It was strange indeed to have morning signalled in the west, but that was the nature of Cheskych, Nemgas reminded himself. Everything in this gorge was in some ways a mirror reflection of what was real outside. Out on the Steppe, no town would have ever let the Magyars make camp within their walls, but the people of Cheskych did so. There were other comparisons to be made he knew, but his mind was not capable of dredging them up.
Nemgas had not slept peacefully that night, unable to get his mind off of the stories he wished to tell, but moreso for the reason he wished to tell the stories. Had Pelain actually climbed Cenziga? Knowing as little as he did of the builder of this town, it was entirely plausible. Cenziga was still a good months journey from Cheskych, even as the crow flies, but stories of it would have been known to any traders who’d made their way to the foothills of the Vysehrad.
Others had climbed Cenziga, Nemgas knew that. Otherwise how could the terrible legends and warnings surrounding that ash mountain have ever come to exist? But Pelain was the very first person he had heard of about whom it had also been suggested had made the climb. Perhaps if he’d heard other names mentioned before this it would not have upset him so, but still he could not help but feel that if true it was significant in some way.
Nevertheless, he dressed warmly and emerged to take a meal before making his ascent up the stairs of Cheskych. Pelgan and Gamran also rose with him, the little thief’s narrow face full of anxious delight at the prospect of doing something as exciting as this. Pelgan was more contemplative, rubbing a lock of his long unbraided hair between his fingers, dark eyes lost amidst the high peaks on either side.
They had asked their wagonmates Berkon and Kaspel to join them, but they, like Chamag, had already been given duties to attend to that day. So, after a warm meal of eggs and bread, the three of them, freshly lit lanterns in each hand and a small pouch of provisions at their side, began to walk through the streets of Cheskych.
The morning was not new minted, and so several of the townsfolk were out walking the streets, tending to small gardens in which grew berries and grapes. Most of the children were helping their parents with the chores, though a few did run about with mischief on their minds. Nemgas was disappointed when he did not see Pelurji or Pelaeth on their walk to the stairs at the deep end of the gorge, but he suspected that he would see them again later.
The townsfolk did avoid the three Magyars walking by in their colourful clothing, bearing lanterns that provided no more illumination to the sun filled gorge. But that did not stop Gamran from being his usual boisterous self, greeting with a whimsical step each person as he passed. Though one hand held a lamp, his other was busy juggling two balls, taking great delight in the distraction it caused amongst the children.
When they reached the stairs though, he slipped both back into his pouch and stared. They all did in fact, standing still for several moments while the considered the stone staircase that wound up into a small fissure in the escarpment. With the reflected sun at their backs, light filled the fissure, highlighting many veins of rock, some that sparkled like thousands of pinpricks of snow. But they could also see that the fissure turned sharply only a short distance in. They would need the lanterns to even see the stairs in less than a minute’s time.
“We shouldst begin,” Nemgas said, looking to his fellow Magyars. “We hath not a day to waste in watching.”
Pelgan nodded, grimacing and tossing his hair back over his shoulders. “‘Tis true. How long wilt it take to climb, I doth wonder.”
“We shalt find out,” Gamran said, smiling once more, his usual exuberance beginning to return. “Who shalt go first up yon stairs?”
Neither Pelgan nor Gamran seemed inclined to take the first step, so Nemgas did. “I hath found them, and ‘twas I that wished to climb them. So I shalt lead thee up yon steps. Come.” His mouth set in a firm line of resolve, Nemgas set his foot upon the first step, finding it solid and dry beneath his boot. He then lifted his other foot and set it down on the second step, discovering that it was much like the one below it. A few seconds later, and the walls of the escarpment crept up on either side of him, towering above impossibly high.
