The Last Talisman (31 page)

32

Tarephen
or On Struggle

For the next two days, Nihal and Sennar slept with roofs over their heads, taking refuge within the walls of different mountaintop cities. There were plenty in the area, all crumbling and uninhabited. The old woman they'd run into must have been the only living being for miles.

“Sometimes I wonder if this world isn't already dead,” Sennar said one evening. “Maybe there's nothing we can do to save it. Maybe we'll never be able to erase all our struggling and suffering, even if we do defeat the Tyrant.”

Nihal looked up between the cracks in the rock ceiling.

“Who knows if we'll ever turn these ruins into living cities again,” Sennar muttered, almost to himself.

Nihal lowered her eyes. “I don't know, sometimes I think this whole thing will never come to an end, that we'll struggle for all eternity. The Tyrant's been ruling uncontested now for forty years. Maybe bringing him down just isn't possible.”

“That's not what the guardian of Flaren told you,” Sennar reminded her. “He said that everything is in constant flux, that good breeds evil and evil breeds good in an infinite cycle. If that's really the way things are, maybe defeating the Tyrant has a larger purpose.” His words trailed off into the dark.

The time had come, at last, to descend the other side of the mountains. Nihal could sense that they'd need to head west, which would mean they'd no longer benefit from the protection provided by the rugged terrain. They found the easiest route downward and began their descent. An immense, desolate plain stretched out at the foot of the moment. Farther in the distance, they noticed a menacing blotch of drab brown.

“That's the forest,” said Nihal. “That's where we need to head.”

They resumed the habit of traveling only at night, constantly worried that someone was at their heels. At dawn on their eleventh day of travel, they'd at last come within sight of their destination.

The forest extended before them, a long umber-colored line stretching across the entire horizon with no end in sight. Nihal and Sennar sped toward the vast woods as quickly as possible, knowing they'd be far safer there than out in the open.

At first they encountered only petrified tree stumps. Large tracts of the forest had been destroyed, logged for the black crystal in the trunks of many of the trees. Soon enough, however, the foliage thickened around them, and they began to see the full-grown trees. There they were, in all the variety of regular trees of wood, and yet they were made entirely of stone—trunks, branches, leaves and all. And somehow, they seemed to be alive. An immobile forest, as if frozen in time from one moment to the next. No rustling leaves, no chattering animals, not even a trace of water.

Nihal perceived that the ground beneath her was sacred, could sense the natural forces trapped within the trunks calling out to her. Dedicated to the ancient gods, the forest served as a place where the creatures of the Overworld could renew their bond with nature and reconnect with its living spirits. Nihal and Sennar passed through with their heads bowed, in respectful silence, with all the solemnity of devoted pilgrims.

One evening, Nihal came to a sudden halt. “We're close,” she said. “No more than a day's travel.”

The half-elf closed her eyes, then turned and pointed toward the direction they would have to take. They picked up their pace, as if an invisible pathway leading to their destination had been traced through the petrified forest. They were tired and hungry, their nerves on edge as they neared the sanctuary, and therefore they did not take notice of distant sounds initially—scattered footsteps and the light clinking of swords.

All of a sudden, Nihal stopped short.

“Is this it?” Sennar asked.

Before she could respond, they heard a loud metallic sound resound through the trees. Nihal drew her sword.

“There's no time to fight right now. We have to get to the sanctuary,” Sennar urged.

Nihal scanned the dense woods around them. “This way,” she shouted, taking off through the trees.

For a few moments, the noises behind them disappeared, and they were just about to let out a sigh of relief when they heard heavy, rapid footsteps against hard rock. The enemy, running them down. Then came the Fammin's rasping war cries. Their cover was blown.

“They can't find out about the sanctuary,” Sennar said, panting. “Are we close?”

“I can feel it. It's right nearby.”

Sennar knew what he had to do. “I'll keep them busy here. You get to the sanctuary as fast you can and get the stone.”

