Kelven's Riddle: The Mountain at the Middle of the World Page 19

  He rose and turned toward the pyramid. Though the avenue was broken by the intrusion of trees as it had been beyond the gorge, the ruined buildings stood closer together on this side, impeding their wild growth somewhat, and he made reasonably good progress. Even after thousands of years, there were still a few stretches of level pavement among the heaved-up and broken stones. In another hour he came to the flanks of the mountain.

  Only it wasn’t a mountain. It was as it had appeared from a distance; a pyramid constructed of huge, beveled blocks of stone. Aram stared up its angled side in astonishment, marveling at the fact that men had once been capable of erecting such a structure. A wide stairway ascended the face of it from the center of a broad courtyard at the end of the avenue. Though the stone was worn and weathered and broken in places, it was relatively sound and not difficult to climb. Glancing once more at the sun, which was by now dangerously far down in the western sky, he headed up the stairway.

  He soon rose above the riot of trees that stretched away from the pyramid in all directions like a green sea. What, he wondered, had caused this unnatural forest—temperate and deciduous in nature, yes, but tropical in the abundant lushness of its growth—to flourish about the base of this manmade mountain? It did not feel evil in itself, even when he had struggled through the depths of it, but it felt like it had been caused by malevolence. It was as if the ancient forest had grown thus in an attempt to cover the evidence of an act of evil.

  As he climbed upward for hundreds of feet, then for a thousand or more, the stairway narrowed. The forest fell away, became indistinct, and he could see the broad and open plains beyond it. About a third of the way up, he came upon a wide, level place that indented the pyramid and split the staircase in two. This platform was bounded at the wall of the pyramid by a sealed doorway.

  He could find no means of opening it, though he searched diligently for several minutes, so he went up the stairway to the right of the indention until the staircase became whole again and continued on. Three or four thousand feet later, winded and weary, he came to the top of the pyramid. There was an observation platform about a hundred feet square that topped the pyramid, and from it he could view the whole country of the highland realm of the horses, east to west, and north to south.

  He pivoted slowly and examined it all. To the west rose the mountains beyond which was his valley. In the north, the grassy plains gradually gave way to rumpled hills and then to the high mountains, beyond which were the vast, even taller, snow-capped ramparts he had often viewed from his own tower in the city, and that seemed to go on to the edge of the world.

  To the east was the great inland sea bounded on its far distant shores by impassable walls of more rugged mountains. Beyond those mountains to the northeast and rising above the earth there was something that his eye could not resolve. To the south the gentle green country rolled away until it was finally lost in the wooded hills that swung around from the west, beyond which, somewhere slightly southeast of where he stood, was the town of Derosa. Upon the highlands, a bit closer to him than those distant hills, there was the shimmer of another large body of water. Curiously, there were no roads or streets visible anywhere upon the plains beyond the limits of the city.

  Encompassing the base of the pyramid, the forest spread away on all sides for more than a mile, with broken walls and towers jutting above its tangled tops. The gorge that he’d crossed in fear two hours earlier encompassed the pyramid as well, forming a dark line of demarcation in the forest equidistant between the base of the pyramid and the rest of the ancient city. It formed a square, its right angles corresponding to those of the pyramid. The broad avenue led directly away from him toward the south and there, by the wooded hill out on the plains beyond the reach of the forest, he saw the dark shapes of the horses.

  He could find no way into the pyramid from the observation deck on its top and no staircase descended its opposite side. The sun was barely an hour or two above the horizon. He’d seen nothing that promised ingress into the pyramid but the sealed doorway below, so he descended to that point and examined it. There were no keyholes or handles or any sign that such devises had ever been present.

  On either side of the door, however, in the floor about thirty feet apart, there were raised blocks of stone. When he stepped on the stone to the right, it depressed into the floor, grumbling, grinding, and complaining as it performed a task it had not done for millennia, but came up again when he stepped off. The other stone behaved in exactly the same way. Understanding came. He went down the stairway until he found a large piece of broken stone almost as heavy as himself and lugged it back up the steps to the flat place beside the door.

  Placing the stone on one of the raised blocks, making sure it depressed fully, he went across and stood on the other. There was a distant, dim rumbling and with a groan, the doors swung inward. When he stepped off his block however, they quickly closed, so he had to climb back down and retrieve another block of broken rock. The sun was sliding far down the sky by now. In less than another hour it would touch the tops of the mountains in the west.

  After carefully placing the stones to open the doors and keep them open, he went through the opening into the dark of the pyramid’s interior. But there was a surprise here. Daylight came down through long shafts in the stone above the corridor and though it was by no means brilliant, it was light enough that he could see to make his way forward.

  A few feet in front of him the narrow corridor ended at the top of a long stairway that went straight down into the heart of the pyramid. As he descended, it grew increasingly darker. Outside, the sun fell away to the west. On and on, downward he went, until he felt sure that he’d dropped below the level of the surrounding forest and the ground in which it was rooted. Finally, deep inside the pyramid, he came to a large chamber lit by a flame that ascended from a round pit in the middle of the broad, rectangular tiled floor.

