Part III: Journey to Arkagant

Chapter XX: Demon from the Shadows

The Travelers pursued the tracks of the forest spirits relentlessly, their steps growing heavy with fatigue. Suddenly, they noticed a faint breeze swirling leaves at their heels, as if to wipe away their footprints. Ignis gave the elven wizard a knowing smile: “I see you forget nothing, Master Súlin.”

The sun was drowning in the sunset glow, and the evening shadows were lengthening. The last rays illuminated the horizon one final time, touching a white cliff whose peak was shrouded in a purple mist. When they came within bowshot of the rock, they recognized that the shape of the massif had been carved by the hands of intelligent beings. The summit pierced steeply toward the heavens, and near the ground, a regular rectangular opening yawned black. When they stood in its immediate vicinity, they discovered stairs leading upward into the heart of the rock. Arsia stepped toward the gate to subject it to a magical test.

“The gate is a fracture between two worlds; if we enter, we may never return.”

“Now is not the time for cautious deeds,” Súlin spoke with a resolute voice and stepped through the gate into the darkness. His companions followed him. The fiery glow reflected off the corridor walls; Ignis had removed his traveler’s hood, and his hair blazed with light.

After thirty winding stairs, they discovered a small platform. From it, a spiral of stone steps ascended. Another followed, and another… Just as Súlin counted five staircases, they stood before a gate to the unknown. A chill blew from the portal. They had reached the second fracture of worlds. They entered.

They felt the impact of an icy gale and the painful stinging of large snowflakes beneath their eyelids. Súlin, walking in front, turned to the rest of the company, trying to shout over the storm: “We have found ourselves at an extraordinary altitude. It seems we are higher than 4,000 fathoms above the surface of the Kira Samudra…” The end of his sentence was interrupted by a powerful light from the heavens, followed by a tremendous roll of thunder. The shockwave violently threw them into a snowdrift. They thought the world had perished in that moment…

In a while, their consciousness slowly began to awaken, telling them it was not so. When they extricated themselves from the deep snow, their hearing and sight slowly returned, and they saw a massive crater burned into the ice less than fifty meters from where they stood. To their surprise, they spotted tracks on the white plain, churned by lightning—tracks so familiar to them.

The storm did not cease, and the five of them waded through the snow up toward the vast summit of the snowy giant. Ignis held out his palm and curiously caught several snowflakes. They aren’t melting! How is that possible? he wondered silently.

His wonder, however, turned to horror, for the tracks before them were stained red with blood. They turned their gaze to the horizon and saw distant figures. They broke into a run. After covering a hundred paces, a view opened to a steep slope another few hundred feet ahead. There they saw a pack of enormous snow lions struggling with a being shrouded in shadow. In form, it was similar to a human, and its steady movements sowed cold death.

“Do you see the child!?” Omerin cried out to the others, squinting against the deluge of falling flakes, finally catching her breath.

Anxiously, they searched for the child among the thrashing bodies of the combatants. Several dead animal bodies already lay on the hillside, and despite the drifts, the company was constantly approaching the focus of the struggle.

Ignis sharpened his sight with internal fire and caught a movement behind a rocky overhang. A stately lioness entered his field of vision; between her front paws lay a naked infant on the snow. A large lion, fighting with the last of his strength against the black being, was likely the leader of their pack. Suddenly, a thundering voice reached them, uttering an unknown incantation. Another lion, struck by a black bolt, plummeted down the slope.

Súlin strained his hearing to catch the most detailed essence of the fading black spell. Is it even possible? flashed through the elf’s mind. “He is using elemental magic in reverse!” he cried.

Omerin continued: “He is being controlled from a distance. Something or someone is directing his movements.”

“Look! The spheres around his body do not belong to him!” Ignis shouted to the others, drowning out the raging storm and the roar of the combatants.

The air mage suddenly raised his right hand. The black being staggered under the force of Súlin’s will and tumbled through the snow toward them. Just before them, it suddenly reared up. The outlines of the human body were shrouded in an all-consuming darkness, from which claws stained with blood emerged.

Before you could say “Lightbringer,” Ignis straightened, looked at the shadow being, and his eyes brightened with a golden glow. A beam of dazzling white light then shot from his forehead. The white flash struck the demon, and the space filled with the sound of a cosmic echo. As soon as the light touched the enemy’s body, there was a brief moment of timeless silence, replaced by a deafening explosion.

