[Nano novel] Chapter twelve: Lost.

The sunrise woke Taliesin, because his face was somehow facing directly to the east, and the rising sun sent its rays right at him.  "Ouch!" he said reflexively, and shielded his eyes with his hand as he sat up.  Dragon Bane was still sleeping - at least, his eyes were closed and he was still except for the deep, regular breaths he was taking.

Today was the day he had to climb the mountain.  His heart sank as he looked up at it again; in the early morning light, it looked even more impressive.  The sun shone off its tall sides, highlighting rock faces and jagged edges.  He would be lucky if he did not kill himself trying to get up to the top, let alone get up in only one day.  He pushed the thought of death from his mind, and determined that he would only focus on the task at hand.  He got up, finding the saddle bag that Tristan had told him held the special spells and supplies; he had not needed them the day before, but he was almost positive that he would be needing them today.  He emptied the bag and spread everything out carefully on the ground to take inventory.

There were three small squares of thick paper, and on each was written a different grouping of symbols.  Another piece of paper, which Taliesin was relieved to see, appeared to be a set of instructions on using the three smaller papers, among other things..  He set them in a careful pile, and went through the rest of the small group of items.  There was a short knife in a leather sheath, with a wide loop on the back.  He immediately took it and slid it onto his soft leather belt, on his right side.  He hoped he did not forget that he had it with him, in the event that he would need it.  He had never killed anything, not even any animals, so he fervently hoped that he would not have to use it against a living being. 

There was one small bottle made of very thick glass, with a tiny cork stopper and a looped leather thong attached to its neck.  He looked at it for a moment, holding it in his hand, trying to determine what it was that was inside - he could not tell whether it was a liquid or a solid.  There was a faint glimmering from within the glass, but it did not slosh or feel otherwise as if there was liquid inside.  The paper of instructions had a sentence or two about the glass bottle as well - Tristan called it Blood of the Rainbow, and said he should wear it around his neck, tucked underneath his coat and shirt.  Taliesin obediently put it on and put it carefully between his undershirt and the rest of his clothing.  He hoped it would not break unexpectedly.

The last thing in the bag was (insert thing here! and also a lengthy description, because i love writing very very lengthy descriptions.)

He was nearly ready to leave, when he realized that Dragon Bane had not had anything to drink since the day before, when he had stopped once at a small pool of water.  Looking around, he saw a shimmer a little way off, something that he had not seen the evening before while it was growing dark.  He went to inspect it, and after confirming that it was in fact water, he untied Bane from the tree and led him away from his apparently delicious breakfast, toward the water.  The horse smelled the water almost as soon as Taliesin began walking him to it, and pulled him the rest of the way there; then he spent a very long time drinking.  Taliesin was glad that he still had almost a half skin of water left, because he probably should have gotten something to drink if he had needed it before Dragon Bane began slurping it up, since in his excitement and thirst he was making a lot of foam and bubbles on the water's surface.

He led the horse back after he was done with his drink, and tied him up to the tree again.

"I'm sorry I won't be here all day," he said apologetically.  "But I'll be back soon, I hope."

He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder, and set off toward the mountain, as the sun continued to rise at his back.  He located the start of the path he had found the day before, and started up it.  The path itself was very rocky and not very smooth, and he stumbled right away and nearly fell.  It was obvious that his way up was going to be full of bruises if he was not careful; he readjusted the bag and started up again, choosing his steps cautiously.  The sunlight grew gradually warmer, until about an hour into his climb, he realized that he was dripping with sweat and smelling pretty horrible.  He looked up the path, as he had been concentrating on his feet so as not to stumble again, to see if there was any place up ahead to rest for a few minutes - keeping in mind that Tristan had told him not to stop if at all possible -  and saw what appeared to be a small clearing about a hundred yards up.  He sped up somewhat, imagining how he would be able to cool off in just a few minutes.

