PART III. SCHERZO

Three days after meeting the Shaman, we arrived at the East Ridge. It felt like hitting the coast of a stone ocean.

Entering the nearest canyon, we climbed to a plateau, looking for a safe place to spend the night.

From the very first cave came a familiar gurgling sound.

Where have I heard it before? Oh. It must be the handwalkers from my dream about Kasamarchi!

The Budrah firmly gripped his spear and galloped toward the cave entrance.

As we approached the cave, I knew that I wouldn’t find any live handwalkers there. In a matter of seconds, the Budrah killed them all and was now using his spear to push their long-limbed bodies, covered in sticky blood, off the cliff.

After he was done cleaning, we made our camp inside the cave.

Worn out by the journey, I wrapped myself up in a blanket, cuddled up to the Budrah’s warm body, and fell asleep instantly.

After the ceaseless wind out on the plains, this mountain cave seemed unusually quiet. Several times I woke to the sound of the baby crocs stirring in their sleep or to the Budrah’s deep sighs. I never heard any of these sounds in the plains; the howling wind always drowned them out.

The night passed with nothing to report.

We woke at the break of dawn; the cave entrance was barely visible in the dark. At first light, we left our shelter and began our climb to the pass that lay several hours ahead.

By noon, we crossed the pass and began our way down.

The east side gently sloped into a broad valley with surprisingly rich vegetation.

Two days ago, when we were crossing the plateau, we could see the volcano throats blowing ashes up into the sky right behind the East Ridge. It was strange to discover that those fiery lands were a several-day journey ahead, separated from us by a green oasis. The brown puffs of smoke rising to the clouds across the valley sparked an uneasy feeling.

I took my eyes off the gloomy sky—such a stark contrast to the blooming valley—and turned to Kasamarchi. “What are they like? The Volcanites?” I asked, looking down to avoid stepping on the baby crocs that kept getting underfoot.

“I only know as much as Angel got from Erderak’s memory through his Spider. You’ve seen it all.”

I remembered my half-forgotten dream about Kasamarchi’s past, the one I had seen last month when affected by the Penetration Grass.

The fragments of Erderak’s memories went flashing through my mind.

***

Talk about expanding Crealia’s borders had been going around the Magisterium for a while.

It was not possible while the Asper rebellions were frequent, keeping the Guard busy. But as rebels became fewer and farther between, the Magisterium had to find a better use for the Guard. And the issue of expansion was brought up in the Council once again.

Erderak, who was forty years old, was entrusted with leading the expedition into the semi-explored lands in the northeast.

It was Year 30 since the Prohibition banning common folk from practicing magic.

The eye-eating smoke devoured the sky.

The bright day turned into a black night.

The sun at its zenith looked like a moon through the dark veil of smoke.

The lungs-ripping burning odor.

The armor turned red-hot on his shoulders.

And the Volcanites. The fiery creatures appeared in a flash of dazzling light, with a loud clap ripping the air. Coming out to block the soldiers’ way, they looked like identical copies made of lava. Their every move and gesture, even the flapping of their cloaks and hair in the wind, was in perfect sync.

The stronger the soldier’s attack, the stronger the retaliation came.

Where the blade of a sword hit a Volcanite’s body, a dark, bulging spot of lava appeared, a dull thud reaching Erderak’s ears. Instantly, a deep burn mark appeared in the same place on the attacking soldier’s body.

The pieces of armor became red-hot, charring the flesh underneath.

In dazzling flashes of light, with screams of pain drowned by the claps, men burned alive.

His men.

Only five of them came back, including Erderak.

Hearing his report, the Magisterium decided to leave the Volcanites alone for a while, abandoning the expansion plan and declaring the northeast land to be uninhabitable because of “adverse natural conditions.”

The East Ridge became Crealia’s new border as the south part of the plateau was taken over.

According to Erderak’s report to the Council, the Volcanites’ land was right across the ridge. The chastener never mentioned any valley.

Not because he wanted to conceal this fact from the Burned One.

Nor because he had never encountered it. He had. Twice.

The first time was when the expedition crossed the East Ridge and descended into the valley…

…and all of them had an instant memory lapse that lasted until they stepped onto the black-hot ground, never touched by sunlight.

The second time was when the five survivors, badly burned and wounded, were making their way home.

The scorching hell of boiling lava remained behind, and the first blades of grass appeared in the cracks of black volcanic land.

Another lapse.

…lasting until their climb up the East Ridge, their wounds, deep and festering before, now freshly cicatrized. Instead of any memories of what had happened, a weird phrase repeated in their minds again and again: The Forecaster Valley is the same as the Forecaster.

Erderak knew he couldn’t give the Council that phrase instead of a proper report, so he decided not to mention the green valley at all.

