Ilma, the Lone Mountain

"Pray this platform works, Ormoc. I will not be gored again," snarled Liassus, a tall and fiery-haired woman. She was draped in crackling, leathery hide and carried a long, fat pack. Her heavy steps were made worse by the nonsense she refused to part with: shattered flasks, bronze pots, rusted swords, broken belts, faded linen, chipped baubles, and patchworked masks, all hung on bandoliers of bent, clanging sigils and knotted hemp ropes tucked into loosening lamellar.

And unfortunately, with her compatriot, she was climbing a mountain.

"Does it not tickle your leech's mind to be gored, a privilege only the dead may bear?" Ormoc smiled, though, behind the fogging goggles and messy beard, Liassus would not have noticed.

Though Ormoc was leading her, she was faster, and thus the skin-wrapped pommel of her putrid sword would prick his back. He'd jolt and skip a few steps. “Are you sure this is the right way?” She spoke with a trill, like a songbird. Yet even a songbird would find it difficult to sing here: every sound carried an ominous rumble, a beaten reverb where words carried a heft. "I'm not entertaining being lost again."

“Many maps and many horns, but we've flayed enough to be sure - this is the way, General.” Ormoc dangled a chain of beaten gold through his fingers. At its end, swinging heavier than the winds was a compass glowing with brilliant blue light. “This place is still teeming with old, beautiful magic.”

“Old and beautiful, yet buried in such poor and pallid places," Liassus murmured. "But this boon, how sure are you that we can subdue them? I could use slave magic, but is that enough?”

“It's people. It must be. From the other side, yes, but it must be." He stopped to smile at her. "Why are you asking again? Nervous?”

She jammed her handle into his pack and bade him continue. “Of course I am. This is a complete unknown, and I can’t entertain any mistakes. I am tired of failure from both of us.”

He shook his head. “You’ve come this far; what’s one more gamble?” The fingers of her misshapen gauntlets wrapped around the grip of her sheath. “It’s not a problem! Have I ever let you down?”

"Curious you are this confident and still call it a gamble. What is it really, Ormoc?"

"I'm no Elder and no Elder priest." In that fox's grey eyes was a twinkle; he couldn't wait for what was to come. All those years of research and months of finding! A real Elder platform, a wish-making contraption of a bygone era! "But none will have a better guess than I."

Though the sun could scarcely penetrate the fog, modest sunbeams still cast dim shimmers over a tiny, blood-red ruby on the back of his neck. Liassus nodded at her handiwork. The two of them continued the trek, supplies ringing, metal clanging, clumps of old earth crunching beneath their pauper's boots.

Ilma wasn’t a high place, nor was it a particularly holy place. It was, in fact, more of a haunted place, a black mass hidden by long threads of ghastly silver. The rocks were sharp as blades, the ground wet and filthy, a mountain that seemed to melt into a network of swamp-like features the higher they went. Though thatch-roofed hamlets dotted the base, few tread to the tops of Ilma; it was a spot of spectral wrack, where ruins flowed in and out of the grim and everlasting fog. Rumours said that if one went up into the highest peaks of Ilma, they'd never come out, that wraiths would pick you up by your feet and drag them across the sky so quickly that they'd burn them off. And then, only then, the screams would echo. Some of the more intrepid - and younger - farmers had adventured through its cavernous trails, but the howl of air whistling through its granite halls would send them back.

It was at Ilma that Liassus and Ormoc, two blood mages of a somewhat desperate sort, found themselves.

Before long, they reached a cave near the top of the mountain. Lighting their way was a trail of fluorescent fungi, torches of little bog-boys bowing at their presence. Soon they reached the cave's heart, a sky chamber that was now a small, grassy compound. In the center was something wholly unnatural, a triangular artifact of queer, crystalline geometry.

They entered.

Tar-black buttresses crisscrossed above a roofless hallway. Tiles had been ransacked and pilfered long ago, but what little remained carried striking, ornate images of old wars and strange, multi-headed birds. There was no gold, silver, or any finery of the sort, and what had not been stolen by looters was reclaimed by nature.

But for Liassus and Ormoc, one treasure remained, hidden from millennia of miscreants. In the centre was a labyrinthine diagram of circular rings etched so deep into the ground that a single slip would have broken their feet.

