Chapter 15: Damath II (Part 2).

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  The Sutherlands, Mount Xatal, Month: 94, Year: 226.

  “What… is that?” Damath asked himself.

  Whatever the creature was, Damath knew he would need a way past it, and quickly. It stood directly before the entrance to the shrine, embedded near the crater of Mount Xatal, barring the very place he had to reach if he was to succeed in the trial. There was no path around it.

  His focus wavered again, drifting inward.

  Chak. Chak. Chak.

  The sound echoed through his mind, pulling him into memory, into a sparring session with Princess Meleia, his master, as he and his mate practiced with their blades under her steady gaze.

  Princess Meleia was better with the sword than anyone Damath had met before, or since. She parried and dodged the wooden blades of both children with effortless precision, as though their attacks required no thought at all. He remembered the exhaustion vividly; it was not so different from the weight dragging at his limbs now.

  Without warning, she blocked his strike with her own wooden sword and shoved him backward, sending him down onto the ground. The other boy lunged immediately, but she stepped aside with ease, and in the next instant both of them were staring up at her from the floor.

  “That’s enough for today,” she said.

  Damath pushed himself up at once. “I can go for another hour, master.”

  The other boy struggled to his feet. “I could easily go for two more hours, master.”

  Damath frowned, then amended, “I can go until tomorrow.” Yet the hardness of his breath and the shaking of his hands made his claim very unconvincing.

  Meleia gave a small, knowing smile as she relieved them of their wooden swords. “That’s enough for today.” She walked to the center of the camp and secured the weapons in a tidy pile.

  “Resting and eating well are part of your training too.” She gestured for them to follow. Both boys obeyed, legs trembling as they trailed behind her. She cracked open a hollow, hardened fruit filled with water and handed one to each child before taking one for herself.

  “Tell me something about Kaspea, master,” the other boy said between breaths.

  Meleia nodded. “Very well. Damath K.” She said evenly, “what would you like to know?”

  The second Damath (Damath Kayen.) spoke up. “Is it true that Kaspea’s blessing transcends death?” he asked. “That even if I were reborn, I might still carry the power that Damath the hero achieved?”

  “That is correct,” Meleia replied.

  The boy hesitated only a moment before asking again. “Then how will I know if I’ve awakened that power?”

  “You won’t,” Damath Cassim. interrupted (the same Damath who is remembering the story). “Because I’m the hero reborn, not you.”

  “No, you’re not,” Damath K. snapped back. “It’s me. I’m the one who will bring everyone home.”

  “You won’t be able to,” Damath C. said sharply. “Because I’ll have already taken everyone home by then.”

  Meleia laughed softly. “Does it really matter who does it?”

  Both boys turned toward her at once, their expressions answering before either spoke. Of course it mattered!

  His mind returned to the present, filled with the unwavering resolve of the child who had once declared, I can go until tomorrow.

  Damath seized a fallen branch and slammed it against the ground, shouting and striking again, hoping the noise and his presence alone would drive the beast back.

  It answered with a roar.

  The creature refused to yield. Its tentacle-like limbs spread wide, swaying and snapping through the air like whips. Patterns rippled across the mask of its face, red and black flowing in jagged waves meant to intimidate, to freeze the target in place with fear.

  Damath’s body reacted before his mind could catch up. He crouched and took an involuntary step back, then forced himself still, halting before retreat became flight.

  He kept the branch moving, circling it above his head, shouting as he did. Through the corner of his vision, he spotted the examiner behind him, half-hidden among the trees, alert and ready to intervene when needed.

  The beast lunged. Snow exploded beneath its claws as it charged, swiping with one massive forelimb as it closed the distance.

  Damath rolled across the snow and came up hard on his feet, narrowly avoiding the beast’s powerful strike. He lunged for the gate leading to the shrine, boots slipping as he ran. But the creature followed immediately.

  As Damath hauled himself up a steep passage, the beast landed in front of him. One massive claw swept forward in a brutal swipe. The blow shattered the branch in Damath’s hands, and the incline forced him down onto his knees.

  He had hoped to conserve what little strength he had left, but there was no choice now.

  Damath thrust his telekinesis upward, ripping loose the snow above him. A small avalanche broke free, dragging the beast down the slope. He ducked into cover, fingers biting into stone as he clung to the rock.

