The Waking of Carag Cri'eth by Steve Jones Snr

Author:Steve Jones Snr
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Publish on Demand Global LLC

XIX

“What do you see, Garat?” the now familiar deep voice seemed to echo around the hillside. Garat turned, and the tall dark figure stood between him and the others. They seemed not to notice the figure, so Garat surmised that this appearance was for him alone. He looked back out over the plains.

“ I see the forest below, and the plains beyond. What else is there to see?” The tall figure laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Much, Priest, much. Look again.” Garat stared out over the plain.

His perspective shifted, a little at first, the distant ridgeline seemed to grow closer and clearer. Then his senses lurched. The world seemed to flash past him on all sides, blurring into a multi coloured tunnel. There was no sensation of movement, as if he stood in one place, and all creation moved around him. His mind was confused, and he felt sick and dizzy. The only constant thing was the figure behind him. The only feeling that of a hand on his shoulder.

The movement stopped suddenly, and he thought he now stood on the edge of a great fissure. He looked down, and panic took hold of him as he saw that there was nothing beneath his feet, a great chasm below him, smoke boiling in its depths. He grabbed the sleeve of the figure, now standing next to him. His mind raced, why was he not falling. Then the truth of his feelings took over from the deceit of his eyes.

He felt solid ground beneath his feet. He stood stock still, not daring to move. He did not want to upset whatever delicate balance held him, lest he plunge to his death in the chasm below.

“Do not fear, Garat,” came the voice. “You are not where you appear to be. You stand still at the mouth of the cave, and the mountain is still beneath your feet. You cannot fall.” Garat looked at the figure, and then down at the chasm.

“What is this?” he asked, “what happened here?”

“Allinor is torn in two,” replied the figure. The lips moved this time, the only part of the figures face that could be seen under the deep hood he wore.

The voice was more human, not the deep booming bass as before, and it came from the mouth of the figure, not echoing around from an unknown source. The figure pulled back his hood to reveal the rest of his face.

A broad brow hooded deep set eyes. A big hook nose and a thin line of a mouth. He looked ruefully down at the chasm below.

“This is the work of Sparak Th'ur,” he explained, “the true entity that you worshipped as a priest of Krask.” Garat's eyes widened.

“The Gods of the mountains have names? And one of them did this?” he asked.

“Not Gods as you perceive them,” explained Vtornik. “Sparak Th'ur is the name of the mountain range in the tongue of the first race of men. It means ‘Spine of the World’ in your speech. But that is a subject for later.

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