Chapter 8: Through the Looking Glass (Pt. 1)

Hello again, readers! We have been allowed to return from the cabin in the woods, and as promised, have batches of fresh new Jarthen tales for you! This is the first of the new installments.

We are now beginning Part 2 of Book I of the Tale of Jarthen. To refresh your memory, the end of Part 1 saw our intrepid hero and his band of merry Rebels opening the Vinkenti gate. The three young spylets, meanwhile, had just been assigned to Perejin to begin their careers under the watchful eyes of McNab.
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“How had they gotten themselves into this mess?!” she thought to herself as she watched everyone silently file out of the antechamber. She unfurled a map, then another, and then another: she stared at the maps intently, hoping for some epiphany or inspiration about what to do next. “They can’t have disappeared! Where had they gone? Further into the forest, perhaps?”

After a few moments, the frustration got the better of her. She let out a guttural screech that bespoke a deep, burning frustration as she swept her arm across the desk in front of her, causing all the notebooks, maps, and ancient tomes fly off in all directions. The echoing sounds of the fallen objects broke the still silence and seemed to ring on for an eternity. All of a sudden, she felt trapped, claustrophobic. She stood and threw back the sheer curtain that separated her small foyer from the rest of the antechamber and began pacing back and forth quickly across the lavish carpet covering the bare stone beneath.

“This is unacceptable. How did it even come to this?” she thought. “Everything’s falling apart! But why now, after so long? Perhaps I should make an example out of some of them…show the rest that there are consequences for such incompetence!” She dwelled on this thought of just retribution for a moment, which quelled the feelings of rage that had been building in her chest and caused a small smile to cross her lips.

She sighed and returned to her desk, stopping for a moment to pick up a couple of the more crucial maps. She told herself that there would be plenty of time after the war was over to punish those who had failed her, but now she needed to focus her energies on making sure the damned war accomplished its goals. Things had gotten off track, and the underlying mission had been cast aside and forgotten as some point. “Perhaps it’s time to try something else, something different,” she mused. “Perhaps it’s time to take a more subtle approach.”

She heard footsteps coming down the hall and knew the advisor she sent for was about to arrive and once again drew the curtain that sectioned her desk off from the rest of the hall. She found herself reluctant to call for him: despite his repeated shows of loyalty, she could not avoid the suspicion and slight feelings of revulsion his otherworldy appearance evoked in her. There was no question, however, that Ekval the Norsan was the best man for the job she had in mind.

Ekval turned the corner and entered the chamber. Although he was dressed and groomed in a style typical of Elothninian nobles, the moonlight flooding the chamber highlighted his unearthly elvish coloring. “Ya called for me, Queen Lilhelndine?” he asked softly, his speech still affected by traces of a Vinkenti accent he could never quite lose.

Ekval the Norsan

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The rebels had not penetrated more than a few yards into the murky darkness of the mysterious passageway before the magical gate closed with the same labored grating. Rethnaki, Jellihondor, and Glothnafar were at the head of the group, and the torches they held (Jellihondor still held his magickal torch with its eerie blue flame, while Rethnaki and Glothnafar had lit their own mundane torches shortly after they had entered the tunnel) gave just enough light for everyone in the party to make out the edges and shadows of the rocks around them. As far as Jarthen could see, they were in some sort of great natural tunnel that stretched out well beyond the light of the torches: Jarthen speculated that from a distance these lights must have seemed like a few weak stars in an infinitely black night sky.

The party made quick progress through the tunnel. The path was wide enough for them to walk five abreast and during the first day not even Zartheim was suffered to stoop beneath a low hanging ceiling. Although there was clear evidence of engineering in the path's smooth, even surface, and the intricately shaped buttresses that supported some sections of the cavern, Jarthen was sure that the blue elves had been assisted in the creation of this great passageway by mother nature. This conjecture was supported by the fact that the ceiling of the cave, though visible overhead in some places, extended well beyond the reach of the torchlight in many places, possibly to the summit of the mountains above.

After several hours of marching -- it was difficult to keep track of time without the sun for reference -- the rebel party broke for a rest and brief repast. Though they had undoubtedly traversed several miles at the very least, Jarthen did not feel particularly fatigued -- the path had a very slight downward grade, and the air inside the tunnel was cool, but not so stale as one might expect for a closed underground space. The lad was made, however, slightly uneasy by the monolithic darkness of the cave. The great unknown vacuum beyond the pale of the torchlights was alive with a symphony of drips of unseen rivulets, and the chirps of invisible insects that made his skin crawl ever so slightly.

Fortunately, Rethnaki had just removed his pipe, and began to pack it with some of his seemingly endless supply of pipeweed¹. The thought of a nice smoke with his comrades eased some of the apprehension elicited by the damp chilliness of the cave, and he rubbed his hands together happily as Elcrona, Zartheim, and Sellior sat down in a loose knot around Rethnaki.

"Tis a bit chilly in here," Rethnaki said giving a slight shudder as he lit the pipe using a glowing ember from the torch, "wouldna mind a bit o' the dwarvish firewater righ' abou' now."

The others nodded in silent agreement -- they all seemed to be a bit sapped by the eerie and unending darkness of their journey. Rethnaki, for his part, had undergone a dramatic recovery since his time in Norsa: apparently putting a solid stone gate between himself and the dreaded blue elves made for a substantial improvement in his mood. The pipe now lit and thoroughly gently bellowing smoke from its bowl and stem, he passed the pipe to Elcrona and, with a sly grin on his face, spoke coyly, "ladies firs’, o'course."

