Chosen of the One: Chapter 5, Part 2

31 December 2025

We return again with another installment from our epic fantasy, Chosen of the One, on this last day of the year, as we follow Blakstar’s ascent of the Mountain of Vision on a golden path that will test his readiness to become a full initiate of the kortexi order. . . . (9 December 2013) We again remind our readers to right-click on the Glossary link, open in a new tab or window, thus enabling the reader to learn what each of these new terms mean.

Chapter 5, Part 2

Blakstar’s eyes jerked open. The golden line moved ahead through the misty orange world even as body and stone flowed through each other. He could stand the discomfort, he thought, more than he could the strange visions when his eyes closed, and what these images were or where they came from troubled him, for they were images of sin and he must avoid evil thoughts. He tried to ignore the chilly, oozy feeling, concentrating on where he went through the rock to keep his mind off the images, except the blonde wetha, who caused strange, excited feelings in his heart; he thought of her and wondered what her name was, and what the figure in white had meant when he said that Blakstar already knew her name–he had no idea what her name was, so he simply thought of her as his ‘princess.’ He noticed the temperature around him rising, saw the orange mistiness lighten, change to a red-orange glow directly ahead. He slid out of the rock and into a large cavern. Heat and the stench of sulfur crashed into him; rivulets of red-orange lava crisscrossed the space before him. Jets of fire shot up from the fire and molten rock, smashing into the ceiling high overhead and raining fragments of stone and gobs of melted rock onto the floor of the cavern. The golden line wound through the cavern, crossing over the red hot flows of fire and molten rock. The kortexi coughed as he walked, his lungs both oppressed and seared by the heat and stench of burning rock. The first rivulets of fire were narrow and easily stepped over, although the heat emanating from the surface scorched his skin. He thought he could see steam rising from his exposed skin, ruddy in the glow of molten rock. The rivulets turned into streams, and he found it progressively more difficult to cross them. The strength of his limbs and his resolve drained out of him, or perhaps, were boiled out of him by the oppressive heat. He leapt across the widest flow yet, holding tightly to the rod. A jet of flame and molten rock shot toward the ceiling, narrowly missing him as he crossed and raining shards of stone and hot ash onto his head. His coughing slowed his movement, in spite of his resolve, and the voice spoke again in his mind.

Do not slow! the command repeated, then the voice softened. You must trust me.

Blakstar tried to walk forward at his former pace, but the resistance to forward motion was greater, empowered by the heat and stench. He came to an even wider flow and leaped across, even though he knew it was wider than he could jump in his weakened state. He saw his foot fall short of the further side, felt the heat increasing as he fell toward the molten flow, felt the rod grow heavier as he pulled it down from the golden line, felt one foot seared by flames, heard the scream escape his lips, felt the other foot burning, heard the crackle and smelled the stench of his own flesh beginning to burn.
Feel the rod–trust in me! the voice commanded.

In the red anguish overcoming his mind, he noticed that the rod felt cool to his touch. His eyes turned to his right hand, and with Herculean effort, his arm raised the rod back into the golden line. He felt himself lifted, the pain in his feet ceased, his breathing eased, the air felt cool as it passed his lips and filled his lungs. He felt firm ground under his feet, although he knew he trod flames and liquid rock. No sensation of burning touched his skin; no smell of burning flesh and sulfur filled his nose; no sight of steam rising from exposed skin; no acrid taste on his tongue, left by the air he breathed. He noticed that he was surrounded by a blue glowing nimbus that protected him from the heat and burning. He looked down and saw that he crossed a wide pool of fire. Jets of flame were more frequent, lashing the sphere that surrounded him, curling around the blue-glowing nimbus without touching him. The golden line he followed swung suddenly toward the ceiling and again entered the rock.

As has happened here, began the voice, cool and pleasant in his mind, so shall your life be preserved until you complete your life’s quest, if you but trust me.

The rod and kortexi slid smoothly into the rock; misty, orange darkness replaced the red glow of fire. After a time of oozing through the rock, soft green replaced misty orange, water replaced rock. The glowing nimbus surrounding him now turned yellow and provided him with air, as his path wandered among coral formations, the path about two feet off the floor of this ocean within the Mountain of Vision. Fish swam past him of every shape and color imaginable; some transparent, shaped like umbrellas with long trailing ribbons; some round as a ball and covered with thorny spines; others flat like a carpet, skimming just above the ocean’s floor. Still others had noses like saws, some so small he could barely see them, while others were as large as houses. The fish avoided his sphere, swimming around it without taking any notice. For a time, Blakstar paced forward, awestruck by what he saw. The path left the coral and entered an open, flat area at the ocean’s bottom. He saw the wreck of a ship just ahead, most of its bow missing. There were many holes in its sides, with fish of various sizes and types, swimming lazily in and out of the wreck. Only jagged stubs remained of the masts. The path angled to the left past the broken bow of the former ship. As the kortexi passed the dark opening, large dark tentacles shot out of the wreck, wrapping themselves around his sphere of protection. Instinctively, he ducked, but quickly remembered the lesson of the fire realm. The pressure inside the sphere grew as the tentacles tightened their grip. Blakstar focused his attention on the rod, reminding himself that nothing would harm him as long as he trusted in the being who directed his path. The pressure eased as the tentacles lost interest, returning docilely to the darkness inside the wreck.

