BEFORE (2)

Calloused hands sharpened the knife, mechanical, consistent movements of someone used to the routine. Sparks fell from the metal, orange flying into the air before burning small holes into the thin carpet of snow.

The hands didn't match the person they belonged to. A youth, too old to be a child yet too young to be called a man. Not that anyone had called him either. He hadn't had the luxury of contact for a long time.

But that was fine. Jafi valued his independence, it was true, but above it all, he valued his freedom. Because if anything he was free, free to wander through the snow and the forests, the mountains and the deserts.

Even after all those years of travelling, once again, he found himself amongst the snow. Maybe that was his fate, destined to repeat what had come.

Or maybe he was overthinking things. There were only a finite number of places to go, after all. Everntually, he was bound to come across a resemblance of his old haunt. It was inevitable.

It all looked so familiar though. The light sheen, dusting the grass in a layer of gleaming white. Mountains looming over to one side, a white forest to the other. The sound of a lake, unfrozen despite the cold, running behind him. All it needed was a sheltering overhang and a warm fire.

Placing the knife back at his hip, and the stone in a pocket, Jafi straightened. He brought his scarf back up over his mouth with gloved hands, softening the intensity of his misting breath, and sped up. He couldn't stay in a place like… like this for long. He should keep moving.

Hefting his pack over his shoulders, the youth brushed flakes of snow from his dark hair, and trudged onward. Boots crunched over the snow, heavy steps weighed down by the mass of a person carrying their home on their shoulders.

The wind stroked his cheek, but he ignored it, staring fixated with hazel eyes at his goal, looming above him, its top end obscured by the clouds, its sides vanishing miles past his line of sight.

It was a mountain.

Was it the one?

Jafi didn't care if it was. Not really. Because one of the mountains would be the it, eventually. This one, or the next one, or the one after. One day, he would come across it. The Mountain described in the stories.

The storyteller had left suddenly. He had slept alongside him in companionable warmth, but woken up to the icy cold of loneliness and a stamped fire. No warning, no mention.

Just a note. A few words scratched onto stone, which said everything, yet nothing at all.

The youth took a breath, and stared at the rock in front of him, its featureless snow-covered face, not marked with anything, not even a peak.

Perhaps there was, in the clouds. It was what the dragon had thought, after all. The desire, to defeat, to overcome this dead rock that stood tall in front of him, almost tauntingly.

Jafi bit back a smile. It was what the storyteller would have said, in his expertly woven tales spoken during the long, cold winter nights.

And so, he began to circle. Ignoring the growing layer of white on his shoulders, he continued to move, step after step, around the mountain. Or, if fortune was behind him, the Mountain.

This one looked promising. He had seen the peaks of the others. Then again, maybe it was the weather.

After an hour, he paused. The view remained unchanged. If he had walked in place, the mountain would have looked the same. Glancing up, he shook his head wearily, unable to tell the time of day behind the dark ceiling of cloud. The only indicator of the change in time was his senses and the growing fatigue in his legs. He shook the latter feeling off; he had grown used to it in the years.

He reached a hand to his belt, and removed a skin of water, taking a gulp before replacing it. Didn't want to run out after all. Getting more from his pack was too much of a hassle.

Sighing, Jafi decided to continue for a bit more, before setting camp for… what may be the night. Fingering the knife at his side, he tiredly continued through the white landscape, scanning the mountain.

He wondered whether he looked a fool. A man who wandered mountains, looking for a way inside. Sounded like a fable the storyteller might say as a scolding if he did something stupid. Shaking his head, he turned his thoughts away from that storyteller.

'No use dwelling… more than necessary, at least.'

Another half an hour yielded no results. The following hour Jafi used to set up a temporary base. Although, it wasn't as if any of his bases hadn't been temporary since the storyteller.

Whatever he had set up hadn't had that feeling, and within a few weeks at most he was gone again, on his endless journey. Jafi snorted. It had only been a few years; maybe a decade at most. Yet, why did it feel so long?

Setting down his (considerably lighter) pack inside a cloth tent protected by a rocky overhang, Jafi went outside and observed the weather. A thick flake of snow landed on his nose.

'Hmph. Still crap.' No point in setting up a fire then. A shame. The fire always was the final touch to any base. But maybe it was for the better. Fires brought back memories after all.

The sound of dead branches rustling drew his attention back. Damn.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

'Can't be dazing out like that.' He reminded himself. This was foreign territory, after all. Anything could (and would) happen.

Silently, re-adjusting his scarf, Jafi extracted the knife from its sheath on his belt, and halfheartedly ventured away from his camp, in pursuit of food. He wasn't expecting to find anything, in terrain like this. But he didn't think he could stomach another meal of the nuts he had picked up a week ago.

He supposed hunger came with the occupation of 'traveller'.

Therefore, it was some joy that alighted on Jafi's face when he saw the black rabbit, loitering at the edge of his vision. With a trained movement, he flicked the knife that was already in his grip, lashing his arm out towards the solution to his recent vegetarian diet.

The rabbit, oblivious to his assailant, hopped back into the darkness, the knife flying through his previous location, and vanishing into a patch of snow-covered bushes at the foot of the mountain.

Jafi swore loudly. 'That's the last knife, for god's sake.'

The storyteller had many weapons. Projectiles, close range, mid range, the whole assortment. He had carried them all in a pack larger than Jafi's current setup, alongside his supplies. It was a small wonder he hadn't collapsed under the weight of his own luggage. And he'd still managed to outpace an unburdened young Jafi whilst in full travelling regalia.

When the storyteller vanished, he left all his weapons behind. Unable to bear the weight of an armoury, Jafi had set off taking all the weapons he could use – mainly, lightweight ones.

