Demon of the Black Gate

It had been over a day since Cerra felt the familiar taste of her home. She rocked with the easy pace of the horses’ walk. Kamir was asleep, tucked between her lap and the saddle. The demon led the way, a shimmering beacon that stayed in front of her. Cerra found herself looking away, taking in her surroundings with her usual senses without the distraction of his glowing nude form. Her senses were alive with new flavors and sounds. It wasn’t just the crispness of the altitude. It was since she had seen the ... she let the thought die and searched her memories for the smell of her cabin, the sound of the lake, anything that felt like home. She tried to envision her neat rows of newly tied sage, but that got lost as well. The new impressions were much too strong. The high, alpine air had a crispness to it that made her think of apples and clean linens on her bed. The spare pines that grew at these heights had a more intense and singular aroma and she could hear the wind whisper through their needles high above her head. She pictured them as being older and wiser trees, tall and grand, but bark gnarled like Benny the Carter’s cane. She felt she could smell each tree as she passed.

The old road continued its slow sinuous ascent along the flanks of the granite mountains. Many of the abutments remained, though where others failed, the constant traffic of deer and mountain cat alike created a trail easy enough to follow around the fall. Riding through one tiny meadow nestled in the high slopes she managed to catch some of the wildflowers that grazed her legs in passing. She spent a great deal of time touching them, smelling them, and trying to guess their color. Part of her mental game was asking the flower what color they would like to be.

At the end of the second day, they reached a small valley nestled among the peaks. As she rode into the vale, she felt she was riding into a bowl big enough for the gods. A well spoken word would carom about its many faces. In the early afternoon, soon after they had entered the alpine valley, her ears caught the gurgle of a spring, a bright sound that rang like small bells as it fell onto pebble and rock.

She leaned over the horses neck to whisper into Sugar’s ear. “Water”

Sugar obediently meandered away from the trail to the nearby spring, coming to a halt. Kamir jumped down and immediately began scouting the close perimeter. Cerra slid from the saddle and pulled her walking stick from the sleeve sewn in behind the flap. Kamir meowed over by the sound of the spring. She tapped and felt her first step on smooth rock and light loose gravel. She tapped her way to the spring, quickly discovering the rounded stones that might trip her. The gurgling sound was close and she could smell the water. She knelt, hearing Kamir lapping and dipped her hands in the water caught by a shallow stone basin. She heard the movement and caught the now familiar scent of the demon. He was standing behind her.

“You have water.” he said.

“Yes.” she replied, turning towards him. “I think I’d like to rest. This is a wonderful spot. I feel like listening to the mountains for awhile.”

To the demon this made perfect sense and he said nothing.

“... and ... make some tea.” Cerra said. “Would you like some?” she added, completely from habit.

“It will go right through me.” the demon said flatly.

This struck Cerra as enormously funny, and the echoes of her laughter sparkled like the brook. The demon looked on confused. He decided he was pleased by her outburst.

She subsided into a giggle. “Oh, I know, I know. It is the same with me.”

She felt a lot better than she thought she would. And she was very hungry.

“Well, the tea won’t make itself.” she declared. She started tapping her way around the immediate vicinity of the spring. She discovered a small grassy spot not far from the spring. She tossed down her bag, and picked a spot nearby. She rolled a small nearby rock onto it. She then started canvassing the grounds close about, picking up a fist sized stone or a bit larger and tossing them to the spot she had marked in her mind. She was enjoying a game she often played when gathering roots. The first one was the mark, and the following ones were meant to target it. The click or thud marked success. And bounces counted. The demon watched her curiously.

“What are you doing?” the demon asked at length.

“Playing a game and making a fire pit.” she said, putting the stones together. “I’m very hungry. I could use some twigs and some small dead branches if there are any. I can make a fire with those.”

The demon thought for a moment. “Fire”

He grabbed a large rock and began compressing it in his hands. It glowed orange and began to pulse with flame. He set it down in the circle.

“Fire.”

“That ... is a handy art to have.” Cerra said. She felt the welcome heat from the glowing rock, though something was missing.

“I hate to be a bother, but having some twigs and such to burn would be nice. I can hear it you see. Does that make sense?”

The demon could not find an opinion, yet set out about the spring to collect some. He added a handful to the small round that held the glowing stone. The wood, much of it rich with dried sap, began crackling merrily. Cerra was back at her horse, pulling a shallow pot from her saddlebags, a cloth bag sat at her feet. She picked up the bag and made her way back in careful steps without her stick to the remembered spot. She had made packets of dried meat from a fat hen. She mixed in seeds called kinwa by the traders, and dried carrotroot with a savory leaf. A little water and some stewing would render them edible. If Kamir didn’t find his own dinner, she’d feed him some of hers.

The demon watched as she moved about. Many of them hesitant, while others sure. The actions he observed nagged at his consciousness, experiences and rituals destroyed by the timeless black. He lost track of the moments as he probed the recesses of his fractured past. He was becoming the rock, sinking back into the eons.

“So what is fire like?”

The sound came through like a bell in cavernous hall. The demon opened his eyes and mind. The mountains still stood guard. The red haired woman was sitting back against a small boulder, and puffing from her pipe. The cat was licking at the plate set down at her side. She was gazing up to the night sky. He followed her gaze. He saw the stars splashed against the moonless sky. She saw nothing, yet she smiled. He thought about her question. He had been compelled by fire when the man, the vizier, had first sought to return him to his doom. The vagrant angers and capricious flight. The consumption of fuels and brilliance of the power.