“There are too many of them,” Nihal replied. “You'll never hold them all off. Let's keep moving and see if we can lose them.”

Sennar halted. “Don't underestimate me. Have you already forgotten about what happened in the clearing?” As soon as he uttered the words, he turned his back to her and faced the enemy.

“Sennar …”

“Go!” he shouted. He turned his head and smiled. “Don't worry, I can take care of them myself. I'll see you soon.”

The half-elf hesitated a moment. Then she turned and took off running.

Nihal sprinted as fast as she could, unable to silence the chorus of doubts in her head telling her she shouldn't have left Sennar behind. Her thoughts drifted back to the day she'd left him alone to fight with Laio, but she shook the memory off.

I need him. Nothing bad can happen to him.

There was no one trailing her. Sennar must have been handling things with his usual expertise. She pushed herself to sprint even faster, though she was beginning to run out of breath. The sanctuary was practically drawing her in, and she ran forward at breakneck speed.

Suddenly, and without a doubt, she realized that she'd arrived. She slowed her churning legs and took a series of heaving breaths to calm her heartbeat, all the while searching for the entrance. Directly in front of her was a low hill with a small black opening on its slope. That was it. Reaching the entrance, she knew there was no time for hesitation. She clenched her sword and stepped into the darkness.

It was a damp, narrow place, a long, dark downward sloping tunnel. Just as she was about to conjure a flame in her palm, she noticed a faint glow beneath her bodice. When she pulled the talisman out, the stones were beaming intensely, lighting her way. It seemed she'd entered a sort of mine. Moldy wooden beams ran along the ceiling. The walls bore the clear markings of spade and pickaxe. She bent down on all fours and began to descend.

At the first fork in the road, her stomach twisted in knots. She considered the two tunnels and, after changing her mind what seemed like thousand times, followed her intuition. Then she was climbing downward again, faster and faster.

The mine was a tangled labyrinth of narrow passageways. Before long, Nihal lost her bearings. Had she been traveling in circles the entire time? The fear mounted within her. She guessed her way from one tunnel to the next, tears streaming down her cheeks.

All of a sudden, the ground opened beneath her hands and feet and she plunged downward. She scrambled to her feet and found herself in a vast room. The ground below her bore an enormous inscription, the letters so large she could hardly make them out. Tarephen. At the center of the room were two massive columns with an altar between them. The seventh stone gleamed radiantly above the altar.

“Grant me the stone. I am Sheireen, the Consecrated One!” Nihal shouted, skipping all niceties.

But no response came.

“I've already gathered the first six,” she said, and held out the talisman. It gleamed brighter than ever. “If you let me, I'll grab the stone and go!” she shouted again, but only the silence answered.

Great. Nihal had no time for games or arguments. She needed the stone and she needed it now. She approached the altar with determined strides. But before she could even place a foot on the first step, a tremor shook the entire room. Nihal stopped in her tracks; all seemingly returned to normal. Again, she made to climb the steps, stretching her hand out toward the stone. Again, an earthquake gripped the room, this time with enough force to send Nihal thudding to the floor.

Clambering to her feet, she looked on in disbelief as the two columns transformed into two gigantic men, their heads grazing the ceiling. Clunky and disproportioned, they resembled roughly hewn statues with their short, squat legs, unnaturally long arms, and massive hands. Each bore a strange marking on its forehead. Nihal backed away, her sword trembling in her hands.

Not now. … Not now. …

“Are you the guardians?”

Rather than answer, one of the giants took a swing at her, missing by a hair as she ducked her head. The giant raised its outsized arm again. Where its massive fist had landed, a deep crater was left in the ground. Nihal heard laughter. A figure resembling a satyr appeared atop the altar.

“It is I who am the guardian.”

Nihal stared curiously at the small being, unable to discern its age or gender. Whatever it was, it had a pair of sinister blue eyes and wore a short brown tunic.

“I've come for the stone,” said Nihal, regaining her composure.