The others watched the battle scene with bated breath and no small amount of anxiety. The spherical area with a radius of ten fathoms where the monster had previously stood melted and transitioned into another substance of being. The heart of the earth trembled. The fire mage staggered, his cheeks turned pale, barely keeping his balance on his feet.

The air mage remained alert and seized the thread woven of will that directed the demon like a string controlling a puppet. Immediately after the demon’s death, the thread began to retract at great speed toward its master.

Chapter XXI: The Double

He resisted that enormous force, whose crushing potency lay at the other end of the tendril, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Arsia, standing nearby, nimbly rushed to the elf and put her arms around his shoulders. She found the answer to her unspoken question in his face.

“We forgot the most important one,” the air mage gritted through teeth clenched in pain. He had only partially managed to repel the attack; his senses were briefly paralyzed by great pain. “I will need your help,” Súlin replied to Arsia’s unasked question. Both wizards immersed themselves in deep concentration. They succeeded in returning the enemy’s attack.

Súlin’s voice rang in Arsia’s head: “Excellent, now focus on that will-tendril that has hooked us. We must sever it!” The sorceress nodded in response and prepared for another mental strike.

“Success!” Arsia cried enthusiastically, “we’ve cut it!”

Súlin realized a great release, as if someone had lifted a raging giant from his shoulders. “It’s not over yet,” he breathed to the sorceress. The distant enemy prepared a final weapon. Even before the tendril was perfectly severed, despite the distance of many miles, he nimbly sent an unknown spell at them.

Ignis, who until then had stood motionless on the spot gathering his last strength, stepped forward. His body leaned ahead, and as soon as his palms touched the ground, the four-legged protector of the Siranian crown stood upon the white plain, just as they all knew him.

At that moment, the spell from the tendril slid among the company and struck the unsuspecting Omerin, who stood nearby looking past the rocky overhang. Before the dryad, her double arose. No one saw how it happened, but everyone witnessed two identical Omerins circling opposite each other with drawn swords. For a moment, they moved only in sidesteps, firmly gripping the hilts of their swords to maintain a safe distance.

“Great, she didn’t even introduce herself,” Omerin joked in her mind, but her humor soon vanished. Her thoughts were disrupted by a nimble sequence of several slashes dealt by the double. Fortunately, she managed to parry them all in time. At the last one, a large spark flew, and a strong cry escaped Omerin’s throat.

“I could throw my dagger, but how do I know the other one won’t have a similar idea?!” flashed through Omerin’s thoughts as she recovered from the agile attack. “How can I signal to my friends that I am the real one?!”

Súlin and Arsia became witnesses, perhaps for the first time in their lives, to a duel where they could not distinguish which side they should favor. The figure, the facial features, the clothing, and the pack were indistinguishable from one another.

The moment one of the dryads lunged forward, Súlin sent his aerial helper to throw her off balance. She still managed to complete her attack, but then she stumbled, and the other one gained a precious second in her favor. Omerin leaped back and called out: “Help me with the image!” But by then, the double had performed a backroll and returned to her guard, continuing to probe her target with the tip of her blade. Because Omerin chose a defensive combat tactic, she left most of the initiative to her double. Súlin, meanwhile, strained his sight, examining one of the seven rings that both dryads wore on their hands. He could not believe it: the internal power characteristics of the artifacts were identical. The spell possessed immense power.

They were almost certain they knew which of the two fighters was the real one when the other attacker also swapped attack for defense, and her voice carried desperately through the snowy wasteland: “Rid me of this phantom!”

“This struggle has no end,” Súlin mused. “Without a clearer intervention, we will lose too much time and Omerin will remain in great mortal danger.”

The storm noticeably quieted, and the mountain peaks emerged from the torn shreds of clouds. Súlin focused his sight on the highest of them, and within three breaths, a bluish nebula detached from the jagged summit and slowly approached both struggling dryads. It didn’t take long for it to shroud both figures in its cloak. After it dissolved, the two warriors lay in a silvery drift on the mountain plain, five swords apart, in sleep.

