Demon of the Black Gate

As Cerra descended from the mountains the foliage had grown thicker until now she about to enter their solid embrace. Like the cave, she thought, though not as heavy. She could smell the tangs of oak and walnut and chestnut, and the fragrances of cedar and fir. It was both close and towering above her. The forest felt old and sleepy. The thick mulches that lay beneath the branches had long lay undisturbed. She could feel the mushrooms lurking beneath the surface, but decided against any detours. Kamir, after a brief trot alongside, was back in the saddle with her. She swayed along with the motion of the horse, listening for the sounds of birds, and adding notions to her mental painting as she picked up scent or sound.

The trail was no longer steep, barely downhill at times, as it wove through the heavy forest. There was a junction that Cerra missed, an abandoned road that began at the end of the first meadow she came to. It proceeded in the direction she wished to go and still showed braces of stonework. The path that Sugar took from the clearing was an equally forgotten thoroughfare that lead to an abandoned town sunk deep in the forest. Once it had been an outpost for the hardy souls that worked the east side of the great mine, the ones that dared the path to the entrance. Once the mine was abandoned, so was the town. It was inhabited by robbers for awhile, but it was not close enough to any travelers to be worthwhile, and so finally gave in to the forest.

It wasn’t but a league past the fork that she rode into the town, with its decayed structures of wood and stone, much of it frozen in time and incorporated into the very woods itself. Cerra quickly determined she had ridden in to some abandoned dwelling. The air passed the eaves and rafters with a familiar whistle, like the boarded walks of Amberland Gap. But where those walks echoed with life, these bore the presence of past souls that she could feel as she rode through. She would have been happy to see some live ones, but in such a place, right now, she felt anyone she’d meet would not mean her well. She was growing tired, although the thought of stopping in a place where so many ghosts remained did not appeal to her.

The route that led into the town ended at a large square. There was a well; she could smell the familiar stone and water. She stopped the horse and dismounted. She felt her way to the wellhead, a stone cistern framed by chiseled steps. The water was fresh. She rested a few moments, collecting her thoughts while she nibbled a small dry cake from her pack. She had pulled the last of her dried meat and tore a piece for Kamir. The wells in many towns were the gathering place and a crossroads for many. There would be a few choices leading from here, but which one?

It had only been since they’d reached the clearing afforded the town that she could actually feel the sun, and it had been to her right as they approached. Without recognizing any significant turns, she felt they were facing east now, and a southern route would be the obvious choice. It had been three days since the demon had been pulled away. Nearly half of her journey now had been on her own. The thought of being anywhere outside her home had once been worrisome to her. Even the regular rides to town had sometimes been nervous affairs. Now she had no idea where she was. She knew she would be lost without Sugar.

The lands around her was vibrant with life, even dangerous things. She’d rather the forest than the uncomfortable dead shell of the abandoned village. She wondered if the demon would return, or if he was gone to that blackness,. She shuddered at the memory of her own brief link to it. She would try to keep riding south. She would come to a place where she could turn west again should the demon not return. Home.

She pulled herself up onto the saddle.

“Come on, everyone!” she called, “There’s no excitement in this town. We’re heading south.”

The lane that led south had once been the main artery connecting the mining town to the markets to the south. The route was in reasonably good shape. Stone bridges still crossed the many streams that crisscrossed the heavy forest. Cerra rode along silently. Her companions talked in purrs or neighs, or in any number of mannerisms. She let them speak as she rode, and listened to the language of the trees as well. There was a certain way the air moved through them that lent to their whisper, the fluttering of leaves, the bristling of pines, the sigh of firs. She picked up the fidgets and flurries of tiny animals and birds. It was easy to picture the squirrels and birds, but she wondered what other creatures lived in these places. Some scents were the same as the forests she knew, some different.

She drifted along, swaying on the back of the mare and tried to feel everything. Her dancing imagination colored the scene thick with vegetation. She felt the low, slow language of the giant trees. She could feel their weight as surely as she could feel the weight of the earth inside the long tunnel. There was a scattered density to the bushes and shrubs that fought for daylight nearer the forest floor. Birds dodged through their branches and small creatures scuttled nervously at their feet.

A branch brushed passed her face, and as she swept it past her, snatched a leave and twig. She felt the knobby new cast of the twig and the shape of the leaf. She crushed a corner of it and smelt then tasted it. Jessann, had taught her well. She knew the distinctive alkaloid tangs and muddy basal tastes of the plants, herbs and natural elixirs of nature. The leaf was a laurel, she could tell by the shape and texture. The taste was close too, but this was far earthier than the bay that grew close to her home.

