Dodo Eggs

It all began in the trade city of Venice with a dying old man named Dimitri.  Master Dimitri was a wealthy financier and member of the ruling class.  In his prime, he was tall and strong but his health had been failing for several weeks and the flicker of life had begun to fade.  Finally, he was unable to stand or even move.  Although his body thinned, he was in little pain.

The members of his extended family rushed to extend their wishes and say their goodbyes.  They traveled from all over Italy.

“I could not ask for death’s kiss to be any gentler.”  He told those around him.  “God’s blessings and hard work have given me everything this life could offer.  And now I ask for one thing more, to rest eternally.  I will soon be at peace.”

Despite these words, one thought through his soul into turmoil.  Costa, his only son, did not abide in wisdom or dwell with diligence.  He felt entitled to all that his father had worked to provide.  Life was for his enjoyment and for those pleasures he spared no expense.  Costa invested heavily in clothes and food all for appearance’s sake.

Dimitri didn’t want his wealth squandered but there was no one else with whom he could leave the money.  His partner, a man named Angelo, was almost as old and his strength would soon fade as well.  Giving the inheritance to one of his son-in-laws would only tangle his family in strife and grow hard feelings like thorns.  Giving it all away would destroy his business.

On Dimitri’s final day of life, he begged heaven for the wisdom and the ability to make sure his wealth was not pilfered away by the money hungry vultures that seemed to circle Costa. 

“Please,” he began with word’s too weak to be heard,  “I have taught my son but he has not listened to my words.  I cannot die knowing my gold will line Venice’s narrow walks for rats to collect and horde in the city’s darkest corners.  Please…”

The nurse looked on Dimitri’s darkened face and watched as his lips moved.  She saw the words but could not make them out.  She understood they were not for her.  Finally, the lips slowed then stopped.

************

Dimitri’s vision returned with great suddenness.  With death’s grip closing about his mind, his thoughts were hazy but now they were restored.  He felt energy again and the ability to move.  It was like waking from a deep sleep or breaking the surface of deep water.

Yet something wasn’t right.  He wasn’t in his bed but was instead in his second floor study.  Everything seemed abnormally large about him.  He sat on his wide accounting table with too much room to spare.  The shelves that held souvenirs from distant lands seemed impossibly far away.  What was wrong?

He lurched upright and noticed the massive gold coins stacked around him.  The stacks were resting exactly where he had last counted them.  Dimitri began moving to the edge of the table and caught sight of his reflection in his silver inkbottle.  He looked again and then a third time.  All he could see was a gold coin standing on its edge. 

He moved toward the bottle’s polished silver surface and the gold coin rolled in synchrony.  Dimitri moved backward and the coin rolled away from its reflection. 

His spirit became panicked and confused.  “I…I don’t understand.  Why has this happened?  Where is my body?”

Dimitri rolled to the edge of the table.  There was the stool he had used for decades, and far beyond that was the tile floor.  Looking around, the room appeared as a cavernous space larger than any massive cathedral he had seen.  The former merchant was sure now.  His spirit was bonded to the coin.

The hasty, ruffled sound of pigeon wings brought Dimitri’s attention to the far open window.  The bird landed only inches from him.  It ambled slowly around him with its head bobbing back and forth.

“And what do you want?!  I have no time for pigeons!  I need to get out of here.  Find people!”

The pigeon opened its wings and snatched the gold coin with one of its talon feet.  A second later, the bird’s clumsy flight took Dimitri out of the study’s open window.  Dimitri was taken up to the top of one of the colonnaded Roman structures. 

The ancient building overlooked Venice’s main plaza.  To one side, the main market street was visible and along the horizon was the Mediterranean port.  The terracotta tile roofs over grey stone buildings appeared as broken bits of a child’s puzzle.  Dimitri watched the long white clouds creep over the horizon as the far distant hills reached up to meet them. 

Directly below were traders, merchants, craftsmen, clergy, laborers, farmers, and women moved about their tasks.  There was the noise of a thousand conversations.  People bartered and argued over every item along the market street.  For many years, Dimitri had considered it the purr of his profitable trade.

“What shall I do with myself?”  Dimitri thought.  “As a gold coin, I may not be able to speak but perhaps I can still influence people’s behavior.  My wealth may not be wasted after all.  I will go to one in desperate need.”

Unexpectedly, he was snatched by the pigeon and hoisted above the thriving city.  The path of their flight rose then turned sharply toward an alehouse and an inn.  In the narrow alley and nearly concealed by shadows, Dimitri saw a man slumped against the wall. 

The pigeon dropped the coin into the space between the buildings.  Dimitri landed hard.  The coin’s rounded edge became flattened on one side, an effect of gold’s relatively soft nature. 

The high metal sound brought the man’s head up with a sudden jerk.  He looked about for what had disturbed him.  When he noticed the gold coin, it took him some time to focus on it.  He was completely drunk.

“Well, another cup of wine is just what I need to maintain my good mood.” 

He picked up Dimitri and groaned as he found his footing.  The man’s hands were covered in a haze of dry mortar and his clothes were covered in dirt.
 
“No, no!”  Dimitri’s thoughts screamed out to the man but he could not be heard.  “You are not to trade me for the same cup into which you drown your talents and hope!  I am a new start!  Do not squander this opportunity!”

The man wandered into the alehouse and ordered a bottle of expensive wine.  As soon as the gold coin was placed on the counter, several other patrons asked to make the man’s acquaintance.  The hours waned and the sunlight was wasted.  Dimitri could see only a bit of light from the proprietor’s pocket and then nothing.

There was a flash and Dimitiri’s vision went white.  When it returned, he was sitting again on his accounting desk in his old study.  The room and everything in it was still massive in scope.  As he sat up and moved, he could feel his edge rolling.  He was a coin again, a different gold coin from the stack left on his table.

There was no confusion this time.  “Come to me.”

Flapping and the rapid scratching of the pigeon’s feet was the next thing Dimitri heard.  It was a different pigeon but it responded the same way as the other.  Dimitri thought and the bird served his request.  

“Gold and opportunity accomplished nothing for that man.  He could have at least invested me but instead chose to tangle again in the grapevine that grows around his neck.”

The pigeon bobbed about waiting for Dimitri to make a request.

“Take me to someone who values money for what it can do.  Who refuses to waste it.” 

A talon closed about Dimitri’s edge and lifted him up and out of his study’s open window.  The pigeon’s path stayed fairly level rising only slightly.  It flew into the plaza only a few feet about the crowd’s head.  For most, it was just another useless pigeon and no one took notice. 

It passed only a foot or two above an old man’s head.  The man carried a basket full of nearly rotten produce.  Dimitri was dropped onto the shoulder then he fell to the stones.

