There was a large fire in the distance that Ashton could see. It was easy to spot, for in the warm dark world where Ashton lived there were no stars, no moon, nor sun from which light could come down and illuminate the land. For Ashton, the only light in his black life were the fires his tribe lit in the village center and the small lanterns used to light the small furtive paths that flowed around the village and then ended abruptly at the village boundary, which squatted at the foot of the mountain. Beyond that, there was only the dark forest that no member of the village had ever dared set foot into and lived, or so the stories told that had been passed down from elder to child for ages back. Only the fresh river stream that flowed down from the mountain, providing them with its life-giving waters, knew what lay beyond the river boundaries. That, and the few occasional traders that passed through at irregular occurrences. Ashton was taught that nothing good existed beyond the mountain.

From his post in the fields near the base of the mountain, Ashton looked up from his harvesting work and saw to his amazement the strong unnatural flicker of light in the distance, a light that suggested the whole land was ablaze with the eternal fire. He was so amaze he stopped his singing right away and stood up, the light dancing in his eyes. Large dark moths flittered about him in the tall pasture.

“Why did you stop singing, my son?” Ashton’s father spoke from only a short stone’s throw away, still plucking the strings on his instrument to the ongoing melody. Short stoic notes came out, but soon they stopped too. His gruff voice was reproachful as he continued. “You ought to know better by now! We will have to start from the beginning again.” He started the tune again, humming the chords and not looking up, tapping out the melody. It would not have mattered if he had looked up anyway, his blindness prevented him from seeing.

Ashton looked back at his father and at the halfway harvested field where dozens of other men and women also worked, their backs bent and heads down. None of them looked up from their work either to bother with anything beyond what was in front of them. They sang quietly through their work, each family group serenading their field with their own tune.

A question came to Ashton’s mind and he wondered that he had never asked before. “What lies beyond the trees, at the edge of our village, father?”

The father continued plucking his tune and answered after a moment, “We only know what our songs tell us, son. Do not get distracted by the thoughts of the land outside our village. We are protected by the mountain, Carother, but away from it we would be but naked and vulnerable.” His father stopped talking, as if he had said enough.

“Has it always been so?”

Ashton’s father didn’t answer immediately, but stopped his plucking on his instrument, his thought on something. A satisfied grunt escaped him as he suddenly struck up a new melody and he said to Ashton in a standard village saying, “Listen to the wisdom of our ancestors, Ashton.” After a few more beats, he started singing again, a song Ashton had not heard prior.

The world was new and grey and bright

all was beautiful in his sight

He walked the land and life arose

The plants and trees and all that grows

He built the lands between his hands

and formed the sky where birds could fly

The sun above and east and west

shined down upon the land as blessed

Time was still and life was bliss

Before the world became amiss

He called on men with him to dwell

To create a world where all was well

God and man, hand in hand

Bliss and sight within his light

There was a river in the land

On which a city had its stand

The gates there were large and strong

And pain there was all but gone

The city rose upon new heights

And beheld a world within new sights

The god sat upon his wondrous throne

And the glory of it was world renown

What strength and power!

And grace and wisdom

The men all worshipped

Him in the kingdom

Holy, holy, grace and mighty

Words and peace, and work and feasts

But all is gone and turned to waste

For none can come and take his place.

Ashton was still, waiting for him to continue for Ashton new there were many other verses in that piece. But when it appeared to be the end Ashton pressed, “What do you mean?”

His father sighed and finally stopped playing the instrument. He continued, his voice gravelly with age, “That is one of our oldest songs, but much of its meaning had been lost. Perhaps long ago the land was different than what it is now, but that is no longer of any use to us. Many dangers exist out there, Ashton, not just the wind and the rain, but the savage beasts and even crueler men, so our songs teach us, we must stick its wisdom, the wisdom of our ancestors. Our life is tied to this mountain. Needless to say, there is no light for us beyond our village!”

“But Father,” Ashton replied, his voice high and cracking as a boy who had not yet finished growing, “there are pretty lights on the other side of the dark forest! Lots of lights, filling the land, it looks like. What are they, Father?”

“Lights?” Ashton’s father replied questioningly.

“Yes, father. The light is so big and bright! Is it the seraphs, do you think, coming to bless our fields, as some songs speak of?”

