They wended a path among the trees, over soft shushing pine needles, under the harsh laughter of wind in the branches above.
It did not take long to find themselves thoroughly lost. Cliffs and ravines, dead-ends and blind rifts stood all about the flank of the mountain here. The sides were too sheer to be climbed, even if they didn’t have Dapplegrim with them. Frequently, the crevices were rank with wet straggles of fishbone fern too. Merely attempting to clamber over the more gentle buttresses of stone was treacherous.
“Where is that nasty ol’ shadow of yours?” said Dapplegrim, finally, and with pronounced irritation.
As if he had been waiting to be missed, Fetch came fluttering out of the canopy like a cat-shaped snowflake made all of shadow. The little demon lit upon the ground, then drew closer–slinking, hissing and whispering as it came. “It is the she-boggart, as you thought, tsssch, tsss, tsk.”
Caewen nodded without surprise. “Can you show us a way up the cliffs?”
“Follow,” came the instruction, and the shadow-thing swirled itself away over a mossy boulder.
Dapplegrim muttered. “Follow. I’ll follow. Very closely. Might find that I don’t mind my big hooves as well as I ought to, too.”
“Dapple,” said Caewen. She cast an admonishing glance at him, sidelong, but also laid a hand gently against his neck. “You’ll have to learn to get along better with the fetch. I’m afraid that he and I are–bound? Entangled? What raises power, must raise it from some wellspring. I have to tap into some current of the old earthy powers. I need him.”
He looked at her and the red glint deep in his eyes burned like fire under water. “That’s precisely what I’m afraid of, Caewen. Hurm.”
They pressed on.
The shadow-creature led them to a secret opening in the cliff, well concealed by tangles of foliage. From this hidden crack in the stone, a way had been cut into the mountain’s own flesh, making a near-invisible path that lunged deep into stone, then climbed upwards, before hacking a switchback trail against the mountainside. Turning one corner, they found themselves under the leering gaze of huge stone-cut carvings. These were cut in a rude and jagged manner, but unmistakably formed the images of scarle and boggarts, crouched, leaning and grinning down upon those who dared approach by this northern crack in the mountains.
Not much farther on, the pop and crackle of a fire became audible, and then, they broke over a rise in the path–ahead of them stood a long shallow flight of stairs, leading up to a platform cut of stone, and surrounded by what appeared to be more of the grotesque statues. Unlike their brethren sitting over the approach, these were frozen in a frenzied dance, and were full of artful trickeries of sculptural movement.
In the midst of this ring of weird statues, a tremendous fire was burning. It was so large and so hot that it shot a spiral of smoke and embers way up into the sky. It almost looked as if the column of fire-lit smoke might dare to reach above the tallest peaks.
Upon the other side of the fire sat a misshapen lump, heaped with furs and tasseled heavy fabrics. It moved, and a face looked up.
Two eyes caught the firelight.
And they filled up with their own reflected flames within.