The fire mage in lion form, meanwhile, reached the fallen leader of the pack with a few leaps. His thick mane was half-buried in snow, and his royal-looking body was drenched in blood that still flowed from many wounds. He lay breathless. He was dead. Ignis’s heart grew heavy in his chest. He felt as if he were seeing the corpse of his own brother. He ran upward. Behind the rocky overhang, the figure of a sturdy lioness rose nobly, as if carved from white marble. Beside her in the snow lay a naked little boy. He lay there, smiling, as if the snowdrift were the softest cradle.

His protector, however, had pain and sadness in her face. Her eyes looked at the dead bodies of those she loved most. It was at the same moment that the bodies of both struggling dryads descended to the ground in a dreamless sleep.

“Your kin fought very bravely,” Ignis broke the mournful silence hanging over the snowy plain with lion sounds, looking at the fallen. “Now we come to offer you our protection, for what you have done for us, our empire, and our world,” he added, puffing out his chest as a sign of determination.

She looked with sorrow at the little boy resting between her paws. “So you come to take the last thing I have left.”

Only now did Ignis notice the beauty of his eyes—they were large, deep, and when a person or even a lion looked into them for a long time, they felt as if they were falling into a magical world overflowing with amber radiance. Súlin scanned the surroundings and saw the five brave fallen lions. Even in death, they were majestic and noble to behold, their golden manes reddened with blood. They should have died many years later in the forested hills of their homeland, and not here in an icy world, and moreover at the hand of a being against whom they had no hope, came sorrowfully to his mind.

Chapter XXII: The Child Shows the Way

When the others arrived with Súlin in the lead, the boy spoke for the first time: “Where have you been wandering for so long?!” Then his gaze slid from Súlin to the distant lying warriors, and he added with amusement: “The one on the left is fake.”

At those words, the air mage turned without hesitation and stepped forward to wake the real Omerin. He knelt by the double and covered her body with his cloak. He remained so for a few moments, and when he stood up, only a lifeless body, deprived of breath, remained on the plain. The sun was just dying in the mists over the distant peaks when Omerin awoke.

“It’s good to be myself again for a while,” she said and stepped toward the rest of the group. The dead double dissolved silently behind her back as if she had never existed. Then they all gathered expectantly around the child.

“Stupid reincarnation, this childish mind is disrupting my concentration. Instead of focusing on how to get to the great Fire to bake through, I have to keep struggling with thoughts of play,” the boy lisped to the company, sticking a finger in his mouth.

“He likely means the secret temple Fire in Arkagant,” Ignis spoke his thought quietly, suppressing a smile at how the sentence was uttered. Not only he thought it, as he could judge from Súlin’s face, which reflected deep reflection.

“It’s getting late, we shouldn’t tarry in this ill-omened place longer than necessary,” Súlin interrupted the silence, during which the boy pressed his mouth to the lioness’s ear. Gripping her by the neck, he whispered something to her in sharp and grunting sounds.

“You speak the truth, Súlin, but we should not forget the fallen,” Ignis said. “Therefore, I propose that we pay them proper final respects, even if all the gates of the lower worlds were to open at once.”

When the company piled slim and pointed cairns over the bodies of the fallen lions, the last rays of the red giant gently touched their tips, as if they were fingers of eternity grasping their souls into the embrace of immortality. Following the lioness, they looked back one last time at the scarred body of the slope, up which the company, now richer by two members, set off steeply. The child held his arms around the lioness’s neck and gave the direction.

Suddenly, the lioness vanished from their sight as the end of her tail disappeared into a snow rabbit’s burrow that plunged deep into the heart of the earth. Súlin approached the opening and looked into it; the end was not visible, his sight swallowed by a moist and bottomless darkness. He lowered himself into it. The others followed him in anticipation.

They crossed the threshold of the snowy world and emerged onto an unknown meadow. Around them, in the midst of the gray light, the outlines of lonely oak crowns, soaked in the morning mist, loomed. The lioness stopped and paced in a semicircle—it seemed she could not find the way. The dryad, meanwhile, detached herself from the group and touched the trunk of one of them. When she addressed it, it greeted her friendly. She stroked its bark gently.

“We need to get to the center of Arkagant. Lead us, young one, lead us!”

The tree rustled in response: “Where the squirrels run, beneath the hill and beyond the forest, beyond the mountain and beyond the water, there in our circle rests and resides the stone tree.”

“Here we will have to take this path descending beneath the hill,” the dryad declared resolutely, pointing north toward the edge of a thicker forest.

