CHAPTER 33 — UNLIKE ANY STORM EVER SEEN
Mitakahn remembered little from the days that passed. He took with him a feeling of regret for being too stubborn to go to Axion in the mountains. He memorized the name of the other gems the Carbon Terra was a part of right before he got pummeled half to death…
Incapsulate Impernums
It was enough of a lead to take to the libraries at Epitaph City. Once he made that connection, he realized he really didn’t lose much, only the jar, which was priceless. How could he pull off what he wanted to without it? Mitakahn just had to tell himself… where there is a will there is a way. He ignored the fact that chances were very slim without the last breath. For right now, all he had to do was get to Epitaph City and hope the rest would be revealed. That meant first getting to Towerock and the road south. The only other lasting thought Mitakahn was able to take from the grandfather tree was his inability to keep track of the days. He had no way of knowing how long it had been since he departed Zepathorum.
Regret, a clue, and time-loss.
He was strong enough to walk longer today, finally making some serious headway from Zepathorum. He was starting to get hungry again. Before he could focus on what to do for dinner, the clouds above him began to show their shadow and fill the air with moisture. He could tell a thunderstorm was moving in. The clouds gathered like an army rallying to battle, cumulus accumulation taking the forefront of the skies and preparing for something epic above them.
It would just be a matter of minutes before it rained. All of the telltale signs were revealing themselves, the sudden drop in temperature, the increase in humidity, and the utter lack of sunshine. Mitakahn did not mind a rain-shower as long as it was a mild one. The atmosphere above churning and darkened, its fury building towards something ungodly. Mitakahn had never witnessed such a build up before a storm before. He would have to find a suitable shelter before it was too late. Time was against him.
The humidity was leaving, rising to the final clash of pressure and moisture in the air. Even more unnerving was the fact that there had been no thunder or lightning leading up to the storm-break. Mitakahn thought he saw flashes from behind the shadow, illuminating the concentrated columns of clouds. The pressure was building immensely with no outlet of light or sound, no boom, no flash. The storm was here but the effects were still on its way.
When the clouds finally opened up, it did not feel right. This rain was different. It was a static rain. There was no fall. There were no drops. Somewhere between a squall and a fog provided a strong density to the area that Mitakahn was getting stuck in. It immediately made him feel uneasy, as if MagnaThora was off its axis, a feeling that cut right to the core of him and turned his stomach. He took a moment to acclimate.
It felt like walking through a murky swamp to him. This was unnatural for any ordinary storm, a glitching gale, a broken tempest. The humidity claimed dominion over the atmospheric density. Gravity latched onto Mitakahn with an enormous invisible blanket and pulled him down, smothering his path. He put all of his might into moving, into just getting one more step forward.
A loud crack in the sky and everything toppled over. The static-quake snapped all the fog in the air up to the clouds, concentrating the condensation, and released it in one fell swoop. The sudden rainfall knocked Mitakahn off his feet. When he managed to stand back up, he was not where he started. The road was gone and replaced by a hill with a great willow tree grown over a round boulderock at the top. When he looked closer, he thought he saw the stump growing into the stone.
The roots nestled into the rock, cracking its spherical nature, the same way a river carves out a canyon over millennia. It was almost as if the storm invigorated the growth of the willow tree. He ran for the hilltop, as the splashing rain became worse and worse. All of the tree’s thick branches and hanging, fleeted leaves provided ample cover, but Mitakahn could already see the tree was rapidly losing leaves. The branches whipped around and suddenly another bolt of lightning crackled through the sky and struck right through the tree like a javelin.
The lightning pierced the tree, impaled the stone, and ricocheted through the hill to return to the sky, but then, the strangest thing happened. The bolt of lightning stopped. It was frozen in place. It was doing the one thing lightning was never known to do…be still. It didn’t retreat. Unlike any other lightning strike, it wasn’t over in an instant. Mitakahn was too close to move. To him it looked like the lightning was trapped in the ground.
Mitakahn looked closer. The power surge of lightning appeared to be too much for the thunderbolt to contain without being in motion. The energy creeped into the closest thing it could find. The impressions around where the thunderbolt hit the boulderock glowed. The glow flooded the rock and changed its color, purifying it an earthy white, resembling that of ivory but with a less smooth, finished feel and more of a rustic, imperfect tone. The harnessed lightning fascinated Mitakahn. How could this transfer of energy to the boulderock be a natural occurrence? No, this was a natural phenomenon.