He tried to remember a time in his life when he had stared up at earth so high overhead, and could not quite think of a single instance, from either set of memories he contained. While the part of him that had been in Metamor could remember the towering peaks on either side of that castle, they had always been several miles distant, something to admire from afar. Even when that other person had been in the Åelfwood, the trees whose height seemed unbelievable could not compare, for they were but spike that rose up from the ground. He could walk around them in but a minute’s time.
Nor did he remember a time during his Magyar life when he’d stood beneath such a crushing weight. While he knew that he’d been to Cheskych many times before, and also along the entire length of the Vysehrad, never before had he stood so close to the cliff walls. They had always remained remote in some sense, as if they were a boundary not to be approached by a Magyar, as if beyond them lay a world that was not of their ken. And now Nemgas and his two fellow Magyars stood upon that threshold, ready to cross over.
“Why hast thee stopped?” Pelgan called from behind him.
“He needeth to relieve himself!” Gamran chided with a laugh.
“Nae,” Nemgas said, smiling, but not turning around. “‘Twas simply admiring the mountain.” And with that, he stepped into the shroud of the fissure, feeling those walls press in on either side of him. He stole a moment to glance upwards, but the twisting rock obscured any view of the sky from there.
Strangely though, with the huge weight of rock coming down from all sides, Nemgas felt completely comfortable. There was little more room to move about in their wagons after all, and they would spend an entire day within them while travelling if it was not their turn to lead them. Those were the days he most enjoyed in some sense, for he would wake up in one land, go into his wagon and spend many hours practising his arts, repairing his garments, or spinning tales of yore, and he would emerge to take his evening meal in another land.
It did not take long to reach the first turn, and soon, Nemgas could only barely see the stairs before him. Only the lantern he held in one hand provided any light, and the stairs were gloomy, but still clear. The centre of the stairs was worn slightly, but still solid and easy enough to climb. The steps themselves were long enough at first, though still steep. At several points as they made their way up the winding fissure, the steps would suddenly narrow, and they would have to slowly climb past them. Already, he was breathing heavily from the exertion of the climb, as were his friends.
The steps themselves were almost flush with the walls of the fissure. But between them and the walls were small channels that framed either side, worn deeply from year after year of run off. This was where the rain water washed through the fissure so that the steps would not completely disappear in only a generation. How many more would it before the channels washed out the support beneath the steps and they would be unclimbable? Nemgas knew that it would be a long time before that happened. Perhaps some wizard might come and might protect those stairs with a few spells, but otherwise he saw no way to preserve the staircase for all time.
The walls on either side of the staircase shifted and changed colours as they continued their ascent through the rock. At times the walls were so close together that they had turn on their sides to get through. Sometimes they would be wide enough apart that they could stand shoulder to shoulder as they climbed. But it was the colours that truly caught the eyes of the Magyars. The glossy greys and blacks that had met them at the base shifted into deep maroons and reds as they continued upwards, shifting into a blend of what seemed purple and blue at several points. It was clear that these walls were decorated by unmined gemstones, stones that could not be removed if these walls were to remain standing. What riches Cheskych had, but could not sell if they wished to continue living in the valley. Had they attempted to extract these gems, the very walls might collapse, burying their city and all that they are in the rubble.
The climb was very strenuous on all of them though. Every single step after the first was quite steep, forcing them to work their legs more than they were used to. And so after an hour of climbing, they paused upon a wider step to rest. That place was doubly unusual because above them the fissure did not twist and turn, but led directly out to the sky. As they leaned against the rock, rubbing their legs with calloused hands, they admired the bright blue of the sky far above. A few wisp of clouds trailed along that narrow opening, but otherwise the sky was clear.
“‘Tis still far we hast to go,” Pelgan surmised between breaths. He gestured with one finger at the long tunnel of rock that wound over their heads out to the sky. To Nemgas’s eyes, it did appear to be closer than when he’d first studied the escarpment, but still inescapably high.
