PRELUDE
“Crystal Path”
Zandor peered down into the Caves of Madness, and muttered, “Feels like home.”
The wizard paused. Should he proceed? Or was this another fool’s quest? Maybe he was already mad to consider such a route. His years of research had brought him no assurances. Rumors, really... tales shadowed in legend. Depending on whom he believed, the Ice Crystal Caverns were either the source of all mysteries, or a wellspring of insanity. One look could bring enlightenment or oblivion. Life or death.
“All or nothing.”
Hesitating no further, he stepped into the cave.
Though no wind or snow blew inside, it somehow felt colder. Zandor pulled his hooded cloak tighter about him, keeping the merger warmth in. Perhaps he had been a fool to come to this lone, cold spot at the top of the world, but at least his salamander skin gloves were proving to be a wise investment. If, so far, the only one.
He continued moving, hesitation only giving doubt. No light was needed, as some trick of the ice-covered walls provided ample illumination. Still no visions, though, just ordinary ice. Maybe that is all he would find, Zandor reminded himself. It would certainly not be the first time that a search for knowledge had proved fruitless. A few lost relics, maybe; a minor totem of power. Hopefully, not another Book of Minos. That memory still stung. He had invested a year of research and 10,000 gold pieces on that supposed tome of esoteric arts. It turned out to be nothing more than a collection of ribald poetry.
Someday, though, he would find out more about this Nantucket.
For the moment, his preoccupation returned to the Caverns. As he moved further inwards, he noticed the light was not fading; it seemed, in fact, to be growing slightly brighter. That was proved out as he came to the first fork in the caves. The tunnel to the left narrowed down into darkness. The one on the right, however, appeared to widen and grow lighter. The source of illumination and his quest must be that way. Zandor confidently strode towards the light.
Nevertheless, his confidence waned a bit in the next few minutes as he came to another split in the caves. This one split into four tunnels, and the brightness appeared to be the same in all. There was a subtle difference, though. Each tunnel, from the right, had a tint of yellow, red, blue and green to their respective illumination.
“Keep to the right- start in the East, Zandor mused. That made some sense. Choosing the yellow light, he continued.
And, as he now expecting, he soon came to another juncture. These split into eight tunnels, and all had the tint of amber.
Now what? The Eight-fold Path? The Chakras? The sign of Chaos?
“When in doubt, always keep to the right.” Advise to a child lost in a maze, yet maybe that one applied here.
Zandor chuckled ruefully. Those had been the exact words of his uncle, Vanise. Remembering back 200 years previous, when he had been a child, and the first time he had visited Castle Shine, Zandor still remembered hearing his uncle’s voice for the first time. Vanise had led him through the labyrinth of the lower castle... a dudgeon in the truest sense. Nothing but a disembodied voice to keep him company for those three days lost under Shine. Zandor had thought it nothing more than a cruel trick, a test of his meddle. It was not until after he emerged from the labyrinth that Zandor had found out the truth: It was the path all wizards must take.
One Vanise had tried to shortcut, and had paid dearly for it. Though stripped of a mortal form, Zandor’s uncle still taught him the way of the wizard. Yes, those walls could indeed talk.
But for now, Zandor was more interested in what these walls could tell him. There would have to some end to this labyrinth. He tried to quell his fear and suspicions as the next split became sixteen, then thirty-two, then... But he stopped counting after that, always only taking the right-hand path. A unique experience for him, to be sure.
Moving with continued determination, he willed his feet to move even as the weight of uncertainty threatened to make him a permanent fixture of the Caverns. If this quest were going to fail, he would at least make a quick end of it
It was impossible to say how long he walked; yet, Zandor finally did come to the end. Just as he was expecting the tunnel to open into yet another impossible junction, it suddenly opened up into an expansive cavern.
Yes, the Ice Crystal Cavern. The walls glittered and glowed with a million diamond-bright facets. They stretched for a few hundred meters, arching in both directions and above. The cavern floor itself was dark and flat, easy to walk upon and explore. Its natural design seemed perfect for what he had hoped it was: The largest scrying room in existence.
A small, not often heeded voice of reason told Zandor he should rest before proceeding. As usual, he ignored it, too excited at the prospects of fulfilling his quest. He entered the Cavern.
For some reason Zandor did not question, he was drawn to a particular section of the wall not too far inside. From what he could see, it was no different form the rest of the Cavern. Touching the multi-faceted wall confirmed that it was ice... or at least as cold as ice. He pressed a salamander-gloved hand against on of the crystals, yet it did not melt or even leave an impression. Curious. Perhaps it had been so cold for so long that warmth could no longer affect it.
A movement to one side attracted his attention. The surface of one of the crystal facets was coming alive with colour. Swirling, random shapes and shades. Nevertheless, as he concentrated on it, the shapes came into focus, forming a wondrous scene.