Cerra was sitting back, enjoying the peaceful lie of her sevenleaf, and feeling the openness above her and the bowl of the high valley. Starry nights were hard to paint in her mind, and the black expanse of sky often floated with the nebulae of her imagination.

The impressions of the demon came to her in a flurry, like a lick of flame which singed and was gone. Fire. She felt the brilliance which was thrilling, but also the spurious anger. She preferred the brilliance. The brilliance was light. She felt her skin glowing, extending all around her.

“That’s … powerful.” She let the thought escape her, wishing to say something to the demon, but without the words to express them. She felt the nod of agreement from the demon and the flames of his thought burned briefly inside her. They darted capriciously. They were burning. She let her imagination soar into the heavens. The rock in the fire pit continued to glow, spreading its warmth comfortably. The firmaments became laced with the fires of orbs, circles of gases reaching out into the darkness. The light in the void. It must have been the very first thought she had ever had in this world. She let her mind circle that awareness as she gazed sightlessly into the night sky.

The demon caught her conclusion. He too looked up into the moonless sky.

‘And there was light,’ he agreed.

Cerra slept curled in her riding clothes near the fire pit which continued to glow and heat long after the last twigs had burned away. Kamir found a small hollow in a rock above her and appeared to keep watch all night, ears twitching and head turning with every sound. It was the sound of ravens croaking in the ragged junipers that woke her. The sun was as yet blocked by the high peaks, but she could smell the dew and knew that first light had broken. She felt the heat from the fire as she rolled over.

“That’s handy.” she thought. “Someone has finally made a reliable fire.”

She knelt at her pack and withdrew her ration of kafi, and had water boiling quickly. She was soon sitting against the rock that had been dubbed ‘chairity’ and sipping her treasured drink. The ravens had continued to kaw, their croaks thinly in the high mountain air. She had always found ravens to be intelligent and generous birds. She occasionally mimicked their call as she sipped, sharing her own conversation with them. At length she fashioned a breakfast of some cut oats and dried apricots and a dollop of her precious honey. She took her time, enjoying the constant quiet gurgle of the spring and the crisp alpine air. She felt lighter.

“I may have lost a pound or two.” was her passing thought.

She finished by tidying up her bags and setting them on the horse. She had one last pot heating water. Before she gained the saddle again, she was determined to wash away the grit of the past two days. She stripped off her clothes and washed with a damp cloth she dipped in the warm water. She finished with some cold water splashed from the spring, leaving her feeling refreshed. As when she awoke and throughout her morning ablutions, the demon had stood motionless. He was gazing out to the southeast as though on watch. She dressed quickly with fresh small clothes, then stowed the pot and her grip in the saddlebags. The ground was mercifully flat with few stones to obstruct her, and the small arena of her camp was easily learned. She made the short trips to the horse with her supplies without her stick, though she stepped with care.

Chirping for Kamir was the signal to leave. She mounted Sugar and expected the leap to the saddle at any moment. Sugar made a little sideways step, turning as the horse sought to establish direction. Cerra could tell it was the way they had come.

“Not yet, Sugar. We’re not going home yet.” Cerra led Sugar’s neck with a touch of the rein, turning the horse until she saw the demon glowing in her sight. She lent down and whispered in her mare’s ear, pointing at the demon. “Where he goes ... we go!”

Sugar looked back once, presumably at the remembered barn, then decided to go ahead. She heard a gurgled meow ... Kamir running ... and then the cat scrambled to his perch on the saddle.

“We’re ready.” she called brightly. The demon said nothing. He turned and began his methodical march up the trail. Cerra urged the horse into motion behind the silvered image that had become a beacon.

Cerra didn’t see the many steeply cut cart trails that wound up the spurs and ridges gripping the high valley. The trail the demon followed led to the rear of the valley where the trail gathered and broke as it ascended a dominating ridge. At the cusp of the ridge the old road was evident again, and unspoiled by the slides and overgrown foliage further down the mountain. The way led to a shelf, which fanned from a square-cut hole that gaped darkly. Its edges were shorn up with heavily carved lintels, the characters over the cavern entrance proclaiming the Dragon’s Egg Mine. The demon stopped at the entrance.

“We pass through the mountains here.” the demon. “A … cave.” he said, deciding on the right word. He looked out from the escarpment, the high alpine valley spread below. The demon had come aware of a vibration, the faint reverberation of a bell. He gazed to the southeast and Cerra could see him flare.

“He is there.” was all he said. He stared off to the South for a moment, searching. Then, without warning, the demon turned and started forward, into the mine entrance.

“Wait. A moment.” Cerra was reluctant to ride in. Kamir was sitting up craning his head from left to right as though to get a better look. She wanted to feel this first. The cool air that emerged from the entrance was faint and dusty. The gap in front of her felt like a box with no end, the only sound the feeble echo of its walls.

“Is there a torch? Can we have light?”

“You cannot see.” the demon. His neutral tone was stating the obvious.

“Not me.” she said, stilling her nervousness. “It’s for the animals. The horse really.”

The demon ignored the many torch handles that had been stocked and forgotten long ago, as well as the bucket of pitch that had hardened to amber. He grabbed a rock and compressed it in his hands until it began to flare. He turned and began walking into the cave.

“Ok. Ok. I’m coming.” she said. She could already hear the close sameness of the cave ahead.

The demon moved on ahead of her, arm raised. A faint aura extended from his hand.

“It must be the flame. His torch.” she thought.

She entered the cave and the weight of the mountain descended about her.