Walker of Ways

Inspired by "The Writer's Journey" Power up Prompt #1

Photo by Maksim Shutov on Unsplash

Zaida hesitated on the precipice of her new life. She looked back one last time, toward the towering skyscrapers of Hellsgate. Skybuses zipped between them, tiny specks at this distance, carrying their passengers anywhere they wished to go. Well, anywhere other than Zaida’s destination, of course.

“Take the plunge, or stop wasting my time.”

Nekosh’s words shattered the moment, drowning out the songs of the seabirds. The other woman was standing with her arms crossed, tapping one foot impatiently. She was lithe and muscular, with thick braids in her auburn hair and lines like red clay down the length of her freckled arms. Soon Zaida’s own skin would bear the marks of a Lesh’nokt, a ‘walker of ways.’ Once renowned, now reviled as ‘The Stain.’ Should she return to Hellsgate, or anywhere else but the tiny village Nekosh called home, she would be ostracized for that indelible mark.

But she had to know.

A line of burnt grass marked the boundary. She stepped forward, and her arms erupted in pain. She nearly fell, but Nekosh caught her as waves of agony ran through her veins. She felt the magic work through her, an ancient spell that tasted like fresh springwater, twisted centuries ago with a hint of rot.

She shuddered, then stilled. She blinked open her eyes, and rolled up one sleeve of her jacket. The pain had vanished, but the lines remained. Not as stark on her skin as on Nekosh’s light tan, but no less recognizable.

“Thank you Nekosh. We should press forward.”

The huntress laughed, and pushed Zaida to her feet before clapping her on the back. “Not bad. You might just make it after all.”

Zaida smiled ruefully, and rolled her sleeve back down. It was no use trying to conceal the marks in the long run, but for today at least, she could pretend that they weren’t there. The two women began the hike up Yesh’kar, the Hill of Vows, and Zaida thanked the moons that her boots had small gravlifts built in, just enough to put a spring in her step and help her keep up.

The air was different on this side of the line. Somehow, impossibly, older.

“Do you know why your people call this place cursed?”

Zaida’s attention snapped back to Nekosh, and her brain immediately switched to lecture mode. “Long ago, the ancient gods Erish and Tavosh fought here. Their battle split the land in two, leading to the Twin Continents. Mankind intervened, settling the gods’ dispute and restoring peace. Every mythology agrees to that point, but from there the details become muddled. Some say that the site was used for holy pilgrimages, others for evil rituals. Some say a portal to the heavens lies concealed here, while others claim it is nothing but a trap to gather the souls of those foolish enough to approach.”

“All that aside, the remnants of the gods’ pact were corralled by a group of powerful mages to extend in a bubble around the site, as a deterrent against would-be trespassers. Lesh’nokt were declared pariahs, and most choose to ignore the site entirely.”

Nekosh nodded, but didn’t reply. Zaida wanted to ask her a thousand questions, but she’d been told, repeatedly, that the only way to get answers was to cross the barrier herself. So here she was, arms lined with red, all to satiate her curiosity.

What regret she felt was smothered by a simple truth: Turning back now would only render the sacrifice pointless.

They crested the hill, and Zaida finally saw the Monument with her own eyes. It had been built at the base of a dip in the earth, right up against the cliffs. No ship would sail within 50 miles from the ocean side, and it was impossible to see from the city even with the best scopes due to the terrain. Despite her wildest speculations, it was a simple thing. Maybe thrice her height, inscribed in multiple languages. She pulled a notebook from her pack and sketched it quickly, then began to write down the words as she read them.

May those of Erish and those of Tavosh ever guard the peace, lest all perish.

She looked to Nekosh. “Those of Tavosh? Your people?”

Nekosh nodded.

“And those of Erish?”

Nekosh walked forward, and Zaida followed. They walked right up to the cliff’s edge, and Zaida swallowed hard. She’d never enjoyed swimming, and being this close to the ocean, or rather, this far above it, was terrifying.

“There are very few of us left now. Our children seek the cities, and fewer and fewer are brave enough to face the Stain.” She smiled then, and met Zaida’s eyes. “Whatever your reasons, that you are here is enough to earn the truth.” She grabbed Zaida’s shoulders and pulled her closer to the cliff, then gestured downwards.

Zaida nearly pulled away, but forced herself to look down. Water crashed against the cliff face, a strangely smooth expanse of black stone. Just as the stories told, it truly did look like it had been cut cleanly with a knife. “I’m s-s-sorry, I’m not sure what-”

Then she saw it. A glimmer of a color she’d never seen and couldn’t describe, a swirl in the air like creamer drizzled into coffee, disappearing then appearing again.

“That is the Way that we Walk. Where the people of Tavosh can meet with the people of Erish. The only link that remains, and one that must be maintained at all costs.”

Zaida pulled out of Nekosh’s hands and began writing feverishly in her notebook again. “So, there is a portal here! But . . . Where exactly does it lead?”

Nekosh gestured to the cliff. “The stories you know are half right, but it was not only the Twins that were divided. The whole world was split in two, like a reflection in the mirror. The gods could not live in one world for long without conflict, and so they created a new one, where Nekosh could dwell in peace while Erish stayed behind.”

Zaida forced herself to gloss over the fact that she lived in a reflection of the ‘true’ world, and gestured to the monument. “And the warning?”

“Should either side of the Way be destroyed, then the worlds will snap back together. Catastrophe beyond imagining. And then, once the dust settles, the gods would be at war once more, and those who survive will wish they had not.”

Zaida shivered, and stepped back to the cliff to look at the Way. She asked the terrifying but inevitable question. “Can we . . . Go through it?”

“We can, and will, if that is what you choose. You may join us as a defender of the Way, or you can return to your old life. None walk the path save those who choose it.”

Zaida stepped back and paced along the cliff face. In the face of so many world-shattering revelations, her proximity to the sheer drop had been forced to the back of her mind. She pulled on her thick black ponytail, a bad habit from childhood, then stopped. She slowly pulled off her jacket and forced herself to look at her arms.

The Stain, indelible. She ran her fingers down the length of it, feeling a phantom echo of pain from the touch.

Her questions had led to only more questions. She could return, and stained or not there would be those who would listen to her. There had to be. She could bring back rubbings, write a book, have something like her old life.

But of course, she’d already made up her mind. Even if Nekosh had told her the other side was a hellscape of ice, she would’ve pressed on. There was too much yet to learn. Though, as she walked back and stood facing Nekosh, she did have one essential question.

“What exactly do we need to defend against?”

Nekosh’s smile was vicious. “Best you see for yourself.” She jumped off the cliff, and Zaida leaned forward to watch as she disappeared into the swirl of impossible color.

Zaida inhaled and closed her eyes. She absorbed every sensation, a memory of her home in case she never returned.

Then she leapt into eternity.