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The Sutherlands, Mount Xatal, Month: 94, Year: 226.
Damath walked on, his gaze fixed on the summit as it loomed closer with every strained step. He was the last of his team still taking steps on this trial, the silence around him strangling with absence. Above, the sun crept ever closer to Auron, counting the hours he still had left, one would not survive the long night alone and without shelter. If he was to pass the first trial of Oltikán, he knew it would not happen tomorrow. The summit had to be taken now; now, or not at all.
He noticed the examiner from before trailing him at a measured distance, never closing in, never falling back. At the man’s side moved his celestial companion, a massive, low-slung creature built for the earth, its powerful forelimbs ending in long claws, its dense coat of glossy brown hair catching the dim light as it shifted and snorted softly. They followed as though expecting him to falter, as though rescue was only a matter of time.
Damath straightened his back and kept moving.
He lifted his gaze toward the sky. Auron was almost touching Solenya, and between them the heavens were already coming alive in bands of green and blue light spilling across the firmament, flowing and folding like luminous currents, drifting downward as if the sky itself were unraveling.
He stepped onto the steep path again. One step, then another, then another. There was no time left to stop.
A wave of dizziness washed over him, and his footing grew uncertain. Whether from lack of sleep, lack of food, or the thinning air pressing against his lungs, Damath could not say, only that his feet no longer landed where he intended.
As he pressed on, the cold loosened its grip. Warmth seeped into the air, accompanied by the sound of water spilling over stone and the sulfur-tinged scent of hot springs. The comfort was almost intoxicating, and he was not the only one to feel it; clusters of resilient plants clung to the rock, thriving in this unlikely refuge high upon the volcano.
His senses caught on that moment of ease, and with it came a pull inward, his thoughts sliding back toward his childhood in the refugee camp.
He looked upward to a sky filled with light, just like this one, but many long nights ago. Back then, the ground beneath his feet was subtly warmed by a nearby spring, and he was neither hungry nor tired. Back then, he was a child, walking along a dirt path carved through snow, his small hand wrapped around the fingers of a tall, antlered man.
“Why does the sky shine like that?” he asked, tugging gently at the man’s hand until he followed his gaze upward.
The tall man smiled, eyes lingering on the lights above, and scratched thoughtfully behind his antlers. “Kids ask the best questions,” he said softly.
“I’ve wondered that myself.”
He paused as the lights above shifted, green giving way to warm shades of orange. “Many believe it is the gods,” he said at last, his voice low and thoughtful, “dreaming dreams of their own.” He fell silent for a moment longer. “Others say it is their breath. Their breathing into this world gives the sky its light.”
Damath stared upward in silent awe, his small horns barely peeking through his hair as the colors danced above him.
“What I know for sure,” the man said softly, as if remembering something distant, “is that these lights aren’t visible from the Covean continent. I never saw them until we came to the Sutherlands."
“Really? Why is that?” he asked, curiosity bright in his voice.
“I don’t know, son,” the man replied, lowering his gaze with a gentle smile. “You’re full of good questions today.”
Damath hesitated. “Does that mean that when I take us back home, you won’t be able to see them anymore?” Worry lingered in his voice.
“Perhaps not,” the man said quietly. “It may be one of the things I’ll miss most about this place.”
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Little Damath bounced where he stood. “Then, when we go back, we won’t go alone,” he said eagerly. “We’ll take the lights with us, then we’ll be able to see them there too.”
“Wouldn’t that be amazing?” the man said, ruffling the boy’s hair.
The memory shattered.
Pain flared as something yanked hard at Damath’s ankle, dragging him through the snow. He caught no glimpse of his attacker, only the relentless pull. He was hauled several steps before he tore a knife from his belt and twisted to strike, but the force shifted suddenly, jerking him out of reach of his own leg.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the examiner watching. Neither he nor his celestial made a move.
Damath twisted again, straining, until he finally caught sight of what had him. A thick vine coiled around his ankle, tight as a noose, its surface tacky and unyielding. He knew brute strength alone would not be enough. Gritting his teeth, he poured his telekinesis into the strike, not as a separate force, but as an added weight behind the knife. The blade bit deep, slicing through the vine at last.
However, the relief was brief. The severed ends clung stubbornly to his skin, sticky and unwilling to let go. He barely managed to roll aside as a second vine snapped past him, followed immediately by a third, lashing for his other leg.
He ducked behind a tall rock, heart pounding, and finally saw his attacker clearly. A towering plant stood near the hot springs, its thick stalk rooted proudly among other vegetation, its shape carefully disguised within the surrounding growth. Yet there was no mistaking it. He saw the sticky residue still clinging to his skin, the broad leaves of the plant riddled with natural perforations, and he knew it instantly.
He remembered the plant all too well.
“Nooooo! I don’t want toooo! Pleaseeee!”
The memory rushed in unbidden. He was small again, his mother dragging him gently but firmly by the hand through a garden. He wore a thin gown and soft slippers, utterly unsuited for escape. Warm air wrapped around him beneath an almost transparent ceiling, and strange, cultivated plants crowded the space, nothing like those he had ever seen in the wild. Spring water cut the garden in two, and as they crossed a narrow wooden bridge, he begged again, voice cracking.