“What is this?”  A wide grin split the old man’s face as he eyes met the gold coin.  “What good fortune is this that the golden sun above would bless me with a valuable fleck from its surface!”

The man tightly closed his hand around Dimitri.  He stopped shopping and rushed to a worn, dirty cottage on the outskirts of town.  The man tossed his cheap produce onto the table.  A frail old woman sat inside patching a threadbare dress.  She said nothing as the man crossed the room and passed her without a glance. 

“This is wonderful!”  Dimitri thought.  “Here is where money can make a difference.  With me, this man can buy his poor wife new clothes or better food to eat.  I can pay for repairs to the beaten home.  My gold will not be wasted.”

A small chest was pulled from under a bed.  The old man fumbled with the bolt then opened it.  Inside was a surprising pile of silver coins!

The man dropped Dimitri in with the rest of his money and said,  “Now, I have even more!  This has been a wonderful day!”

The top of the chest began closing on Dimitri and as it did he caught one last look at the saddened face on the old woman.  The lid closed with a sharp clap and everything was cast in darkness.

 

Guess which apple was grown in Hollywood.

Once upon a time, there was a small apple orchard tucked into one of the Cascades many valleys.  Like a blue silk ribbon this mountain stream meandered through the valley and orchard before finding its way to the Pacific.  It gave fresh, pure water to the trees allowing them to produce the best apples in the world.

An old wooden home sits on a grassy rise and overlooks the rest of the orchard.  An old farmer and his sons live there just as previous generations of their family have done.  They tend to the trees as if each was a spoiled child. 

But no tree received the attention that was shown to a tree the farmers called Grande.  Grande was the largest and greatest tree in the entire orchard.  It grew the juiciest and crunchiest apples that could be found in all of Washington State. The farmer and his boys love this particular tree, and give it the best care they possibly can. 

At the top of Grande was an apple that was grand in size and shape.  It was a prize even among Grande’s other apples.  It grew near the very top branch with a perfect view of the entire valley.  Every other apple knew that the farmer would save this special apple for himself.  Most apples would be more than content to be the greatest apple on the best tree in the entire state but not this one.   Every day near sunset this apple would look out upon the rest of the trees and see nothing but other apples. 

Despite being so well grown and so highly admired, it was unhappy being one of so many.  It would ask, “What makes me different from the other apples out there?  How can I make myself truly stand out?”

One day troubling news was received from the other orchards.  An outbreak of worms was slowly making it way across Washington ruining apple crops along the way.  All treatments had been used but nothing seemed to halt the march of these pests.

When the worms finally reached the edge of the farmer’s orchard, they caught sight of the huge apple perched on the top of Grande, and they decided to make their way straight for that wonderful apple.  The farmer and his sons worked tirelessly to stop them, but to little gain.  Until a robin that had yet to travel south visited the orchard looking for work.

As the evil worms reached the edge of Grande the hungry robin quickly devoured them.  The robin was able to protect Grande for only a short while before the number of worms became too many for the now fat robin to handle.

The worms knew that the robin would be unable to stop them for long.  In droves, they began inching their way up Grande’s trunk in an effort to reach the finest apples in the world.  They especially wanted the discontent apple at the top.

Finally, the grand apple looked down and saw the horde coming for him but it didn’t despair.  Instead it saw this as an opportunity to make a change.  The apple decided that the pesky worms would not eat something that was different from the other apples.  So after a great deal of effort, it shifted its bulk from the upper to its lower half, changed its shiny red skin to a dingy yellow, and turned from being hard and crunchy to soft and mushy. 

When the apple looked upon its new body, it became overjoyed at finally being unique.  The other apples, however, looked at him with horror and disgust until the worms making their way up retook their attention.

By the time the hungry worms reached their goal, the apple was not an apple anymore.  The worms stared in disbelief for quite some time, and finally decided to go after better pickings.

But the worms had dallied too long.  The robin returned with all his hungry robin friends, and made short work of the nasty horde of worms.  From that day on, the robins stood guard over the farmer’s once again beautiful orchard and the farmer built special birdhouses to allow the robins to stay all year.

While the farmer and the robins were content, the story for our clever apple had just begun.  When harvest time came along, the farmer’s boys found him nestled among a few leaves at the tip of Grande’s highest branch.  They stared in wonder at the strange new fruit, and decided to take a small bite.  What they experienced tickled their tastes so much they rushed him to their father.  He agreed that the strange fruit was delicious.  The farmer then instructed his sons to plant him near Grande, and to take special care of their new discovery.

With the passage of time a large, strong tree grew up beside Grande.  This tree was different because of its unique yellow fruit, which the farmer called papple.  As this new treat grew more and more popular, it became known as the pear, even to this day.

This post is part of an archive.  To read the current version, we recommend  “Cloud Weavers (*)”

The palace’s inner court shown with so much wealth Ephraim was sure the dust his sandals collected was made of gold.   Incense burned from the mouths of solid silver lions.  Life size calves of solid gold guarded the very steps to the emir’s throne.

The emir was dressed in Ezra’s heavenly garments with wide jewels adoring his brow and arms.  Other attendants surrounded Ephriam all dressed in the clothes made from spun clouds.  The emir looked on and said nothing as one of his officials bargained with Ezra over a beutiful cloak made with swirling patches of red smoke.

When the haggling was finished, Ezra bowed and stepped away from the throne.  Then the vizier advanced to the bottom of the throne’s steps and called for attention. 

“I have found a weaver of skill that matches Ezra’s!  This man’s work is so exquisite that I have brought him to you my master, without delay!”

The emir straightened.  “Bring him before the steps.”

Ephraim took three of his finest rugs and laid them before the emir and his servants.  Those in the court crowed in and the a servant held them up for all to observe the amazing patterns.  Ezra also looked on but did not seem to recognize his daughter or Ephraim. 

Even the emir seemed impressed.  “Yes these are outstanding.  Ezra, come before me and tell me why your work is superior.”

Ezra stepped forward.  “Master, I fear that your court has grown callous to my craft for if I had walked in today and offered you my magic robes for the first time you would not look twice at this man’s trash.  As it is, I do have something special to show you.” 

He snapped his fingers and a servant brought Ezra’s sack to him.  He opened it and pulled out a sash that glistened then flashed.  He offered it to the vizier who walked it to the open hands of the emir.   

“I have found a way to not only force the clouds into my threads but now the lightning as well.  This sash is the first of its kind and it can gird a man with the power of the gods.”  Ezra smiled and bowed.  “I give it as a gift to you, master, that I will again find the utmost of favor in your eyes.  In fact, if you still find this man’s work superior to mine I will offer him three requests of his choice, if not he will give me all of the rugs he has that I may sell them.”

