, then copying those who have failed previously is not the right way. If another path can be found, there has to be logic behind it.”
Kifter agreed.
Behind them, Hallen drew near, yawning. “Any luck?”
“No,” the Tard professed, looking back at the ridge. “I was just reminding Kifter…, you cannot outdo them. Another way has to be found.”
“Can we not all go in together?” The Hite suggested, rubbing sleepy eyes.
“It matters not whether one or a hundred go in, their numbers are many.”
Peering beyond the ridge, suggestions were proposed, only to be discarded. Even with the turn getting brighter, it did nothing to ease their dissatisfaction. When Hanor and Bane joined them, five individuals stood staring, seeking that all-important revelation.
Leaving shortly after dawn, an air of excitement charged Brandor. Savouring the delight of its Master, Tunder, his Kyboe, snorted into the early morning light. Crisp and fresh, wispy grey clouds could not keep the sunlight at bay or steal away the Dai-laman’s eagerness. Ecstatic that the Masters of Tardoc had embraced his idea late last night, it now meant Masters from the other Cities would probably do the same.
Exiting Tardoc by one of its three main causeways, the other two were situated on the east and west sides of the ancient City respectively. Seven prominent towers of finery climbed high behind. Perched on interlocking levels, the unique City was carved atop and inside the mountain situated here at the end of Spike Ridge. Steeped in history, dominant walls built between enormous fingers of rock held high the first level of the city. Higher up, columned buildings and terraces gazed out at the surrounding terrain with fine views for its people. Layers of bush and tree were islets of colour amongst balconies of iron and buildings of grandeur.
Protruding from the side of the larger Treman Mountains in the distance, this lesser mountain chain of Spike Ridge was like a long, jagged arm holding a mighty sceptre at its end. Picturesque, this freak of nature had created a perfect abode for the Tardocians, firing imaginations about human possibilities.
Running adjacent to him as he rode, the Treman Mountain Range stretched far behind before looping round to form an arc, enclosing Tardoc within its curving embrace. Only the eastern end was left open. With no wall of rock as a natural defence, it was the way by which the invasion would come. The Five Passes at the western end was another possibility, but it made no sense to come by that tricky route.
Pounding the soft causeway, passing numerous early morning travellers, Brandor did not stop for light talk, determined to see his plan completed.
“This is ridiculous,” Hallen griped, irritation getting the better of him. “We have stood here long enough.” To the others’ astonishment, he took a few steps and leapt to the top of the ridge.
“Hallen!”
Kifter’s concern did not faze the confident Hite. Waiting, he turned to the others. “Fine so far,” he said, looking around. “Ooh, a bit scary though,” he joked.
Displeased, Tarmon rejected Kifter’s apology for his oaf of a friend. “I am tempted to let you go in on your own,” the Tard grumped, detecting a foolish heart. “But your sword will be required at a later date.” Taking a short run and leap, he joined the Hite. “Even if you are unwilling to listen to advice, you need to remember that you are too large to be carried out.”
Hallen’s tight grin was polite, not responding to their recently acquired leader. “I would have preferred something to eat before doing this,” he said as Kifter, followed by Bane and Hanor, joined them. “But a full stomach would soften my edge.”
“It was never sharp anyway,” Bane joked, trying to ignore the unease.
“Hey…, no need for that!”
“Will you behave,” Kifter warned, checking ahead at the band of light in front. “Is there anything else we need to know?” he asked, turning to Tarmon.
Now they were here, the Tard just wanted this over with. Previous anxieties were replaced by a shrewd alertness. “They will attack when we are further in, so do not be fooled to think we can make it once clear of that tree line.”
From their new vantage point, a gradual decline led to the line mentioned, triggering imaginations to what was beyond. No grass or bush grew amongst the needle-seeds and broken branches scattered across the dusty soil. Passing through the southern regions of Tardania had been dire, but the atmosphere here felt much worse.
“It will help if we keep talking to each other, especially if we hear or feel anything,” Tarmon directed, braving a step. “Otherwise, you will drift into their world, which is what they want. Above all, try to keep calm. Think about pleasant things, and do not listen to the lies or take notice of images forming in your mind.”
A place fitting of death, senses extended in every direction, the group edging forward. Cagey glances flickered, unsure what to expect and when. Reaching the tree line, patchy brown and white rock now replaced the soil. Wary, like animals creeping through a predator’s territory, they shuffled on, leaving the relative safety of the trees. Waiting for that rush of darkness forewarned by Tarmon, they kept walking, now halfway between the trees and the valley’s edge. Still nothing moved.
