Keys of Awakening
The Underearth Lake

They left the river behind and made directly for the lofty hills that crowded the north. Aside from their greater height, these did not appear too dissimilar to those they had recently traversed. However, Illiom perceived a vastly different quality here, something ineffable but profound. At first, this manifested simply as an eagerness to hurry forward, to reach deeper into this realm of growth and natural abundance; but as the day wore into afternoon, it took on an entirely different quality.

She thought to check in with the others.

“Can you feel that?” she asked Sereth, who happened to be the nearest Chosen at that moment.

He looked at her and then cast a glance around before nodding.

“Yes, I do not know what exactly, but I feel something ...”

“I feel too,” said Undina, a little way behind them. “Heart feel good, mind happy. Land beautiful, full with water.”

Sereth agreed.

“Just look at how green everything is. In Albradan it is only this green in the spring moons.”

“It is more than that,” piped in Scald, his voice musing. “It feels almost like some kind of presence …”

That is it, Illiom thought. A presence ... but of whom or of what?

Without forewarning, Who made his presence known to her.

Can you feel it also? she asked him.

More than that.I can see them.

Them? she asked, surprised.

By way of answer, Who opened her sight.

It was always startling, but never so much as it was now. Even whilst riding, Illiom found herself also flying. The thing about seeing through Who’s eyes was that Illiom had no control: what he looked at, she saw.

At first she saw only the canopy of green with an occasional glimpse of the ground underneath. Then a grey shadow darted from cover to cover, momentarily exposed yet too swift to be identified. This first sighting was soon followed by another, then by a third.

“We are being followed,” she announced, disengaging her connection with Who.

“What? Again?” Malco asked, casting a look in Dreel’s direction.

The dwarf matched the Blade’s look with one of bewildered innocence.

“Can your owl tell who it is?” Argolan asked.

“They are more than one,” Illiom corrected. “And no, he cannot make them out either; they seem adept at staying out of sight. But they are far too quick to be human …”

“I do not feel anything malevolent …” Kassargan countered after a short silence.

“No,” Illiom agreed. “Just furtive … they definitely do not want to be seen …”

They rode on, but after a while the horses began to show signs of disquiet. Black Lightning snorted a few times. Pell’s mount neighed for no apparent reason, his ears pricking up, pivoting this way and that.

The Riders stopped talking and became vigilant. However, nothing happened to explain or justify the animals’ restlessness. They continued on, an uncommon silence descending upon them and covering them like a mantle of snow.

It was a silence like Illiom had not experienced before. It spread like a mist through the hills, hung between the trees and lulled her mind with its silent song, its tune both soothing and alluring. It sung of the ebb and flow of cycles, of the virtue of patience and of the preciousness of all things. It spread all around them, including them within its sweeping embrace.

Illiom breathed it in deeply, closing her eyes for a moment.

When she opened them again she caught a flit of movement amidst the trees to her right. She looked, but saw nothing. She kept right on looking for a time, wanting to see if whatever it had been would show itself again. It did not.

Sometime later, whilst descending a steep slope towards the dark blue waters of a small lake, it happened again: a silvery-grey blur of movement, vanishing before she could turn towards it, screened behind the dense cover offered by the trees.

A little while later, Grifor’s voice spoke into the silence.

“We most definitely have company.”

Her words echoed strangely and hung in the air, disconnected from their meaning, as if the silence refused to be disturbed.

They continued on, aware of, but not unduly alarmed by, the reticent yet unthreatening presence accompanying them.

In this way they came upon a second lake, its waters so calm and still as to appear vitrified. The lake exuded a convincing illusion that its unruffled surface could bear the party’s weight and allow its surface to be crossed.

Without warning, Undina separated herself from the party and rode right up to the lake’s shore. She slid off her horse and approached the water with reverence.

She knelt and laid the palm of her hand upon the water, leaning down and resting against the lake’s surface as though it was a solid thing. She stayed thus for a while, her eyes closed, her face relaxed and free of concern.

When she finally pulled her hand away, her eyes were wet with emotion.

“This lake … so pure and clean …” was all she said.

It was the first time Illiom had seen the Pelonui restrain herself from actually diving in.

Before Undina could climb back into the saddle, however, Argolan called a stop and announced – much to the tribal girl’s delight – that they would camp in this spot for the night.

It was an idyllic location for a rest and everyone’s mood seemed affected by the pristine world around them. After dinner, Sereth brought out his harp and played for their entertainment and pleasure.

He strummed a slow and halting tune, one that stirred old longings in Illiom’s heart.

All of a sudden, new sounds began to dance around the notes of the harp. Pleasantly startled, Illiom looked up and, after a moment, she identified Dreel as the one responsible for them. The dwarf held a long wooden flute in his hands and with it he wove delicate harmonies around the chords of the harp. These did not compete with Sereth’s tune, but subtly complemented the harpist’s art with a sensitive and elegant competence.