They walked about half a mile. The small path gradually descended as it wound around the slope. As soon as they descended to the very foot of the hill, mossy mounds and thick ferns began to increase in the forest growth along the sides of the path. From behind their green curtain flowed ringing tones. They reached the bank of a young forest rivulet. Where the water fell in a small waterfall, five old willows leaned over the surface. Omerin entered their shadow and bent deep over the water. The strands of her long chestnut hair were seized by the predatory current of the torrent, which played with them.

“Lead us, little girl, lead us to where the stone tree rests and resides!” the dryad whispered to the rivulet. For a moment there was silence, then the rapids rang in response: “It is near-r-r, within r-r-reach… The one and las-s-st and ever-r-ry tr-r-ree here knows it. Treat it with r-r-respect!”

After that, the whisper of the rapids turned back into its chime. The lioness gently gripped the child in her mouth and with one leap crossed the stream.

The sun was at the highest point of its celestial journey when they discovered a strange clearing near the stream. A moist scent permeated with the smell of ferns and freshly grown mushrooms and toadstools hung over the thick growth. In the middle of the clearing, surrounded by a quartet of ancient trees, a high gray menhir rose. The stone, the clearing, and the trees around it made an unusual impression.

As the group, led by Súlin, passed through the mist and entered the edge of the glade, a tall figure suddenly emerged from behind the stone. It was dressed in a black pleated cloak with a hood, cinched by a wide leather belt without ornaments. The figure of the unknown was lithe and remarkably tall. He moved slowly and confidently. Without words, he stepped before the stone with his arms crossed on his chest.

Night Butterfly was the first to boldly step forward, walking across the grass to the stranger and stopping three paces from him. For a moment, they looked straight into each other’s eyes, motionless. The dark elf measured the stranger with unfeigned distrust. The man in black clothing was a head taller than him, fair-skinned, his eyes the color of wolf fur, hiding many things.

This is not entirely safe behavior, flashed through Ignis’s head as he stroked the hem of his cloak the color of meadow grasses. Omerin spoke in a low voice to the circle of friends: “It seems there is no mana energy in this area. We are essentially intruders on his territory, which he controls completely.”

“Can I help you in some way?” Night Butterfly broke the silence, which was gradually becoming oppressive.

“I think it is you who will need my help,” the man in black replied curtly. “What brings you here?”

Súlin hesitated for a moment, as if wondering whether simple words would resolve the situation, or if it would be necessary to use cruder force. Then he spoke: “We are seeking the path to Arkagant.”

“I know the path; it is not public, however, but guarded.”

“What are your conditions?” the dryad asked without a smile.

“I am interested in your mission. If lock and lock meet, no opening occurs; a key is needed. Besides a key, intentions as well.”

After a brief reflection, Omerin said: “We are looking for a person with a bee-shaped brooch.”

“And are you the key?” the man replied with a question. “The key is he who carries destiny. I want to see the ‘teeth’ of the destiny you carry.”

The air mage leaned toward the dryad and whispered something to her. Omerin was not sure if she should agree to disclose their mission, but then, after a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “We need to fulfill a task before the Eclipse occurs,” the elven wizard spoke clearly.

“You are not the key,” the man in the black cloak replied colorlessly. “The stone must ring three times in total. To wolves and foxes, the stone is deaf. The first tone is the ringing of the key, the second is the ringing of its power, and the third tone is the tone of the opening itself. It was a silent witness to the age of gods before you or this forest were born. The stone is a node of worlds.”

“We need to bring our burden to its fulfillment before the moon covers the sun,” Arsia spoke unexpectedly, before anyone could stop her.

“The stone has rung for the first time,” the man spoke in a solemn tone, and his eyes sparkled. “Listen carefully to the following three questions,” he added. “The first is: Do you know the fate of the Roadman Turvilon? The second: Do you know the fate of the mage Gamol? And the third: Do you know the fate of the Maghavan Suvarna?”

The Travelers’ gazes met, and a helpless silence reigned over the clearing. “We know only a part of the path of the mage Gamol,” the air mage finally countered. The man in black turned without a word and headed aside toward the forest. Ignis nimbly blocked his path:

“Why are you abandoning your craft?”

“I am fulfilling it,” came the dark answer, whereupon the man continued in a curve. Súlin also followed the stranger’s steps. When Ignis and the elf vanished among the trees, the boy stopped sucking his thumb:

“That individual was dangerous.” Then he turned to Arsia: “Now it’s up to you. Once I’m baked through, everything will be as it should be.”