The stone grew brighter and brighter until it could no longer contain the light. Just like before, it pushed past the rock and bleached the willow tree. It found a home in the leaves and even the rainwater that nestled over every surface. The rain sizzled off the lighted tree. Mitakahn watched it gather, plunge, and expel within the branches like a hornet’s nest. It swirled and mixed with the stormy air making its way over to him surprisingly fast. The rainwater whisked by his face, and he felt better instantly. He moved his fingers over his right eye and the bruise was gone, even more peculiar the cut he made with his knife was now a scar, completely skipping the scab stage.
The rain healed him. When he thought about it, the healing factors were less a cause and more like a symptom of whatever natural phenomena occurred. The lightning was rattling the boulderock beneath him trying to break free of its hold. Mitakahn could breathe and walk comfortably now. His wrist was still broken, but only his side ached beyond that. Overall, it was a tremendous improvement. Mitakahn did not want to try his luck. He slowly backed away from the tree. Then two things happened simultaneously making it hard for Mitakahn to decipher the implications they presented. A loud roar from an ancient beast bellowed out from within the clouds above and all of the rainwater surrounding him instantly froze.
For the time being Mitakahn forgot about the light show. All of his focus was now on the frozen water. He had never seen snow before. He only knew what to call it from his studies of MagnaThora’s Ice Age, the time of endless winters. Nothing could prepare him for the real thing. Sure, the coldness almost burned his skin like fire, but the beauty of the snowfall and the pleasing drift of the snowflake was something truly to behold. Then Mitakahn had a look at the intricacies of one single flake. The symmetry of the hard corners and even lines made nature look like it had specific designs to put humankind at awe. His next move was one of pure youth. Mitakahn lined up a snowflake falling above him and opened his mouth so it would land right on his tongue. He felt it dissolve instantly and smiled. It was delicious.
Why had he never seen a snowfall or a winter at that? The obvious answer was because of the Burning Mountains surrounding MagnaThora. They generated too much heat for any cold climates to take hold of the region. Somehow, the truth seemed deeper than just a smoldering mountain range. Natural boundaries could not completely contain MagnaThora from the rest of the world. Mitakahn knew there had to be more of an explanation out there, but before his mind could wander off too far the rattling light from within the boulderock called him back to his strange reality. Something was seriously wrong with this land. It was time to leave. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Another scream came from the sky. It was clearly some kind of a beast but this time its call sounded more like a cry for help. Perhaps it had fallen victim to the natural phenomenon. The white fields around him were unapproachable. He felt like his gravity was multiplying, a density surrounded him and weighed him down. It was almost easier to walk back to the stone. In fact, it felt much better to do so. Mitakahn retraced his footprints in the snow.
He didn’t realize the density followed him in until it was too late. He tried to walk away from the lit tree again but couldn’t budge. Now he was close enough to the stone to reach out and touch it. The bright branches of the willow tree dangled above him. The light within the stone and tree seemed harmless but it also appeared to be the cause of all these crazy environmental changes.
It was time for Mitakahn to do what he did best and make a regrettable decision. He reached forth and touched the rock with his left hand. Not even a gentle touch with just the tip of his pointer finger, but a full palming of the boulderock. It didn’t matter that the arm was in a sling. During times of pure fascination Mitakahn defaulted to pure impulse, and his instinct was his left hand, broken or not.
Mitakahn’s eyes immediately rolled back in his head and lit on fire, a blue fire, as if it had never left. The light from the thunderbolt supercharged Mitakahn at first touch. He slipped into an electro-induced dream. His eyes rolled back and poured blue light out in every direction. Only one other time had the transition been so severe, the very first time, when he drank Echo’s potion.
It was pure darkness, stitched over my eyes to keep me from seeing the truth. I did not want to be here. This was not my doing, but if I am really having another vision. I will make the most of it, and dream of the Carbon Terra. Then why am I only seeing darkness? Is that why this pursuit of the diamond is so obscured in mystery?
I’m starting to get the feeling that just by pulling on these insane threads I am inadvertently causing the very doom my dreams foretell. So many times, now I have been stripped away of things closest to me, it is hard keeping myself grounded. The berserker showed me pure emotional darkness, the beating I received from the thieves showed me pure physical darkness. I get broken down, piece by piece, just to get put back together again in someone else’s image. But whom?
The darkness cracks through the stitches but does not give way to light. Only screams can be heard from behind the shroud of darkness. The cause of the ear-piercing screeches gets closer, and I can hear a scraping along with it. I want to wake up. It sounds horrible, like something that can kill me. If I can even die here…I just want to move. I want to break through this ensnaring darkness and soldier on. I have a mission and it starts with ridding myself of the darkness that burdens me. I shake my body and dislodge my arm from beneath me. I slide my hand to my chest. I can feel the light within. But I must find a way to reveal it. The screams get louder. I can feel its presence hovering over me. It is no beast. It is a person. And it does scream…she cries.
