Until Forever (1st draft)

Part the Thirtieth

The stairs were endless. Every inch of every muscle in both legs hurt to the point where they had begun seizing up with spasms. Her feet were swollen and raw, the blisters weeping inside the threadbare canvas of her fraying shoes. Yet she had no choice but to continue climbing upwards.

She had tried to resist, refusing to stand up and walk despite Kraw's increasingly vehement commands, adamant that she would not cooperate with his plot to possess her mother's soul. But he quickly grew tired of her defiance and instead dragged her up dozens of stairs by her hair, causing her body to bump and scrape over each stone step, her scalp to split and bleed, until finally he relented to her screaming pleas and let her get up and walk the rest of the way. Now if she slowed even for a second he bellowed at her with a raspy voice that seemed to echo within the chilling emptiness of his eye sockets or, worse yet, he snapped out his sickening black tongue so that it cracked against her skin like a leather whip.

She gagged at the thought of that tongue, how it had once probed her own mouth, and of the fetid breath that had been magically disguised behind an alluring artificial scent. Sir Nellaf Wark had never been real. The silvery eyes and physical perfection that had triggered longings she had never known, the kind heart that had enamored her own, the patient understanding that had earned her trust, the brave actions that had defined him as a selfless hero; it was all just an illusion. A cruel, abhorrent, manipulative hoax.

My God he almost seduced me!

She shook her head wildly to chase away the revolting thoughts; she couldn't allow her mind to dwell on the reality of those vile memories. It would shatter her sanity. So she focused all of her thoughts on making her legs move, nothing else. Right foot up, left foot up, right foot up, left foot up. Shell-shocked and depleted, she somehow kept stumbling up the endless stairs. They were literally climbing a mountain from the inside, following a circular trail of stairs that were carved inside a dark tunnel which wormed its way upwards through the unyielding stone. The only light came from dwindling torches positioned on the walls, placed too far apart to be very effective. Every time they passed a torch, the faint light revealed ancient glyphs etched into the stone walls as far as she could see; iconic symbols and calligraphic verses in a language she didn't recognize. She knew that she would never make it to the top. This was her death march, she was certain that she would die at any moment on these stairs, providing Kraw the Fallen with two souls to claim.

But before she died, Geneva wanted answers. As much as she didn't want to engage this evil creature, she was desperate for understanding.

"I thought maybe I was in heaven," she told him. He didn't respond. "How else could I explain Daysheen? But now I fear I'm in hell." Still no answer.

"Are you the devil?" she asked him.

"I do not understand your words," he answered. "I have come to be called Kraw the Fallen. But the Fallen has risen again."

"I still don't understand why you want my mother's soul," she said without looking back at the monstrosity following her.

"I have told you before, it is beyond your comprehension," he replied.

"Try me," she insisted.

"Will understanding bring you peace?"

She didn't answer. Of course it wouldn't.

"I will grant you that possibility in your final moments," he said coldly. "Simply put, I cannot conquer Daysheen without the resources I stand to gain from your world. Yet I cannot conquer your world without the resources I stand to gain from Daysheen. I will stop at nothing to achieve those goals. I will stop at nothing to gain my revenge on every living creature."

Right foot up, left foot up, right foot up, left foot up.

"Furthermore," he continued, "Daysheen is boring. Your world is populated with humans, immature beings teeming with the robust flavors of unrestrained emotional urgings, and pathetically unable to recognize their true potential. Your world will satisfy me immensely."

Right foot up, left foot up, right foot up, left foot up.

"Your mother's wandering soul left open the door to limbo. Her devoted attachment to you brought that door into your presence, and your own brush with death allowed you to step through that door. I can only guess that her soul prevented yours from departing, inadvertently pushing you instead into the realm of Daysheen."

"My mother...saved me?" Geneva stopped, attempting to process this revelation.

"Move!" he shouted. "Time is precious!"

Right foot up, left foot up, right foot up, left foot up.

"Your mother's soul has navigated limbo, actually controlling her journey. I need that ability. Now that I have tricked you into trapping her soul within the Starheart, I can use it to open a void between the worlds. Her soul will provide me with far more than a delectable treat to savor; it will be my guide to and fro."

Geneva's hands reflexively clenched into fists. Even that minor movement hurt. But pain meant nothing to her now. Somehow she had to stop this monster. But what could she do? Even if she surprised him with a vicious kick that sent him sprawling down the entire staircase, his body was invulnerable. Of course she could barely lift her feet, never mind kick, so that really wasn't a realistic option anyway.

A sudden rumbling noise startled her. She paused, listening, but the long black tongue snapped against the exposed flesh of her forearm.

"Ouch! Damn it!" she yelled in reaction to the stinging pain. "I was listening to that sound! What is it?"

"Thunder," was the reply. "The summit is shrouded in a perpetual magic storm, cast by the wizard to protect his sanctum. So violent is the lightning, so severe are the winds, that nobody has ever been able to reach the structure from the outside."

The death march continued, as did the thunder. The rumbling seemed to grow louder with every step, a persistent roar that vibrated the mountain itself. And then, quite suddenly and without any clues to suggest they were nearing the top, the stairs ended. Despite the dim light, Geneva could see that there was nothing in front of her but a flat stone wall without handles or an opening.

"Now what?" she squeaked from her dry throat, looking back at Kraw. She barely heard herself over the booming thunder. He stared back at her from the endless black pits in his skull, holding Steekbunk's severed horn up against his shoulder like a common tool. Then he pointed upwards.

Clawing her bangs from her eyes, which were matted to her forehead by the blood from her scalp, she glanced up to see a wooden door with a thick metal ring hanging from the center. In stark contrast to the well-weathered wood and the crusty patina on the ring and single hinge, a bright red ribbon with ornate gold edges was wrapped around the door and tied into a perfectly symmetrical bow. The wide ribbon looked flimsy and delicate, appearing to serve more of an ornamental purpose than one of security.

"That is the hex ribbon," Kraw informed her. "It cannot be untied. It cannot be severed. It cannot be passed." He removed his rucksack and pulled out the barbed horn stolen from Steekbunk Lowbone's corpse. "But I have this."

One swipe of the horn was all it took, cutting straight through the ribbon and causing the magical fabric to shimmer as if powered by a faulty current, then it vanished completely like red smoke. Kraw reached out to grasp the thick metal ring and heaved on it, muscles bulging beneath his coarse hide. The wooden door creaked and groaned before popping free from its frame with a shower of dust, then it swung open and a wooden ladder slid out from an attached frame and landed on the ground. Kraw turned to Geneva and gestured toward the ladder.

"After you, my lady," he growled. "This is the end, Geneva Maxwell. I have altered the course of your destiny to suit my desires. It is time I met your mother."