She ran her fingers on the pommel of her sword. It sang a mournful tune, an animal cooing at a scratch. “Leave it to the Elders to give up their own glory.”

Here, at this moment, in this chamber, all sounds around the mountain seemed to disappear. The singing of sorcerous winds, the clicking of birds, the howling of wolves, the rustling of needled leaves and even the clang of their own supplies: all of it, gone.

Though he still eyed the compass, Ormoc stopped and turned to her. “You have the gifts?”

"Of course. I am finally grateful to be rid of this malodorous thing." Liassus put down her pack, opened it up, and placed the head of a great horned beast on the ground. Its noseless face bore more resemblance to a skeleton with two grand, chipped horns on either side. Scribbled on its forehead was white, chalky warpaint in an alien, serpentine language. Its eyes and mouth were closed, sealed shut with cheap twine and wrapped with mouldy linen. Though decapitated, the base of the neck seemed like it was torn asunder, as if the jaws of some great beast ripped it off.

“You don’t need to treat it so kindly. Put it into the chamber.” He pointed at an open recess. “And then, you pay the price.”

“Give me an orb.” Liassus outstretched her hand without looking at him. Ormoc dropped another orb into her palm. It carried a pull to it, heavier than it seemed, depressing deep into her skin as if it was going to bruise her. Her hand fell and rose, feeling its weight. "I can't risk them running when it happens. Is it primed?"

“It's primed.”

She unsheathed a splinter's worth of her sword. What peeked through wasn’t metal but some fleshy mass, a regal, tumorous, rancid blade of gnashing teeth and swirling eyes. Each mouth warbled a deep, baritone coo. The mouths hungrily clicked their teeth together, like chicks of a nest waiting for food.

Ormoc plugged his nose to block the smell.

One mouth spat out a small barbed tendril, slicing her thumb with surgical precision. Here, through the tiniest of cuts - almost imperceptible - droplets of blood ran down the surface of the orb. Then, through some ill magic, it slipped through the smooth glass surface and melted into its translucent core.

Liassus steadied closer to the recess. It turned out to be a balcony. From the outside, the building didn't seem large enough to entertain the hardy, wild growth of the balcony's clearing. Perhaps the long-beaten bones of this Elder machine carried enough magic still to enslave, warp, and bend space. She smiled, as pleasant and beautiful as a wolf baring its fangs.

She whipped her head around. “What do I say?” She yelled back at Ormoc.

He had kept a reasonable distance from the platform. “Drop it on the platform, and repeat after me!” He pulled out a cracked and tied mess of paling vellum. “I have brought you an enemy, a noble sacrifice for your cause, and in return, I ask for your kindness - ”

She raised her hand. "Slow down, Ormoc! How strict is this chant?"

"Say the words and pay the price for the gate!" Ormoc yelled back. "Trust me!"

She relented and repeated his chant. "...no matter how much it may ask." She finished.

“And now, you make your wish.”

“Is this part of the ritual?”

“No, General, you make the wish now!”

“Equal to the offer, yes?”

“Yes!”

A faint, regal glow surrounded her. “I want a soldier. Someone strong, indestructible. An existence that can shake the mountains. Give me something immutable, of force, and unassailable!”

At first, nothing.

How does someone know when a ritual is done? That it succeeded? Ormoc didn't know what made Elder magic particularly clear or striking, and Liassus just followed his recommendations.

Yet even as they wondered, something was happening. The air turned hot, the fog began to clear, and the sky soon darkened. A mess of clouds parted to reveal the brilliant stars above as if Heaven itself peered down to survey their servants.

Then, silence, followed by the ring of crickets and cicadas returning to the world.

There was no tingling of alien magic and no sight of alien bodies. Nothing was happening. Liassus shot a dirty glare at Ormoc.

“It takes time.” He yelled back.

Her hand drifted off the pommel.

Eli and Pat

“So do we, what, throw it in?” A woman peered over the motorboat at the water, the silt sloshing around from the disturbances of the cascading ripples. At moments, her hair was long enough to kiss the surface of the water, and she'd pluck it back up. “Eli, can you help?”