Ashton’s father didn’t answer the question, but instead raised his voice in a way Ashton had never heard anybody do before. Quietness was an unspoken rule. “Alishmah!” Ashton’s Father shouted back towards his neighbor in the field next to them.

Alishmah didn’t reply at first, but ignored the call of his neighbor, continuing his song with his family across his field. Compared to Oberion, Alishmah was a young man the prime of his life, tall and sturdy with broad shoulders and stout chest, much like Oberion had once been, Ashton had been told by his mother. Also, just as stubborn.

Oberion called out angrily again, “ALISHMAH!”

Alishmah stopped his singing and replied, “For what reason do you interrupt our melody Oberion? Could it be that in your old age you-,” but he did not finish his sentence when he looked up and saw what Ashton had seen. Ashotn could see his eyes widen even in the dimness of the edge of the village, and a gasp escaped Alishmah’s lips.

“It is a long line of fire, Oberion,” Alishmah said quickly, his voice also high in astonishment “I have never seen such a thing before! It must go on for many leagues and lights up the whole edge! What could it be, Oberion?”

“I have seen it once a long time ago!” Oberion replied, his voice now raspy with distress, “It is danger, it is enemies! We must flee, flee to Corith Minor at once, or none of us will be spared! Alishmah!”

Alishmah gaped back at Oberion for a second, but then swiftly heeded his words. He turned quickly and cupped his hands to his mouth, projecting his voice across the hills of the tribe. A strange and unearthly call came from his lips that put Ashton on edge and caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand up and his muscles to quiver hearing it. Upon hearing the call, all the people in the fields ceased their work and looked up in alarm. Those who understood immediately moved, leaving their tools behind and grabbing their families and fleeing, repeating the same alarm as loudly and as often as possible. The others quickly followed and panicked screams also rang in the air.

Ashton did not understand. “What is happening Father?” he shouted, blocking his ears to try to lighten the horrible sounds of distress that spread across the hillside. He was now frightened and stood trembling. “Why are they making that sound?”

“Help me up, son!” Oberion said urgently, holding up his arm in need for support. He kept with him his lute. Ashton quickly stooped to assist. “You have not heard it before,” Oberion grunted, heaving himself up with Ashton’s support, “but it is our tribe’s all to Dismay! Enemies are coming!”

“But what about our harvest?” Ashton asked, pointing down to the fields they were in, “And where is your cane?”

“Leave it!” Oberion replied harshly, “Leave it all behind. We cannot not take anything with us now; we must make haste! You will have to lead me, son! We must move now if we are to escape up to Caroth minor!!”

The fields cleared fast as most others obeyed the words of Oberion, dropping their tools and running, shouting and clamoring all the while.

“Oberion!” Alishmah called out, coming up to him quickly as Ashton started to move forward slowly with his Father. “Let me help you!”

“Help your own family!” Oberion replied stubbornly, “Who will shelter them if you are not around?”

“My son, Omorah, is leading them,” Alishmah replied, undeterred, “and you are also family. What will your wife say if she heard you now, brother? Let me help, my strong arms are made for helping other. You and your son will not make it alone.”

“Bah!” Oberion replied angrily, “and what of my dignity?”

“What of it?” Alishmah repeated mockingly, pushing Ashton lightly aside and taking the old man himself, “Don’t you know? Enemies are coming and no dignity will save you!” With a swift movement, he swept up Oberion and ran ahead with him, ignoring Oberion’s cursing. “Come on little one!” he called quickly to Ashton. Ashton followed fast, a deep-seated fear taking hold of him, clouding the dark paths they ran on. He had never seen his father much less the rest of the people so scared before. Alishmah must have sensed fear for he turned and smiled to Ashton.

“It will be okay, little one.” Alishmah said, trotting up the dark narrow paths with Ashton trailing close behind him. Ashton was not consoled. He had never known Alishmah to lie to him before.

“Extinguish the lamps!” Oberion cried to Ashton, pointing towards the small flickering lights that lit their trail at even spaces.

“Why?” Ashton replied, his eyes staring fearfully out at the small lights as if they too were dangerous enemies that would turn his world upside down in an instant. It was an ironclad law that young people should never interfere with the lamps.