Arsia had been examining the structure of the place for some time. The four trees encircling the glade formed something like a Celtic cross. “The clearing is a circle,” she mused as she approached one of the elders with a slow walk, “space is thus stretched between the four cardinal directions.”

At that moment, several things happened at once. The elf and Ignis were returning at a brisk pace to the clearing, having failed. Night Butterfly cursed quietly, and Arsia realized that a strange unease began to spread among the trees, its source coming from the direction in which the unknown man had vanished.

“Arsia! Hurry! That man is trying to close the lock and the trees are beginning to glow with restless fire,” Súlin’s clear voice carried through space to the sorceress. And indeed, the trees began to resonate with distant incantations, and it seemed their branches moved almost imperceptibly in its rhythm.

Arsia loosened the threads around the quartet with which the stone was bound. It was a struggle against time, for the later she unraveled the node around the tree, the wilder the tree was and the harder it was to persuade it to cooperate. Both wizards returned to the spot as Súlin suddenly felt that the man had vanished from his hearing range. Arsia finally unlocked the lock, and the trees and surroundings were transformed. The child clapped.

“We have just reached the obverse space of the place we left,” the exhausted Arsia spoke. “We are not on Qurand.”

Chapter XXIII: In the House of the Roadman Turvilon

They stood on a grassy glade, not unlike the one they had left. The shadows began to lengthen, and the eyes of all the pilgrims rested in expectation on the child.

“I’d follow my nose,” the boy yawned and shifted in the strip of cloth by which he was strapped beneath the lioness’s belly. No one moved, however.

“At this moment, all noses are pointed at you,” Night Butterfly noted with a smile on his lips. No one answered his remark, however; they shifted awkwardly on the spot, not knowing which direction to take.

“I’m starting to turn into a tree,” the dryad remarked boredly and adjusted the bow on her shoulder.

“I remember,” Ignis noted, “that particularly during the lectures of certain old dryads, this turning-into-a-tree occurs.”

“You have to manage on your own for a while; I’m terribly sleepy,” the child murmured tiredly and instantly fell into a dream.

“There must be a path here somewhere,” the half-elf said and impatiently set off across the glade. Shortly, the trees and bushes began to imperceptibly part. A path wound through the green of the forest growth. They stood in wonder at its edge. It was indeed a strange path. Something of an ancient world breathed from it. It was circularly convex, slightly sloping; between the worn stones and pebbles, which created a multifaceted mosaic, asplenium viride grew through with green spleenworts. It was wide enough for two horse-drawn wagons going toward each other. Although it remotely resembled the road from Sairis to Sirgon, it was clear at first glance that Siranian hands had not built it.

“It seems human foot has not passed here for hundreds of years,” Súlin spoke into the ethereal silence surrounding the path.

“If air elementals traveled along it, however, it could be a main avenue for them,” Night Butterfly sneered.

Arsia suppressed a slight smile and spoke with a serious face: “The rivulet was in the reverse world at this spot, and the path is the obverse side of the dual-world.”

“We need a road expert,” the boy joined the conversation, having just woken for a moment. “I used to know one named Turvilon. His house used to stand somewhere nearby…” The child fell into deep reflection and lived in the past for a moment.

“We are staying on the road too long. Sunset will shortly end another day, and from that time we have only the last two days until the end…” Omerin interrupted his too-long concentration, bordering on sleep.

“I have it, it’s in this direction!” the boy pointed to the west.

They had not walked even a mile, and when the sky blazed with the last heat, they stood at the wall of a stone house radiating the warmth of a long and sunny day. The scent of resin and pine bark carried through the air. After an arduous pilgrimage through the wilderness, they had finally found a path that offered them comfort, peace, and pleasant solitude. The house at which they stopped was entirely of stone, and its essence and appearance did not differ from the path that had led them to it.

To everyone’s wonder, Night Butterfly lightly pushed off and jumped into the house through an open window. Immediately, the main door flew wide open, and the Dream Master stood in it with a broad triumphant smile. The dryad reached him in two nimble steps and knocked the smile off his face with a well-aimed slap.

“That is a gift for a guest who crosses the threshold of a stranger’s house uninvited,” Omerin noted in a low voice. Night Butterfly no longer had time to reply to anything, because the figure of the master of the house emerged on the stone staircase to the upper floor of the building.