The emir ran his fingers over the slow flashing sash.  “Merchant, do you accept?”

Ephraim deepened his voice and replied.  “I do.  Master, you will find my carpets far superior than captured lighting for my work is not strictly ornamental.”  He stepped onto the nearest.  “My craft is also woven with the power of the elements.  I have used wool and spun it with the restless power of the wind as well.”

As Ephraim raised his hands the rug floated up.  A cry of wonder escaped those gathered.  He flew between the court’s pillars before coming to rest where he started.  By simply adjusting his feet Ephraim controlled the path and speed of the rug. 

“A flying carpet!  How magnificent!”  The emir was on his feet and coming toward Ephraim.  When he was close enough he embraced the merchant, he shouted.  “Leave them here with me and take whatever treasures you deem as yours!”

Ezra flew into a rage.  “Foul!  Merchant, how did you do that!?  How is it possible?  Only I have control of the magic loom!”

Ephraim wiped away the ash and spoke to Ezra normally.  “You taught me.”

“Ephraim!”  Ezra clenched his teeth.  “I saved your life and taught you the art of the loom and this is how you repay me!?  I will not accept this shame!  You will never leave my service now!  Never again will you set foot in my home.  From here forward you can sleep in the garden with the animals.”

“You owe me three requests.”  Ephraim calmly replied.  “I want my freedom.  I desire your daughter’s hand in marriage and you must cease stealing clouds from this realm.  It must rain again. ” 

The emir’s brows knitted.  “The drought we have experienced since the beginning of my reign is caused by your actions!  The desert grows and threatens to further isolate us because of the clouds you have taken?!”

Ezra looked about.  He saw in the court’s eyes a reflection of the emir’s anger.  There would be no way for him to leave without being caught.  Quickly, he jumped onto the third flying carpet and lifted off the ground.  With one final look toward Ephraim, he flew out one of the high windows and was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Habib returned to the cave after sundown, the mouth had collapsed and only a rugged pile of rocks remained.  He set the staffs he carried and the clouds that quickly swirled around them against one of the boulders. 

“What happened?”  He mumbled to the night air.  “How will I return home?”

From above his head, Opal replied, “You could travel with us.”

Habib looked up and found Ephraim and Opal hovering on one of the merchant’s rugs. 

“Brother, you may free the clouds you have captured.  Rain must again return to the desert and allow portions of her to bloom.”  She embraced Ephraim.  “Father has left us to this world but I have no doubt we will find happiness.”

This post is part of an archive.  To read the current version, we recommend  “Cloud Weavers (*)”

For the next five years, Ephraim worked in Ezra’s garden.  The world outside the cave never changed.  The garden never experienced a shift of seasons.  The trader watered the plants each day from the spring that never ebbed in its flow.  Ephraim removed plants Ezra grew tired of and replaced their yield with fruits from other plants.  The cycle would change and so would the crops Ephraim tended. 

Ezra spoke truthfully about the magic of the garden.  Ephraim never became sick.  His limbs seemed to fill with vigor.  The desert sun could cascade its heat over his shoulders and he would not grow weary. 

Other things grew in the garden as well.  The most important of which was a friendship between Ephraim and Ezra’s children.  When all had finished their chores, the three would sit and watch the stars dance in zigzags.  A breeze would enter the oasis followed by the call of strange birds.

Habib traced the stars with his eyes.  “Father says you have become quite skilled with his loom.  He’s even thinking of letting you make some of the emir’s cloths.  Your use of the colored smokes has impressed him.”
 
“That’s good to hear.”  Ephraim replied.  “But I have special carpets that I have woven on Ezra’s loom and I wish to sell them before the sheiks.  I have taken the wool from my small flock and the threads made from the clouds and blended them.  The results have been quite striking.  I have kept my work away from Ezra because I fear he might try to sell them himself.”

Opal took Ephraim’s shoulder.  “You are wise.  My father does take whatever advantage he can.  Perhaps I should not mention this but my father has no real plans of freeing you.  The skill you have developed with our loom has made you much more valuable than a simple gardener.  He wishes to keep you.”

Ephraim became angry.  “That’s not possible!  Ezra and I had an agreement!  He must release me soon!  I have done everything I have been asked for more than five years.”

“Our father,” Habib began.  “He takes whatever he desires even the clouds.  The desert that surrounds the kingdom is so large because I harvest them.  When they are woven to thread the water seeps into the earth under the cave and feeds our spring.  Areas that are now the outer rim of the desert were once productive farms.  Now the land is being given to sand and dune.  We have more gold than three emirs and yet our father demands more at the expense of others.”

“Then what must I do?”

Habib replied, “After our father leaves for the capital city, I will take you and your rugs to the natural realm. While I spend the day hunting clouds you may sell your loom work.”

“I will travel with you Ephraim.”  Opal spoke over her brother.  “Someone has to make sure you return and it has been too long since I have walked the streets of the city.  I look forward to tomorrow’s trip.”

The next day after Ezra had left, the three friends loaded a small cart with Ephraim’s rugs and walked to the small cave where Ephraim had long ago taken shelter.  They backed the cart inside then squeezed inside.  Habib took a handful of sand and spoke to it in tones Ephraim didn’t understand and then threw it outside.  The sand didn’t fall to the ground instead the wind gave it life and it began swirling.  More sand was picked up and soon it was impossible to see out of the cave’s entrance because of the sandstorm.

“This storm will only last about an hour.  My father and I have developed ways to speed the magic.  We will only need to wait a little while longer before we reach the kingdom of the sun.”

When the sand subsided, the three left the cave.  Ephraim immediately recognized the world he had left.  Everything moved correctly and in order.  It was like he had lived in a box of twisted gears for five years and was now in a working clock.

Habib took three poles out of the cart.  “I’m leaving to gather the sky’s fleece.  I will meet both of you here one hour past sunset.  That will allow us to return home before father returns.  Good luck Ephraim.”

The sun’s capital city was exactly as Ephraim remembered it.  The tall walls and brick buildings funneling crowds of people and animals up and down narrow streets.  The temples with their wonderfully painted bricks and statuary filled Ephraim’s hart with joy.  He looked through out their walk to the palace for any of his brothers but found no one.

As they neared the royal grounds, Opal spoke, “Ezra will be here today bartering the value of the his magic garments for gold.  We will not want him to recognize us.  All I will need to do is keep a veil over my face but you will need more of a disguise.” 

She handed him a small sack and razor.  “Your beard has grown long.  Cut it short and dust your hair with fine ashes.  It will gray your hair enough to make you look older.  It should be enough to fool my father.”

Once their disguises were set, they wheeled their cart up the slope to the palace gates along with other merchants hoping to sell to the emir.

A minor official approached Ephraim.  He looked over the rugs and nodded to the guards.  “This one may pass.  Let the vizier see these.”

