Adventure is its own reward
Posted: Tue Apr 24, 2018 11:17 pm
What were the wolves called? Cassion's face took on an expression the like of which Arlo had not seen before. His eyes darkened, almost biqaj-like in their response. He looked, just for a trill, all of the arcs he was, all of the experiences and stories, adventures and all of the weight of them was in his gaze. In the truest meaning of the words it was both awe-inspiring and awe-ful. Looking down at the wolf still remaining, it whined, slightly, but kept it's gaze on Cassion. It was almost like the two shared a moment of something exquisitely, poignantly sad.
The fire wolf backed away, apparently not intending to follow them. Breathing in, Cassion turned to Arlo and spoke in a soft voice, tinged with a deep emotion far beyond the comprehension of a mortal. "Their name is lost in old pages long since turned to dust. They should be named again for a new age." And in a blink of Arlo's eyes, the Immortal stood before him as he had been moments before. He smiled at the young mortal lad and, burnt hand or not, Arlo got a hearty backslap. "New stories to be told, when the final reverberations have died." Glancing around the cavern, one last time, he turned his focus back. "And maybe, in the future, their tales will converge again. Threads and breadcrums, pieces of dust and stars."
When Arlo took the tooth, given to him by Cassion, he felt something. It was a strange sensation, there and gone before it started. Later, though, later he would remember it. At Arlo's suggestion of it making sense? Cassion shook his head, "Little made sense here that night, but it is a tale like few others." With a narrowing of his eyes, Cassion wondered. "What would you give to save the ones you love? Would you condemn yourself to an eternity of torture to save their life? Knowing that throughout that life, they'd know how you suffered and were powerless?" Quirking an eyebrow as he glanced at Arlo, Cassion asked another question. "What if your redhead made that sacrifice for you? How would you carry on?"
When Arlo asked why the statues were made and by who, though? A broad smile of amusement crossed Cassion's face, back now to the expressions Arlo was more used to. "You can ask them," he said and walked out behind him.
Arlo led the way, using his sense of direction, navigation and experience and soon, they approached where Arlo believed the statues were. As they stepped there, though, there was more and more of the black and dark grey ice. "This comes from the moment that the volcano was born," Cassion said, almost casually. "It was a sight to behold, that. Not a common one, even for me. This ice is nearly as old as the island." He reached out and touched it, and as he did Arlo realised that in front of them, and just to the right where he thought the statues were, there was an opening and either side of it stood two pillars, carved from ice but green in colour. When he looked back at the Immortal, there was a slight, almost melancholy expression on his face, but he wasn't looking at the archway or the pillars, but at the ice. As his eyes adjusted, Arlo saw that the ice was in the shape of a pair of legs, rising from the feet - Cassion's hand touched what would be the tip of the big toe and, if this was a real person, the Immortal who was taller than Arlo by quite some would be less than half way up their shin. "Such a waste," he said and then turned back to Arlo.
"Ah! The entrance. Come!!"
Gesturing to the pillar, The Sojourner spoke. Arlo would be forgiven for thinking that the pillars reverberated in response to that voice, a light dancing through them. "There are four of these throughout these caves. These, green for the earth equivalent of the fire creatures we just met. They are awake. Her sacrifice was for naught."
And into the room they went.
It was beautiful in there. A large cavern, cathedral like in its glory, with pillars of ice and statues of the same. He'd seen them before, of course, by the lake which should not be water, yet was; by the side of that lake were the footprints of a little girl. It was to those footprints that Cassion walked and knelt next to them, "She walked into the Darkened Lake on the night the statues were made. That life, and every life thereafter, she has died here." The statues were there, as he recalled them. Except, in the middle of them there was a light. Each one of them, a light which flickered but faintly.
Yet flicker it did.
And one of the statues, a woman sitting on a chair, in her hand she held a light. Or, no, that wasn't right. As Arlo looked at it, he realised that she held out her hand, palm upwards. Hovering above it, there the illumination shone; twinkling and flickering more strongly than any other in the cavern at the moment, yet as he looked Arlo realised that it was flickering in time with all the others. In a steady, rhythmic pattern.