“What are you doing in my house?!” a man’s voice rang through the hall, sharply. Omerin and Butterfly, standing at the edge of the entrance hall, turned in surprise. The master of the house was smaller, but of sturdy build. He had fair skin and looked at the uninvited guests with eyes the color of mountain lakes. Thick dark-blond hair braided into multiple small braids was hidden by a complexly wound white turban. A loose shirt flowed from his broad shoulders to his knees. Leather trousers tightly hugged his muscular legs and were tucked into high deerskin boots that protected his calves and shins.

“Forgive, sir, my friend’s discourtesy,” Omerin smiled at the unknown man. “We are seeking an old traveler.”

Sadness shrouded his face: “My name is Anskar, I am his son, and my father is dead.”

“Oh, shit,” came from where the lioness stood.

“Do you possess the art of the Road?” the air mage asked without hesitation.

“My knowledge does not reach the mastery of my father, but I have learned something,” the man spoke as he descended the stairs. “Come in, be guests in my house. What brought you all the way here?”

“We come from the Siranian Empire and urgently seek the path to Arkagant,” Súlin answered for all. At Anskar’s invitation, they all entered the hall, spoke their names, and felt the warm handshake of the host. Then he led them to the fireplace, to a roughly hewn circular table of maple wood, and seated them on low stools. After that, he brought a basket of apples from the orchard, a bucket of water, and offered them to his guests.

“And now, please excuse me; I will step away for a moment to fulfill my duty to my ancestors,” the man in the turban addressed his guests and walked out the back door into the overgrown orchard.

When they were alone, Ignis assessed the situation: “That man inspires confidence, don’t you think?” And he bit with gusto into a ruby fruit of the Traveler’s garden.

“On our path, it’s not necessary to spare caution, Ignis,” Súlin countered, carefully examining every corner of the guest hall. His sight stopped on the wall above the fireplace, which was decorated with an old gold-silk interwoven carpet of purple color. The center of the carpet created a sun-shaped ornament, on the perimeter of which silhouettes of twelve white elephants were embroidered. Below the carpet, a pair of sabers with glinting blades hung on the wall, their short hilts inlaid with turquoise.

On the mantelpiece stood several sandalwood statuettes. They depicted wild jungle predators. The other furnishings were very sober, besides simple furniture and several bronze handles supporting pitch torches. The shadows of twilight began to fall into the room through the open windows when suddenly the sounds of a crackling fire reached them from outside. The fire mage could not restrain himself and curiously looked out. A swarm of dancing sparks rose to the darkened sky, floating above the funeral pyre.

“So the dying of the day has caught up with the death of the Waymaker’s father,” Ignis realized. When darkness fell, the son of the Roadman Turvilon returned home.

“Could we find humble lodging for the night here, sir?” the air wizard asked with fatigue on his eyelids.

Anskar’s face brightened: “Well, in the attic of my simple dwelling there is enough room to honorably put up for the night one king, or two princes, or three noblemen, or seven adventurers, or twenty servants, or forty slaves.” Then he even smiled slightly: “I must admit, I hadn’t counted on a lioness and an infant…”

“Accept our warm thanks, roadman, but permit one more question. Tomorrow we set out for Arkagant. Without a guide skilled in the art of the Road, however, we would travel for too long; therefore we urgently ask for your help. Will you lead us to the Pillar of the South?” Súlin spoke gravely.

Anskar reflected and then replied: “You have told me little about the meaning of your journey, and I see that if I were to ask, it would bring little good. But because you have come just after the death of my father, I see something more than mere coincidence in our meeting. I won’t hide that I feel a certain sympathy for you, and the fame of the air mage has reached as far as my house; therefore it will be an honor if I can become your guide, with the hope that perhaps in time you will reveal more to me.”

When they finished talking, each found his place to stay for the night. Súlin went up the stairs to the roof observatory and, huddled in his cloak, set himself to watch the ancient path from above during the night. It was calm, but at times in the starlight it seemed to the elf that its surface was transforming and flowing like a stream. Ignis sat by the glowing embers of the house fireplace and let the fiery power enter his body. When he took off his cloak, strands of his hair ignited with a new light and a pleasant warmth flooded the entire room.