Opal and Ephraim were allowed entrance into the grand hall.  Proud columns covered in turquoise spiraled upward from floors of smooth stone.  Gilded doors and banisters offered entrance to some of the palaces more private chambers.

Ephraim was awestruck but Opal didn’t seem to notice.  “Ephraim, you cannot look around like a charmed snake.  You will embarrass yourself.”   

A tall man with oiled beard and hair approached them.  His staff was set with small gems marking him as the vizier.  He listened to the official for a moment then looked at Ephraim with unfriendly appraising eyes. 

Then he examined the rugs and his expression changed completely.  “Not once in my many years of service have I seen such exquisite detail!  The least of your carpets make the best we have into rags.  Wait here and you will see the emir.”

 Ephraim knew his work was good but his reception was unexpected.  He looked at Opal whose face also glowed with pride and another emotion Ephraim hadn’t seen in a long time.  Opal realized she was giving away her feelings and hurriedly pulled the veil over her face.

This post is part of an archive.  To read the current version, we recommend  “Cloud Weavers (*)”

Ephriam was still disorentated from his emergence from the cave.  He had to squint his eyes.  “Where…where am I?  The sun fools me into questioning my own senses.”

“No, your senses do not deceive you.  The place you find yourself is a place with a certain uniqueness.  The sun here charts its own course as does the much more temperamental wind.  And as you can tell, even the sand has a hard time making up its mind.”

“Who are you?”  Ephriam asked as he pulled his animals from the cave’s shelter.

The man hopped down from his perch on the boulders.  He was not quite as tall as Ephraim expected.  “I am Ezra.  My daughter, son, and I make our home here in this most unique of places.” 

He looked at the camel and sheep then back to Ephraim.  “You seem to be trapped in some difficult circumstances.  Perhaps we can make a deal.  Give me your thin sheep and aged camel and I will offer you a cool place to call home.”

“I am like a ship on the waters.  There is no one place I call home.  All I have is what you see with me, I know nothing else.”

“Come then.”  Ezra turned and motioned toward the east.  “I have fresh melon and fruit that will make your throat burst out in song.  You may reconsider after you are refreshed.”

They traveled to another outcropping of tall rocks next to a low hill.  Ezra led them between two of the largest.  Another cave swallowed part of the hill’s side.  The opening was framed by wooden door built specifically for the entrance.

Inside, the walls and floors were covered with thick carpets of extraordinary detail.  There were worktables with bolts of the same amazing material that made up the swirling threads of Ezra’s clothing and just beyond that was a large loom.  The polished wood gleamed even in the feeble candlelight that lit the cave.

Ephraim couldn’t help himself.  “Is this the magic loom that allows you to create the material you are wearing?  Do you realize what it’s worth?  For such as this,  I will give you my sheep, camel, and all the perfumes I am carrying for just a single roll.”

A short chuckle escaped Ezra.  “No, I sell to the Emir of the kingdom personally.  I have no need for a go between.  But I will show you what I do need.”

They walked deeper into the cave and across further wonders.  Enfolded about wood the length and width of broomsticks, bits of wild clouds spun in captivity.  Ephraim reached to touch one.    

Ezra reached out and clasped Ephraim’s hand.  “Oh, no.  Do not spoil the small clouds I have captured.  There are so few in the desert of the other world and I cannot allow the filth on your hands to taint them.”

“You are taking clouds and weaving them into fabric!?  How are you able to do such a thing?!”

“A genie gave me wish and I chose to have my happiness completed.  The wish gave me extended life, a son and daughter, this hidden home, the loom, and the ability to magically weave material taken from the heavens.

My son captures the clouds and brings them here.  My daughter spins the clouds and colored smoke into threads almost lighter than air.  Finally, I use the loom the weave the fabric.

The clothes I make breath as you do.  They do not trap heat as wool does.  The material refuses to absorb warmth from the sun.  Though the clouds and smoke are bound tight they still swim within their constraints.  It creates clothing finer than silk.  Unfortunately, the material wears easily and once it begins to fray the entire garment can disappear within hours.”

Ephraim stroked his bearded chin.  “And so you again sell your material to the royal family.  It would seem you should be quite wealthy.”

They reached the back of the cave and another door shaped to the entrance’s exact contours.  It fit so well it almost sealed out any sand from the outside desert.

Ezra opened it and Ephraim needed to blink to readjust his eyes.  Outside in a small canyon, an oasis flourished.  Tall grasses covered the ground before him.  Healthy palms provided shade and guarded the clear pool in the garden’s center.  Built into the sloped walls of the canyon were terraces where large melons and other fruits were being cultivated.

“This is amazing!  May I drink from your spring?” 

Ezra made a dismissive gesture and Ephraim rushed to the pool’s side.  He drank until every limb in his body felt refreshed.  Then he threw water over his face and smiled as it trickled down his short beard.

“Select a melon from the lower terraces.  They should be ripe by now.”

Ephraim stood.  “Have my animals been taken care of?”

“They drank long before you did.”

Ephraim ran his fingers along his forehead.  The water collected along his fingers and was absorbed by his sleeve.  “You mentioned striking a deal with me.  What did you have in mind?”

“Look beyond that far palm.  What do you see?”

Ephraim leaned to one side and caught a glimpse of a girl taking water from the spring’s source.   “There is a young woman taking water.  Why is this important?”

“That is my daughter Opal.  She is the one who spins the clouds to thread.  But with all the tasks needed to keep our garden up, she doesn’t have all the time she needs to finish her work.  My son spends his days hunting clouds.  I would like you to stay here with us to care for the garden while my children work for me.”

Ephraim looked about the garden again.  It was huge and would take him many hours to maintain.  “I decline your offer.  I am a trader as my ancestors were and although I lack the business sense they have, that is my given profession.  You will have to find another.”

Ezra didn’t sound too disappointed.  “Are you sure?  The fruits and vegetables grown here will extend your life.”

“Again, no.  I would like to offer you some of my scented oils as payment for helping me and offering me a night’s stay.  However, tomorrow I must make my way to the capital city of Jinta.”

“You may find that difficult since it was my magic that brought you here and without it you will not be able to leave.”  Ezra’s voice still sounded pleasant.  “Come, let’s eat and wash.  Perhaps you will agree to my terms after a meal and bath.”

After a long soak in a reed-sheltered portion of the pool, Ephraim went inside and sat down with Ezra and his two children.  The boy had returned.  Except for the darker beard and younger eyes, Ezra and his son Habib resembled each other very strongly.  Both were built as the common man with a small measure of added height.

As Ephraim approached, Habib raised his cup and offered a warm smile.  “Welcome Ephraim!  I understand you will be staying with us and helping with the garden.  That is good and I am sure Opal most certainly approves.”