“I cannot believe we have reached this far,” Tarmon whispered, guarded. The further in they went, the harder it would be to get out.
“Maybe the Sacred are on our side after all,” Hallen said, mixing sarcasm with a subtle hope. Tempted to believe Tarmon’s fears were exaggerated, the thought came too soon.
Surging like a raging storm, thrashing against the intruding five, wailing cries swept up over the crest of the valley and hit them head on. Howling shrieks shook the small group, stalling their progress. Unable to see who or what they were, only Tarmon’s brief description helped them understand what this ferocious attack was. Staying calm was futile. Swift and sudden, scores of the vaporous entities dived from all directions. Deathlike, the icy presence encircled them. Sealing off their escape, it was impossible to think straight.
Someone screamed, but Bane could not tell who shouted. Dizziness whirled under the onslaught. In his mind, a wretched Soul sneered right before him, the fear paralysing. Closing his eyes did not help, intensifying its grotesque appearance. Others swooped in. Their bodies were made of finer substance, without shape, so haunting and terrible. Frantic, Bane tried pushing the spectre away, but his hands passed right through it.
Am I not the real you?
The voice filled his mind, blocking everything else out.
Come to me…, for I am part of you.
Terror surged at the prospect of it being true, the invisible force caressing Bane’s will. Attempts to reason faded, his denial but a whimper in the storm.
You and I are one.
Drawing closer, the entity filled the space before him. Hovering, triumphant, Bane no longer scratched at its presence. Losing all sense of time and direction, what was happening? Giddiness hindered his attempts to steady himself, draining any courage that was left. A chill anchored his feet to the ground. He could not move. Biting, he was helpless against its lifeless touch.
Gliding right up, the entity prepared to merge with him, gloating. Powerless, Bane could feel it reaching up from inside to seize control. Fingers and toes went numb, dulling his senses. Lapping at his sides, stroking his will to let go, he felt himself drifting away to another place, accepting his end.
It is only the beginning.
Callous, the whispering promise chimed in response to his weakened thoughts. Resistance shattering, Bane’s body went limp. The ghoulish entity grinned, fiendish, its mouth opening with an ugly delight.
About to give in to the madness, the entity’s face contorted. Lurching backwards as if punched by an unknown source, the wind was snatched from Bane’s lungs as if lifted, saved from his doom. Leaving the entity behind, it did not linger there for long. Chasing after him to seal off any escape, it was quick to catch up, but could not connect to him as it had before. Pitching in a frenzy, it disappeared from view before rushing in from behind. Now convinced he was being carried, but it did not matter, the entity draining him of such concerns.
Reappearing in front, its face looked aggrieved as if about to lose its prize. Disoriented, Bane’s sight was blurry as if caught between this world and the next. Images of the ground moving were there but lacked realism. Sucked down into its dark abode, a sinking sensation turned his stomach as if being snatched from this world. Panic erupted at the prospect of being entombed in the Netherworlds forever. How was he to get out?
At that point, the dreadful imprisonment broke off as if cut away by the utterance of a mighty spell. A short flying period was followed by a heavy landing, thrown backwards and banging his head against the ground. Oblivious to his surroundings, his mind kept spinning. Nauseated, he rolled over and threw up. A comforting hand on the back of his head slowed the whirling, a compassionate and familiar voice steadying him.
“Are you all right?” Hanor asked from behind.
Bewildered, Bane tried opening his eyes. Blurry, nothing was discernable to assure him he was safe. Thinking it was a trick played by that monstrous entity, he wanted to run and hide, to leave this barren wasteland. A considerable time drifted before he could settle. Patient voices granted him time to recover. Aching as if trounced upon by a score of Kyboes, his head pounded. Suffering the throb, relieved that he was indeed safe, it was a small price to pay for his freedom. More aches shot up his back and down his legs when he sat up. Rubbing his forehead, the intensity blinding, his ears hurt too. What in all The Freelands had happened?
“Bane…,” Hanor appealed again. “How do you feel?”
Disorientation and sickness passing, carefully, Bane looked up. His sight was still hazy, the reassuring features of Hanor solidified. “What… went on in there?”
Bearings returning, they were back beyond the ridge, explaining the jump and heavy landing. Tarmon was kneeling alongside Hanor, also concerned for his welfare. Behind them, Kifter was comforting Hallen, talking quietly to him.
“I… cannot…,” he tried, but the shock of it stalled him.