The path turned to the right on passing the wreck and moved toward a line of underwater hills. At the base of the one nearest to him, the kortexi saw a dark opening, slightly illuminated by the glow of the golden line. His path descended to the floor of this underwater cave, and he felt the give of wet sand under his feet. Looking back he could see the shape of his sandals imprinted in the sand. The glow of the golden line illuminated the cave floor, and his eyes were caught by things sparkling. Looking down, he saw gold and silver coins, gems, bracelets and necklaces, armor, swords, and weapons of every possible type. Their number increased until the floor was completely covered by wealth unimaginable. As he walked along, he felt something hard and cold get caught in the toe of his sandal. Reaching down with his left hand, he removed the object from his sandal and found himself holding an ornately carved, golden key of some ancient design attached to a fine, golden chain. He thought he heard a bell ring somewhere in the distance, and so without thinking, dropped the chain around his neck, felt its coolness, and felt the key clunk against his chest. The golden line he followed swerved suddenly into the roof of this underwater passage, and the kortexi oozed again into the stony orange mistiness.

After a time in the misty, rocky-orange darkness, light began to grow in front of him again, its brilliance blinding; the kortexi slid out of the rock and into a world of brilliant blue light and absolute cold. Blakstar shielded his eyes, pulling the hood of his white robe down over his face to protect his vision from the glare that he knew could instantly blind one who stared into its brilliance. He felt the rod warming under his hand, and caught a glimpse of red, the nimbus surrounding him with heat in response to the frigid cold of this elemental realm of ice. As his eyes adjusted, he could see through the cloth of the hood that he was surrounded by sharp, jagged formations of ice, pointing at him from all directions. His feet trod across the points of ice that formed the floor of the tunnel, and his shoulders and arms brushed past points jutting out from the wall; over his head, the ceiling was covered with more icicles, like a multitude of spears or daggers, ready to stab him from above, beside, and beneath.

The narrow tunnel through which the golden path moved, opened into a large vertical shaft. Blakstar glanced up as he entered this new space and saw the shaft had a domed ceiling high overhead, covered with what looked like from this distance, long, thin crystal icicles, the shaft itself was crossed and re-crossed by the golden path on thin and narrow bridge-like ice structures without any visible means of support. As he followed his path across the floor of this huge shaft, which was uneven and covered with broken chunks of ice, the entire room shook violently, and many of the icicles attached to the domed ceiling high above broke loose and came crashing to the floor, some of them smashing through the path as they fell, breaking away sections of the path and adding to the disorder of the floor. Blakstar swallowed hard, realizing that he had to cross all of the path overhead in order to move on, and the cold of the realm was seeping into the protective nimbus surrounding him. Recalling what he had learned thus far, he concentrated on the golden rod, willing it to warm him, and with his free hand, he pulled his hood tighter over his eyes.

The shaft shook violently again; the kortexi did his best to ignore it, continuing to walk forward, trusting that the rod and golden line would lead him forward. Blakstar heard the chunks of ice crashing down around him, and felt the sudden impact when something struck his protective nimbus; he was shocked when he discovered that, for a moment, his forward progress halted: it was only a stutter in his movement, a mere hesitation of motion, but in the realms of this journey, such a hesitation could be enough to slow him down and ultimately stop him. He realized that he needed to know why his motion had stuttered; he loosened his hood slightly, enough so that he could see the activity around him. He continued to walk forward, striving to increase his pace, knowing that it would slow the next time he was hit by falling ice. The shaking happened almost at once, seemingly in response to his desire to see, and several large chunks of ice slammed against his protective nimbus, which flashed red in response, but for an instant, he and his protective sphere were completely encased in transparent ice several inches thick. In the moment he was surrounded by ice, his motion stuttered, then the crystal sphere shattered, and he moved forward again, although more slowly than before.

Trust me, came the words to his mind.

Blakstar thought for a moment; in the realm of fire, what he needed was to be cooled by the rod. Here, he needed the opposite, and the rod had been supplying him with heat, but it was insufficient, as it had been in the fire realm until. . . . The ground shook again, dislodging what seemed an endless supply of giant icicles from the ceiling, and the kortexi knew what he must do: he must become a living flame to counteract the cold of this realm; he willed the rod to warm, to heat, and to burn with red fire, and he was surrounded by flames that turned the falling chunks of ice to steam before they crashed into his protective nimbus. The path turned, climbed the wall of the shaft, then started to cross by one of the many thin, narrow bridges. Blakstar then noticed that his red, flaming nimbus had the same effect on the thin path beneath his feet as it had on the falling ice: the narrow bridge was beginning to steam and melt away. The kortexi drew a sharp breath, beginning to panic, not knowing how to protect himself from the falling debris that would stop him without obliterating the path upon which he walked. He started to slow, and realized instantly that this action was a mistake, as the thin bridge steamed away more quickly.

Do not slow! the voice came to his mind, but there was a hint of laughter in the voice, which surprised him as much as the disappearing bridge. Blakstar tried to protest, but the voice went on. Have I failed you? Has the path failed you? Think about from where the threat that slows you comes, and there was amusement in the voice.

“From above,” Blakstar replied.

So alter your shield, the voice laughed.

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t think of that,” he replied, and as he wondered how to protect himself only from falling debris, he felt the nimbus alter, and saw the bridge under his feet cease to steam.

Always turn your shield toward the threat, which is usually the simplest solution to most problems.

The path moved straight toward the rock wall of the shaft, taking him out of the ice and back into the misty orange of the rock that formed the Mountain of Vision. . . .

Come back tomorrow for another installment of our tale, as Blakstar continues to climb the kortexi’s sacred mountain; if, however, the reader cannot wait until next week, the reader can download the full book for free from Smashwords.