The two played as the world darkened and the stars emerged to bathe the mirror of the lake with their soft, silver glow.

Illiom allowed herself to be lulled into a blissful tiredness that sent her to her bedroll long before Sudra arose to watch over them for the remainder of the night.

In the morning they followed the lake’s shoreline westward until they were able to clear it, and then pressed north once more.

Once past the lake, the land rose gradually and steadily. The woods they traversed here were a mixture of pine, beech, and white spruce, and their progress was slowed almost to a halt by the density of growth surrounding them.

Still the land continued to rise.

At long last they broke out of the forest’s shroud and onto a large platform of rock that continued to climb. All they could see was stone and sky. The horses’ hooves rang hollow as they made their way towards the edge, where it seemed as if the land itself had come to an end.

They had reached the edge of a cliff. Below them, open grassland spread from the base of the cliff far into the north, where it met another and even greater woodland than the one they had just traversed.

Raising her eyes, Illiom took in the bank of cloud that sat on the horizon and then gaped, scarcely able to believe what she was seeing. There, higher even than the clouds, barely visible because of the great distance, the jagged outline of a mountain range reached up to pierce the sky.

Awestruck by the majesty of this view, the entire party came to a stop. Her eyes smarting, Illiom turned to look at Tarmel, to share the moment with him.

It was this glance that finally enabled her to see what had been stealing alongside them, invisible until that moment. As silent as stillness, a silver-grey wolf broke out of the tree cover. It was soon joined by others, until a number had emerged. Keeping a respectful distance, the animals joined the party of humans on the great viewing platform.

Whether they sat or merely stood, all the great beasts faced the northern lands, as if they too had been ensnared by the same wonder as the humans.

From that moment on the wolves no longer bothered to conceal their presence but, just like an escort of armed warriors, they accompanied the travellers deeper into the heart of Altra.

The horses, skittish at first, slowly lost some of their wariness, for the great wolves came no closer and offered no threat; they appeared and vanished like grey ghosts. Slowly but surely they steered the company away from the drop and down a gentler slope that led them towards the vast stretch of plains.

Illiom recalled Tarmel’s tale of the Kroeni army’s foiled invasion of Altra. At the time of its telling it had felt like a fable plucked from ancient myth; now she felt that she had stepped into that very myth and it had come to life all around her.

But nothing seemed to meet their expectations in this untamed and beautiful land. When they reached the grasslands these quickly revealed themselves harder to cross than they could have anticipated. Hidden by a screen of shrubbery was a sodden ground, a network of shallow pools separated by tracts of cushion-grass. This gave an illusion of solidity that was dispelled the moment the horses rested their full weight upon the grass; their hooves sunk deep into the wetlands, slowing their progress to a near crawl.

The second obstacle was nothing more than a flaw of perception, for the forest they were making for had appeared much closer than it actually was. The light failed long before they could reach it and they were forced to camp in the open plains of the wetlands, exposed to cold, buffeting wind.

They reached the woods some two hours after setting out the following morning, and the reason for their initial error of judgement became immediately apparent. For this was no ordinary forest, but one made up entirely of Majesty trees, whose gigantic size made the wood seem closer than it actually was. Even so, as they neared the trees and their true size was revealed, Illiom and her companions stared at them in silent awe. There was no comparing this forest to Nostum Wood, for the trees here made their distant kin upon Varadon’s Keep appear nothing more than saplings.

Entering this wood was like entering the great and sacred temple of a living God. A green twilight dominated here. No other variety of tree contested for space and light with the giants that ruled this wood, and the party’s progress soon became as good as if they were riding on firm grassland.

They rode in complete silence, for to break the spell of the forest was unthinkable.

They had no need to choose a direction either, for the wolves guided with admirable efficiency, herding them towards some predetermined destination.

For three whole days they rode through this forest of giants and never once emerged from the trees’ protective cover. Their escort lingered until they settled down each night, with fires lit and bedding laid out. The beasts would slink off into the shadows then, presumably to hunt, eat, and sleep. As the first glimmer of dawn filtered down through the canopy each new day, they re-emerged and patiently waited for the humans to ready themselves and resume the journey.

On two occasions they passed the shores of lakes, the second much larger than the first, but both opulent with the emerald reflections of the great trees. They forded a broad river, one that snaked through the great wood without parting the canopy overhead. They crossed numerous streams and rivulets, the waters tumbling merrily over shallow and rocky beds and over sequences of small, eloquent waterfalls.

Everywhere they saw abundant signs of life.

Stags with huge antlers watched their passage with vigilant disdain, and herds of majestic creatures akin to deer, but with long and slender necks, fled bounding through the woods before them. A troupe of bears with deep tawny coats growled disparaging warnings as the humans passed them by. One huge male stood up on its hind legs, and sniffed and pawed at the air in their direction.