And the Immortal's eyes were upon him.
The fire wolf backed away, apparently not intending to follow them. Breathing in, Cassion turned to Arlo and spoke in a soft voice, tinged with a deep emotion far beyond the comprehension of a mortal. "Their name is lost in old pages long since turned to dust. They should be named again for a new age." And in a blink of Arlo's eyes, the Immortal stood before him as he had been moments before. He smiled at the young mortal lad and, burnt hand or not, Arlo got a hearty backslap. "New stories to be told, when the final reverberations have died." Glancing around the cavern, one last time, he turned his focus back. "And maybe, in the future, their tales will converge again. Threads and breadcrums, pieces of dust and stars."
When Arlo took the tooth, given to him by Cassion, he felt something. It was a strange sensation, there and gone before it started. Later, though, later he would remember it. At Arlo's suggestion of it making sense? Cassion shook his head, "Little made sense here that night, but it is a tale like few others." With a narrowing of his eyes, Cassion wondered. "What would you give to save the ones you love? Would you condemn yourself to an eternity of torture to save their life? Knowing that throughout that life, they'd know how you suffered and were powerless?" Quirking an eyebrow as he glanced at Arlo, Cassion asked another question. "What if your redhead made that sacrifice for you? How would you carry on?"
When Arlo asked why the statues were made and by who, though? A broad smile of amusement crossed Cassion's face, back now to the expressions Arlo was more used to. "You can ask them," he said and walked out behind him.
Arlo led the way, using his sense of direction, navigation and experience and soon, they approached where Arlo believed the statues were. As they stepped there, though, there was more and more of the black and dark grey ice. "This comes from the moment that the volcano was born," Cassion said, almost casually. "It was a sight to behold, that. Not a common one, even for me. This ice is nearly as old as the island." He reached out and touched it, and as he did Arlo realised that in front of them, and just to the right where he thought the statues were, there was an opening and either side of it stood two pillars, carved from ice but green in colour. When he looked back at the Immortal, there was a slight, almost melancholy expression on his face, but he wasn't looking at the archway or the pillars, but at the ice. As his eyes adjusted, Arlo saw that the ice was in the shape of a pair of legs, rising from the feet - Cassion's hand touched what would be the tip of the big toe and, if this was a real person, the Immortal who was taller than Arlo by quite some would be less than half way up their shin. "Such a waste," he said and then turned back to Arlo.
"Ah! The entrance. Come!!"
Gesturing to the pillar, The Sojourner spoke. Arlo would be forgiven for thinking that the pillars reverberated in response to that voice, a light dancing through them. "There are four of these throughout these caves. These, green for the earth equivalent of the fire creatures we just met. They are awake. Her sacrifice was for naught."
And into the room they went.
It was beautiful in there. A large cavern, cathedral like in its glory, with pillars of ice and statues of the same. He'd seen them before, of course, by the lake which should not be water, yet was; by the side of that lake were the footprints of a little girl. It was to those footprints that Cassion walked and knelt next to them, "She walked into the Darkened Lake on the night the statues were made. That life, and every life thereafter, she has died here." The statues were there, as he recalled them. Except, in the middle of them there was a light. Each one of them, a light which flickered but faintly.
Yet flicker it did.
And one of the statues, a woman sitting on a chair, in her hand she held a light. Or, no, that wasn't right. As Arlo looked at it, he realised that she held out her hand, palm upwards. Hovering above it, there the illumination shone; twinkling and flickering more strongly than any other in the cavern at the moment, yet as he looked Arlo realised that it was flickering in time with all the others. In a steady, rhythmic pattern.
a beat... badum..
But as he looked, it seemed to be growing stronger. More regular. baDUM.... baDUM... like a heartbeat
Just like a heartbeat
And the statues were there, as they had been for a time inconceivable to the young mortal boy, the lake too held its secrets and stories. And as he drank in the sights he might notice, prowling around the edges of the vast room, hints of movement hidden in the shadows, flickering and reflecting. Fire, ice, earth and even ripples in the wind. Just like a heartbeat
And the Immortal's eyes were upon him.