She stuffed the rest of the leaf in her skirt pockets. She could add it to the stew pot for flavor. She had felt the sun go down a while ago, but there was still a lot of activity in the heavy wood, so she deemed the moon must be waxing near full. That would be about right, she thought, my body agrees. The recollection of moonlight caused her to adjust her worldview, drifting through the young memories of moonlit nights she remembered as a child. The image she had long painted of the lake in front of her cabin came to the fore, moon lit in the palest cool blue light. The same kind of light that swirled the shape of the demon.

She sent out a silent prayer for him. The moonlit scene that she had imagined coalesced into the demon, rather the man she saw. She let the image hang in her sight … the silvery lake had gathered into a man … as fluid as the water. He had done that. He did so again in her vision. Approaching her. She felt blissful, wanting to gather into the embrace that was neither water nor glow. It felt like she absorbed his image like breath, feeling his shoulder, laying her head against it. The thought ‘you are loved’ permeated her mind. It felt like her thought. It felt like his thought. Loved yes, but she knew he was imprisoned, his cage moving with him wherever he goes. She had no idea how she could help, and yet here she was.

“I don’t know if I’m helping him, but he is certainly helping me.” The trees had no ready reply.

She rode on, into the evening, the forest getting noisier as she rode along. The trail emptied into a small glade. She felt the air open up with the smell of grass and the curved breeze of space. She was hungry. She halted the horse and slid to the ground. Kamir had jumped from the saddle with Cerra.He would be off seeking a morsel to eat. She felt in her bags for some of the cakes she had made before she left. She was down to one, really just a collection of large crumbs. She scooped them up with her fingers and popped them in her mouth. She thought of the small chocolate and oat cakes she liked to make and craved some now. A treat she’d allow herself as soon as she got back. Two batches.

Well, that was just a mere snack. No chocolate cakes hung on the bushes. If she were but left in charge, those things would happen. Even so, there must be plenty of food about, and the surrounding forest was stirring with activity. She grabbed her snare and her cane and tapped. She wanted to walk around, but first had to know something of the area about her. She backtracked the short distance to the forest edge and lay out a springe along a jointed tree root.

“Tell me when I’ve caught something, Mr. Root.”

She started a wide circle back towards her horse. Grass mostly, but as she stepped carefully forward, her fingertips brushed the feathery florets of skirrets. She knelt and dug her knife into the ground and pulled out the carrot-like root. Two more were right next to her and she had them out in seconds. She felt some biscuitroot too, known for its stems and root. There would certainly be dandelion nearby, and sweeping her hands from where she was, discovered some. She plucked some greens and a few young flowers.

She stood up brushing her skirts and gathered the roots and greens. She walked a bit more, searching for the cues that the meadow would give her. The lemony tang of sheep sorrel as apparent when she stepped on it, and certainly pigweed would be nearby as well. She got on her hands and knees and felt for the leafs she wanted, as well as some lambsquarters. She crawled a bit more hoping to find the tart pigweed. It didn’t take long for her sensitive fingers to discover the round leaf. Many disdained it in the plateau: farmers used it to add to the pigs swill. But she knew in the south, it was traded as Amarinth and highly valued. What’s in a name? Well, it is now in my salad, she thought. She had to re-orient herself and she caught the scent of the horse.

She left her little bundle of roots and greens at her new camp and thought about the root where she had left her snare at. She felt its location in her mind and tapped her way back. There was coney trapped in the noose. She snapped it tight, stilling the rabbit.

“Dinner.” she said. “We’ll eat well tonight!”

She felt her way back to the grassy spot she’d chosen and dropped the coney next to the greens. She made her way back to the root again, now familiar territory, and felt around the tree for deadwood. It was a tangle of alder, and low dead end branches were abundant. She snapped and collected as much as she could carry, and made another trip to be sure. It felt good to move around again. She had little chance so far, especially in the aerie tracts of the cliff and down to the forest from the cave. Stones. There had been some over where she found the tubers. She felt her way there, and knelt down to loosen a number of them. She tossed them back in the direction of the pile she had made. She counted the clicks when she hit stones. Just six. She’d had better games. She tapped her way back to the pile and knelt to collect everything. Two of the stones had hit the rabbit before bouncing clear.

“Oh well,” she laughed. “Tenderized.”