“I know what you've come for,” the being shot in a bored tone, “which is why I woke my two friends here.”

Nihal didn't entirely understand the being's words, but its menacing intentions were clear. “I have the other stones right here,” she said, holding up the amulet. “I need them to defeat the Tyrant.”

“I don't care a lick how many stones you have, nor who it was who gave them to you,” the guardian shot back. “If you want to leave with my stone, you'll have to defeat my friends.” One of the giants took a booming step forward.

Nihal backed away. “What do you mean?”

The satyr leaped off the altar, landing face-to-face with Nihal, its cold blue eyes never leaving her face. It held a long, gnarled staff topped with a luminous sphere. The creature grinned the grin of a mischievous child. “For centuries now … no, what am I saying … for millennia, the stone you seek has been granted only to those worthy of defeating the giants in battle. If you truly desire it, you have no choice but to fight.” The satyr grinned again, somersaulting back down to the ground.

All Nihal could say for sure was that this guardian was nothing like the ones she'd encountered previously. She couldn't make heads or tails of the creature. Was the whole thing some sort of trick?

With each passing moment, Nihal's fear for Sennar mounted. “But can't you see the other guardians have already granted me their stones? Isn't that proof enough that I'm worthy?” she asked.

Tareph merely shrugged his shoulders. “That means nothing to me. My stone is not like the others. Mine must be earned.” The satyr snickered and leaped back up onto the altar. With a wave of the satyr's staff, one of the giants stomped toward Nihal.

“There's no time! I can't stay here any longer,” she howled. “My friend is out there risking his life for me!” She ducked under the giant's enormous fist.

“Oh, but that makes no difference to me, you see,” the satyr drawled. “I've been holed up here for so long. It's a deathly bore. On with the entertainment!”

The giant strode forward. Nihal did what she could to avoid it. Finally, she realized that her only chance of appeasing the guardian was to play along. All the satyr cared about was teasing her and using her as a puppet in some precious little show. It had no intention of actually judging her capabilities. This wasn't a test of character. The satyr wanted to have a grand old time.

Nihal struck the oncoming giant with her sword, but the blow must have been too weak or wrongly placed. It seemed to have no effect at all.

“One to zero, my lead!” the guardian exclaimed. He nodded toward the second giant, who stepped into the fray.

Nihal swung around, trying to block the giants' blows with her sword, but it was no use. The giants were ten times her size. Her weapon was useless against them. Furthermore, it was almost impossible to concentrate knowing that every minute she spent down in the sanctuary was another minute Sennar was left facing the enemy on his own.

All of a sudden, a massive arm struck her dead on and sent her crashing violently into the wall. Nihal's vision went blank. When she came to, Tareph had mounted one of the stone giants and they were charging at her.

“How do you expect me to judge your strength if you just lie there!” the satyr yelled, shrieking with laughter. “This is too easy. Get up and fight!”

One of the giant's colossal fists came crashing down. Nihal managed to roll just out of reach.

“Let me tell you a little secret,” the guardian snickered as the giant prepared another blow. “These creatures are two golems. I created them myself. The word carved into their foreheads means “life,” and as long as that word remains fixed there, they'll never die. These creatures are far stronger than you. They're indestructible. You'll never defeat them with your sword or with any other weapon. However, if you manage to erase the first letter of the word inscribed on their foreheads, the meaning will change to “death,” and they'll dissolve back into the dust they came from. That's your only chance of destroying them,” he shouted, bursting into cagey laughter.

The golem took another violent swing, but Nihal dodged it. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't concentrate, though she knew she would pay for this lack of focus.

She could feel hatred for the satyr welling up inside her. She wanted only to knock him from the golem's back and teach him a lesson.

Tareph eyed her askance. “This is your test, Sheireen, or did you think that all the guards would bow down to you like Flar?”

The battle raged on. And all Nihal could do to survive was jump out of the way and duck.

Sennar, where are you? If only you were here, you'd have found a way to get us out of this stupid mess by now. …