  He froze, listening, feeling vulnerable in the gloom, and looked cautiously about him. There was no sound or movement. Had the Guardians that Florm spoke of lit this fire? Or was someone or something else tending it? The room felt empty to his probing senses but that only deepened the mystery of the unattended fire. After several minutes, hearing nothing and feeling the pressure of the fading day upon him, he eased out into the chamber.

  On the opposite side of the chamber, a raised dais held a golden sarcophagus, no doubt the final resting-place of a great man or woman. Joktan, perhaps, or someone more ancient even than him. The dais was twelve or fourteen feet high and its walls were too smooth to climb. It was difficult to discern in the darkness but it appeared to be composed of a slick, hard, dark-colored substance, like polished onyx. A foot or so above his head, a single word of seven letters was inscribed in the smooth black side of the structure, further sparking his curiosity. He would have liked to examine the sarcophagus. But Aram had no time for exploration or curiosity.

  Florm had said that the Call was to be found at the lowest level of the structure. There were narrow passages providing egress from the rectangular room in the centers of the end walls on either side of the dais and after considering he went into the one on the right. It ended about fifty paces beyond in a small, round chamber lit by a single shaft from the outside. As there was little sunlight left on the outside world, and the shaft that illuminated it was oriented toward the east, the chamber was nearly dark. Aram circled its walls but found no further egress, doors or passages.

  He backtracked through the central chamber with its sarcophagus and explored the passage that went beyond it in the opposite direction. It ended in a chamber that was a copy of the other, with no exit here either, so he went back to the main chamber and examined all of its walls. In the cramped, dark space behind the sarcophagus he found an open doorway beyond which another steep, narrow stairwell descended.

  The stairwell was almost utterly in the dark and yet grew darker as he went down until, at the last, he was reduced to groping his way downward through cloy
ing gloom. Then, finally, he came into a small foyer beyond which a larger room loomed. The foyer was totally dark but the room beyond was infused with dim light, the source of which he could not determine. Aram was about to enter the room when the sense of another presence riveted him in place.

  He was not alone.

  Drawing his sword quickly and quietly, he slid into a corner on the right hand side of the foyer and examined what was visible of the room beyond. He could see no one. Keeping his back to the foyer wall, he slipped sideways until he was against the angle of the other corner and could see into the rest of the larger room. Nothing. Unless there was someone flattened against the wall on either side of the doorway, the room was empty.

  But there was someone. He could feel them.

  Cautiously, his sword at the ready, he eased into the doorway.

  Instantly, brilliant light erupted to either side and shining blades crossed in front of him barring the way. He leapt back and prepared to defend himself, but the light faded and the crossed swords were withdrawn. No attack ensued. Again he stepped forward and the spectacle was repeated. Unmolested, he took one step back, sheathed his sword and then approached the crossed blades that glittered like ice.

  “Who comes into this place?” The voice was barely more than a sinister whisper but it contained in itself a curious echo, as if two spoke at once.

  Standing utterly still, Aram answered. “I am Aram, friend of Florm, son of Armon, son of Boram. I am come for the Call of Kelven that was given to men at the beginning of time. I seek permission to do this from the guardians, Ligurian and Tiberion.”

  These were not the exact words that Florm had taught him but they were honest and felt right.

  There was silence for half a minute.

  Then, slowly, the glittering swords were withdrawn and the shimmering outlines of two entities stepped into view. Their bodies seemed to be composed of the night sky, dark and glittering with stars, and if they had facial features, Aram could not make them out. The entities were tall with curiously elongated bumps rising high above each shoulder. Power, latent and palpable, seemed to emanate from them.

  They spoke as one, their voices mingling as the sound of rushing waters whispering over rock to fall into space. “Who are you that you would be master of the Call and of its Guardians?”

  It was a challenge and suggested dire consequences should he produce a wrong answer. Aram knew instinctively that he could not stand against these creatures if battle was joined. Whatever they were, they were far above him. He wanted desperately to retreat but forced himself to stand his ground.

  “I would not be master of the Call or its Guardians, or anyone else for that matter. Florm, the Lord of horses sends me here, to gain the Call and use it in need. If Florm, son of Armon, son of Boram has not the authority to grant such a thing, I will return to him and tell him that Ligurian and Tiberion will not lend it to me. Is this your instruction?”

  The two beings shimmered silently for a moment then the stars in their bodies winked out and they disappeared but their presence remained. The voices of the whispering waters came again.

  “Aram, son of Clif, you may take the Call to use as long as you live, and we will guard you. When your life ceases or is taken from you, we will return the Call of Kelven to the mountain of Joktan. You will not see us nor can you command us, but we will go with you and defend you in duress. Understand, we cannot protect you from all enemies, nor can we defend you from overwhelming circumstances, but we can make your presence as the presence of three or four men in battle. Go now, take the Call, and we will go with you.”