As he got close to the clearing, he saw that it was actually a little alcove of sorts, a natural shallow cave in the rock of the mountain.  He stooped down and sat in the cool shadow of the little cave.  For a few minutes, all he did was lean back and shut his eyes, breathing heavily still, but happy for the short respite.  He opened his eyes again, and now that they had adjusted somewhat to the lack of direct sunlight, he could see a small opening in the back of the little stony alcove.  Curious, he rose to a crouch, and peered at it.  It looked more than large enough for him to fit through, and he moved toward it to investigate.  Peering into what seemed at first to be deep inky blackness, his eyes adjusted a little more, and he could make out faint shapes that looked like trees.  Trees?  There aren't trees underground, he thought, his curiosity further piqued.  He crawled up to the opening, put his face into it, then his arms, then because it seemed to make perfect sense, he pulled the rest of himself through - and found himself standing in a dimly lit wood.  Behind him was the opening back to the small cave, and before him stretched a forest so green he could smell it, even though the light was low.

He continued to look around, not taking any steps in case he decided to leave again through the cave mouth, and spotted a wooden staircase, almost completely free of fallen leaves, made of wood so light it was almost white.  It was not very far away, so it seemed not at all risky to him to walk to it and stand upon it.  The wood made a satisfying clunk-ing noise when he stepped onto it, and he looked down the stairs - because it was obvious that there was a downhill and an uphill - and grew a little dizzy.  They went on for at least a mile or more, down in a very straight line through the trees.  He turned and looked back up the stairs, and they looked as if they went on forever, or at least to the very top.  Now that he was in the cooler undergrowth, beneath the dappled greener light under the branches, he was very reluctant to go back to the outer path, the one paved in broken rock and, at times, frighteningly close to the edge of the mountain.  The further up he went on that outer path, the more danger he was in, he reasoned; he could fall off at any time if he started to get tired.  This stairway obviously went up to the top of the mountain, so it seemed reasonable to stay on it.

His decision firmly made, he began walking up the stairs.  It was certainly easier on his legs and feet, not to have to continually step around larger rocks, to be able to walk in a straight line, in one direction.  No curving slowly around the mountain, and no more extreme heights from which to potentially fall.

Every seventeen steps, there was a wider step, almost a platform, and there was a symbol carved on each one.  In his haste to get up as many stairs as possible before he needed another break, he did not study them very closely at all.  Fleetingly, he thought that was possibly a mistake, not to stop and look at one or two of them, because some of them, their shapes, almost seemed familiar, as if he had seen them before.

He made it at least a few more hours, and his stomach was growling loudly by the time he decided to stop again.  He pulled the bread out of his bag.  It was getting stale, which he supposed was the fault of carrying it around without a bread bag; but there were probably no bread bags here.  The saddle bag itself was supposed to serve as a bread bag, he guessed.  The cheese had formed a hard-yet-soft shell on its outside, the way he had seen a block of cheese do when he left it out overnight accidentally once.  It had seemed spoiled to him then, even though he knew technically cheese would not really be unhealthy unless it was completely covered in green mold, and even though he knew that the cheese in his bag was perfectly fine, he still did not want to eat it.  Not right now, anyway.  If he was really hungry again later, he might eat it.

He ate nearly all the bread before he realized it.  He was lost in his thoughts, but also he was lulled by the peacefulness of the trees.  It was amazing, really, that there were so many trees on this mountain.  They were all hardwoods, and looked like oaks, maples, birches, elms, and ironwoods, just like most of the northern forests that he loved so much, except that there were no pines anywhere here.  All of them were tall, stately, and crowned high up with branches full of thick leaves, and they moved a little, dancing slowly, as if a wind high up tossed them gently back and forth.  He stared up at them from his seat at the base of a thick maple, and his eyes grew heavy.   He had a thought, that he should get up now, keep moving, but it seemed a little bit too hard.  Maybe he needed a little extra rest before he kept going.  His eyes drooped, then shut.  The bit of bread he was still holding fell from his hand, which had sagged onto the ground.  There was no sound except the faint rustling of the trees.