“Of course.” Eli's big hands fastened a bun from her hair. Fingers quick and clean, he knotted it into something prim and neat.

“Thanks.” The woman never took her eyes off the river. “It seems so dirty. Is this the right idea? This is what he wanted, right?” Her hands stayed firm on a small black urn, unlatched, concaved, and half-empty.

“I think it just looks like this.” Eli splashed his fingers in the cold river, and while it was maroon as far as the horizon, clear water clung to his fingers.

“Where do you want to do it?”

“I dunno, Pat. Wherever is fine with me.” He sighed, adjusting his sunglasses. The sun was already at high noon, and the area was getting hotter. He couldn’t believe how damn hot it was getting.

“Hey, c'mon. You gotta have some plan, right? Is this all Arthur told you?” She finally looked at him and cast a bright, white smile. “’Son, dump me in the river’? Instructions over?”

“Yeah, ‘son, dump me in the river.’ I can’t carry his body, so….let’s dump the ashes in the river?” Eli smiled back at her. She relented, opened the urn, and with an inaudible whisper, she emptied the contents into the river. For a moment, the ash fell behind them, growing thinner as it sunk into the water. And then, with as much gentleness as she could spare, she submerged the urn.

“Feel better?” She asked.

Eli shook his head. “I dunno, I don’t think so.” She gave a half-hearted smile and patted him on the back.

***

They parked in the long driveway of the rental, a small brick house with floors of interlocking porcelain tiles, metal window frames, and a rack of power outlets from five different countries. Isolated and far from the nearest village, it oversaw a bending portion of the Mekong, their sight cut off from the tall hills that flanked both sides.

Long lost trails lay in the massive backyard behind them, but neither Eli nor Pat felt in the hiking mood. The wild overgrowth didn’t help either; tall grass had already reclaimed many of the dirt roads. Bats made a home in a small winding cave at the base of the hill, protected by a phalanx of trees and bush. Mosquitoes and spiders were more at home than they were.

The two loved to sit on the porch and drink cheap beer, and tonight was no different; they’d be there for only two more days of their week-long stay, and then they’d move south towards the coast. Eli looked at the clouds during twilight; the sun had already peeked behind the hills, and all he could see was a swirl of pink and purple sailing like cotton candy.

Something cold pecked his back, sending him jumping. “Ah, Jesus!” Pat was holding two beers.

She cracked hers open. “I know the whole boat was…quiet. But without the, what do you say, helmsman?” She laughed, scratched her head, and smiled, “Helmsman. Without the helmsman here, let’s talk. How do you feel?”

“I didn’t even know he wanted to be sent away here,” Eli's fingers drew small lines in the dew forming on the beer can. “But this is a beautiful place. Maybe I oughta retire here.”

She laughed. "But you're avoiding the question. How do you feel? Did you feel like you did the right thing?"

“Kinda,” He laughed back, “my dad did so much, and his last wishes were to come back here, this place I’ve never been to. I don’t know. I don’t feel like I’ve done anything. For my dad, I mean.”

“You gave him closure.” Pat grabbed Eli’s shoulder with a firm grip as she pulled him closer. In a fluid motion, she guided his head to her shoulder. “And with this trip, you at least found out a bit more about him. It’s too bad he won’t see you become a dad. Or him becoming a grandad.”

“Is this a good idea, Pat?” He locked eyes with her. Pat's smile faded, though her gentle touch never wavered.

Her fingers ran through his hair as she whispered, “I think so. Do you think it's a good idea?"

"I hope so. We get closure. I get closure. But, I can't see him again, you know? Maybe we should've left something."

Pat raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't you mention this? We could have at least kept some of the ashes."

"And have half my dad? I don't know Pat; I don't think -"

"Okay, well, why didn't you mention this before? We could have figured something out, but now it's too far gone."

"Why are you getting defensive about this?" Eli leaned back, and Pat's hands loosened. "What's done is done, right? We did it."

She scoffed at his question, shaking her head. "He was your dad, Eli."

"Yeah, and we gave him what he wanted."

"Was it what you wanted?" She put down her beer on the table and kneeled in front of him. "C'mon, tell me." Her hands held his while her mechanic's thumbs ran up and down his fingers. She saw it as calming, but Eli saw them as hard and rough. "What do you want?"