Elcrona's close friend Sellior was quick to warn Elcrona jokingly about Rethnaki, saying, "Careful now Ellie, Naki always gives ta lasses he fancies the firs’ puff o' his pipe -- he migh' ha his eye on ye!" While Elcrona and Rethnaki laughed along with the others, Jarthen thought that he saw hints of blushes across both their faces.

The conversation quickly turned to the matter of the journey ahead. Rethnaki queried Zartheim again about what sort of reception they could expect from the giants on the other side of the mountains. "To be honest," the giant replied in a manner which suggested he had been slightly affected by the pipe herb, "I'm afraid that we might have to contend with some rough customers. My people, though of a peaceful disposition, have been known to be weary of outsiders. As this will actually be my first journey into the glorious and majestic land of my forebears, I can't give you a wholly satisfactory answer."

The rest of the party considered this for a moment in silence, and it seemed that Rethnaki was on the verge of asking a follow-up question when they were rudely interrupted by Glothnafar harshly calling the order to prepare to resume marching. By happenstance, the centaur locked eyes with Jarthen, giving him a look that sent shivers down the young lad’s spine.

The party soldiered onward for what they presumed were the next several days, stopping periodically to make camp and sleep. Jarthen noted that the further they marched through the tunnel, the harder the journey became: the path began sloping upward again, meaning that the last leg of it had literally been an uphill battle.

Several hours into the march after they had struck camp for the third time, the path abruptly ended at a large flat stone similar to the one that blocked the gate at the other end of the tunnel. Jarthen heard murmurs of concern among some of the party members that it could take even longer to get this doorway to open than the first one, and many feared being trapped in the unsettling tunnel for much longer.

Jellihondor strode confidently towards the door, and enlisted Sellior and Helkint to hold up bright torches so he could examine the door. With an expert eye, he scrutinized every inch of its cool, smooth surface. After a few moments, he motioned to Sveren, the blue elf guide, who quickly joined him in inspecting the end of the tunnel. The blue elf ran his hands over the stone and looked at it with a perplexed expression, before stepping back looking more intense and thoughtful than usual. He pondered for a moment, speaking softly to himself as if he was trying to solve a very challenging riddle.

Suddenly, and with little warning (which, it seemed, was characteristic of him) Sveren strode over to Elcrona who happened to be standing next to Jarthen. “Ve need ya to help us. Come vith me, please, Miss Elcrona.” Jarthen noticed that while he extended his hand to escort her to the gate, Sveren could not quite look Elcrona in the eye.

Elcrona looked around, hoping someone would give her some indication as to how she should handle this unforeseen predicament. One after another, her companions shrugged, obviously as surprised as she was. In a quiet, confused voice, she said, “Well…umm…alrigh’. But, can I ask ye why ye need me, Sveren? I dunno anyt’ing ‘bout elemental magick.”

“Ye don’ need ta, lass,” said Jellihondor from the gate. “Accordin’ ta Sveren, who knows much more ‘bout these t’ings than the rest o’ us, the gates are paired: each ta be moved by one o’ the two most important aspects o’ Vinkenti culture: ta natural world….and ta feminine. So, ye see, I can hardly be openin’ this gate wit’out ye or Citrene, there. An’ Sveren, well, he picked you. So, stop yer blushin’ and come open the damn gate fer us, or we’ll be trapped in this blasted darkness even longer!”

Elcrona still looked a bit confused, but nodded and followed Sveren to the gate. Sveren talked to her softly, too softly for Jarthen to make out his instructions, and he saw Elcrona nod again and place her hands against the door’s smooth surface. The attractive young red elf stood there with her hands held awkwardly against the wall for a few minutes when the entire cave seemed to begin shaking from its very foundations. Terrified, everyone stayed where they were, including Elcrona, as the rock in front of her slid creakingly aside letting in blast of sunlight. Though the sun was actually sinking towards the western horizon, its rays were still bright enough to dazzle the now particularly light-sensitive eyes of the party.

With hands shielding their eyes from the waning light of the day, the entire group slowly filed out of the great tunnel into a land of broad, rolling grasslands interspersed with great heaps of stones that seemed to erupt from the earth, and each member gave Elcrona kind words on their way out. The morale of the party, which had begun to wane somewhat in the tunnel, had been boosted significantly by sunlight and fresh air.

Jarthen emerging from the depths of the Vinkenti gate

They were discussing whether or not to make camp for the day as their eyes were still adjusting to the tremendous light of the day, when a nearby boulder seemed to shudder to life. Slowly, they realized that it wasn't a boulder at all – no, it was a tremendous giant! He had apparently been roused from a deep sleep by the great rumbling of the stone door, and he looked around in a most befuddled manner until his eyes fell upon the party of now very scared rebels. Jarthen thought he seemed considerably taller and considerably more bad-tempered than Zartheim.

Upon seeing the presence of the motley crew of rebels, the giant let out a mighty roar of triumph. Staggering to his feet, he drew to his side a brutal club that was of a size befitting its owner: it was easily as long as Jarthen himself and twice as thick as the lithe lad. Only Glothnafar seemed unfazed by the behemoth, remarked in a wry tone, "Perhaps if we give him the human, he'll let the rest of us go."
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¹Being prodigious smokers of pipeweed, elves are widely known to carry substantial amounts of the plant on their persons, a stereotype that has resulted in more than a handful of muggings by mischievous individuals.