She set the stones up for a small cookfire, and broke up the bits of alder. She sparked a flame, and nursed it up to a small crackle. She smiled at the thought of the demon making fire. There was another trip to the horse, which had drifted a bit in its grazing, but the crunch of its teeth as it snatched at the grass made Sugar easy to find. The immediate area was now patterned enough in her mind that she only a few deft taps of her cane were necessary. She slipped a bag of potpourri out of the saddle and tried to think of what else she’d need.

‘Oh, yes, the cooking pan. Must have that.’

She poured water from the skin into the pan and carefully brought it back to the little fire. The rabbit was skinned and spitted, the roots cut up and simmering in the water along with some of the potpourri. The fallen tree made a convenient backrest, and she sat back to let her stew work for awhile. She tried to untangle her hair, there were a couple of leaves and tiny twigs in there from her firewood gathering. She despaired of a comb and brush. She didn’t want to get up just yet and deal with it, so she gave her hair a hopeless twist to gather it in, jabbed one of her hair sticks into it and savored the smell of the food beginning to cook.

She pulled her pipe from the folds of her skirt and stuffed a bit of her sevenleaf mixture in it. She puffed contentedly at the pipe taking in the sounds and smells as they drifted past her. By the sounds in the trees, the glade must be not be very wide. She thought it would be about twice as far as she could throw a rock. She was at the near end. She’d felt deer pellets when gathering the roots. Grazers and predators alike would find their way to this little clearing, just as she had. She decided not to let it worry her as there was very little she could do. Kamir came back into the camp and dropped something at her feet. He would have already eaten his share. She felt for it. The tail of a vole. She made motions of lip smacking and tossed it over her shoulder out of sight as she did. Kamir rubbed himself against her shin.

She rinsed her hands with a splash from her cache of water and pulled the rabbit from the fire and let it cool on the grass beside her. She parted the roasted skin and pulled meat from the bone and dropped them into her stew, tossing a few to Kamir. She was hungry and sampled it often. It was delicious, the tubers thickening the gruel and her potpourri of spices made it every bit as good as she had made in her own kitchen.

“... though right now I could probably eat kelpfish raw through a chicken fence and enjoy it.” she thought.

She tore up bits of the dandelion and dropped them into the stew. They’d blanche briefly while she ate. Their lemony bitterness added to the smoky taste of the spitted rabbit. She said a little orison for the rabbit and roots, thanking them for what they shared, then ate her fill. She belched with contentment when she was done. There was enough leftover for morning.

Kamir sat next to her, purring. She pulled out her pipe, and drew a brand from the fire to light the seven leaf. She felt very good. A lone glade in a forest she would never see, yet she felt she knew it. The immensity of the world extended beyond her, much of it never to be experienced at all. Her mind had laid out the dimensions of the little glade, and it was as grand she imagined as any of the fables gardens of Shezade. She heard the soft flutter of an owl. They sounded like no other bird. She envisioned the bird gliding against the light of the moon.

The moon. The demon had the same lustrous blue glow, and they faded together as she sank, a weight pressing her down into the earth. Her reveries of earlier drifted back and she was both awake and asleep, embraced and pulled into it. The blue moon remained as she sank, feeling heavier and heavier, until the whole weight seemed to move, taking her with it. The moon stayed in her sight, she felt lifted towards it, the weight was the speed of her flight. She knew she could wake, she could sleep, she could stay in this flight.

The glade fell away from her, she saw herself resting, a mirrored surface and the forest, there were grasslands beyond, then rising, flying, rushing headlong towards the moon ... the demon. She called to him. The glow, the transition from moon to demon engulfed her. The black of space pulsed with the impact and sent a surging crest of energy into the inky dark.

“I am here ... I am here.”

She felt intense pleasure, rooted behind her brow, and for one long moment the blue energy pulsed and sang about her, a low resonating chime as it evaporated from her center and coursed into the depths of the star strewn sky. The slow twining movement of the chord sank into her and evaporated like smoke. The moon was swept away by clouds as the weight fell away, the flight ceasing, falling, floating, never landing as the darkness of night and forgotten dreams returned. She slept.

Cerra woke early. She felt the warmth of the early sun. Birds sang from every direction, more than she could count. She lay there for a while, taking in the sounds of them, giving them faces when she heard a familiar call. Chickadees flitted in the far bushes, and yellow finches were scattering about the grasses. She listened to their songs, and more. She soon quit picturing the birds and instead painted the music of their chirps and calls. It was a halo around her. She drifted on the birdsong for awhile until one came through clearly. She heard the flashing of a kingfisher. There was a pond in the clearing! She had smelt the moisture when she entered last night, but it didn’t register. The intensity and power of her dream came back to her: the mirrored surface she had seen as she floated above the forest. It was at the far side of the clearing. She felt Kamir still curled next to her, pressed to her hip. She reached to pet him.