“Aye,” Nemgas said, nodding slightly, and then turning his head form side to side to stretch it. He brushed the twin locks of white hair from his face, and then stretched the fingers that had been curled about the lantern’s handle. They were all stiff, but he was used to it. “We shouldst still return ere the fall of evening methinks.”
Both of them nodded at that, and after stretching for another minute, rose to continue their climb. Nemgas once again leading the way up the winding stairs. The view of the sky was quickly lost to them, but as they continued on their way, they began to see it more and more. But even so, it was always only in snatches, mere glimpses that lasted only a second or two. Ever upward they climbed, feeling the beginning of aches seep into their bones.
At one point, the steps became so steep that they were forced to use their hands to help them climb. Nemgas left his lantern behind him with Gamran holding both high to illuminate the way. After he made it through to a flatter section of the fissure, he turned, and with feet bracing him against either wall, held out his hand. Both lanterns were passed up to him, and he set one upon the rock to guide the little thief in his way up. And after he managed it, Pelgan did the same, passing his lantern up first before climbing.
Several more times they had to do that, but after the second, they did not even hesitate in their routine so natural it had become to them. Nor did they even need speak to each other often, as they found they could communicate well enough by silent gestures. Nor did the climb leave them much chance to talk, for it taxed all of their energy and breath. It was strange to Nemgas to be in the company of Gamran and not hear the little thief chatting on about this or that. Pelgan was certainly the quieter of the two, but even he was often want to speak as well.
When they stopped a second time, also under an opening to the sky, Pelgan excused himself, walked down a few steps, and dropped his trousers to relieve himself. He used the small channels beside the stairs for it, while Gamran and Nemgas shared a bit of bread and water. When Pelgan rejoined them, he too took some bread and water, and they once again continued upwards.
The colours of the rocks had changed again, this time returning to the greys and blacks from before. A few slivers of white could be seen, but they were not common. There was also something different about the rocks this high up. They seemed to press against them far less than before, as if they were thinner, airy in some way. The air itself grew colder, and they had to breathe harder just to feel it fill themselves. Nemgas found his left arm wrapped about his colourful jerkin as he climbed higher, trying to keep the warmth within him. Glancing back at one point, he saw that both Pelgan and Gamran were doing the same.
It was roughly three hours into their climb that the fissure above finally opened out to the sky, the rock wall on either side no longer twisting with each vein that filled it. In fact, the steps themselves became shallow, long and broad, as if they were striding up towards an emperor’s palace instead of a mountain peak. And it was not long after that either that they finally emerged from the fissure completely, finally once more standing in sunlight.
The three of them stood still as they climbed the last of the steps. With the sun striking them and warming them ever so slightly, they found that they could look in every direction and see a new marvel. The stairs opened out to the North, and there they saw row after row of high peaks and jagged rocks, some of them still topped by snow. Several paths seemed to stretch out before them atop the Vysehrad, though most seemed to wind away without any course whatsoever.
To their East they saw much as they did to the North. Mountaintops rose even higher though, and snow covered all of them. If a world existed beyond, it was blocked from their view. The sun itself was now shining directly from the South, and in that direction they saw the mountains continue unabated, but they also found that they could see down partway into the gorge in which Cheskych rested. Beyond they saw the expanse of the Steppe stretching out endlessly until it vanished beyond the horizon. And to the West they saw more of the Steppe, stretching beyond the view of their eyes. Their breath caught in their throats, even as it misted before their faces. They were standing very nearly atop the world, all of it laid bare before them.
“‘Tis...” Gamran started to say, but he could not find the words to describe it. None of them could. They did not even blink as they stared, their eyes unable to take all that the Vysehrad had to offer in. This, the Great Eastern Mountains, the Vysehrad, was that upon which they now stood. A place where men could not tame or pass, a place that stood as the Eastern boundary of all that was known to men. Lands beyond were rumour and unknown, fables told to disbelieving children. And there they stood atop its western peaks, very nearly the furthest in any man could attain.