  The voices ceased and it seemed to Aram that he was suddenly alone in the dim light. How, he wondered, could these creatures know his father’s name? Stepping through the doorway, he looked around. The chamber was square and featureless except for a peg hung on the far wall. Dangling from the peg was a shining cylinder suspended by a silver chain.

  Aram crossed the room and slipped the cylinder off the peg. It was about the size of a small reed, maybe three or four inches long. He slid the chain over his head and hung the Call around his neck, tucking it inside his shirt. Then he left the room and began to negotiate his way back up through the dark interior of the pyramid.

  It was now fully dark along the passages leading up. The sun must have set below the mountains, for no light came down the shafts through the stone, but in Aram’s immediate vicinity, there was inexplicable light that seemed to emanate from either side of his body. He could not ascertain its exact source but it was bright enough that he could see the way before him.

  The fire was still burning in the pit in the large room with the sarcophagus. He would have liked to ask his new companions about its purpose and meaning but he knew instinctively that querying such beings on any subject would be improper, perhaps dangerous. When he exited the pyramid onto the level platform before the door, it was dusk. The sun had indeed set behind the western mountains and there were deep shadows along the wide avenue leading away from the pyramid but it was not yet full night. He thought about the slippery steps leading down into the quarried gorge and about the thing that lived in its depths and he hurried.

  The light near his body emanated from the spaces to either side of him and he understood that it came from the Guardians. It grew in intensity as the coming night overtook the earth and in its influence he hurried along the avenue, clambering over roots and around pits in the ruined pavement. He came to the gorge and found the stair. It was now utterly dark and without the light from the Guardians, passage would have been impossible.

  He hesitated at the top and looked down into the darkened abyss. The Guardians had stated that they would protect him and aid him in battle. Did that mean they would guard him now?

  Gazing into the indistinct blackness at the bottom of the quarry, he wondered how he would spot whatever it was that lurked in the depths of the water if it came for him. How could one see night arise out of blackness? Steeling himself to do what he must, he went down. At the bottom of the stair, he drew his sword and slipped into the water at the end of the submerged bridge. Gently he began easing across, slogging carefully through the water. Even with the illumination provided by the Guardians, he was in constant danger of slipping off the unseen stone beneath his feet and into the murk.

  He saw the center of the bridge in the dimness and aimed for it. Slowly but surely, he came clear of the water. As he stepped onto the dry portion of the bridge on the near side there was a gentle gurgling in the water to his left. He stopped and cocked his head, listening. In the darkness out beyond the reach of the Guardians’ light, the water boiled and waves slapped against the unseen shores of the quarry’s walls.

  His heart lurched suddenly in his chest. Something was coming. He turned to face it, peering anxiously into the gloom.

  Something huge was ascending out of the deep toward the surface fifty yards away and it was approaching. It was coming straight at him. In the blackness of the gorge’s bottom, caught in the center of a narrow, slippery bridge, there was no way he could outrun it. He must fight. He slid his sword into his right hand and held a dagger in his left.

  With his sword at the ready, he braced himself, trying to see what would arise from the black water. He felt himself entombed in the heavy darkness at the bottom of the gorge and terror dug with vicious claws into his chest. The water heaved and boiled over. A great black mass arose from it.

  The monstrous dark mass heaved itself up out of the water, high into the darkness above the level of the bridge, and grew terrifyingly larger as it surged toward him. In horrified desperation, Aram held his sword up in what he knew instinctively was a futile attempt to receive the colossal beast’s attack.

  Then, abruptly, light erupted from either side of him and he caught just a glimpse of shining blades splitting the darkness. In the sudden illumination, he saw to his front a great mouth that had opened to consume him but now emitted a shriek of pain and anguish as the pale, gleaming mass of hid
eous flesh behind it tried to abort its assault in the face of unexpected injury.

  Aram almost stumbled backward off the bridge at the sight of this monstrosity. The thing turned itself ponderously over and dove into the depths to escape the wrath of the Guardians and the bridge shuddered as an enormous body crashed against its underside. Aram spun and made for the far shore, pushing heedlessly through the murk toward the stair.

  When he’d gained the stair and had climbed a few steps, he stopped to catch his breath and he whispered into the darkness.

  “Ligurian and Tiberion. I don’t know if you can hear me, but thank you for my life.” There was no answer and after regaining his breath he climbed the stair and came out of the pit.

  He went back west along the top of the quarry until he gained the avenue and followed it out of the city. It was terribly overgrown for the last hundred yards or so and beyond the point where it ended, he once again had to fight his way through jungle. It was deep in the night and stars slashed brilliantly across the clear heavens when Aram came at last out of the overgrown city and the tangled jungle onto the open ground of the high plains.

  XIII

  The black forms of Florm and Thaniel approached out of the starlit darkness.

  “I see you have been successful, lord Aram. And that you are not alone.”

  Aram looked sharply at Florm. “My lord, I deserve no such title. Why did you use it?”

  “Not lightly, I assure you.” Florm answered. “But anyone who commands the mastery of wolves away from Manon and now commands the Call of Kelven and enjoys the company of its Guardians is truly a lord in the world.”