He was standing on the top of a high mountain, but he did not know how he knew that it was a mountain at all, because the snow blowing around him was blindingly white.  His cloak and hood were furred and warm, but his face was as cold as if he had been standing out on the mountain for hours.

A sound like crackling lightning and deep thunder spread over the sky and all around him, and although he did not move, his heart raced with the fear of it.  Dark shapes could be seen overhead, and fire flamed very closely in front of him, accompanied by a loud screech and the flap of heavy wings.  He could hear, faintly, men shouting - he could not make out the words.  Somehow he also knew that the dark shapes were fighting dragons, who were waging war against one of the powerful tribes of warriors who lived in this world.  How he knew all this, he did not now.  And why he was standing there, he also did not know - at the same time that he did know it.

Suddenly and without warning, a huge weight hit him in the back and carried him over the edge of the mountain, and he fell, screaming, down through whiteness and into blackness.  He could feel the end coming, and he anticipated its pain as he screamed.  He would never be able to save her now -

He awoke, and heard a scream, then realized it was his own voice screaming.  He was panting and clutching a handful of dirt and grass, and his heart was beating wildly.  I fell asleep!  I can't believe I fell asleep - I am so glad that was a dream!  I have to get a hold of myself so I can keep going... I have to go up the stairs...

He stood up quickly, and steadied himself against the bole of a tree.  His pulse was pounding in his ears from the frantic beating of his heart.  How long he had been asleep, he did not know.  He scanned the sky, at least as much of the sky as he could see through the thicky leafy green, and he could not tell at all if he had been sleeping for ten minutes or for several hours.  He had a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach, like the feeling he used to get when he knew his parents were angry with him and there was no getting around it.  There was nothing to do but start climbing the stairs again, and to resolve not to stop any more.

He sprinted up the first dozen stairs, but had to slow down after that; he found a swinging pace and hoped he was making good time.  He was beating himself up mentally over that unexpected nap. I am SO stupid.  Why did I stop and sit for so long?  Stupid, stupid, stupid!

The remaining hours until evening seemed to slide by very quickly indeed, which only made it seem as if he must have slept for a long time.  He was going to be angry with himself about it for a long time.  Soon he could barely see the stairs he was traveling up, and the trees around him became like darker shadows in the shadowy evening light.  He fervently hoped that he was almost at the top, because he did not want to be forced to spend the night here, without any idea as to how much longer he had to go.  One thing he regretted about changing paths was that he had no real way to tell where on the mountain he was.

Just as his feet were so sore they began to feel almost numb to the constant pain of stepping on them in regular rhythm, he arrived at the top of the stairway.  He could tell that it was the top because there were no more stairs, but he was still surrounded by tall trees.  He stood for a moment, indecisively, wondering what he was supposed to do next.  Find the waystone, he reminded himself.  Find the circle of grass, and find the waystone left behind.  He hoped it was there, because otherwise this journey was completely for nothing.  And he still had to go back down the mountain, whether or not he found what he was looking for.

His eyes were probably not going to adjust to the light any more than they already had, so there was no point in staying where he was, not even to rest.  He was so tired, but so afraid of falling asleep before he finished his task; the task he agreed to do out of a sense of duty and a strong urge to protect Ava.  Ava... he hoped she was alright, and that it had not been too upsetting for her that he was gone when she woke up the day before.  She was strong and opinionated.  He didn't need to worry about her.  The thing he needed to be worrying about was whether or not he was going to find a small grey stone in nearly full dark, in the woods, which made it even darker.

He decided to keep going straight forward, because he had no idea how exactly to check a whole area in a uniform manner.  He had an idea that she had not been very far from the edge of the wood when she came through the rainbow, so hopefully that meant his search area was smaller than it could have been.  His feet hurt an immense amount, but he was trying very hard to keep from thinking about them.  Just find it, just find it, he said over and over in his head.  Just find it, and I can sleep.