“Just do it!” Alishmah replied, breathing heavily with his burden.

Scared and hesitant, Ashton kicked out at the next passing lamp, knocking it over and seeing the small fragile flame die out. Looking back, he saw the great lights beyond the forest brighter and closer than ever. He still did not know what it meant, but he wondered that he had ever thought they were beautiful. Like great fiery demons they appeared to him now.

“Who are the enemies, Father?” Ashton asked, “What do they come here for?” The cry of danger could still be heard easily across the mountain face. Surely by now, surely the entire village was aware of the danger. Oberion, Alishmah, and Ashton were the last ones leaving the fields but Ashton could see many others running ahead of them.

“The Sorcerers,” Oberion rasped out, “and they are coming to steal and to kill! We must run and hide lest they catch us with their light and magic! Only Caroth Minor can protect us now!”

Ashton knew what Caroth Minor was: it was the ancient dwelling place of their ancestors, high and deep in the mountain their village lived on. The ancient stronghold was located near the peak of the holy mountain, where the snow and ice lived continually. Their village songs told of times when only that strength had saved them in the past and sheltered them against the unsung horrors.

At last they reached the end of the fields and came to the edge of the village houses. Ashton kicked over the last lamp lighting the trails and wondered how they would be lit again. A few paces in frnt of him, Oberion and Alishmah were met by Ashton’s mother, a short thin woman with wispy hair and scared eyes. Ashton rushed to meet up with them too.

“Oh, Ashton!” She cried pulling, him in closely into a tight hug. She turned quickly to her husband and Alishmah, her voice strained but under control, “The Elders have already started the ascension song. We must move quickly to not be left behind. Are you the last of the field workers?”

“We believe so, Numeria,” Alishmah panted, still carrying Oberion, “We have been extinguishing the trail lamps as we came up.”

“What of our sons and daughters?” Oberion called out, “What of them?”

Alishmah started moving forward again, passing the dozens of small thatched roof houses along the even paths of the village, heading towards the village square where the pilgrimage would begin. Numeria followed closely, holding Ashton to her. From the distance, Ashton could hear the ascension song already starting to form from the mouths of the villagers. Already, the journey was starting!

Numeria replied to Oberion, “They should be fine. Our sons joined the herders and they should already be with the main group.”

“Should we really be worried about our goat herds, at a time like this?” Alishmah panted, “When sorcerers are coming?”

“The elders deemed we could and should,” Numeria replied numbly, “as is their position to do so. But we have all been instructed to bring only what we could carry.”

Alishmah grunted, “It is a good thing you are light then, old man.”

“But what of our daughters?” Oberion continued, ignoring Alishmah’s comment.

“Our eldest is with her husband. They were at the square when I left for you. But Elishia and Irisma were not. They were with Oba-Christna on the far side. They will have a separate pilgrimage, but we should meet them in Corinth Minor.”

Oberion grunted in satisfaction at her words, but Ashton’s heart turned as cold as the tops of Mt. Carothers. He knew where his two older sisters had really gone to, and it was not to visit the old lady Christna on the far side of the mountain. No, Oba-Christna was their code for trouble, code for their true mischief down by the end of the river at the edge of the dark forest and down near where the Sorcerers were approaching.

The group was soon in the village square, close to empty now as only a few family units remained waiting for their loved ones. There were few lights, but Ashton saw the long trail of men and women and beasts evacuating up the mountain. The two eldest sons of Oberion were there with their wives, waiting with their flock of goats as well as Alishmah’s wife and young children. The song of ascension now permeated the village and trail, its words listing clearly their instructions and traditions.

At the sight of the burning light

At the sound of the violent voices

We must flee away from the fight

Spare no thought on any choices

Carother’s will take us, and be our shield

Caroth Minor will hold us from those who wield

The sword and spear,

death and fear

Gather what is needed

Gather up your family

Discard what will keep you

Make it to the rally

We will fly, we will fly, we will fly

May mercy find us, before we die

Alishmah put down Oberion on a cart his sons had prepared for him. “We cannot thank you enough, brother,” Numeria said shakily as her sons helped Oberion onto the cart slowly.

“Do not delay!” Alishmah called back, already moving forward to his own family who offered him no rest but ushered him forward urgently, their voice singingly the ascension song the while.

