The Golden Path
It is later than I expected but I promised to do more so here you have it, the continuation of what little scrap of writing I started a few weeks back.
I promised to share little fragments of fiction on the third Thursday of the month and though this one is late in coming I will endeavor to deliver on time once more in the future.
I intended to do quite a bit more but I suppose I will simply have to leave you with the promise that the sequel is coming. Until then, read on.
—-
The Golden Path
Day One:
Sunlight was never so bitter as it was today. Ord released a weary sigh, cursing the sky and himself for his weakness.
“It wasn’t you,” soothed Harmen laying a reassuring hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.
Ord spun on the human, fists balling and ready to strike. Instead, however, he slammed his mouth shut with such force it jarred his jaw. It wasn’t Harmen’s fault, he wanted it to be Harmen’s fault, but the human didn’t deserve his rage.
Ord released a long sigh that stilled the rage quaking his body and turned from Harmen. “I’m sorry Jorn.”
“We have two more days,” reminded Harmen, we’ll camp here and do it tomorrow.
“You camp,” decided Ord. “I’ll check out the shore.”
Harmen looked about to protest but he nodded his assent. Ord needed to do something to feel less like a failure and the human understood that.
Carefully Ord made his way down the rocky slope, wondering what grand mountain plateau this had been before the Silver Sea drowned everything below it. Here and there he could see the vestiges of a society long erased by wind and rain., the cave mouths that had once been doorways, the right angles in the rocks that had once been steps, and the evergreen trees that had no business being so close to the shore of a salted sea. He couldn’t imagine what insane fools had made their home here when it had been leagues into the sky, probably the same kind of fools that would live here in the shadow of the dragon.
At the bottom of the cliff was a hut, a boat, a fire, and a figure. None of whom looked particularly impressive. Still Ord rested a hand on one of his axes as he approached. If this truly was the place he was looking for then this figure may be one of the most powerful beings on the planet. Stopping opposite the twisting flame Ord cleared his throat. “Hail.”
At first Ord wasn’t certain if the figure had moved. The wind along the shore swept their gray cloak in all directions but soon he was able to make out the impression of limbs shifting position and a mop of red hair emerged from the tangle of rags. A sound like stone grinding against bone escaped the tangle, followed by a cough. The voice that followed was equally as abrasive. “What?”
“Um … Hail?” repeated Ord. “Is this the,” he looked around at the wind swept shore. “Temple?”
The cloaked figure bobbed its head, or Ord assumed so given the way the fabric jostled.
“No offense but I expected … more. Given the a, the importance.”
“It was … glorious one. Long, long ago.”
Ord looked about the pearl white beach and tried to imagine what must have once been. Tales spoke of a golden temple that shone with the radiance of the sun and blinded the unworthy with its beauty. The reality wasn’t just different, it was sad. Even this figure, the protector of the temple seemed sad. “Would you like a drink?”
The figure stirred slightly as though the question were unusual. “Yes, please.”
Ord never took his hand from the ax on his hip, but with the other he took the flask from his belt and offered it. The rags seemed to stretch as a thin limb reached toward him. “It’s not poisoned.”
The out stretched limb froze, and then shook slightly as a sound like dry wood grinding to dust left the figure. “Poisoning me would e terrible … for you.”
Delicate obsidian fingers escaped the rags and took the flask in hand. Though their hands only touched for a moment Ord could feel a heat, like a kettle left in a stove, graze his flesh. The figure took the flask and pulled on it for a long time, no doubt draining its contents.
A long contented sigh escaped the figure before a light melodious voice drifted from the rags. “Thank you, I didn’t realize how parched I was. Sorry I seem to have drank it all.”
Ord waved the inconvenience away. “We have much more with us. So …?”
Another obsidian black hand wormed its way from the folds of the cloak to pull it down revealing the face of the woman sat before him. She was pretty as humans went with eyes the color of ruby and lips of burnished gold. Her brow furrowed in confusion before she offered the flask back to Ord and asked. “So?”
“When do we, a, when do we fight?”
The woman looked out at the waves as though searching for answers in the surf. “Do you want to fight, dwarf?”
Ord shook his head, “no, but the tales--”
“Say I am the guardian of this temple. I test all who would claim its prize and slay those I find unworthy, right?”
Ord nodded.
“I am,” she admitted with a shrug. “I did. But the test is mine to choose and if I choose a test of battle it shall be so. But it may also be a test of kindness.”
Slowly, like a cobra twisting its neck to gaze down at a mouse the woman turned her gaze on Ord. Light, like that of a fire warming the furnace it is housed in bled through the thin fabric wrapping her form to reveal the outline of her body beneath. “I did not lie to you, Ord, when I said it would be terrible for you if you tried to poison me.”
Ord nodded.
The light shining through the woman dimmed and the rags wrapping her form stopped smoldering. “Good, then tell me who you are here for.”
Ord could feel himself pulling back, mentally erecting walls to protect his pain and hide his failure but he couldn’t hold it together. A fight would have been easy, he could have focused on staying alive but now with no distractions, not even the distraction of a race against the sun all he could do was be honest. “Jorn, my son. I am here to resurrect my son.”
She gestured to the ground beside her, “tell me about him.”
—-
I hope you enjoyed the start of this short tale. If you did you can check out all the other Fragments of Fiction here: https://www.swallaceworks.com/fragments-of-fiction