“You will be fine,” Tarmon promised. “No need to rush. Just get back on a level, and then we can talk.”
The iciness of that thing proved how close he had come to losing his life. “What... happened?”
“We all nearly had a fatal experience,” Tarmon said, checking over his shoulder on how Hallen was doing. The Hite was shaking his head, finding it difficult to come to terms with the encounter. “There is no shame in what you faced.”
Bane rubbed his eyes. “It tried to take me!”
Hanor was uncertain how to respond.
Tarmon decided honesty was the best option, “Yes Bane…, and it nearly succeeded.”
Closing his eyes, a shudder ran through Bane. Reliving that last moment when he was trapped, the concept could barely be measured. “It happened so quickly.”
“Yes, Bane,” Tarmon agreed. “No one has ever mastered this place…, no one. Be glad you are here, for that experience was far from normal. Usually, small numbers come at you, building in size and intensity. Ample time is given to decide how much you can bear. But this today..., we were in the fire from the outset. Even I was shaken by the ferocity of it. If I had not warned Kifter early on, we might have all been lost.”
“Was it that bad?”
“Yes. I think it happened because we no longer send our young here to be tested. They have become desperate. They must have grown accustomed to such visits, and that absence has driven fear of a different kind into that shadowy place.”
“I never want to go through that again,” Bane declared, unashamed.
“We will have to re-evaluate our position,” The Tard agreed.
“So who carried me out? Do I have you to thank, Tarmon?”
“No, Bane…, Hanor here carried you.”
“Is that true?” he asked, amazed.
Self-conscious, Hanor nodded. “I did.”
“How…? Were you not affected like me?”
“Not exactly.”
“Why not? Did you not see… them?”
“Yes.”
“Were you not frightened?”
Perplexed somewhat himself, Hanor tried to explain. “I… recognised the fear of it but… it did not affect me like I think it should have.”
“Is that so?” Tarmon’s intrigue ignited at this admission, wondering how Hanor had remained alert enough to respond like he did.
“I am still confused about this illness,” Hanor continued. “It seems I cannot experience things the same as you. Laughter, sadness, fear or doubt, somehow there is a shortfall. This was clear to me when we were out there. I saw them in my mind, just as you did, but it was like looking at something not real or as it should be. Much of the fear they generate is due to their nature, and how people like us respond to that. Our fear becomes a reflection of that nature, and so they see themselves in us, which empowers them. Understanding it whilst one of them was trying to frighten me was most odd. The entity became enraged when it was not having the desired effect, but seemed powerless to do anything. The fear stayed in my stomach but kept trying to rise to my heart as if that is where our courage comes from. I did not like it. I saw Hallen ushered away by Kifter, but when I looked for you Bane, I could see how bad a you were, so I helped.”
“This is very interesting,” Tarmon said, encouraged. Cautious, he was tempted to believe a window was appearing before them.
“And you were able to carry me out?” Bane asked, stunned.
“Yes. The Soul that was attacking you tried to frighten me so I would drop you, but it had little effect.”
“When fleeing with Kifter and Hallen,” the Tard said, thoughtful. “They tried to gain control of our minds. Did you have the same trouble?”
Running through the events, Hanor could not recall anything getting inside him. “No.”
Tarmon could not conceal his smile. “Maybe we have been blessed this turn.”
“I am not sure I like what you are suggesting.”
“It is fine Hanor,” Tarmon assured him. “We need to discuss this before we do anything.”
Hallen and Kifter were already standing, the big Hite dismayed by the traumatic episode. Eyes now a dullish grey, he looked a sorry state.
“We will make a fire and get some food on the go,” Tarmon said, expecting this. Humbling for the big fellow, in a turn, he would be back to his old self. “It is important that we share our experiences as part of the healing process.” Tempted to mention Hanor’s unusual encounter, he refrained, not wishing to burden the boy.
Concerns about marauding hordes from the north were discarded, the aroma of cooked meat filling the air. After the shock, they needed to regroup to sharpen their weakened resolve.
“Do you want to share your story?” Tarmon asked Hallen, receiving his steaming broth from Kifter.
“Not yet,” Hallen answered, flickers of fear permeating his thinking.
“Witnessing one’s self about to be undone was most unnerving,” Kifter said instead, dishing up Hanor’s portion. Brandor’s hopes seemed worthless now they knew the gravity of the task. “I am in no hurry to return.”
“And you used to send your young in there?” Bane said, appalled by the cruelty.