  With the beast still trapped between the snow, he climbed toward the now-unguarded cavern entrance, breath still catching up, and as his body moved, his mind drifted again.

  He remembered two young Drexari playing behind a building. They took turns levitating small pebbles, sending them back and forth between them as Damath approached, watching in fascination. They were both still young, but older than he was at the time.

  The boy was his older brother, Ruyane, his antlers only just beginning to branch atop his head. The girl was Anayri, slightly younger than Ruyane, a fellow disciple of Princess Meleia and one of Damath’s closest friends. Her own antlers barely poked through her hair.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Hey, C!” the girl called when she noticed him approaching. “Look what I can do.”

  She lifted a handful of smooth river pebbles and focused. The stones rose unsteadily, wobbling as she guided them through the air without touching them, then clattered back to the ground.

  “Wait! That’s not how it goes,” she said quickly, crouching to scoop them up. She tried again, brows furrowed in concentration. This time, the pebbles hovered for a few heartbeats before dropping once more.

  “Wow!” Damath said, eyes wide. “I hope I can do that soon!”

  She grinned, clearly pleased, despite the trick not resulting exactly as she had planned.

  Ruyane’s mouth curved into a grin. “No, no. Look! Like this.”

  The pebbles spiraled neatly through the air at his command. “It takes practice,” he said, trying to feign humbleness despite the obvious pride in his voice.

  Damath came closer and watched in open wonder.

  “Have you awakened the gift yet?” Anayri asked, curiosity lighting her voice.

  Damath shook his head. “Not yet. But my horns are starting to poke out,” he said proudly. “Master Meleia says I might awaken it soon.”

  “Horns?” Anayri leaned closer, peering at him. “I don’t see them.”

  She bit back a laugh.

  Damath blushed, pushing his hair aside to reveal the small horns beneath.

  “That’s nothing,” she laughed. “Those are baby horns.”

  “Baby horns for my baby brother,” Ruyane added mockingly.

  The memory broke as Damath made a final leap and landed inside the cave. For a fleeting moment, he imagined their faces when he returned: Ruyane’s disbelief, Anayri’s wide-eyed amazement, as he boasted of what he had just accomplished: Completing the first trial of Oltikán.

  Sadly, for Damath, the triumph faded almost instantly. There was no shrine here. Only narrow caverns and small holes carved into the stone, and a long, dark passage stretching deeper into the mountain. As he slowly moved forward, small reptilian creatures scattered, vanishing into cracks and crevices along the cave walls.

  Behind him, the beast returned in a violent roar, forcing him deeper into the tunnel. It pursued only briefly, stopping near the entrance, either unwilling, or unable to follow him further.

  Damath was too tall to stand comfortably inside the cave, and the antlers didn't make it easier. He imagined a Haksari might walk through it upright without trouble, but for him, even as he ducked, his antlers scraped dangerously close to the stone above. If he tried to stand fully, he risked breaking them with the irregular ceiling.

  For a brief, foolish moment, he believed he had succeeded, that he was just mere steps away from the objective.

  That belief shattered as he pressed deeper into the cave. The cold he had feared outside was gone, replaced by rising heat that grew worse with every step. The tunnel twisted and forked repeatedly, branching into darkness without warning, offering no clear path forward.

  Sweat poured down his skin. His chest burned as he panted, his remaining strength draining away, and still the tunnel offered no end. It was only getting hotter, longer and darker.

  “Quite amazing creatures, the Ocuat, don’t you think?”

  Damath heard the examiner’s familiar voice behind him. “They can’t produce their own magic. That’s why they guard those lizards so fiercely.” He exhaled, almost admiring. “The lizards give them magic, and in return they offer protection. Nature is remarkable like that, isn’t it?”

  When did he even get behind me? Damath wondered.

  Damath barely registered the words. In another circumstance, he might have cared. Now, every step felt like wading through fire, and speaking was beyond him.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” the examiner added. “You’re not going to reach the shrine like this. Not after entering the cave alone and so poorly prepared.”

  Damath stumbled and dropped to his knees, breath tearing from his lungs.

  Was it more than the heat? Were there dangerous gases here as well?

  He turned and saw Xolani behind him, the man encased in a cocoon of compacted earth, shielding himself from the cave.