I hum my mother’s song, one from our childhood lullabies. On instinct it is the only thing I can think of quick enough. The blood-curdling cry of the monster is almost paralyzing. If I do not get free soon she will strike with her dragging claws. They scrape like metal on rock.
Lord’s mercy for the savannah glades
A bountiful spread of the lion’s share
The crimson sun shines while the shadow fades
Keeping our land in the light and our country fair
The glow of light emanating from my chest cut beams through my hand. The beacons cut through the stitches and freed my sight. With the light comes back consciousness. You know how I can tell? I can feel, once again, the heightened sensation of my left hand getting charged by the lighted stone.
? ? ?
The static light from within made it warm to the touch. It felt good after his time in the snow. That was until he realized he couldn’t pull his hand off. Mitakahn panicked and tried pulling with his other hand. The excruciating pain instantly reminded him of his broken wrist. This was not good. The more he struggled to get his hand off the more the pain came back, and even worse, the more his makeshift tourniquet became undone. Mitakahn had to swallow the pain and do whatever he could to break free. He even got his knees under his arms and feet on the stone to put all his weight into pulling his left hand off. It didn’t work, but boy did it smart like hell. The tourniquet finally fell apart, leaving his wrist bare. He looked down and saw the light crawling towards his fingers. The lightning wanted to take him over too.
Two razor sharp metal shards darted through the air. They sunk into the rock around his hand. The unique squawk supported by the sound of chimes made it clear to Mitakahn who had arrived to save the day. Chronis the silver-tailed hawk dive-bombed down towards Mitakahn on the ground and rolled to avoid the tree. The snow was quickly melting on the ground revealing the misted green of the grassy hill. Before he crashed into Mitakahn and the rock, Chronis reversed course, launching his wings forward, releasing two more metal feathers.
Their impacts sent cracks to the other two breaches, connecting together, and lodging a cube of the stone loose. Mitakahn fell to the ground with it. The weight of the boulder grinded his broken wrist-bones together. The pain was overwhelming. He wanted to faint. He felt the sensation lurking, but he needed to press on. After the release, all of the light from the hill gathered into the bedrock and jolted back up through the tree, finally releasing the thunderbolt back to the sky.
What was left of the snow and the lighted rain was now gone. All that remained was the piece of the glowing bedrock still attached to Mitakahn’s hand. Chronis jumped down to him on the ground and hopped over to help with the rock. As he tried wedging his tail between them, Mitakahn took a moment to pet the bird. He felt it was a good way to show his gratitude. Nothing meant more to him than having a friend back by his side. He patted Chronis on the top of the head. The bird awkwardly froze in place, human affection was still new to him.
Even the tiny feathers were made of soft silver. Petting Chronis felt like rubbing thinly veiled metal. Mitakahn examined the flight grease coating the silver wings. It was a fine layer, probably a natural discharge, like sweat, that prevented rust. He rubbed the bird’s featherhead as he got a closer look. He began to notice the mystical bird warming up to him. Chronis closed his eyes and enjoyed the praise.
A loud thud broke their wholesome reunion. A brief whimper sounded off in the same direction as the crash. The whimper reminded Mitakahn of the roars from the clouds. He looked at Chronis who was already back on-guard. Chronis flew up towards the crash. Mitakahn broke into the best run he could muster and scrambled after his companion. When Mitakahn arrived at the crash he took a wide stance, still dragging the rock, and readied himself as Chronis landed on his shoulder.
The smoke from the crash cleared and before them was a massive creature of ancient legend. It did not take Chronis by surprise. Mitakahn, on the other hand, could not believe his eyes. He thought nothing could top the snow. The dragon did not look dead. In fact, if he looked closely enough he could see its smooth black scale-covered chest moving up and down. Its arms, legs, and even its tail were each longer than Mitakahn head-to-toe. The black scales gave way to charcoal gray stripes along its hide and seemed to give off a reddish glow as if from the fire within. The gray led all the way up to its head gradually paling to bone horns.
Mitakahn was most intrigued by the thin layer of skin that made up its wingspan between the tendon and bones protruding from its shoulders. He wondered how such material could be thick enough to propel this massive beast off the ground but thin enough to keep it airborne. The same redness dominated the dragon’s wing-skin, disqualifying Mitakahn’s theory that its source was from the fire in the belly of the beast. After careful examination of the downed powerhouse, Mitakahn shared a look of agreement with Chronis. The sentiment was quite mutual between man and bird. They should leave before it woke up. There was only one problem with that. As they turned around someone was standing there waiting for them.