Sereth responded by waving back.

Every dawn and dusk was marked by a chorus of exuberant birdsong. Solitary larks soared, sang, and trilled amongst the great trees, while tiny wrens teemed closer to the ground, flitting around the party of travellers. One night a nightingale kept them enthralled with its lengthy and varied song that persisted long after everything else in the forest had fallen quiet.

On the fifth morning since they entered the lands of Altra, a great storm broke out over the forest. The first warning came when the light faded to a premature twilight; the thunder and lightning that followed lit up the forest with emerald and viridian flashes.

They could hear the downpour and yet they remained completely sheltered and dry under the dense canopy.

“Look!”

Dreel pointed in alarm at the nearest tree.

Illiom saw something strange and dark descending rapidly down the trunk. She laughed with relief upon realising that it was nothing more than rain flowing down.

That night they set their camp well away from the giant pillars.

An abundance of mushrooms grew in this area, so Pell was able to create a meal by making a rich mushroom sauce, into which they could dunk the cornmeal bread he had baked in a Virupa-style oven just two nights earlier.

Illiom was woken sometime during that night by a deafening chorus of frog song. She lay listening to their voices for a time until the sound lulled her back into a sleep that was filled with the drone of their incessant song.

The next morning they rose and briskly set to work. There was an air of anticipation in the way the Riders fell to their tasks. The storm had abated, leaving a deep pool of water around each of the great trees, and the air was cold enough to warrant the lighting of a morning fire.

It was, according to Malco, the twenty-fifth day of Firstrain, the ninth moon of the year. The Blade had been studiously notching the passage of days on his ‘calendar’, a short length of birch that he had picked up somewhere back in the Sevrock mountains.

They ate hurriedly and then broke camp to set out on another day’s ride.

Within the first hour, the anticipation they had all felt was at last justified. They came upon an embankment of stone that raised the forest floor by as much as five spans. The wolves led them to an earthen ramp that allowed access up and onto the rise.

Soon they came up against a second embankment, almost double the height of the first, and then, beyond that, a third. And each time, the wolves led them to ramps that enabled access.

“I do not understand,” Zoran said. “If these are defences then the ramps render them useless …”

Beside him, Pell shook his head slowly.

“I do not like mysteries.”

Sereth looked at his giant Rider with a fond smile, but refrained from commenting.

Illiom barely heard these comments.

Up ahead, something was strange about the shape of the trees. Instead of growing straight, they arched and curved in a peculiar fashion.

They rode towards this phenomenon in silence, until Pell spoke.

“By Iod’s sacred grace!”

They were entering an open space that might have accommodated the whole of Coronation Square and a good part of old Kuon as well. All the trees around the fringe of this great clearing arched gently inwards to shape a perfect and entirely natural dome.

Overhead, for the first time since they had set foot in this wood, a perfectly circular opening in the forest’s canopy allowed the light of day to cascade upon the ground in dazzling brilliance.

“This is Nostum,” Kassargan announced from the rear of the party.

She had been riding between Keilon Var and the dwarf, and the three rode up together now. Despite the animosity that seemed to linger between Kassargan and Dreel, the three Iolans often rode together for, despite any differences, they were still all Iolans and were clearly drawn to each other’s company.

As they rode up now, the descrier’s face was raised towards the daylight as if she could see the opening above them.

“This is often spoken of as the capital of Altra,” Kassargan continued in a quiet voice. “This is the place that the few traders who have ventured thus far speak of in their drunken tales. This is where the Altrans meet with outsiders. It is here that fables are born and it is from here that they take wing and spread.”

Illiom was mesmerised; she could not tear her gaze away from the vision before them.

“Provan has oft times told me that here is where the wisest of all of Theregon can be found and that, of the five realms, Altra is closest to the true way …”

Kassargan’s words were followed by a silence which Grifor broke with a quiet announcement.

“There are people over there,” she said, pointing towards the centre of this woodland temple.

Indeed, their escort of wolves was now racing ahead, towards where a group of people stood, facing them. Their white robes made them look like apparitions, and even the direct daylight around them seemed preternatural and otherworldly.

The Chosen and their Riders shook themselves free of the spell of wonder that had claimed them, and nudged their mounts forward. Illiom looked up, her gaze following the lines of the bent tree trunks that shaped the roof of intertwined branches and foliage around the circular opening. Surely that opening was as high as the sky itself. This surpassed any human-made structure that Illiom had ever seen, and was far more resplendent than any hall, no matter how grand, for this was a living and breathing thing and it stretched above them on a dizzying scale.

As they came closer to the centre, the gathered people became more clearly defined. Their number was not in the dozens, but in the hundreds, and all were facing the approaching party as if they had been awaiting and anticipating their arrival.

