The Obsidian Sword: An Unusual Quest - Part Eight

After flying around for a few days, scouring the wilderness surrounding Moltara, Stephen and I had agreed that if the Dark Hall was not above-ground, we would begin searching under it. When we asked a rare passing above-ground Moltaran for information, he had informed us that the Dark Hall was a mythical cave that did not exist. That is, he informed us of this after he'd gotten done staring at us like we were insane, and asking us why we'd waste good time looking for our mothers' bedtime stories. Apparently, the Hall was a common enough topic in Moltaran lore. When we asked about the sword, he simply frowned, shook his head, and commented that upper-landsmen were strange. The highly confused Moltaran wished us well -- he guessed -- and said he must be going now.

     Strange, I thought, how something that is truth can be made out to be a myth simply by retelling it so many times.

     Strange, how we believed in the sword more due to the fact that we had not heard of it before the duke had sent for me. Repetition does not, in all cases, serve well for memory.

     These musings were going on in my mind when I whacked aside yet another hanging vine and found - of all things - a cave.

     Made of obsidian.

     "Stephen!" I call, but he's mere feet behind me. "Look. Do you think it's--?"

     Stephen whoops with excitement, but for some reason I can't help the chill that prickles through me, much like I'd had on the beach what seems like ages ago, and similar to the feeling I got at the Berry Farm. The sundrop medallion glows, and then flickers out, finished. If the Berry Farmer was right, it must have finished its job and gotten me to where I can find what I need on my own. The sword must be very close now.

     Once we enter the cave, I know something will change. I feel it with a certainty that lets itself be known by way of twists and knots in my stomach. I find myself staring at the dark entrance, unable to move.

     Stephen chirrups at my feet and places his paw on my leg reassuringly. I blink, startled out of my reverie, and look down at him. There are so many ways I look up to him, like in this moment. I hope he knows it.

     With a deep breath, I say, "You're right. Let's go."

     As soon as we step in, I notice something in the air that feels heavy, like humidity on a summer afternoon but more oppressive. It holds all of the smothering feeling without any of the moisture. The smooth surface of the walls reflect strange caricatures of ourselves, like a mirror funhouse in the Deserted Fairground. It's beautiful and disconcerting all at once. We walk along in silence until reaching a fork in the cave. To the right I hear strange murmurs and whispers. On the left I glimpse writhing figures on the walls that I know are not either of us. My throat tightens, but the chilled feeling is back once again. So far, every time I've gotten this chill, it's meant we were another step closer. As unpleasant as it is, it might be the best indication that we're going the right way. So even though my throat is closing up and I can barely breathe, I motion to Stephen.

     And we turn left.

     The shadows and images flicker around us, and I get the distinct sensation that I am going mad. When a voice that sounds like the wind begins whispering words I can't understand, fragments and pieces, I begin to wonder if I really am insane.

     "Do you hear that?" I ask in a hushed voice.

     Stephen tilts his head to the side, listening, and frowns. For a moment I'm afraid he's going to shake his head, but instead he nods and looks concerned.

     Suddenly, the shadows on the wall come together to make monsters and horrendous creatures. The voice amplifies and becomes shrill and mocking. At first I was afraid. Now I am angry.

     "SHOW YOURSELF!" I yell into the dark. "YOU COWARD!" Anyone can hide away and torment another. To show yourself and your own wickedness takes courage. "STEP INTO YOUR FORM," I demand of the unseen creature. I wonder, fleetingly, if the reason the Moltarans have made this place myth is because they would rather spare their children the reality.

     A swirl of smoke begins forming from the ground and makes its way up. When it clears, an overwhelming sense of suffocating presence fills the air, as if the Dark Faerie who steps out of the billowing smoke has brought darkness itself along with her. Her clothes and eyes are black as ink, her face as pale as the moon.

     Stephen growls and I take a fighting stance. I'm berating myself for not bringing along a sword of my own. A bow. Anything. As it is, I am largely defenseless against this being who obviously holds such great power, as the darkness itself follows along behind her.

     "Relax," the Faerie says, drawing the word out. Another swirl of smoke, and the Obsidian Sword appears in her right hand.

     "We will not surrender!" I shout, allowing my anger to override my fear for the first time in years.

     "Oh, but you already have," she says matter-of-factly. Her eyes roam the cave walls, searching. "You bring upon yourself your own darkness." A small smile plays on her lips.

     "The only darkness here is you and what you bring," I growl.

     "Mmmm..." she muses. "I don't believe so. The darkness you see is merely a reflection of what lives inside you. You've brought it upon yourself."

     "By asking you to appear? That's called a fair fight!"

     She chuckles once, shortly. "I'm not your definition of darkness. You are." My eyes widen as her words strike home in my chest. "Now, the only question is, are you going to fight it? Hm?" She tilts her head to the side and casts her gaze to a shadow on the wall. I can vaguely tell it's writhing in my peripheral view. Probably a shadow just like all the rest. She wants me to look, but do I dare look away? There's no telling what she could be planning as soon as I do.

     "I'm not falling for your tricks," I say. But Stephen has turned, and his sharp intake of breath and sound of dismay lets me know there is something behind me that I should not cast aside so quickly. "What is it? What have you created to attack me from behind like the coward you are, instead of facing me?"

     Her eyebrows and she says simply, "Your definition of darkness." Suddenly she fades back to a haze and disappears altogether. The sword appears in my hand, materializing from smoke like the Faerie herself. I startle backwards, only to bump into her, where she has appeared behind me. Before I can turn, I cringe to feel her heartbeat against me as she leans forward to whisper,

     "Now fight it."

     When I turn, the Dark Faerie is already gone, and nothing but a faint haze of smoke remains. When it clears, I see the writhing shadow I had seen only in my peripheral a few moments before.

     A horrible screeching like metal on metal begins. It's low at first, steadily increasing in pitch and urgency as the shadow claws its way out of the obsidian. I repeat the Dark Faerie's words -- "Fight it," -- and raise the sword. I'm preparing to meet the monster that has clawed its way free. I'm preparing for the battle of my life. Readying to meet the greatest enemy I'd ever known. I close my eyes, take a steadying breath, open them, and come face to face with...

     myself.

     When I make sense of what the shadows, flickers, and reflections are, I feel my stomach drop down to my feet.

     The Obsidian Man is a perfect representation, a perfect reflection. No sculptor alive, not the finest in Altador, could have rendered me more precisely. But there is something wrong with him, something twisted. Something exactly the way I saw myself when I was different. When I was angry and lost. There is an emptiness in his eyes that rival my own when I remember my past mistakes and failures. The only thing that does not match my self-perception is that in those places where I have been distraught, the Obsidian Man is hard and relentless. I can tell, just by looking at him, that he feels no guilt, no fear. He is my own worst fear, come to meet me. How apt for the Dark Faerie to say she was showing me my definition of darkness. Now that I see him here in front of me, what else could it have been? And an even better question: how am I supposed to fight myself?

To be continued...