Eli smiled and locked eyes with her, trying not to wink. "I want to go to sleep."

Pat laughed and then sat back in her chair. "I'll stay out here. We've got a lot of beer to finish."

***

Eli woke up in bed alone, which was strange; Pat always slept facing the wall, so she would've had to step over him to get out. Perhaps he drunk more than he thought, though he didn’t remember drinking much.

The morning was colder and darker than usual, and it felt like a fog rolled into the valley. Crow-cawing dawns didn’t seem too strange, so he stumbled towards the kitchen sink.

Making coffee, he froze when he heard the bathroom door rattle. The wind howled through the cracks beneath, giving it a hollow ring. “Pat?” Eli put on his glasses only to realize that the top hinge was loose.

Did someone break in? But why here? How?

A thin sliver of light peeked through the gaps. He grabbed the knob and winced at the shock. It was cold to the touch.

He opened the door to the bathroom. Nobody. Instead, it was just an empty lot of grass and garbage with their now-splintered and broken furniture. He poked around the corner; the house's garden remained untouched, firmly planted.

He hustled to the nightstand, but the phones weren't there.

“Pat!” He ran out the door—more refuse and wreckage, caked in a sheet of shattered glass.

“Pat!” They had a hunting knife, thin, serrated, cold, and clean. Where did it go?

“Pat!” He whipped around the house. The side of the home had caved in, and he nearly slipped onto a jutting section of a metal frame. Pat's clothes were under it! He kicked it into the wall. “Pat!”

"Pat!" Someone yelled from behind.

He whipped around. A pair of shadows bled through the fog. There was a deep clang, then footsteps, heavy. He heard the clinking of keys on a bandolier and smelled acrid smoke.

The first was an old man with tired eyes behind large, round glasses and a snaking, braided beard. His fingers were twitching, one of his palms resting on his chin, even as he walked. He held a tiny satchel on his waist, shut by a blanket of messy twine. Something escaped those white whiskers, but Eli couldn’t figure it out.

“I’m sorry, do you speak English?" Eli asked him.

The man smiled at the other figure, a woman of starkly vivid, fiery-red waistline hair. The clanging came from her metal greaves, which stopped at a tattered coat, one of them lining the buckles from her arm to her shoulders like a sling. Her hand rested on a sheathed sword locked tight with rotten leather, a clawed gauntlet resting on a handle almost as long as the blade.

Eli took a step back, but he didn’t know why. She was stunning and stunningly commanding, yes, but what was this choking feeling? The air felt so thick in her presence that any muscle he moved was even slower, bogged down by something invisible.

Throat cleared and hands sweaty, he stepped forwards. “Have you seen a woman around here? My fiancee, Pat. She’s around my height, light brown hair.” He hoped this woman spoke English.

The two of them chatted in an alien language. It wasn't what the natives spoke, and he knew that. Then, the man beamed a grin at Eli. He noticed it; she noticed he was distracted. With haste, the woman pulled out a small ruby orb, placed it in her mouth, bit down, and struck.

He hadn't expected the kiss, but even when he jolted back, small shards were already in his gums. A coppery, hard candy was slowly dissolving around his tongue. He recognized the taste - blood.

The pain followed.

Behind the backs of his eyes, a lancing shot. Around him, the harsh swirl of air and fog. His feet seemed to melt from his knees. It came with a sear, and the sear came with a thousand needles that dug into his skin. No matter where he moved his hands or jerked his fingers, he felt it so strongly, and the sting remained so fiercely that any movement sent him buckling. His teeth felt like they were sweating, hot and greasy with clear fluid, but there wasn’t any blood. Cracks forms around his lips and eyelids, the air making every prick a cut and every cut a burn. Fingers or worms writhed inside him, hoping to leap from every orifice, but instead danced beneath his skin.

He tried to eke out a sentence.

She patted him on the shoulder. "You're mine now." She whispered. Then, a sharp pain shot through his back. It felt like it was convulsing, followed by a localized, barbed feeling swelling at the base of his neck. Something was pulling him down, and unable to stand up, Eli collapsed.