One, a woman, stood out from the rest, not as a result of any noticeable distinction in either position or attire, but rather by the deference that those around her exuded. Even before she could make out the woman’s features, Illiom knew who she must be.

Draca Abdora stood unmoving as they dismounted and walked their horses towards her. The last time Illiom had seen her was on their last night in Iol. She had seemed radiant even then, but now she was nothing less than numinous. Her long silver hair cascaded to her shoulders; her chin was raised high as if she too was basking in the light of day. And her eyes … oh, her eyes …

If wisdom and beauty were to wed and yield an offspring, that child would have Abdora’s eyes.

Welcome to Nostum, Chosen.

Illiom looked sharply into those eyes.

Abdora’s voice, mellow and intimate, had been no voice at all. The Draca’s lips had not moved; her words alighted on Illiom’s awareness as silently and gracefully as Who’s.

I am grateful that you have heeded my counsel and have chosen to come to Altra, the Draca continued, despite the pressing urgency of your quest, despite your desire to be swiftly on your way to fulfil the destiny that awaits you in the western lands.

Illiom glanced at Tarmel as the Rider stepped up to stand beside her. The way he was looking at Abdora told Illiom that he too heard the Draca’s words.

View this, then, as your final port of call before the open sea and the dangers of the unknown. When you leave here, you will step outside of all reach and you will be beyond all aid, for where you must go, no one can follow. The storms that you will brave there, you will have to meet on your own; the resources that you will use will be your own and no one else’s.

Illiom felt her heart sink. The picture that Abdora was painting, of what awaited them, was a fearful one: how could they possibly succeed when, even with the Draca’s aid, failure had already brushed so close to them so many times?

My desire for you to visit Altra has always been twofold, Abdora continued. Firstly, I wanted you to behold yet another realm that you may save if you succeed in the task that awaits you. In truth – as you may have already perceived – Altra is a realm in name alone, for no sovereign presides over its fate or over the fate of its people. Not many from your lands wander here, for most of your kin replace both the land and its inhabitants far too strange and challenging for their liking.

She paused, a long quiet moment, before continuing.

But there is another reason as well, and this is the truly important one. Above all else, I have asked you here for your own benefit. I shall not attempt to speak of it now, nor try to describe what cannot be described. What awaits you is beyond the scope of words. It is a thing that must be felt and experienced directly.

Again Abdora paused.

But time enough for this later. For now you must pause and rest and make ready for a different kind of journey that awaits you with dawn’s arrival. Come with me.

With this the Draca turned and moved through the people gathered behind her. The crowd parted and made room for their passing, and Illiom saw, mirrored in all the Altrans’ eyes, the same awe that she herself felt.

Beyond the gathered folk, Illiom could see something that had not been visible until that very moment. A deep hollow marked the very centre of this clearing. At the bottom of this, a flat and round slab of stone, some twenty or so spans in breadth, was held aloft by a number of boulders. There was ample space between the boulders to allow access to whatever lay beneath the slab.

Abdora stepped into this darkness and vanished. They followed her.

After a moment of disorientation while their eyes adjusted to the sudden diminished light, Illiom and her companions followed the Draca down a passage into the earth itself. No torches burned here, no pungent smoke stung the eyes, and yet their descent was illumined by a glow whose source Illiom could not identify.

The tunnel delivered them into a broad, circular room, completely aglow with the same light. Illiom knew that she was underground, and yet, try as she may, she could not think of this as a cavern. Even though the walls and ceiling were of earth and rock, they were smooth, and had obviously been worked into their current state.

The dark mouths of many openings showed that this was just one in a network of many other, perhaps similar, spaces. Was this the real Nostum, one that no outsider had previously seen?

They all surrendered their horses to a host of men and women who welcomed them with big, open smiles, while others approached and led them by the hand towards an area where the floor had been covered with rugs, and rolls of padded cushions. Deep clay bowls, set on squat tables, held an assortment of forest foods. Abdora stood in the midst of all this like a Goddess of abundance.

Here you may eat and rest. I shall return at dawn and take you to a place where your eyes shall be opened.

With that mysterious statement, Abdora turned about and walked back the way they had come.

Scald stood, watching her receding form and then shrugged, set himself down upon a rug, and began to eat.

A few moments later the rest of them joined him.

It was odd. The youths who attended them did not answer any of their questions but merely smiled when spoken to, and Illiom wondered whether they were mute, or were merely acting upon instructions.

Receiving no response, the party soon desisted in their attempts at communication and focused on the food. The fare, delicious and varied, for the most part consisted of unfamiliar food: strange fruit with a sweet, white pulp of delicate taste, and yellow-fleshed tubers with seeds that, when chewed, released a pungent and spicy eruption of flavour.

“Have you no meat?” Scald asked a passing lad. But his enquiry received only the predictable smile.