The lioness with the child huddled in the attic to undisturbed, away from the others, nurse the offspring of the human race, whom she loved no less than the son of lion kings. After many weeks, the hard bed of Anskar’s house felt like a healing balm curing their aching limbs.

Chapter XXIV: Entry into Arkagant

The dawn of the new morning was covered by a grayish veil, and although the goldenly shining sun somewhere there above the clouds sent its rays to the cooling surface of the Grand, they remained imprisoned from the pilgrims’ sight, and only a few brave ones hesitantly penetrated the grayish curtain. Time leaned relentlessly, and the time of the arrival of the great Darkness made itself known with the first clearer manifestations. Already on the third day at noon from the fading of today’s Morning Star, the Eclipse was to occur, and that is also the moment before which their most precious burden must rest in the heart of the highest Arkian temple.

Breakfast was very short, yet the best they had had in the last weeks of endless walking. It was still early morning when together under Anskar’s leadership they set out along the mysterious path. They walked, and the landscape that emerged around them began to change more rapidly. Suddenly everyone realized that its surface was mobile and flowed like a river toward them. Anskar led them against its current. They felt that time within them stood still, while nature around hurried by. In the forests, it was possible to see big game here and there, grazing without fear in the vicinity of the path.e jako řeka proti nim. Anskar je vedl naproti jejímu toku. Měli pocit, že čas uvnitř nich stojí, zatímco příroda kolem ubíhá. V lesích bylo možné tu a tam zahlédnout vysokou zvěř pasoucí se beze strachu v okolí cesty.

The son of the Traveler occasionally joined the others, giving up his leading position for a moment, and as if nothing was happening, observed the behavior of those who followed him. He noticed that the child was extraordinarily active and curiously observed the events around him. Although he often, in moments when the speed of their steps decreased, innocently sucked his thumb, it was visible that he was watching the surroundings more than curiously. Most of the beings from the company seemed to Anskar to be locked in their own thoughts, which did not appear to be the most cheerful. The young Waymaker was sure of one more fact: they would tell him only what they had to.

When he examined the face of the man with the fiery hair out of the corner of his eye, their eyes met and he caught a broad smile on Ignis’s face. He therefore asked him aloud: “Although I know that your intentions with which you come to my home city are not dark, you have not yet revealed to me anything of the essence of your mission. Why does time drive you so?”

The fire mage turned serious and his gaze dropped in thought to the stone path. “Sirania, my native kingdom, has been tossed by powerful forces for the last few years, and discord is spreading at a dizzying speed. I fear that if we do not lead this child to where he is needed, it will mean the end for many places that I hold deep in my heart…” Toward the end of the sentence his voice darkened, and wrinkles returned to his face, which also remained on the foreheads of the others.

During their conversation, Súlin repeated in his mind his knowledge about the city-state of Arkagas, toward whose walls they were now approaching with every step. Arkagas is one of the members of the union that creates the Siranian Empire, which the Empress rules, fulfilling the will of the sacred crystals through which the divine ruler speaks. Arkagas does not abound with such powerful magic as Sairis, but its current fame and mysterious past are no less than other city-states of the empire. It is called the “Pillar of the South,” for it has long defended Sirania against the threat of the southwestern powers. Originally it consisted of three cities built on four rocky massifs—Arka, Carhain, Darika, and Diruvran…

A sudden transformation of the landscape pulled him from his reflections. The path wound sharply upward and vanished in the clefts of rugged rock formations. The trail gradually narrowed, yet he who walked in the lead did not slow his step and with certainty led them higher and higher above the deep rocky gorges. With the onset of midday, the sky began to clear and the dry air shortened their breath. When the trail touched a rocky precipice that glinted from a distance like in a mirror, they felt their walking becoming surprisingly certain, for the path beneath their feet became a kind of ledge that led them to a sharp bend.

Arsia looked at Anskar with a knowing smile: “Do you want to surprise us with something, friend?”

Anskar did not have to answer, for beyond the overhang their sight was captivated by a whitish rocky peak. It was encircled by dozens of walls, guardhouses, and tunnels. From where they stood, they saw the circular masonry of ancient temples and the conical slate roofs of palace houses on its summit. At a dizzying height above the city, dozens of mature birds of prey circled peacefully; a rich scent of fresh honey and the buzzing of bees of unusual size penetrated the ether.