***

“The Forecaster Valley is the same as the Forecaster,” I said, looking at the green oasis. “Is that the only thing you remember about it? And who is the Forecaster?”

Instead of answering, Kasamarchi pointed ahead and to the left. “Look.”

I looked. It was the deepest point of the valley, with some buildings and machines visible at the bottom and a big shaft rising to the sky like a scaffolded drilling rig.

Running up from that hollow and toward us were tiny people.

We stopped.

The ground trembled as though a train were passing underground. Then another tremor, a stronger one. Kasamarchi and I exchanged glances and joined hands. The baby crocs huddled against the legs of the Budrah, who stared at the approaching people and clutched his spear.

The next moment, a deafening roar came from the hollow, and the ground shook violently.

The drilling rig and its scaffolds began to collapse.

The tiny people were already close, but not enough for me to see what they carried in their hands.

Their mouths opened wide, apparently screaming, but we couldn’t hear them because of the roar.

There was something weird about them, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. My gaze shifted between the collapsing rig and these tiny runners.

The Budrah froze like a statue, spear in hand, waiting for a command.

Kasamarchi’s expression was as impenetrable as ever.

The first tiny man reached us: elderly, with long hair and a curly beard, dressed in a long robe. His face resembled that of a saint portrayed on an icon. He was tiny, two heads lower than Kasamarchi. He carried a small hammer.

“Help me! Kill the Worm! Come, come! Please!” the tiny man screamed, shifting his feet impatiently.

I looked down at him, feeling like a giant.

Another man, with a small ax in his hand, reached us. Then another, with a chisel.

All of them were screaming. And…and they had identical faces! Not even as if they were twin brothers; it was the exact same face plastered on each body. I could see that clearly as more of them kept running up with various tools in their hands, all crying out, “Help me! Come, come! Kill the Worm! Please!”

Their chorus was so well-coordinated I couldn’t help feeling that it was a single voice coming from many throats. It screamed “help me,” not “help us.” It could be the hollow itself speaking to us through the bodies of these tiny elderly men.

The next ground tremor shattered the drilling rig to splinters and pushed a long, smooth rod out of the deep borehole. Clumps of earth soared to the sky; a gray cloud of smoke covered the valley.

“Kill the Worm! Come, come! Please!” The old men howled.

Several clots of earth plopped heavily onto the grass next to us.

As the cloud of dust began to subside, I could finally make out the thing crawling out of the hole, its body gleaming in the sun.

It was a giant worm. A metal worm!

The monster shook its head, scattering the remaining scaffolds like twigs. Its gleaming metal body was creeping out of the hole, segment after segment, its tail still hidden underground.

When the dust cleared, I saw that the worm had completely demolished the building. The monster looked up at us with its perfectly round, eyeless head. Freezing for a second, the worm clanged down to the ground to creep toward us.

My head was already buzzing from the scared dwarves’ screaming. I couldn’t wait for my clasp to click open, and when it finally did, I felt immediate relief.

At last.

The winged shadow flashed overhead. The hulk of Angel stood up by Kasamarchi’s side. The hornets’ low humming filled my ears, replacing the old men’s squeals.

I was a bit confused that time hadn’t stopped, but I wasn’t afraid. No doubt we could destroy that worm; we had defeated much stronger enemies.

The metal monster was creeping toward us, arching its body up and then dropping it heavily, the impact shaking the ground. Each of these up-and-down moves brought its giant round head a dozen feet closer.

I felt a stir at my chest. Looking down, I saw the pouch with the small stones that the Shaman of the North Peak had put around my neck a few days ago.

What was it he had called them? I struggled to remember.

The pouch was empty. The stones were rolling down the slope to intercept the Worm.

The next moment I saw two giant rocks soar from the grass with a thud. I could see them rise higher and higher as more pebbles fell on top of each other, the sound increasing until they formed two stone monsters that looked very much like living creatures.

Four pillar legs.

Stone-armored body.

Big, flat ears.

Long, segmented trunk.

Two hard tusks, curving upward.

Cammoths, I remembered. That’s just great! Thank you, Shaman!

Delighted by this sudden reinforcement, I lost track of what was going on around me.

That was a mistake.

The Iron Worm was close.

The old men were no longer squealing. Coming all together, they advanced their tools and hissed, glaring at the Worm like a bunch of small, cornered animals.

Looking around, I was surprised not to see Kasamarchi by my side. He stood next to the Worm. Folding his arms, he scowled at me with the towering Angel and the grinning Budrah behind his back and the humming, sun-blocking tornado of hornets over his head.

I had Asp in the sky and the Cammoths on my sides, not to mention the growling crowd of tiny old men armed with their tools behind my back.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. We stood on opposite sides, ready to attack each other. Kasamarchi looked absolutely serious about that.

The next moment, all sound began to fade away, and time finally stopped.