“Apparently not,” he answered himself, and shrugged indifferently.

Illiom, too, had noticed the absence of meat, but the flavour and texture of the food was such that she could replace no complaint. Still she would have asked about it, had their hosts’ persistent silence not made it a pointless exercise.

When they were sated, and with nothing better to do than wait, they heeded Abdora’s advice and simply lay down to rest and sleep, cocooned in the silence and warmth of the earthen hall.

Illiom awoke once during the night and made her way outside. The Altran sky had cleared and the stars shone with such cold brilliance across the heavens that she lingered there for a time to watch.

I am in Altra … the realization came again, sinking deeper into her awareness.

As am I, came Who’s unsolicited response.

Illiom smiled into the night.

Do you like it here?

His answer was immediate.

It is far better than anywhere else we have been.

Illiom pondered his reply.

I could live here, she admitted. Could you?

But only silence followed her last sending and Illiom felt the owl shut his mind to her. Nothing more came from Who that night.

When she made her way back down she stepped past the bodies of her sleeping companions. She saw Elan and Mist nestled closely to one another, their limbs as entwined as their souls, and went to lay herself down near Tarmel.

She did not touch him but just gazed at his form and felt his proximity.

I love you.

Her lips shaped the words without making the slightest sound.

By the time Abdora came for them the following morning, they were all restless to get moving and curious about what awaited them.

The Draca addressed them as they gathered around the edge of the hollow.

There is a deed that you must perform. Only the seven of you who are Chosen will travel with me today, the rest of you must stay behind and await our return.

Abdora’s parting words the night before came back to Illiom in that moment, that they were to travel ’to a place where your eyes shall be opened’ and she wondered where the Draca meant to take them, what was in store for them next.

At a nod from Abdora, a man in her party brought a golden conch-shell to his lips and, after taking a deep breath, he blew into it.

The sound of the instrument reverberated, swelled, and rippled off into the distance, and a dozen echoes washed back and forth in complex nuances of harmony. Four times the man blew into his conch-shell and, when the final blast had faded, Abdora’s voice lapped at the fringes of Illiom’s awareness once more.

Behold! Your mounts are arrived.

Illiom looked up ... and froze.

An enormous feline, certainly the largest that she had ever seen, was bounding towards them. For just a moment, a cry of alarm rose in her throat, but Abdora raised a hand as if to forestall her.

Do not fear! The snow-lions are gifts of the land, they will not harm you.

The great cat checked its speed as it neared Abdora and then sauntered the last few paces before reaching her. It lifted its head and glanced into the Draca’s eyes. Only then did it survey the rest of the party, nostrils flaring as it sniffed the strangers’ scent.

Abdora’s hand vanished into the thick white fur at the creature’s neck. She stroked its head tenderly and rubbed its ears. Though Illiom could hear the sounds of pleasure coming from the beast, she shuddered nevertheless. With every fibre of her being she wished that these were not the mounts that Abdora intended for them to ride. Yet even as that thought was born, a peripheral movement caught her eye and, turning, Illiom saw the very thing that she had been dreading.

Six more cats were approaching. Like the first, their coats were as white as Abdora’s hair, and in their eyes burned a golden fire, shimmering with passions that no human could begin to fathom.

Illiom turned towards Abdora and saw the Draca lowering her head to connect, forehead to forehead, with the snow-lion. When she pulled away, the creature growled once and then moved towards Azulya. Illiom’s head jerked back to the new arrivals and saw that, sure enough, one was coming purposefully towards her.

The enormous beast looked at Illiom with cold appraisal and she forced herself to look back. It was like contemplating a potential for quick dismemberment. Illiom trusted Abdora implicitly, yet all her instincts were now screaming at her to run.

A close encounter with a mountain lion back in the Sevrocks had birthed her a healthy respect for cats of prey. That time her life had been spared, but she had paid for it by sacrificing one of her goats. This time nothing stood between her and the monster except Abdora’s unspoken promise.

With a cavernous rumble in its throat, the enormous cat brushed its flank right up against Illiom’s leg, forcing the Chosen to sidestep out of its way. The snow-lion’s back was as high as Illiom’s waist; its head as broad as her hips.

A few paces past her now, the cat lowered itself to the ground, facing away from Illiom as if it was not even remotely interested in her. With a deep sigh that heaved through its great ribcage and muscular chest, the feline began to groom itself, licking the side of a paw with consummate attention before rubbing the wet paw over its face and head.

Illiom locked eyes with Tarmel then, and saw that he was filled with the same awe that she felt - one that bordered on terror.

These are the Ealea, the snow-lions of the northern reaches. These are female, on account of their gentler disposition and more approachable temperament. You will have noticed that one in particular has singled you out. Go to that one, now, and to no other. Do not hesitate, and climb directly onto your lion’s back.