At no other command, the sons went forward as well, joining the last of the families on the trail up to Corith Minor. They too sang the song of ascension. The goats followed obediently.

“What of Elishia and Irisma!” Ashton cried, looking around, but already knowing the answer. They were not with them; they had not made it the pilgrimage start yet and were now being left behind.

“They were on the other side!” Numeria, replied, breaking her song, “They will already be halfway up by now. Now, come quickly and sing! It will quiet your fears.”

Ashton sang as commanded, but looked back towards the great light again, fear gripping his heart more than ever before. It was so bright now, he wondered that such a fire could exist and yet not consume the world. The dreaded forest was turning to ash and dust as if it was nothing but a puff of wind that disappeared in an instant. Dark smoggy smoke and stink could be seen drifting as its vanguard.

Ashton made his decision, and moved up towards his eldest brother, leading his family from up front. His eyes were straight and strong, carrying the weight of the family since their father languished in his old age. He sang clearly and confidently without a fear in him. Ashton wished he did not have to say what he was going to say.

“Elder brother!” Ashton whispered fiercely, but his brother ignored him.

“Brother!” Ashton insisted again, this time tugging on his sleeve, refusing to be ignored. It worked, he stopped singing and glared towards at Ashton.

“Control yourself, little brother!” he ordered, his eyes flashing, putting up the front needed of him now, “You are not to interrupt the songs like that or Father will punish you. Why must you break our traditions? You must master your fear!”

“It’s not that! Hear my words! It’s about Elishia and Irisma! They did not go to Oba-Christia as they had said!”

Ashton’s brother’s face immediately faltered and its strength was replaced quickly with fear. He whispered back in horror, “Where did those fools run off to at a time like this! Will they ever learn? Where did they go, Ashton!”

“To the forest’s edge!” The Elder brother closed his eyes, as if to block out the words, as if to deny the truth. His shoulders sagged.

“Say it is not so, Ashton!”

“I will go get them!” Ashton continued quickly, “The fire has not reached us yet, but you must tell Mother after I go lest she run off after me. I am fast. Trust me brother, faster than you are, especially now that you carry the weight of fatherhood. Let me go after them. There is no one else! The lights on the trails have been extinguished; they will be lost!”

Ashton’s brother looked at Ashton as if he had not seen him properly before, then swooped down and caressed his hair. “I leave it to you, little brother. Go and fetch our sisters, and when you return I will write a song about you.” He stayed as he was, holding Ashton close as if to transfer his strength to him. Ashton felt that it worked.

He released him suddenly, “Now go!” Without another word, Ashton spun around and took off, down back on the path they had trotted on, passing by the remnants of the tribe. He thought he heard some sharp protestations from his Mother, but he ignored them, hearing only the song of ascension and his own footsteps in the dark.

Soon, there were no other people on the path, and he was alone with only the distant eternal light from the village square to guide his way. Entering the square, he quickly grabbed a spare torch and broke the village rules again, thrusting its end into the sacred flames to light it.

Having a light, he ran again, toward the place he knew his sisters would come from, following the flow of the stream until it diverged off toward secret paths. Closer and closer he got toward the wall of flames, and he felt he could hardly take his eyes off them, breathtaking and brilliant as they were. The heat buffeted him and his heart pounded, not just from his exercise but from his fear of his unknown assailants. He moved as cautiously as he dared.

Ashton never found his sisters. He was halfway down the creek when foreign men burst in around him. How strange they looked to him; he almost stopped in his tracks in astonishment! They carried with them a bright white light that blinded him, but Ashton saw it did not extend far, the way a normal light does, but it kept radiance within a small circle. It was sorcery! Ashton had never seen it before but he heard evil tales of the magic. The fire line was still far away, but these people had pushed forward, perhaps for this very reason, to capture unsuspecting fools. There was a sudden yelling and clanging of metal as the soldiers rushed at him. Ashton tuned to flee, but before he could take two steps a voice rang out behind him above the rest, loud and clear.

“SHUITS!” it commanded, and Ashton felt his legs suddenly snap together as if a strong rope had tied them. He fell over with a loud cry and the guards were already over him. He felt their strong hands seize him.