“Is that so?”  Ephraim swallowed his flux of anger.  “I was not aware I had completely agreed.  In fact, I have already declined your father’s offer twice now.”

Opal sat down beside her brother.  “Father, you swore you would not simply take someone!”

Ezra reached for his cup but his expression was unchanging.  “Ephraim, I will not keep you forever.  Work on behalf of my family now and when I see fit, I will return you to the natural realm with enough gold to buy ten slaves to serve you.”

Ephraim looked at Opal and Habib for any sign that their father might be lying but their faces did not change. 

“I will agree but only if you teach me the art of using the loom.  I have made a poor merchant.  Perhaps my skills lie among the threads and shutters.”

Ezra crossed his arms.  It was the first time he’d shown any real expression.  “You know, you may be able to weave the magic cloth but you won’t be able to sell it without me helping you leave this canyon.”

“I know.  Yet I wish to learn your craft and feel the magic of spun sky across my fingers.”

Ezra agreed to spend evenings teaching Ephraim the weaver’s skill.

This post is part of an archive.  To read the current version, we recommend  “Cloud Weavers (*)”

In the land of sand and palms, was a kingdom named after the sun.  Its capital was Jinta a city carved from a series of rocky outcroppings where it rested as the desert’s crown jewel in a sea of golden sand.  The city’s terraces and gardens were fed from a single river provided by the mountainous regions to the north.

A family of sheiks ruled the kingdom and had overseen the endless miles of desert for almost a thousand years.  Other nations were forged and later undone but the kingdom of the sun remained protected by a scorching desert no invading army could traverse.

The kingdom’s stability attracted skilled craftsmen who in turn brought merchants and traders.  Business filled Jinta’s streets and they flowed with money.  The wealth created wide, open air markets and topped domes over the royal palace with solid gold.

All of this wealth was brought in along one trade route.  It meandered through the narrowest part of the desert into the city.  It was a journey made many times by a merchant named Ephraim. 

All the men in Ephraim’s family had joined his father’s caravan.  They managed their own wagons and servants.  Each man bought and sold independently so there was no argument over who owned each shilling or camel. 

Each of his brothers and uncles had shown a great propensity for trading except for Ephraim.  He was the remarkable failure amongst his family.  They had an intuition for buying goods at low prices and finding the right buyers when the caravan reached its destination.  Ephraim would make purchases when the price was too high.  When the goods were to be sold Ephraim often had trouble finding anyone to purchase his wares.

Ephraim’s wealth decreased as the years passed.  His brothers and father allowed him to continue with the caravan but only out of family courtesy.  Ephraim had no servants only one packed camel and three sheep.  His goals are modest.  In the capital city, he hoped to find a buyer for the perfume he had purchased on a whim.

Almost half way through the desert, Ephraim’s camel becomes ill and refused to continue.  The camel represented almost half of Ephraim’s remaining wealth and he could not carry his perfume without the animal.  Ephraim let the rest of the caravan pass to care for the sick camel.

Instead of helping, his brothers mocked him as they passed.  “Ephraim!  I’ll give you twenty shekels for your perfume and another ten for all three sheep.  That’s much more than you would have received anyway!”

Another says to anyone listening, “You know, I have servants who have accumulated more money than Ephraim.  The man has been given every opportunity and cannot gather anything but sand.”

Ephraim’s face hardened and he refused to be baited by his brother’s harsh words.  “I will stay with my animal.  When it has recovered, I will catch the end of the caravan.  Proceed without me.”

The brothers shook their heads in resignation and turned back to their own matters.  They knew Ephraim had traveled the route many times before and were not concerned about his well being.

It took almost all of the merchant’s patience but he knew that there was nothing as hard to bend as the will of a stubborn camel.  The sun was merciful and the temperatures did not reach too high.  It took almost a full day for the camel to recover enough to travel. 

When the camel was finally ready, much of Ephraim’s water was gone.  He would need to catch the caravan to replenish his supply but he was unable to make his camel travel fast enough.  The merchant feared he would perish if he did not find his father’s caravan soon.

Ephraim’s fortunes deteriorated further as the western sky began to darken and the wind grew strong. 

“A sand storm is coming.”  Ephraim told his animals.  “We will not survive without shelter.”

He hurried his camel and sheep toward a thick cluster of boulders a little less than a mile from the route he was traveling.  With a small smile from the gods, he would reach them before the storm gathered too much intensity.

As Ephraim reached the boulders, he discovered they were the footings to a short sandstone hill.  He found a shallow cave.  Thanking the gods for such good fortune, he herded this sheep in followed by the reclining camel and himself.

Ephraim had never seen such a thick draping of wind and sand.  For another full day, the sands raced outside and sent swirling bits of sand and rock into the mouth of the cave.  Several times, he tried to peer into the raging maelstrom but was unable to see anything.  It took almost another full day for the winds to subside. 

When they did, Ephraim exited the cave with his animals and into a world that made no sense.  The sun was arching though the sky on a north to south pattern.  Ephraim stared in all directions sure he had made a mistake and equally sure he was correct.  The wind seemed to change its mind every minute.  At once blowing into the trader’s face, then a moment later it came from behind him.  Clouds crossed each other’s path.  The landscape had changed noticeably as patches of hard packed earth spilt the shallow dunes.

“Where…where am I?”  He looked around again.  “I don’t have time or water for further delays.  I can make it another day maybe until tomorrow night on the water I have.  After that I am sacrificed to the sun.”

A strong and somewhat high-toned voice came from above Ephraim.  “That doesn’t need to be.”

Ephraim and the camel jerked their heads up and found a man perched on the rocks above them.  Bushy eyebrows and a wide beard masked the man’s sun-browned features making it difficult to place an age on the stranger. 

The true surprise was the man’s clothing.  The very threads of his turban and robe seemed to be in constant movement.  They shimmered and swirled with a beautiful restlessness.  Colors as vibrant as the green of new growth, blood red, and white so pure it seemed to glow marked the robe.

Ulysses’ canteen ran dry yesterday at noon.  Both he and his horse had suffered ever since.  Finding the town was a Godsend.  Another day and he would have had to give up tracking Blane.  But even from a mile away, Ulysses could see the wooden shells and dust that made more of an outpost than real city.

A half hour later, the bounty hunter drug into the city as the sun began its fall into the western horizon.  Its decent offered only the slightest relief.  What really refreshed Ulysses’ spirit was the idea of a bath and a meal.

Ulysses brought his horse to a halt in front of a small saloon.  His horse went straight to the shallow trough as the older man pulled his heavy boots up the steps.  It wasn’t cool inside but it was out of the sun.  Ulysses pulled out a silver quarter and set it on the bar.