She must have marked the degree of hesitation that followed her instructions, for the Draca felt the need to repeat herself.

Do not fear them, the Ealea serve Altra and are of the land. They will not harm you.

Illiom looked at her companions. A few were already approaching their cats. With an uncertain glance towards Tarmel, Illiom braced herself to do the same. She did not like being separated from her Rider, but the task before her demanded her complete attention and so Illiom set her feelings aside. When she took hold of a handful of fur, her Ealea growled as though offended by her audacity. But the growl died in the great beast’s throat and she turned her head to one side and yawned in a dismaying display of fangs.

As soon as Illiom climbed onto the cat’s back, it rose fluidly to a standing position and stretched. Illiom felt the cat’s muscles ripple like cords of iron beneath her.

Wrap your arms around your lion’s neck and clasp handfuls of fur.

Abdora’s voice was like a whisper in her mind.

Have no fear of falling, for the snow-lions move in ways that make it almost impossible to fall. A child could ride one.

At these instructions Illiom glanced towards the Draca, but Abdora was gone. Instead, a single riderless snow-lion looked back at her from where the Draca had been moments earlier and then, with a shake of her mane, the beast moved forward, leading the way for the rest to follow.

They quickly gathered speed and within moments they were leaving Nostum, bounding into the lands beyond. Trees, hills, boulders, and streams flashed past in a dizzying blur, and so began a most astonishing journey. Transported by her powerful mount, Illiom clung to the snow-lion’s pelt and rode, as if mounted upon the wind itself, right through the Majesty Wood.

Gradually her terror of speed and the prospect of falling gave way to a breathless exhilaration. Wide-eyed, unable to close her eyes even though at times she really wanted to, Illiom drank in the beauty of the land that flashed past her. Mad laughter was conceived in her belly then, and a moment later it erupted from her mouth.

She heard the shouts and whoops of joy and delight as her companions, too, gave voice to emotions impossible to articulate in words. She tore her eyes away from the direction of travel for just one moment and in that heartbeat locked glances with Azulya. The Kroeni’s eyes mirrored her own: they were open and wild; drunk with the experience they were sharing. Her mouth was ripe with uncontrollable laughter.

“Illiom!” she shouted, for no apparent reason.

Illiom grinned back and would have called her name also, but at that moment her cat bounded over a giant fallen tree and landed heavily, winding her. Azulya laughed even more and turned her attention back to her own ride.

After a time they emerged from the Majesty Wood and the Ealea slowed down as they bore their riders up the steep slope of a hill covered in long grass, purple-green shrubs, and stunted, twisted little trees with spiky leaves.

Beyond the hill, Illiom gazed upon the broad, stone flanks of a mountain. She stole a glance behind and saw the green ocean of the Majesty Wood stretch away to the south. From this vantage it seemed endless, as though it had drowned the entire world, and in that moment Illiom found herself wishing that it had.

The Ealea picked their way with great care, adjusting their pace to the exigencies of the terrain. The exhilaration she felt earlier had ebbed, and her mind was calm as the great cats led them deep into the mountains.

‘We are still some way from our destination,’ the Draca’s sending informed her. ‘So before we reach it I would speak to you a little of what lies ahead.’

Abdora’s timing was impeccable. Had she attempted to talk to them earlier, Illiom knew that she would have been unable to listen to a single word. Now her sending landed upon a mind filled only with wonder and curiosity, and avid for answers.

‘Altra developed in isolation from Elendalid and it was more than simply stories that served to protect her, for even back then she had a reputation for power and mystery. For this reason, Altra remained largely uninhabited prior to the Great Devastation.’

While Abdora’s voice was speaking to her mind, Illiom’s senses perceived an Altra that probably no one else outside of that land had seen before. The Ealea moved fluidly across the jagged land, leaping with graceful agility from rock to boulder, flowing with the ever changing obstacles that presented; never made breathless by the enormity of their exertion. They flew across the Altran landscape like waifs from an Otherworld.

And all the while Abdora’s voice came in soft and measured words, until what the Draca was saying became intimately interwoven with the landscape, and the two became inseparable and forevermore connected in Illiom’s heart.

‘Others, besides the Council of Wisdom, had received forewarning of the devastation that was to befall Elendalid. These were ascetics and mystics, seekers of truth who had already distanced themselves from the hubs of commerce and power. It was they who retreated into the Altran mountains to await the passing of the cataclysm.’

Abdora spaced her words with prolonged periods of silence, knowing when they would benefit from communing with the land around them and when the story needed to be told. For Illiom, the Draca’s tale became as equally enthralling as her experience of Altra.