Ashton bit and struggled, yelling out in terror, “No! Get off me, let go of me!” thrashing desperately. A man on a horse appeared in front of him. It was nearly impossible to make out his features in the dark, and Ashton saw the man raise his arm towards him and say softly, “Druzle.” A deep terror of sleep and forgetfulness washed over Ashton.

When Ashton awoke, he found himself already far away from the mountain and his village and even past the dark forest that was their boundary. Still dazed, he gazed around and saw that his own legs were carrying him towards the fire he saw from the village. The fire was spread out in a long line from both his left and his right and was very tall, taller than any of the trees Ashton had ever seen. From where Ashton was, he would few hot wind gushing towards him along with a roar.

Accompanying Ashton were two other soldiers. Ashton cried out in fear when he realized he had no control over his legs, a spell was making him walk, taking himself as captive. His terror overwhelmed his senses, fear of this mysterious power that held him and the blazing fire he was walking ever closer to. He had never been away from his family or tribe before, and he gawked and yelled in his fright.

“Let me go! What do you want from me?!” he cried out, but neither guard answered or even paid attention to his struggle.

His captors were strange to see. One carried in his left hand a strange lantern that gave out a strong pale light.. Ashton would have thought it was fire, but there was no flame. They also wore strange clothing with intricate designs and many of them wore metal that shined and reflected red in the light of the fire line they were approaching. Ashton had never seen such things before and looked in fear and as they led him away. Ashton entirely as he struggled in vain against the spell on him, but he legs refused to listen to him and his arms were bound tight around his back. The two soldiers chatted amongst themselves in a language Ashton could not understand and walked unreservedly towards the fire line. Soon, the three of them reached the fire line, and Ashton panicked as they began to obviously intended to walk into it without hesitation. He coughed and gagged in the smoke.

“Brother! I have failed!” Ashton wailed out at last, craning his neck around to dimly see his home disappear from him before the curtain of flames blocked the mountain from view.

The fire was tall and bright, with great colors of red and orange blazing within the heat. It extended either way for as far as Ashton could see, a great wall of endless flame. Ashton thought the troupe was simply going to walk into it and burn alive for some heathen ritual of theirs. But as the soldiers approached it, the soldier without the lantern raised his hand casually and the flames split apart like a sheet tearing. Ashton saw on the outstretched hand a cloth with a trinket on it, wrapped around cosily so as not to all off.

Once inside the wall of fire, Ashton would have remained frozen if not for the spell that forced his legs to walk. He gawked at the rippling flames that they passed, the heat and smoke did not touch them. Before them the fire continually split as the group pressed forward, but Ashton could not see beyond it yet. Twenty feet in Ashton, looked behind again and saw that the rip they walked through had closed as well, leaving the company in a sea of flames.

Even though Ashton was terrified for his mortal well-being, he noticed the exotic beauty that existed inside the fire. From the setting of unnatural fire and sorcery protecting them, a view never meant to be seen by mortals, there was a mesmerizing sight of light, shadow, color, and flowing flames. It was like a river and they were fish swimming in it. Although it lasted only for a few moments before the company passed through, time seems to slow down for Ashton as the soft ripples in the fire reminded him of the ripples made by the wind on the grains in the fields he had only hours before inhabited. But neither soldier paid it any attention.

Suddenly the fire dissipated around them and the world returned to its rightful place. Ashton gazed back in awe at the wall of fire and wondered that he could still be alive.

Ashton saw other groups of soldiers appearing out of the flames too, like puffs of sparks exploding from a small campfire. They came marching up behind them and around them, bringing mostly spoils to their destinations. He also saw groups of soldiers coming toward them, passing back through the flames on their own errands. Ashton wondered how large their camp could be to house such a force.

Ashton’s group was soon joined by others and they plodded along on the scorched earth. The soldiers talked and greeting their fellows when the groups joined each other, yelling loudly in their alien language to be heard over the still roaring flames.

The group climbed over a small ridge, black and scorched from fire, and suddenly the encampment was before them. Ashton saw it but could not comprehend what it was he was seeing. Could such a thing exist on land? Ashton’s thought was that it was a village, larger than he could have before imagined, appearing in the plains past the forest and wall of flames, a great city of houses and buildings and unearthly beasts and people. It was lit brightly by many strange lights like the oe his captor wa holding, making the city all of it visible in the darkness. How could they not see such a thing from on top of the mountain? Then Ashton saw that it was moving, all of it, slowly but steadily and Ashton gaped in realization that it was not a city at all but a great group of wagons and carts and many other countless things. It was a caravan, a massive caravan, like a great slug crossing the land.

