With glazed eyes he witnessed the magnificently orchestrated collapse of the lower slopes, reveled in the rolling vibration. When the first rush of snow pelted him from above, he steeled himself for the great plummet. Then, abruptly—as he’d heard told by mountain folk—the awesome event was over. All movement ceased below but for surface sifting on the reshaped landscape. Only the echo remained, and this, too, presently died.
I remain unchanged.
The world has turned to heaven a new face.
Mountains tell the tale.
Gonji mused over his feelings a long moment, resolving to turn the event into a proper waka poem one day. He scanned the slopes beneath the mountain trail, his senses quickening now, his manner more cautious. He could see no sign of the demonic hunters. Could nature have been so kind? Had Emeric missed witnessing the answer by a few scant nights?
Tora nickered and edged left, up the trail again, pawing at the fresh drifts in their way. Something drew the horse toward the granite shelf that had barricaded their path. The vibration had shaken free the snow cover: It was a hollow in the cliff face. A concavity.
Gonji’s breath hissed expectantly. He urged Tora forward, but the steed would not challenge the mounded snow before him. The samurai rolled down from the saddle with an ache-bidden groan. Once he had found balance, he began burrowing through the snow with almost childlike glee, dragging the reins behind him. When he reached the outcrop, he emitted an audible sound of relief.
It was shaped like a great eye socket in the mountainside. And it was more than a cavity. It was a cave. Tall enough to easily admit the pair even if Gonji were sitting the horse.
The samurai led his steed into the darkness, unconcerned with it, caring not at all how he might light a fire or feed them, savoring instead the respite from the storm, the solid feeling under his returning foot circulation. He stamped his wrapped boots, both to enhance sensation and to test the solidity of the new environment. The ground sloped downward into the cave, the drifted snow giving way to smooth stone a short distance inside. Judging by the echo, the cave must be of appreciable size. Soft and indefinable sounds welled up from deep inside the mountain, placing him on the alert, but Tora’s impatient nudges at his shoulder kept him moving.
He was about to halt then, to capitulate to weariness and drop to the ground to take careful stock of his parts, when he noticed the soft, enchanting glow in the indeterminate distance of the cave’s rear quarter.
An almost misty sunset evanescence played over the stones at ground level. Tora snorted wetly behind him. He drew on the reins again and, encountering no resistance, led the horse toward the eerie display. Almost at once Gonji felt the lap of welcome warmth at his face. His soul flooding with relief—though his cold-fettered left hand instinctively pressed at the Sagami’s hilt—he quickened his stumblings toward the phenomenon.
A shadow slithered before him where the darkness parted. Gonji’s breath hissed, and he nearly tumbled headlong in his tensed surprise.
But the shadow was his. The waxing light, emanating from the rocks themselves, now seeped from cracks and fissures in the walls and floor of the cave, serving up his own wavering shadow. He began to fear that he had fallen too easily into some terrible trap when he noticed the behavior of the rock glow: When he moved his hand toward certain of the glowing rocks—for not all the cave’s substance acted this way—their buried light intensified, irradiated from a dull red to hot ruby to autumn flame, lending warmth and light in corresponding measure.
Sorcerous fire—lava light—the foyer of Hell?
It was invigorating, of that he was sure; and for that he cared only, in his present state. Gonji’s hands and feet tingled with life-affirming needles of pain. And Tora proffered no animal-caution against proceeding.
They reached another doorway, the magical light suddenly flaring the way to a large antechamber that was the nexus of a series of tunnels and chambers that quite possibly honeycombed the mountain, judging by their size at the adits. Crossing through, Gonji again found cold stone responding to human need. Strange—the rocks behind him had ceased their glow—he could barely perceive the wind-lashed cave entrance; but the stones around him effulged their welcome as if stoked by an unseen frost giant’s forge and bellows.
It must be, the samurai reasoned at last, that this place functioned as a complete refuge, responding to the need of whatever creature sought shelter here.
Whatever creature sought shelter here.
Gonji’s skin prickled. He glanced about the cavern circumspectly, but there seemed nothing to fear. He had crossed the Pyrenees several times, knew its lore, yet he could recall nothing about this.
Still, something troubled him. There was a long-ago campfire warning. Whose? Concerning what?
He shrugged at last and moved deeper into the system of caverns. Which was to be preferred: succumbing helplessly to the pitiless wrath of winter or matching strike for strike with some unknown, faceless terror?
They crept deeper into the beckoning womb of the glowing cavern system.
Hearing the gurgle of water, Gonji discovered a small cavern wherein bubbled a cool mountain stream. Wending down from the snowmelt high above them, it poured through a fissure and meandered along an eroded course that carried it into other caves beyond. Flowing like molten gold in the basking rays of the heat stones, it emerged clear and cold in the samurai’s scooping sallet. Tasting it gingerly at first, Gonji found it delightful and, abandoning all caution, slaked his thirst. Tora awaited no invitation, doing likewise.
In this cave Gonji discovered shelves of rock, untouched by the light of the glowstones, in which sprouted mushrooms of a familiar, edible variety. These he wolfed down with audible appreciation, staying his eagerness after a while out of both discipline and common sense. For although his belly grumbled for more, it would be tender in its shriveled state; further, the warrior who glutted himself to bursting in the face of possible enemy action burdened himself with two enemies.
Higher up on the cave wall—a short reach from Tora’s stirrups—there grew a curious dwarf tree that, upon close inspection, was found to yield small berries that were tart but edible. These Tora took a liking to, though his interest soon switched to the leaves of the tiny tree itself.
The tantalizing thought occurred to Gonji: What else might I discover in this mount-of-plenty if I move still deeper? But he quickly remembered that his life followed no such serendipitous progression and dispersed the seductive vision of a cave in which table was set with trout, fresh bread, and French wine. Instead, he sat back and counted his blessings, then inventoried his fingers and toes.
The layered weather-wrapping he slowly removed had barely preserved his digits against permanent damage, but indeed no serious harm had been done. When the prickling burn of frostbite had ceased, he rose and tried to make Tora as comfortable as possible while soothing and examining the faithful steed. Satisfied, Gonji was again drawn to the amazing heat stones.
Gathering several of these into a pile, he scraped and chipped at them with his tanto knife. He learned that as he worked off outer layers of the rock—which crumbled readily under pressure—the stones grew both brighter and hotter. The core itself, he painfully discovered, would cook flesh or boil water in its blinding yellow or cobalt sear. He constructed a fine hearth and nodded with self-satisfaction.
No more running. Here I make my stand this night.
With deep reverence and measured movements, he sat cross-legged before the pulsing glow. Holding the magnificent Sagami horizontally before his vision, he drew its gleaming blade slowly from the scabbard. His eyes diminished to dark slits of flickering ebon as he studied the heavenly coruscations flashing from the wave pattern of the blade’s working.
If any night fiend or cave-haunt dare disturb my harmony…
Memories tortured his serenity. He ground his teeth when he thought of the gargantuan cave worm that had tried to eat its way through the militia of Vedun. Of the wyvern’s