“Time to get up, sleepy head.” she said. “And I’m talking to me, not you, just in case you want to take offense.” She could feel Kamir stretch and settle back as if he didn’t believe her.

“Moving now.” she said, and felt the cat tumble from the fringes of her skirt as she rose. “I warned you.” she laughed. She left him to his own devices, no doubt back with his own breakfast before too long. She picked up her stick and a small bag and drew a line in her mind to the kingfisher sound she had heard. She began tapping her way across the meadow. Much of it was grassed, with wildflowers rising above the green to brush at her cane. She felt the occasional large rock, and remnant of a long past fallen tree. Kamir bounded past her, whacking her leg purposefully with a catlike growl as he passed.

“I’m ‘it’ again.” she laughed. “You just wait!”

She felt tufts of phlox and coneflower. Wild lupine and blue flax, rose mallow and sheik’s blanket. She snipped a bloom off as she passed one and held it to her nose. Dianthus. She stuck it in her hair by her ear. There would be bulb blooms closer to the pond. She hear the drone of bees. The touch and feel as she passed told her the field was thick with flowers, and bees.

“Hello, kind bees” she spoke aloud. “I apologize if I disturb you while I pass. I cannot see you to avoid you. Thank you for your patience with me. I know you are most kind and your honey is forever sweet.”

Whether it was the blessing or gratitude from the bees, she didn’t know, but she smiled as if the transaction were made and the bees seemed to be in agreement, for there were no stings. She heard the low note of a bumblebee float close to her ear.

“Good day to you too.” she said as it buzzed near her. It hovered a moment, collected from the flower tucked behind her ear, then droned off.

Kamir was very close. She could hear the sweep of his tail. It didn’t surprise her when he jumped and ran off, bounding closer to the large pond. It hadn’t been quite as far as she’d imagined. A gurgle marked a spring or creek inlet. It came from her left. She thought she’d try away from the direction of the spring first. The water near the spring was likely cooler and the vegetation more overgrown. She was hoping to find a convenient shelf or beach. She had not bathed for days.

Her feet touched a loose mix of gravel and dirt, a sloping berm. She felt her way up and around a number of large mossy rocks, then the berm pitched down a little bit to the edge of the pond. She felt herself pass into the shade, as she edged along the side of the pond, slipping on the berm. She dropped her stick catching her balance, but heard where it clattered to a stop. She knelt carefully to retrieve it.

“Ok, Kamir. Find a spot.” she offered, hearing him bound forward.

He meowed, just ahead, and he wasn’t moving.

“OK. Let’s see what you’ve found.”

The berm lessened and she felt soft ground under her feet just as the sun lit again on her face. She tapped a semi circle away from the water. She found a nice spot to sit, a round rock barely covered by the ground. She undid her skirts and her bodices, shedding her clothes. The mid morning air felt glorious. She reached for her bag and pulled out a mallow bar, which she could soap her hair with. Her cane lay unneeded as she eased to the water.

There was a nice amount of grit in the muck that sifted her toes when she stepped in the water. It would scrub her good. The water quickly rose as she stepped, the third pace caused it settle at the joining of her legs. She eased herself back into the sandy slope she had just stepped down so that her head and shoulders were just above the water.

“Oh gracious this feels good.”

She wanted to laze there, but the water was cool enough even where it was warmed by the sun that she couldn’t tarry too long before she chilled. The sun would do well for that she thought.

She ran the mallow through her hair, soaping and rinsing, savoring the water coursing over her head. She scrubbed arms and legs with the sandy mud. Her attention was caught by the flit of a dragonfly which must be hovering very close to her face. They were her favorite insect. The dashing flights of them had impressed her greatly when she was young, and their image was easy to reconcile. She smiled, eyes closed to the world. There was another buzzing, one that at first she thought was the bees, but the sound didn’t come from the meadow. She looked up, keeping her ears just out of the water, feeling the sun full on her face. She opened her eyelids, the heat seemed to permeate her sightlessness as a silvery blue fog.

The drone grew closer, and the fog began to get thicker and fall like rain into the pond. The water danced, struck by the sudden squall. She felt her body glow as the aura spread before her. She saw the form gather until the blue fires of the demon stood before her. She thought of the dream last night, her journey to the moon. She felt a flush of wetness from within.

“Where have you been?” she murmured.