“Water.  As cool and clean as I can get it.”

The barkeep offered him a glass as well as a pitcher.

A moment later, the door opened.  Only a few even bothered to look up as Blane stepped into the tavern.  He had his revolver holstered and set so he could draw it quickly.

Ulysses took in the water as if he was discovering it for the first time.  He didn’t care that he stunk of sweat and the filth that clings to the human body.  All that mattered was the relief he felt with each swallow.

Then he looked into the filmy mirror set along the wall behind the bottles of whisky.  Blane was almost on top of him!  Ulysses spun and had his gun out instantly.  Two shots were fired in quick succession.  Both bullets stuck Blane in the chest just below the left shoulder.  They were fatal shots for a normal man.

Patrons jumped up; the backs of the chairs hitting the floor.  Shouts and curses came from most.  A few drew weapons but weren’t fired.  No one recognized either man.

“You’re a bit slow Ulysses!”  Blane’s fingers were made from shifting sand.  He bought them up to new holes in his leather vest.  Then he reached into the smoking holes and pulled out both bullets.  “I believe these are yours.”

Ulysses knew he was in trouble.  No one in the room was going to help him.  They were all dumbstruck by the instant change in the other man.  Many had their backs to the walls.

With his free hand, Ulysses grabbed the glass of water he had been drinking.  At the same time, he raised his revolver and aimed for the oil hat on Blane’s head. 

The outlaw saw the look in Ulysses’ eyes.  “No you don’t.”  He brought his free hand up and over his hat.  A bullet tore through one side.  Blane ducked and anther bullet grazed the sand that made up the side of his face.

The water came next.  The glass broke as it hit Blane in the chest and water went down his shirt, and pants.”

Anther bullet hit Blane in his right leg.  Someone else was trying to end the fight before someone was killed.  It was a disturbance the bandit didn’t need.

The outlaw fired a shot into the mirror just past Ulysses head.  It shattered bringing everyone to silence.  “Get out!  All of you get out!  This man’s hide is mine and I’ll take yours too if you’re still in here once I loose my patience!”

No one tarried.  Even the barkeep followed the crowd as they tried to exit as fast as they could.  Blane turned back to Ulysses and had the revolver shot out his hand. 

Blane reacted with amusement.  “Are we done now?” 

Blane reached down to picked up his gun and Ulysses fired again.  This time succeeding in taking the other man’s hat off.

Ulysses grabbed the entire water pitcher and tossed it at Blane.  The outlaw sidestepped the tin container.  It hit the floor with a thud and clatter sending water all over the floor.
 
“Wow, you’re fast!”  Blane laughed as he straightened.  “Frankly, I’d have to say you’re the best shot and fastest draw I’ve ever seen!  I tell you what.  I’ll go ahead and give you that open shot you wanted.”

The thief’s body shimmered a moment and the sand was replaced by flesh.  “There, now it’s fair.”

Ulysses kept his revolver pointed at Blane.  “I’m surprised you’ve given up.  You were winning you know.”

“Friend, I already have won.”  He pointed to the bounty hunters gun.  “That revolver you’ve got there only holds six bullets and do you know how many you’ve rattled off?”

Ulysses face went blank for a moment and set his gun on the counter.  He took off his hat with both hands and held it over his heart.  His gray head hung low.

“Like I was saying, let’s finish this.”  Blane started bringing his gun up.  “I’ve still got work to do here in this town.” 

A final shot was fired.  This one found its resting place right in Blane’s chest.  Without another breath the outlaw fell to the floor.

The old bounty hunter moved the hat held with a single hand.  His other hand held the small gun he had pulled from his vest.

“You know Blane, real cowboys carry more than one gun.”

Blane rode into the Nevada outpost of Lost Well.  He was peering through the dust and grim for any sign of money.  The sun was up and the few townspeople had their eyes shielded under wide brims or bonnets.  The hard packed dirt that passed for main street wasn’t crowded but there were enough folks around to notice the arrival of someone they didn’t recognize. 

The oil treated cowboy hat sat tight around his head just like it always did.  It protected his messy, blonde hair from moisture of any sort.  Blane wasn’t like a normal bandit.  He had a magic that was granted by an old Navaho priest. 

“Or was it Apache?” Blane thought then shrugged.  “I never get that mess straight.  Of course, the important thing is that it worked.”

For six quarts of scotch and the finest rifle he owned, the priest offered Blane power to outlast the sun.  No longer did the cowboy need water to survive.  At will, he could change his very flesh to sand and back. 

It was a wonderful gift.  Bullets from bank guards and deputies ripped through his clothes and sank into his sandy torso.  Fire, bayonets, and even kitchen knives had been used to try to stop him but Blane laughed it all off.  He could just waltz in, make a large withdrawal, and walk out of town with no one able to stop him.

Many tried.  Blane had shot almost twenty men who were too heroic for their own good.  He never left his sandy state until he was sure those who followed him had given up or been sent to the grave.

The only problem was water and his hair.  Since his hair wasn’t a living part of his flesh, it stayed as it was whenever he shifted the rest of his body to sand.  If his hair was soaked by anything with water, he would revert to his normal body. 

“So no robbing banks in the rain.  At least without my hat.”  Blane mumbled his weary horse.  “It’s all fine.  I just stay where water is worth as much as gold.”

The bandit was wanted in Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana.  Now it was time to build his reputation here in Nevada. 

That is, once he got rid of a bounty hunter by the name of Ulysses.  The other man had followed Blane for weeks but never confronted him.  When rains came, Blane traveled a bit faster to out pace his pursuer even though his oiled hat usually kept him dry.  The rest of the time Blane would only notice Ulysses when there was a valley between them.

Now that he was in another town, Blane decided to pick out this troublesome burr before gathering any new ones.  “Let’s see, I can shoot him the moment he meanders into this town or I can wait until the mutt makes his own move.”

Blane lead his horse over to a trough to allow it have a good drink. 

“Well, there’s the courthouse.  I’ve seen the bank and the supply store.  I’m guessing there isn’t much else around here worth taking.  These are pretty lean pickings.  Perhaps I’ll just shoot that bounty hunter companion of mine then move on.  I think Carson City is only a few days ride west.”

Blane took his horse over to a hitching post.  Ulysses would have to come through here.  There was nothing else around and his supplies must be running low.  Blane waited three hours before Ulysses’ small silhouette appeared like a mirage on the horizon.

“Ha!”  Blane clapped his revolver shut.  “Here comes the old boy now!”

Solomon stepped slowly toward the opposite archway and the pedestal.  With the exception of Grim and Gesper’s weak mumbling, there was no noise.  The palentite portions of the ceiling were lit providing more than enough light for Solomon to focus on the silver flask.