Upon arrival, their guards handed them over to another group of men, and then broke away. Hooded figures cloaked in shadows used magic and sorcery again that their kind possessed and they appeared and disappeared like the wind around the versatile encampment. One came up to Ashton directly and Asht tried to flinch away with a yell. But the magician moved without disturbance, cutting off the spell on Ashton legs quickly before immediately placing new ones on him, binding Ashton hand and foot. There was nothing physical that held his limbs together; the spell had captured him, and there was no escaping that. The magician disappeared as quickly as he appeared and his captors took him forward and carelessly threw him into a cage that was part of the caravan. Inside the cage were other people already, humans of races Ashton did not recognize but once Ashton looked at them he shuddered uncontrollably. The other captives all had the same dead expression and Ashton believed they were merely a collection corpses..

The wagon had large wooden wheels that rolled unevenly on the ground; the floor of the wagon was wood with planks to secure it. It was filled with straw and grass to cover and soak up the filth in the cage; terrible stenches diffused from it. The walls were simply wooden bars that Ashton thought would have been easy to break, but either they were sturdier than they looked or some magic held them in place for Ashton could not bend them although he immediately twisted them unreservedly. He gave up quickly and looked up in a panic, only to see that his wagon was connected to another wagon by a long tongue and a similar train was secured to the back. Ashton looked in dismay at the countless wagons and trains and horses and people, filling his vision, many also filled with captives, also looking dead. Ashton wondered briefly that he hadn’t been dropped into hell where the unfortunate humans who made it were tormented in the fiery cages for eternity.

Ashton looked forward to find out if he could see what could be pulling the wagons, but, as far as he looked, he could not spot what powered the wagons forward. Soldiers on horses often rode past or walked nearby, but he could see none attached to the line of wagons. Ashton imagined a dragon similar to the stories of his youth, with awesome power and flames, was roped at the front of the procession and was pulling it forward with its great muscles. The wagons were traveled at a pace slightly more than a walk and they never paused or stopped for anything.

Ashton soon discovered to his increasing horror that the other men in the cage with him were actually not dead. But they were silent and unresponsive, regardless of what action Ashton took. Ashton feared that he had been thrown into a cage of the dead but soon realized they were only dead on the inside. What sorcery occurred to make them so lifeless? Would the same magic happen to him too? His body shook and he sobbed against the bars as he contemplated this thought more horrible than a simple clean death.

However, in Ashton’s cage that was damp and lightless, there was one prisoner was different from the rest. He was dressed in an unusual red color, standing out even in the foreign environment. He was facedown in the corner, shackled with irons and rope; something nobody else had on them. Ashton would have noticed if he wasn’t so troubled.

Repeating thoughts swirled in Ashton’s mind. What had happened to his village, his families? Did his sisters get caught, or did they make it to Caroth Minor? What was going to happen to him? Was this truey the afterlife and he was to be here forever? Or was this actually just a kidnapping? Either way, what was going to happen to him? He cried out loudly with pleas and begging at the soldiers that passed by, but the only thing he received were blows and harsh unintelligible words. The other prisoners ignored him; as they seemed to ignore everything. They were apathetic and strange, or perhaps some sorcery was twisting their minds. Ashton did not know.

“Wake up!” Ashton shouted to himself. “Wake up! How can such things be? It can only be a dream! Wake up from this nightmare and be with Father and brother in the village! I want to laugh and sing with them in the fields! Was not the harvest to happen soon? Were not the fields ready for reaping and the mills ready for grinding! Enough of this madness, my family is waiting!” But despite his continued pounding and cries, Ashton did not wake from the bright unnatural lights or the creaking and clatter of the wagon or the stiff stone look of his prisoners. “Wake up!”

Exhaustion and mental fatigue soon gripped Ashton, either that or the horrific spells were already performing their unholy work on his mind. His tears were left unwashed on his face, and he sagged against the bars of the cage, giving in and his eyes close. Old familiar darkness finally took him, and he swooned.