And that was the last one, gone because a rabbit had decided to become a psychic.

In a flash, Jafi sprang towards the bushes, his dinner forgotten. Poking his head into the bush and pushing leaves aside, he rummaged around, ignoring the pangs of hurt when thorns stabbed into his arms. The knife was the priority, after all.

Pushing deeper, his eyes caught a glimpse of the light sheen of the blade. With a grin and a sigh of relief, Jafi reached for it, pushing his legs off the ground in his efforts. Trimphantly, he grasped the wooden hilt of his last knife, feeling its familiar grip in his hands.

And then the bush gave way under him, and he fell.

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He fell far – or it felt far, at least. Instinctively, Jafi closed his eyes, and spread out his arms. Wind slammed into him, and although his eyes were closed, he could feel his jacket billowing behind him.

But then he stopped.

'What?' There was no impact. He had fallen, headfirst, and stopped suddenly but he felt nothing.

This worried him. What force could there be, that could soften the blow of someone falling at what felt like terminal velocity? Albeit, it probably wasn't. Disregarding that, his neck should be shattered.

Sitting up, Jafi spat out dust, and rubbed his eyes clear, and looked around.

He was in a cavern. Above him, embedded into the roof of the cave, was an almost perfectly cut tunnel, a chute almost, cut into the rock and into darkness, its peak obscured from view.

At the end of the carvern, was a door. It seemed stained a dark red, from what he didn't dwell on. From the gaps in the door, came the light that illuminated the cavern, tinted in the same hue as the door.

The knife had clattered to the ground behind him. Jafi reached over to grab it, before replacing it in the comfortable position in its sheath. The weight gave him ease, calming his heart that still pumped with adrenaline from the fall.

The fall.

In a sudden panic, he grasped at his neck, only to sigh in relief. 'The scarf is still there.'

"Interesting scarf you have there boy."

Jafi's gaze shot up, his hand instinctively going to his side, springing to his feet and backing away from the source of the voice. And in front of him, stood… something.

It was humanoid, yet faceless. Flowing, golden robes fell to the ground, where they shone, the dirt having no effect on its magnificence. Behind him, a white circle floated, symbols engraved intricately in a language he didn't understand. At the bottom of skin toned, ovular head was a mouth. The rest of it was covered in black markings, tattoos almost, each eerily similar, yet different. A hundred black eyes, existing but unmoving, staring when they couldn't possibly.

The youth's heart thumped, but he couldn't speak. Because he had realised it. That he was here. He was finally here.

"I think I've seen it somewhere before. Tied around the waist, of someone very similar to you boy." Its mouth didn't move, but a voice came nonetheless.

This was it. The Mountain, described in tales woven by a storyteller years ago, now all too real in front of him.

"S-Similar?" Jafi had never stuttered before, but something about this character was… wrong. Scary. He fingered the red fabric of his scarf, uncertain.

The figure nodded. "Yes. The waist of a boy who stood where you stand now, once upon a time." It looked at him.

His breath heightened. Something pushed him down, his body suddenly felt heavy, and the urge to succumb and collapse overwhelmed him. But he refused. The storyteller had said once, in an annoyingly arrogant tone, that showing weakness to an unknown was the same as handing them a knife and telling them to stab you. Of course, he had never done such a thing.

"Ho?" The thing had no face, but it sounded mildly surprised. "It seems that you are not that unlike him after all."

The pressure faded, and the youth staggered, gasping for air.

"So..." The figure stood, his back to the door, his arms behind his back, facing Jafi full on. "Why have you come?"

He suddenly felt small, before a giant. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the tinge of amusement in the thing's voice, like someone playing with a toy, or watching a slightly funny child. Of someone far, far above him, in strength, and in stature.

"I-I'm looking for a man. A tall person, with brown hair. Is he... Is he in the Mountain?"

The mouth of the guardian morphed into a grin. It was horrifying: sharp, spiked teeth fitting together in an unnatural array. But he knew that the guardian didn't need to use those teeth to squish him.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." The grin widened. "Outsiders are not common boy. You are the first newcomer in centuries."

Newcomer. And then he knew. That Karo was here, and that he had been here before, many years ago. His breath heightened again, but this time, in excitement.

The guardian spoke suddenly. "I don't suppose, boy, that you have heard of the Contract of the Dragon?"

Jafi nodded.

Shark-teeth glinted in the light. "Well then, boy, you will know that anything can be achieved, if you reach the top."

Reach… the top? But surely, all he had to do was find the storyteller. Reaching the top was unnecessary. He didn't want anything. Just answers.

But he still nodded.

"Then, you will climb?"

Hesitation. This… this was it. The point of no return. Where behind was warm and familiar, ahead of him lay the cold unknown. This mountain… could very well be his deathbed.

The smug grin of the storyteller flashed in his mind. He was here. This hell would be where all mysteries end. This would be where the truth would finally be revealed, in its unabridged entirety.

Jafi gathered his resolve and nodded.

The guardian smiled in satisfaction. And he turned, and the door opened. Light streamed from the entrance, and Jafi covered his eyes from the sudden intensity.

And there was a force. It sucked him in, like a black hole, sucking everything in. Jafi scrabbled at the ground for something, anything to grip, but his hands met nothing.

He flew into the light and the door swung shut ominously behind him. There was silence.

"Then climb, boy." The guardian whispered, his blood-curdling grin unfading, as he stared at the door. He looked at it for a long while, in the deafening silence of the cave.

With a sigh, the guardian turned away from the door. With well practiced, routine movements, he took his place on a rock in the far corner of the room. Crossing his legs, the guardian shut his many eyes, and meditated.