 He had a confidence forged from a smooth blend of arrogance and accomplishment.  It was for this trial he was bred and nothing would keep him from it.  The room was obviously a trap but one that needed to be sprung.  He kept his hammer just above his head ready to bring it down quickly.  On the opposite end of the thick iron shaft, was a deadly wedge.

Scattered around the cavern were dry remains of Atakaskin explorers those who had perished trying to reach the Rift Tonic.  It’s magic was said to make one from his race fast, strong, even invincible.

His thoughts suddenly scattered when his eyes caught movement from the walls.  Slices of the cavern’s sides seemed to shutter a bit then break away.  Each layer was replaced by another thin sheet of rock all of it moving toward him in a wave. 

“Rockshells?”  Solomon recognized the insects now but could not believe the number.

Solomon had never seen the predatory insects so large or in such quantities.  He was a bit disappointed, he was hoping for something more. 

“Eeeaaa!”  His hammer sank into the first rockshell, breaking the large bug in to a shuddering mass of legs and primitive organs. 

Long pinchers appeared coinciding with the high squeal of their breathing. The haunting noise filled the hall as the swarm came for Solomon.  They were too heavy to fly but had no difficulty climbing over one another in their frenzy.

The Atakaskin warrior laughed then spewed flames in a circle about him.  The insect’s advance stopped but only for a moment.  It was enough time for Solomon to leap to one side bringing the hammer down on three at a time.  Their exoskeletons splitting like eggshells.

Solomon swung his hammer in wide circles along with breathing fire.  When the insects began sticking to the hammer’s head, Solomon lowered the wedge end of his weapon and barreled through to one corner.  There he could fight with his back to the wall and be at a greater advantage.

He stuck the giant insects down mercilessly.  Occasionally, one would make it to his legs or snatch his forearm.  Their sharp pincers caught his plating and flesh with crushing force.

But Solomon was too massive and much too savage.  His hammer didn’t slow a bit as he dropped his knees into attacker that made it to close.   The bodies piled up becoming an even greater bearer to the swarm’s advance.  Solomon began laughing uncontrollably.  He had been prepared for much worse!   Was this a joke?

With a heave, he threw his hammer to the other side of the chamber and began seizing the insects with his bare hands some he had already killed.  He tore off heads and pincers with little more than a vicious twist.  Then he lowered his shoulder and somersaulted into the heaving rockshells crushing many under the weight of his rolling body. 

Only minutes later, Solomon’s hammer crushed the last of his attackers.  His blazing eyes glancing about still hungry for another challenger but there was nothing but slight twitching from broken limbs.

The warrior straightened and took stock of his body.  There was bleeding up and across his arms but nothing too deep.  Around his legs, several of his plates were cracked or pulled away.  Solomon wouldn’t admit it but he had taken some wounds.

Then he remembered the hodges.  The swarm would surly have come for them as well.  He looked to the entrance but didn’t see any movement.  He called but there was no answer.

“I have no time to waste on servants.”  He turned and caught sight of his prize.  The silver flask still sat on its pedestal undisturbed.  He dismissed Grim and Gesper. “They were probably chased back into the sanctuary.  What value does a hodge have now?”

Solomon took the flask and opened it.  Luminance seemed to push the plug out as much as Solomon had pulled it.  It was the same light that burned in his body.  He smelled the fluid to be sure it was not part of anther trap but it offered nothing to raise his suspicions. He took a small drink from the elixir.

The change took Solomon by complete surprise.  He felt power like magma flow into each limb.  Bleeding stopped and his body expanded.  Gaps were created between his mineral plates but Solomon didn’t care.  He took in the rest of the flask and the changes became even greater.  A heft of his hammer revealed he had grown almost a span wider and taller!  The magic and power of the Rift Tonic was real! 

The Atakaskin turned and looked into the next archway.  It was larger than the last and he would be able to walk through with his shoulders a bit bent just as he had done with the last tunnel.

Darkness claimed the next chamber.  Just like the other rooms, portions of the walls were set with palentite.  Solomon spit at the stone and its energy spread up the walls and along the cavern’s roof. 

This chamber was as large as the last with anther tunnel on the other side.  Resting on another pedestal was a second flask waiting to be claimed. 

Solomon vowed not to keep it waiting long.  He flexed his body and it responded with a flood of light and heat.  The plates on his skin couldn’t cover his larger body and the heat scorched the stone around him.  His steps were longer and faster covering ground with alacrity.  The Atakaskin didn’t care what would try to stop him.  There was nothing short of a god that could stand in his way.

When he reached the middle of the room, Solomon slowed and brought his hammer up.  If something was going to try him, it would do it now.  As if summoned, a breeze wound its way through the shrine and past Solomon’s body.  It disturbed the dust creating a small whirlwind that grew as it blew around the chamber.  It weaved its way near the pedestal.

It stopped and a long gray robe with gold embroidery along the edges was picked up and hung in the air.  The robe slowed its spinning and filled out as if it surrounded flesh.  It bent and an invisible grasp picked up a broadsword. 

“I have no fear of illusions and the weapon you hold is little more than a toy.”  Solomon voice was had taken on greater volume to match his body.

The phantom brought the sword up and rushed the Atakaskin.  Solomon saw the blow coming.  Its path was intended for his neck.  The hammer’s iron shaft was raised and it blocked the sword with a short explosion of sparks.

Solomon threw his attacker back then brought the hammer down on the wraith.  The weapon’s head snagged the robe and sunk an inch into the ground.  The blow dissolved the robe’s shape and pinned it to the rock floor.  The sword’s blade fell away contacting the rock with an earsplitting smack.

“Too easy.  Far too easy.” 

Solomon lifted the hammer and stepped back.  The robe retook its shape and came for him again.  This time it was far quicker.  It brought the sword high again then suddenly went low.  The sword sunk into the glowing flesh between Solomon’s protective plates and into the lower abdomen. 

With the Rift Tonic still flowing through him, Solomon forced through the pain.  He took his left hand off the hammer and snatched the robe.  He then dropped the hammer and took the robe with both hands ripping it into shreds.  Each fragment drifted to the ground like a fallen leaf.

Solomon reached down removing the sword from his body.  He had been too slow.  It was a wound that could be life threatening.  The clear fluid that transported the heat, strength, and light throughout his body was draining.  He would be fine if the next portion of Rift Tonic healed him as the other had.

The broadsword was dropped with a clatter.  He slung his war hammer across his back shoulder and cupped his wound with his free hand.  Solomon only managed another three steps before the wind picked up again. 

He turned and the bits of robe became swept up into another whirlwind.  Each piece began reassembling, knitting together until it was whole again.  Gripped in the phantom’s transparent hand the sword dripped with Solomon’s lifeblood.