“Please, please, please.”
At the center of the garden stood the plant, tall and unusually active -for a plant-. Its broad, perforated leaves spread wide. Thick vines shifted slowly, searching, one of them snapping suddenly toward a nearby squirrel that barely escaped its grasp before vanishing into the undergrowth. The plant remained, proud and patient, just as imposing as the one before him now.
“Please, Damath,” his mother said as she turned to face him. Damath reached up and touched his swollen, reddened neck, wincing at the pain. His whole body ached; his eyelids burned with fever, and he could not stop the shivering that wracked him. “It will only take a couple of minutes,” she continued softly. “Then I’ll cook you a grilled water bug, just the way you like it.”
Damath shook his head, eyes fixed on the hungry plant. “Noooo.”
She smiled softly as she wiped the tears from his cheeks. “It won’t hurt,” she whispered. “I promise.”
The man standing behind them stepped forward. He wore the simple, practical garments of a nurse, clean and pale against the vibrant colors of the garden. “You’re sick right now,” he said, his voice calm, though he tried to give it a firmer edge. “Your magic is making you sick, and if it isn’t treated, you’ll only get worse.”
He gestured toward the plant, unafraid. “If you allow it to drain your magic, you’ll recover quickly.” He paused, watching Damath carefully. “Trust me. The plant is gentle and harmless. It will only drain your magic, and then it will release you.”
A small, reassuring smile followed. “That’s why we call it the nurse tree.”
“See, Damath,” his mother said gently, smiling as she ruffled his hair. “You’re Damath the hero. Surely you’re not afraid of a harmless plant.”
His mind snapped back to the present.
Damath twisted sharply, barely dodging another vine as it lashed past him. He plunged forward through the snow, breath burning in his chest. As an adult, he knew the truth: the plant was harmless under controlled conditions, used to treat ailments born of unstable magic. It sought only magic, luring the uncareful victims with warmth and vibrantly colored flowers.
But here, in the midst of the trial, surrendering his magic was not an option.
After successfully escaping the nurse tree, Damath continued upward, now also careful to avoid places that felt too warm and too inviting. The examiner followed several steps behind him, unhurried.
“Don’t you have better things to do?” Damath called back, raising his voice as he turned. His former teammates had spoken about him after their encounter. The man was known as Xolani the Burier, a war hero, and one of the most prestigious vessels of Oltikán.
“Sure I do.” He signed. “But it was required of me to oversee you aspirants in this babysitting deal. And you, in particular. You seem to need plenty of babysitting” He responded, half amused and half annoyed.
Damath stared ahead, surprised despite himself. Of all the examiners he had spoken to, Xolani was the first who had ever answered.
“What makes you think I need babysitting?” Damath asked, already turning back toward the climb.
“For starters, you’ve nearly required evacuation twice since I began following you,” the examiner replied with a smirk.
“Almost.” Damath responded to make emphasis on the word.
“If that nurse tree had gotten a better hold of you…” he gestured toward the sky, where the Solenya was already half-covered by Auron. “I don’t think I need to remind you that the long night is about to begin. Being stranded out here without magic during a long night would be a death sentence.”
Damath kept walking, saying nothing, as the examiner and his celestial companion followed behind.
“Why don’t you save us both an hour of trouble and light your flare already?” the examiner added with a casual sign.
“You can walk back down if you’re that tired,” Damath said without turning.
“And leave you here to die?” the examiner asked, lacing his fingers behind his neck as he let out a short whistle. “Just imagine the amount of paperwork I would have to fill.”
Damath continued upward, choosing to ignore the mockery. Xolani seemed poised to speak again… but instead, he vanished.
The examiner and his celestial dropped beneath the surface in a heartbeat. The celestial's movement unnaturally fast for a creature so large.
Damath barely had time to register the reaction before the answer for their hasty retreat arrived: a thunderous sound above him, something massive charging and leaping across the uneven terrain.
In the distance, he caught sight of a creature unlike anything he had ever seen. It was nearly the size of an ox, its body covered in a dense mantle that was neither wool nor feather, but something in between. It landed at the edge of the terrain, right at the mouth of a cavern near the volcano’s crater, and then went perfectly still.
It stood on four sturdy legs. From its shoulder-blades rose long, flexible limbs like antennae, swaying slowly as though feeling the air, scanning the surroundings.
Damath moved as quietly as he could, briefly noting the hand-sized lizards crawling upward along the rock before refocusing. When he finally had a clear view, he watched the creature breathe, its chest expanding and contracting as it drew air through four openings along its sides. Its face looked like a mask, smooth and featureless, with no obvious eyes or nose.
The mask split apart as it opened its mouth, its neck stretching suddenly to snatch a passing bird from the air.
“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.
Damath's Pilgrimage.
Chapter 15: Damath II (Part 2).
Thank you very much for taking the time to read my story.
Sci-fi ? Telepathy ? Psychics
The technocracy will fall. And my powers started it all. Oops.
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