’After the Devastation and some time had passed, and the chaos was deemed to have subsided, those who attempted to return found that nothing recognisable remained of the former Elendalid. That land was no more and its great cities were reduced to fused rubble. Furthermore, the land that had once flourished under the rule of the Council of Wisdom was now plagued by a ruthless and pervasive lawlessness. Warlords, their minds, hearts and souls poisoned by the same ill power that the Bloodrobes had unleashed upon Elendalid, had arisen to ravage the land and its survivors. So the ascetics turned back, preferring the isolation of their mountains to the madness of the aftermath of the Devastation.

At first, the people who had retreated into Altra retained a system of governance of sorts, for this was still perceived as indispensable to survival, even though the intention of doing away with the old ways remained at the forefront of their awareness.

So they formed new communities that shared a common basis, centred on a vow to be rid of those things that had made them vulnerable to the Devastation: they shunned weapons and all military pursuits, and focused instead upon living simple lives in small bands that moved across the land in response to the seasons and the availability of food. They built no cities, but chose to live in close connection to the spirit of the land and the abundance to be found in that connection.’

The Ealea had entered a deep valley through which a restless river snaked. The waters, fed by the recent rains, foamed and leapt in their quest for release into the repose of some still distant but tranquil sea.

The giant cats bounded for a time along the riverbank but eventually moved away when the mountains closed in to trap the waters in a narrow defile. They climbed increasingly rocky ground, manoeuvring around cliffs and clefts, persistent in their quest to seek higher ground. The air grew colder and its bite sharper the further they went.

Abdora picked up her tale once more.

‘The turning point came when a seeker by the name of Charn discovered a secret place deep within the mountain-caves of Altra. There, in a great cavern, Charn came across a lake of shimmering silver. Legend has it that Charn drank of the waters and was so taken by the beauty he had discovered within the earth that he could not leave. It is said that he lived there, sustained by water alone, for a span of nine years.’

Illiom felt the Draca’s words sink deep within her. Up here, on the back of the powerful Ealea, climbing deeper and higher into the majestic Altran Mountains, she had no trouble believing Abdora’s tale. She had no questions and no doubts.

‘That the water sustained him was miraculous in itself; but even more importantly, the water nourished far more than just his flesh: it sustained his spirit to a degree that no illness remained within him. The waters of the underground lake finally also dissolved his fears, and with them, all the human traits that are the cause of misery: greed, hate, envy and rage. In short, all the dark pathways that lead to what we call evil, and to its demented offspring - war. All of these were dissolved and gone from him.’

The vision that Abdora had opened up in Illiom’s heart consumed her so completely that everything else seemed of no import.

Lulled by the warmth of the lion beneath her and by Abdora’s soothing mind-voice, Illiom found herself slipping easily into a state of half-wakefulness. Time seemed to glide away as swiftly as the landscape. She was barely aware that the Draca’s voice had drifted into an extended silence, when there was a sudden and complete cessation of movement.

As she regained some control of her senses, Illiom looked around.

A thick throng of mountains surrounded them on all sides and she wondered how long the journey had actually taken, and how far they had travelled. Slowly, reluctantly, she slid from her snow-lion’s back.

This valley was so deep that the unsullied sky was hemmed in on all sides by the crowding peaks. Just beyond her companions, towards one end of the meadow where they now stood, the treeless land sloped downwards into a depression.

The snow-lion who had led them sat down at the edge of the meadow and, in a fluid transition that left Illiom gasping, transformed into Abdora.

The Draca did not turn to look at them, but her sending resumed.

’Charn returned to the world of humans with a clear mission. His first deed was to invite the king, Crimsen the Last, to visit the astonishing discovery he had made. The young king was so taken with the sage’s presence that he agreed, and so it was that the ruler of Altra and his entire entourage of ministers visited the Great Hall of Underearth, and drank of the lake’s pure waters in a grand ritual of cleansing. Afterwards, renewed, their eyes open for the first time, they pledged to share this gift until the whole of Altra benefited from the miraculous alchemy of the Underearth waters.’

The Draca began to walk forward and they did likewise.

She followed a well-worn path that descended into the depression. The incline around them steepened until they were plunged into a lush tangle of ferns where moist earth squelched underfoot.

‘The change that swept through the people of Altra was so rapid that, within a single generation, there was not one who had not sipped from the sacred waters. And with matching alacrity the Altrans began to shed their beliefs. They changed their ways, and soon found themselves imbued with gifts that had not been available to them at all before that time. The Altrans have since developed a profound sense of unity, a oneness of spirit that permits them, among many other boons, to communicate as I am doing with you now, without the need for spoken words.’

The slope pressed in on them as they continued to descend. The light faded as they suddenly found themselves on the very edge of a black pit, the entrance to a cave.

The opening, low and wide, had not been discernible beyond the virulent tangle of vegetation until they were almost upon it. Here, where daylight faded towards night, the vegetation stopped and the grass yielded to soft sand at first and, a few steps in, to bare stone. Abdora stepped into the shadows and it seemed as if the darkness had swallowed her whole. Illiom and her companions followed the Draca’s lead.