It drifted to Solomon’s wounded side and came for him again.

“Enough!”  The Atakaskin forgot the split in his side.  He brought the hammer across his body aiming for the wraith’s broadsword.  In an explosion of sparks, the sword shattered. 

The wraith flew back.  For more than a minute, it simply hovered facing Solomon as if it was studying him.

The Atakaskin warrior returned its death stare.  “Well, you worthless bit of spell craft!?  Shall you flee or will you dissipate into the cursed speech that brought you into existence?”

The robe opened and flew at Solomon.  The warrior brought the wedge part of his hammer into the robe and it tore cleanly through.  Solomon’s counter didn’t seem to bother the phantom.  Invisible hands, more than two, began pummeling Solomon.  They were powerful blows some striking his open side with other forces closing around his neck.  It felt like a vice.

“Aaakkk, no, I will not die!” 

Solomon dropped his hammer and tried to protect his side and free his neck.  The robe’s hood wrapped about his face taking his sight.  The magical weave too tight for even air to penetrate.  The Atakaskin went to one knee then two.

“I-will-not-die!”

With the last of his breath, Solomon blew a palentite plume into the robe around his face.  There was a screech and the spirit withdrew.  The flames from Solomon’s attack ate away at the robe.  It fell to the ground in an attempt to put itself out.  Solomon chuckled and spit another several times.  Each small fireball turned the enchanted robe further into ash.

The liquid palentite in the flask acted just as the other.  Solomon felt his body grow and burn hotter.  The gap in his side closed.  He was able to ingest the palentite and release even more of the mineral’s locked powers.  He would be a giant even amongst his own people!

The next tunnel seemed smaller than the others.  Solomon almost needed to bend completely over the make it through.  When he reached the other side, the Atakaskin flexed his body releasing enough heat and light to ignite the palentite in the walls.

On the far side of the cavern sat two stone posts, one upheld another silver flask on the other sat a hodge in a green forest robe.  Its head was bowed and it took no notice of the giant warrior. 

Solomon squinted and looked at the hodge in surprise.  It looked only half as large as Grim and Gesper and yet Solomon knew it was his new size that caused the hodge to appear so small.  It was surprising. 

“Little friend, I have come for additional Rift Tonic, the treasure of my people.  You will fetch the flask for me and take me to Rift Well where I will make myself invincible.”

The hodge looked up.  He had been cradling a silver bow.  “Such arrogance!  It is the scourge of your race.  You are indeed stronger than any who have come before but your fate will be the same.”

With that, the hodge came to its feet and shot three arrows that flew across the cavern like darts.  Each buried its tip into Solomon’s body.

Solomon looked down and saw the imbedded arrows.  They looked like slivers.  He could barely feel them!

“If deadly creatures and magic beings cannot stop me, a hodge stands no chance.”

The warrior took a massive breath and spewed flames throughout the far half of the chamber.  Any living thing left on the ground would be completely consumed.

When Solomon looked for the hodge’s charred remains, he found the miserable being clinging to a cleft in the cavern wall.  Its green robe singed.  It was struggling to breath.

Solomon walked over and plucked the hodge off the wall with one hand and took the third flask with the other.  He drank while the hodge launched a second volley of arrows into the Atakaskin’s neck.

The shafts burned way from Solomon’s body as he expanded again.  He was now almost three times his original size.  If he so desired, he could leap and touch the chamber’s high vaulted ceiling. 

The hodge shouldered his bow but did not relent.  “I may be undone but you will not succeed!”

Solomon laughed again shaking the very bedrock with its strength.  “Why forfeit your life little one?  Show me the well that filled these flasks and I will reward your courage and good sense.”

The hodge pointed a quartz claw at Solomon’s face.  “My name is Riven.  Set me down and we can negotiate.” 

Solomon waited for all the palentite flames to die back before setting the hodge on the stone floor.  The smaller creature yelped and jumped because the floor was still extremely hot.  Riven leaped away from the pedestals and back to the tunnel from which Solomon had emerged. 

“Will you promise me money and servants of my own?”

The Atakaskin couldn’t help but laugh.  “Whatever your desire is I will grant but only if I gaze upon the Well’s liquid light before I loose my patience.”
 
Riven motioned for Solomon to follow before scampering into the tunnel. 

Solomon had crouch completely to move back through the third tunnel.  His shoulders were so wide they left streaks of charred stone.  Once through, he straightened and looked around for Riven.  He found the hodge standing in the next tunnel’s entryway waving to him.

The hodge gave Solomon another defiant look.  “Thank you for returning Grim and Gesper to us.  They never belonged in the servitude of Atakaskin barbarians anyway.  They are actually at Rift’s Well now.  By the way, it isn’t in this temple at all.”

“What!  Those miserable slaves have reached the Well before me?!”  Solomon’s body flared with anger.  “You should not think to taunt me!  Your position to bargain is fragile.”

Without another word, Riven disappeared into the tunnel.

Solomon bent toward the tunnel and realized immediately that he could barely fit through.  Riven appeared briefly on the other side then the hodge disappeared to one side.  He was playing a game; one Solomon would end at the next opportunity.

The warrior went to his hands and knees and pulled his body through.  His size had indeed become too large to be reasonable.  Water could quench the palentite and was normally a poison to an Atakaskin.  In this case, he would need it to bring his power to a more manageable size.

Riven was already gone when Solomon squeezed into the first chamber.  The rockshells were still flung about only they now appeared small and completely harmless.  Solomon had finally stopped growing but he was too wide to fit through the original archway.

Solomon went to his knees.  “Riven, fetch me water so that I may quench the Tonic a bit.”

From somewhere in the shrine, he heard the hodge respond.  “I think not!  Die like the rest of your headstrong race!  I leave you now to the trap and the magic of the temple.”

Solomon let a roar escape.  He was trapped but his would not be the fate of those who had come before him.  He reared up and smashed his fists into the rock around the tunnel.  Huge boulders were broken away in handfuls.

“The fools will not escape!  No amount of stone can contain me!  I will drop their bodies into the flaming pit of my open maw!”

With another cry that could be heard throughout the underworld, Solomon pushed both fists through the chamber’s wall and into the shrine proper.  Fueled by the magic of Rift’s Tonic, Solomon leapt to his feet his burning eyes scanning for the hodges. 

He failed to see or avoid the baseless pillar he had earlier marked as a trap.  Solomon marched through the magic column, smashed it, and brought down a cascade of twelve-foot long iron spikes.

Days later, Riven would return.  He was the trap’s keeper and grudge-holder.  The curse that cleaned the Utapan of life would also repair the stone.  The greatest tribute to Atakaskin might and their most sought after treasure forever used against them. 

The hodge’s dim, opal eyes were framed with delight.