He kept walking, pushing his way through some underbrush, trying to avoid small branches that threatened to slap him in the face.  These trees seemed smaller than the ones he had been walking through all day, although he barely noticed it in the haze of weariness that was wrapping up his senses.  He quite suddenly exited the wood, and found himself on top of the mountain, standing under a cloudless, star-strewn sky, with the moon a huge and pearlescent white overhead.  The change in surroundings was dizzying, even though he was not near the edge at all where he was standing.  He swayed and nearly fell, but willed himself to remain standing.  If he fell down now he would just go to sleep where he landed.

After looking longingly up at the moon for some time, unsure what he was longing for except maybe sleep, he tore his gaze away and turned back toward the dark wood.  He decided that he would walk around the perimeter of it, looking for some breaking of branches or flattening of grasses.  Maybe he would be able to see where Ava had left the wood, and he could follow her trail back to the grass circle.

He had to squint in the darkness, to make out the differences between branches, tree trunks, and possible trampled grass.  Once, he thought he had spotted it, but it looked more like a gigantic footprint, the more he looked at it.  That made him remember Cernunnos, and the fact that Ava had met him right up here, most likely very close to where he was standing.  He shivered, and was glad that he had already met the Great Dragon - although he had no idea whether or not that gave him some kind of immunity from being eaten or flamed to death.  Spooked, he looked around and checked for large golden eyes, but saw nothing.  Still feeling strangely nervous, he kept on with his perimeter-checking. 

Not five minutes later, he found a spot where the grass was bent down and a few branches appeared to be broken, so he plunged back into the darkness of the trees and attempted to follow the trail he thought he was seeing.  Almost before he realized it, he had stumbled into an opening in the trees.  As he looked around in the gloom, still narrowing his eyes so that he could better make out the shapes he was looking at, he could see that it was, indeed, the circle of grass.  So long as there was not more than one of these circles in this wood, he had found the place he was looking for.

He got down on his hands and knees and looked as closely as he could at the ground.  He knew he should not touch the stone with his bare hands – the instructions Tristan had left him had been very specific about that – but he was worried that he would never find it unless he felt around for it with his hands.  Remembering Tristan's instructions also reminded him of what he was supposed to use to pick up the waystone.  He felt around in the pocket he had found inside his cloak for the one paper that he knew was supposed to make him able to pick up the stone without adverse affects, and pulled it out carefully.  It was barely big enough to wrap around the stone, but it was what he was meant to use; so he used it almost as a glove, to feel in the grass and find the stone.  After doing that for about a minute, it dawned on his sleep-weary brain that if he simply walked through the grass on his knees, he was bound to bump it, and that way he would not accidentally lose the special paper that held those symbols that were intended to protect him.

Soon, he knelt on a hard, round something, and he excitedly used the paper to pick it up, ever so carefully.  He brought it up close to his eyes so that he could see that the shape of it was correct, and the more he looked at it, the easier it was to see it.  In fact, the air seemed to be less dark, which was odd.  He assumed that his tired mind was playing tricks on his eyes, and then he realized that something was happening, something familiar to him, even though it had only happened to him once before.  The light did indeed begin to change the air around him, and it soon was suffused in many colors.  This time, he could almost imagine that he could reach out and physically touch the colors, but instead he stayed on his knees, confused and shocked, and unsure what to do.  Could he leave the circle?  What would happen if he was trapped here with the stone?  Wasn't the magician's spell supposed to keep him from disappearing into the rainbow yet again?

He tried to get up then, tried to leave, because the light was growing brighter and beams were beginning to shine out from between his fingers.  The spell paper was still on the stone, and his hands were not touching the stone except where they were protected by the paper; and yet the light grew brighter and brighter still, and he could not move.  He tried to jump away, and his body would not obey him.  He was stuck, frozen in place. 

Whiteness bathed his body, and took him away.  He fell out of that world and into another, and his conscious thoughts faded away.  The last thing in his mind was a picture of Ava, her face sorrowful, framed in a blood-red sky.