  “Will you fail me?” Damath asked.

  “I’ll fail you if you lose consciousness,” Xolani replied evenly. “But I suggest you turn back now. You're a big fellah, and we don’t particularly enjoy carrying people.”

  His furry celestial nodded in agreement.

  Damath pushed himself upright and continued forward.

  “Tch.” Xolani clicked his tongue and followed after him.

  “Stubborn idiot,” he said, just as Damath staggered and dropped to his knees again.

  Damath couldn’t tell what happened next. One moment he was on his knees, the next he was being dragged away, his body sliding across stone, unable to resist the force pulling him back.

  “Let go of me! Let go!” he protested, but it made no difference.

  Then there was noise, the sound of stone grinding, dirt raining down onto his face. The heat faded rapidly, retreating until cold rushed in to take its place.

  And then he saw the sky. It was dark, yet alive with green light near Auron, the massive ringed traveler had already swallowed the sun.

  The color reminded him of the things his grandmother used to knit. For a moment, he pictured her beneath those lights.

  “What are you doing, gran?”

  She sat with two long, slender needles crossed between her fingers, guiding strands of yarn on muscle memory. “Knitting,” she said simply.

  “Something for me?” he asked, settling down beside her.

  She smiled. “Maybe later. Right now, I’m making something for your aunt Amathai.”

  “Aunt Amathai? The one who stayed in the Covean continent?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “Her exactly.” With careful hands, she lifted a long scarf, stretching it out so long it reached several times Damath’s height. “I’m sure she’s waiting for us. It will make her so happy to receive this… and to finally meet you.”

  Damath’s eyes lit up. “Yes, gran! We’ll go see her. Soon.”

  She smiled warmly and ruffled his hair.

  “I hope so too,” she said, her expression briefly clouded by distant memories of her daughter, whom she longed to see again. “Just… don’t overdo it, all right?”

  With those words from his grandmother, the memory faded and his mind returned to the present.

  Xolani’s companion loomed into view above him, its rounded face close, thick fur, a sharp nose, small eyes glinting with focused concern, whiskers twitching as it studied him.

  Xolani shook his head and wrapped Damath in blankets. Yellow powder drifted across the sky overhead, marking his failure and the call for evacuation.

  “You said you’d fail me if I lost consciousness,” Damath said hoarsely. “I didn’t.”

  “I know,” Xolani replied, a faint smile touching his lips. “But you were going to suffer permanent damage, or die before that happened.” He glanced upward. “I don’t need that kind of outcome following me around.”

  Damath sat up slowly, fingers digging into his scalp as pain throbbed at his temples. He swallowed once, and the motion alone seemed to unravel him. A sound escaped him, small, cracked, and ugly forcing him to bend forward as if sheltering a wound.

  A sob tore loose without sound. No tears came as there was no liquid left in him to shed. His face stayed dry as dust.

  Xolani pretended to study the sky. “You can take it again,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically comforting. “There will always be another season.”

  Damath wiped at his cheek out of reflex, but he was completely dry.

  He looked away so the examiner wouldn’t have to watch him break, but Xolani did him the courtesy of keeping his attention to the sky, offering that thin dignity veterans give the wounded.

  It was true, he could try again. But if it took too long, he feared he would be too late, that he might never fulfill his promise to his aging grandmother, that might indeed never see her daughter again.

  Dear C,

  I hope this reaches you somewhere warm and with a roof over your head. Things at camp are mostly as you left them. Training is duller without you, though don’t tell K I said that, he’s been twice as insufferable since you left.

  We had dinner with your family last week. Your mother cooked, and your father tried to hide how much he worries. K talked big, but that's just to distract from how much he actually misses you too. They all miss you, and all of them wished you well. I do, too.

  If you are reading this, it means you’re still trying. I know you, C. You’ll either succeed or break something important in the attempt. Please try not to do the latter. You and K are idiotically stubborn enough to get into serious trouble.

  Come home when you can.

  - Anayri

  Thank you very much for taking the time to read my story.

  I’m a medical doctor who writes as a hobby, hoping to one day create an immersive world like that of Tolkien, Herbert, or Rowing.

  I post a new chapter every two weeks, always trying to keep the quality high.

  Thank you very much for your feedback.