“There,” Nemgas said at last, pointing towards a path that also bore several steps downwards that wound around to the west. “‘Tis what we seek methinks.”
Pelgan nodded, having set his lantern down so that he might rub feeling back within his chilled fingers. “Thou speakest true,” he said quietly, a firm wind grabbing at his hair and pulling it around one cheek.
“Shalt we see where it doth lead?” Gamran said, stepping out in front, smiling to the rest of them, his arms held close to his body. Both Nemgas and Pelgan nodded, following quickly after them. Pelgan left his lantern behind though, wrapping his arms about his chest.
The path was gentle compared to the stairs that they had taken, and it led right up to the edge of the escarpment, and then down slightly from it, a narrow path that was quite treacherous. A bar of iron appeared to have been fastened to the rock ledge that they might grip it as they moved, and all three of them did so. Just inches from their feet was the gorge itself, and as they peered down, they could see trails of smoke rising up from homes far below, the cluster of buildings appearing nothing so much as piles of rock placed atop one another.
At the far end of the valley they saw their wagons, their home, all clustered in a tight circle. Nemgas felt his heart ache as he saw the distance that lay between him and their wagons. Quite suddenly he yearned to return to them and to rest within his own, his blankets pulled tight about him. He could see that same look of longing in the faces of his friends. How strange was it for Magyars to be so far from their wagons. And the worst of it was that they looked so small, as if they were toys children had fashioned.
Amidst the wagons of their people, and the homes of Cheskych, they could see what looked like ants slowly moving about. Pinprick of light denoted fires that had been built, and these colourful ants congregated about them. “Canst thee recognize any?” Pelgan asked as he strained to look, his eyes firmly fixed upon the wagons and the long wall beyond them. “I canst not.”
Both Gamran and Nemgas shook their heads though. “Nae, they art too small,” Nemgas said. He then looked up and stared across the gorge and shuddered when he saw several dancing lights moving in the wall. After blinking a moment he realized just what they were. “‘Tis the mirrors,” he nodded his head by way of indication, “they doth show me our lanterns.”
“Ah,” Gamran said, smiling at last. “And beneath our feet art the rest,” He looked down, and sure enough, the huge mirrors hung, imbedded into the rock as surely as if it were the stone itself. All of them looked down, eyes transfixed on the massive sheets of polished glass. They stretched out for a long distance in either direction. The path that they stood upon wound its way to the southernmost mirror, which also happened to be the highest of them all, and then it dipped around and made its way underneath them all before the path simply stopped after the last.
“‘Tis how they must keep them clean,” Pelgan said softly. “‘Tis a duty that few men hath the valour for methinks.” He stared for several minutes over the edge in deep thought, but then pulled himself back up with his hands firmly gripping the long metal bar. “How doth they manage it, I wonder?”
Nemgas also pulled himself back upright, one hand tightly gripping the bar. “‘Tis possible that they tie ropes to this bar and lower themselves o’er the side. ‘Twould be how I wouldst clean them wert I of Cheskych.”
“Ah,” Gamran smiled, a look of relief clear upon his face, “but we art Magyars, and ‘tis not for us to do!”
“Great thanks dost I hath for that!” Pelgan said, his face whitening.
Nemgas nodded, glancing back up the path towards the stairs that would lead them back down. He then returned his attention to the mirrors on the other side of the gorge. “Canst thee imagine how they wert made? How couldst a mere man hath fashioned this mirrors and placed them here?”
Both Gamran and Pelgan shook their heads. “Only the gods hath strength enough for this, methinks,” Gamran said quietly, clearly awed.
“Aye,” Pelgan agreed, his face quite ashen now. “‘tis not the work of men but of gods.”
“Or a man touched by the gods?” Nemgas asked, though he was not sure why.
“Aye, ‘tis what this feat hath required.”
Nodding at that, Nemgas continued to watch, feeling the cold mountain air tugging at him as it blew.
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