Illiom was blinded at first, but this blindness did not last and her eyes gradually adjusted. She made out the outline of a dozen steps, descending further. The ceiling lowered itself down upon them, as though intent on pressing them further into the earth.

Beyond, the dark was almost impenetrable, but not quite, for a silver-blue glow was discernible up ahead.

Under this feeble glow, Illiom could see that the steps led to a path whose gradient soon rose steeply. The source of the light had to be there, just beyond that ridge.

They crested it and sure enough, there it was: a lake as broad as a sea. And the lake itself was the source of the light.

The water’s glow soothed Illiom’s darkness-enhanced sight like a balm. It radiated light but did not illumine very far, the cavern that housed it remained unrevealed, inscrutable in its proportions.

Illiom was so filled with wonder at the lake’s mystical beauty that her capacity to express her experience in any way was stillborn. Silence was the only option, so she stood there, speechless, on the shore of the Underearth Lake.

Abdora walked up to the water’s edge, to where a stone altar rose.

“This is Altra’s gift,” she said in words that, for the first time, were spoken out loud. “And this is the purpose for which I have brought you here; that you too may drink of these sacred waters and receive the magnificent gifts of this land.”

The Draca reached for the altar. From it she took a pitcher and, kneeling at the edge of the lake, filled it. Returning to the altar, she carefully transferred the contents into a crystal chalice. She then held the glowing vessel aloft.

“May the Waters of Underearth sustain you on your journey. May your true purpose be revealed. May you spread the earth-light wherever you go and may it, in turn, inform all of your deeds, until you reach the final shore and the completion of your endeavours.”

With these words, Abdora brought the goblet to her lips and drank. Illiom saw the Draca’s throat glow as the water passed into her being.

One by one, Abdora called them to her, and for each she filled the chalice anew.

When Undina was called, the girl walked right past the Draca. Abdora turned to watch as the young tribal stepped into the glowing lake and lowered herself beneath the surface without a ripple. They watched Undina’s trail as it glowed bright in her wake.

Then it was Illiom’s turn. She took the chalice from the Draca’s hand and brought it to her lips. The water slid easily down her throat and she felt its coolness pool and sit peacefully within her. She waited to see what might happen and for a few moments felt nothing more than the tension of anticipation.

Then, with a rush, a warm glow expanded in her belly, moving right through her, filling her chest and spreading into her limbs and her head.

As every cell in her body was touched by the glow, a vibrant awareness took a hold of her. Every organ within her became suddenly and intimately known to Illiom. Every nuance of her body’s structure, its flows and rhythms, became crystal clear.

It was an understanding that, while exhilarating at first, very quickly began to defy all reason, for the sensation spread and reached down through her feet into the stone beneath her, and through her hands out into the very air around her.

She chanced to open her eyes and look around. What she saw was a radiant display of swirling and dancing light around each of those who had sipped the lake’s water. It was a vision to behold, and yet the inward pull was so overwhelming that she was soon forced to close her eyes once more.

It was as though she had suddenly been made aware of a new sense that had lain dormant, waiting silently within her all her life.

Illiom pursued this nascent perception out in all directions, through stone and earth, through air and water. For a time she became completely lost and entangled with the power and vitality of the mountains that rose above and around them, and then she became entranced with the essence of the Majesty trees that grew in the woods nestled within the valleys between those mountains. She experienced the movement of the beings and the creatures that walked the earth and that flew the skies and swam in the deep lakes of Altra.

She reached downwards as well: beneath the deep stillness of the mountains, and through their roots, plunging until she fell into the deep chasms of endless fire that broiled and spewed with liquid stone, bright as the glow of the midday God.

Simultaneously she travelled upwards, above the mountains, into the ethereal realm of sky, into the lightness and ease of clouds forming and flowing there, towards the very rim of the world.

Illiom perceived it all, not as something external to her being, but as an intrinsic part of herself. It was as though she had become a giantess, whose body stretched and grew and expanded until there was nothing that was outside of her at all.

Until there was nothing that was not Illiom.

This left her breathless and dizzy, awed and stunned.

And still there was more.

Even as she became aware of all these energies and drank deeply from her communion with them, she also saw and felt the taint spreading far away in the east, like the spill from a poisoned chalice.

She felt the wrongness and the darkness that stirred and broiled within an abyss of malevolence and illness.

And as she felt it, something else arose in her awareness. The glyph she had seen upon the chest containing the Prophecy - the very same glyph that had disturbed her dreams - appeared now before her inner eye.

Only this time the glyph was etched in fire and with it came a sound. A single word. A name that slithered and hissed in Illiom’s mind.

It grew louder and louder until it was like a scream of insanity within a sea of serenity, a red stain of death upon a bed of pristine snow.

Igollianath