It was a battle of some sort. A melee involving a dark warrior and a flying mage. Zandor was surprised to see he actually recognized the mage, though the warrior was a stranger to him. He had no trouble in recognizing their opponent, however. It was Spentri, serpent god of the southern City-States, here taking form a giant snake.
It was not the battle that drew his attention, however. In the foreground of the scene, a white-robed priest of Spentri stood poised over a stone altar. In his hands, he clutched a double-bladed knife. And it was aimed at the mid-section of a young woman.
Zandor watched with fascination as the priest bought the knife down, and...
The crystal suddenly split, showing two scenes.
...plunged
it into her stomach, spewing blood.
...missed
as the girl rolled to one side, cracking the knife on the stone.
The
priest screamed in...
...triumph.
...frustration as the girl jumped off the altar.
Zandor’s attention was brought to the background again. In the two faceted view he saw...
...Spentri
grow larger, stronger. The serpent god
struck out...
...Spentri
grow smaller, dimmer. The serpent god
struck out...
...catching the mage in its fanged
jaws.
...missing the mage with its fanged
jaws.
The dark
warrior slashed at the giant snake...
...causing no damage.
...opening
it to the gullet.
The mage
dropped to the floor of the cave...
...dead
by all rights, yet still breathing.
...rolled,
and came up with sword at ready.
Zandor blinked as the scene split again, showing four images.
Spentri turned to the priest...
...hissing its dark commands.
...hissing in pain.
The dark
warrior rushed to the side of the mage...
...seeing
if he was still alive.
...taking
up guard position.
The
priest ran...
...after the girl.
...to the snake god.
The
sword mage...
...weakly sat up. He whispered something to his companion.
...whispered something to his
companion.
Not completely sure of how he was following the divergent action, Zandor watched in amazement as the scenes split yet again, with some of the events melding back into other scenes. A part of him realized that the Crystal itself was not physically splitting, but rather projecting the images into his mind. It was somehow not a comfort.
The mage
suddenly took to the air again, flying to the girl. The dark warrior...
The mage
suddenly gave a last breath, dying. The
dark warrior...
...howled a battle cry and ran...
...after
the priest.
...at
the snake god.
...after
the girl.
The
girl...
...was
already dead.
...recoiled in horror and ran...
...away from the priest.
Oblivious to the new danger...
...away from the flying stranger. Oblivious to the real danger...
...away from the dark warrior. Oblivious to the unknown danger...
...of
Spentri...
...not dead, but fading from the
world.
...fully alive, ready to overcome
the world.
...a
pig-faced deamon, emerging from the shadows.
With
blade at ready, the...
...mage...
...warrior...
...priest...
...deamon...
...slashed out wildly...
...missing...
...stabbing...
...the snake god.
...the girl.
...the mage.
...the warrior.
Impossibly, the images continued to split.
The mage lived, the mage died; the priest lived, the priest died; the warrior lived, the warrior died; the snake god lived, the snake god died. The deamon killed the girl, killed the warrior, killed the priest, killed the snake god. The girl ran, died, fainted, screamed, helped, tripped, fell, bled, saved, ruined. The girl, the girl, the girl...
Zandor could not pull his minds eye away from the many scenes as they split again and again, showing outcomes, overlaps, merging and diverging, moving ever forward. His mind should not have been able to follow all that was happening. He was familiar with the concept of multiple histories, yet he had believed it had only applied to larger, more important events. Here he was seeing how even small actions could change an outcome. It made predicting the future...
Then an even more troubling thought occurred. What if this was not the future? What if he were watching an actual event / events? The Ice Crystals were not for scrying, but for viewing? Viewing what? Multiple realities? But that would mean that every action could create yet another reality. Another world?... worlds? Histories that could play out in many directions?
These thoughts superimposed themselves over the multiplying scenes, playing out in yet further directions. Zandor felt his mind stretching to its limits, threatening to tear at the very fabric of his existence. It was not insanity that was overwhelming him- it was cold, ultimate reality, unwavering in its mutable flexibility. This was not just a challenge to his beliefs, but a complete overthrow. A waking nightmare.
But Zandor could take no more. Desperate for any action, he pulled out his dagger and slashed at the wall. There was a solid crack, and he was thrown back as the wall exploded with light.
Zandor felt known reality return in the cold ground that he lay upon; for how long, he could not say. Every muscle groaned in protest as he attempted to sit up. He was still in the Ice Crystal Cavern. It did not glow as it had once before, though. That did not take his attention as much as what he held in his hand
It was a crystal from the wall of the cavern.
As he studied it, he noticed the swirling of colour return. Quickly, he covered it up, and then stuffed it into a pouch in his cape.
“Later,” he assured himself. “Not much later... but later.”
Zandor left the cavern, then, shutting all other thoughts out. Soon enough things would be clear. He would make them clear. It was just another challenge: that was all. Another challenge.
After he was gone, the cavern walls began to glow again.
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