In wonder they looked at the city, which floated like an eagle’s nest between heaven and earth, at the long threads of suspension bridges, which like a venous system distributed life even into its most remote corners. Only now did they realize that the ledge that had led them to this summit was also a part of the stone city built on four rocky points.

Not without pride, Anskar observed the amazement of his friends, looking at the noble work of his ancestors. Night Butterfly emerged from the ocean of dreams under a deep impression and turned to their guide with curiosity in his eyes. “I see that the grand Arkian peak towers before us, but by what part of the city did we enter into Arkagant? For I know now that you have facilitated our passage through the city fortifications,” with the last sentence he winked conspiratorially at the half-elf.

“We have stood on Carhain,” Anskar explained patiently, “which is the northernmost outpost of the city, where half of my family has its roots. It is inhabited by descendants of families from Arka—the younger nobility and citizens of the middle classes. But now I will lead you to Old Darika, to the place where you will find privacy and rest.”

Shortly they began to descend through winding alleys between houses with massive walls, which embraced narrow picturesque squares with many traditional family shops. In the atmosphere of the city they felt its unusualness: even though a busy bustle reigned on the streets, it breathed with alertness through all the senses of its inhabitants. Along the way they noticed remarkable elements of local architecture, which emphasized the distinctive thresholds and doorframes of the houses.

In the entrance gates of the sleeping Darikan palaces, the adventurers saw massive figures of warriors from mythical worlds, carved from stone. Their faces radiated a dogged determination; they generally had more than one pair of strong arms and closed the entrance portals that arched over their shoulders. Súlin devoted an astonished look to their guide, as Anskar walked in the lead again and nodded his head back toward the guardians. “Those are dávarfels, the guardians of doors on Arkagant,” the young warrior answered with a proud smile and added: “It may not be pleasant to disturb some of them from their stone sleep,” whereupon he fixed a piercing look on Night Butterfly, who smiled playfully at the memory of the manner in which he first stepped into the roadman’s house.

Súlin did not long for rest, for he knew that the child must get to the sacred Aderán blazing in the heart of Arka as quickly as possible. “We must meet with the highest representatives of the Council of Elders on Arka, Anskar,” Súlin spoke emphatically. In his thoughts he returned to Gamol Melisai, who was the cause of many troubles, and he knew that these places could help reveal his dark manipulations with the inversion world, for the Sairian astrologer was born right here.

The company descended granite stairs to the foot of the rock and, passing through a massive gate, left the outer walls of Carhain.

The magnificent beauty of a luxurious city district struck their eyes. The rich decoration of the palaces and houses was lavish with golden ornaments, portals were guarded by statues of exotic rare marbles, airy arcades led into skillfully landscaped parks where fountains gushed among trees and flowers and water spurted with a soothing rustle into basins of manifold shapes.

Although it was shortly after noon, the inhabitants of Old Darika were just waking up. Shops and marketplaces were coming to life on the streets, and elegantly dressed merchants attracted passers-by with enticingly looking goods. Even though a smile was often reflected on the faces of merchants and buyers, it seemed to the company that an effortfully hidden tension reigned inside the people.

The cluster of pilgrims escaped from the labyrinth of palace gardens and found themselves on a spacious square. Over its western tip, a pair of rocky peaks rose to the sky. The tree-city, which was spread on the slopes of both rocks, was already distinguishable from a distance by its clear green from the stone gray and red of the roofs of other districts. From a distance they saw giant trees of strange shapes. Their trunks parted into rugged openings, resembling windows and doors of houses. In places, the massive trunks and roots of oaks and ashes formed independent tree-houses, and elsewhere old stone houses were only half overgrown by them. Shorter bridges and footbridges connected both peaks of the forest city into an inseparable whole.

“The tree-city you see,” Anskar addressed the surprised adventurers, “is cared for by Drúvs and Druviads, descendants of Arkagantians and the Forest People.”

“Perhaps I should drop in to visit my relatives for a cup of anemone juice spiked with juniper liqueur?!” the dryad joked briefly.

Diruvran was slowly disappearing from their sight, and a narrow slightly sloping alley led them to a spread stone house with open windows and a decorated gable. Singing and hundreds of voices flowed from the windows; the scent of prepared dishes and exotic spices entered their nostrils. Above the wide welcoming entrance, a sign with the coat of arms of three sitting foxes swayed in the wind.