Call Of The Mountain by KenAdams4815 at Inkitt

Burning Sands

BURNING SANDS

Tesing had him train in swordplay—if you could call waving a palm branch full of splinters that. Delvin was terrible at it, and most nights ended up completely drained on the sand.

They fed on yellow-spined fruits that hung from tall palms scattered across the beach. No shelter was needed; the air at night was warm, and Delvin had finally stopped shivering.

The elf didn’t spar with him—he just offered criticism on his stance and grip. A few minutes into practice, Delvin’s arm and back burned, sweat falling like rain from his forehead.

He couldn’t understand how he had fought the king’s soldiers when now he could barely wield a branch.

The memories of that fight had begun to fog; all he could see now was mud and fire.

They kept up the breathing exercises too, and at times Delvin told Tesing he had managed to feel the fish swimming near shore.

In response, the elf had barely raised a brow from his meditation stance. But that didn’t stop Delvin from feeling quietly proud of himself, even if he didn’t fully understand what he was doing.

After a particularly ridiculous fall that landed him squarely on his ass and into his splintered hands, Delvin decided to craft himself a replacement for the broken blade he still carried.

He walked toward the forest to find a piece of wood large enough for the task. All his muscles stiffened when he reached the edge of the trees. The cold returned to his bones. Memories of endless days lost in the snow made him sweat—cold and thick.

And the pull.

That which had dragged his dying body toward the cave reached back into his soul.

“Delvin?”

Tesing walked to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. The visions of snow and rock slowed.

“I wanted a piece of wood to—” Delvin couldn’t finish. His teeth chattered in the warmth.

“It’s alright. Go back to the fire.”

Without hesitation the elf walked into the forest, and a few minutes later returned with a large log and handed it to him.

Delvin turned back toward the fire, log in arms, his mind still foggy but the blood in his veins no longer frozen.

Tesing handed him a small knife, and muscle memory took over as Delvin began to carve, the fear of the woods washing out of him slowly.

“You know,” Tesing said, watching him closely, “I haven’t told you where we’re headed.”

Sounds felt distant, muffled. Yet the drumming in his chest began to ease. Looking at the flames, he started to feel their warmth again, and breathed in and out deeply.

Tesing’s head bobbed faintly, watching his own teachings put into practice.

“We’re heading to the place I grew up. Yënil—the White Lakes.”

He paused, letting Delvin’s disoriented mind catch up.

“An old elvish settlement in the northwest, where the ocean slips into the dunes and forms wide saltwater ponds that shine under moonlight. It’s peaceful. War is a distant thunder there. Nights are longer, daylight brief. A place like no other.”

By the time he finished, Delvin had regained control of his thoughts. The pull from the mountain had subsided. His limbs steadied, though the memory of cold still throbbed in his bones.

“How can the nights last longer just there?” Delvin inched closer to the flames.

Tesing didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he nudged the burning logs with his sword.

“There are things in this land that hold no explanation, and they should remain that way.”

They sat in silence. Delvin kept working the log. The motion of steel against bark soothed him and gave him peace. Each stroke brought him closer to his mother.

Their black horse companion lay nearby, curled and still. The sight of her finished calming him. He remembered how most nights he had curled up beside her, listening to her steady heartbeat.

“Why are we going there?” he asked, still shaping the wood.

The elf had already settled into his meditative posture but replied with his eyes closed.

“We’re meeting an old friend. I’m hoping to recruit him to our cause.”

Delvin caught the word“our”in Tesing’s phrasing. He still hadn’t agreed to anything. His thinking hadn’t changed—he could help the elf’s cause, perhaps forging shields or tending to horses. He wasn’t convinced that a quick death in battle would solve anything. There had to be another way to make himself useful.

“Who is he?”

Tesing took a moment before answering.

“His name is June. From the Gunden Islands, off the shores of the White Lakes, a few miles out to sea. I’ve sent word, and he’s agreed to meet me.”

“Why hasn’t he joined you already? If you think he might, why does he need convincing?” Delvin pressed, not quite meaning to.

“He has a family. A life. He may not want to abandon that for what might be a suicide mission.”

Delvin didn’t respond to the wordsuicide, but it threw him slightly. The elf opened his eyes and fixed them on Delvin’s.

“The islands are far from the king’s madness. It might take years for his cruelty to reach them—but that doesn’t mean it won’t. I’m going to remind him of that.”

Another question gnawed at him.

“Why is the king so enraged? Why does he want to destroy his own kingdom?”

Tesing’s eyes ignited with that cold blue fire. His voice stayed steady, but rage edged its surface.

“Dark magic corrupts the mind, and the king has wielded it for centuries. It has twisted him—causing him to despise those who challenge him, to loathe his own kin and anyone who lives among them. I believe his mind is entirely gone now, consumed by shadow. That madness could bring ruin to everything.”

Delvin turned the words over, but something didn’t sit right. “How do you know so much about what he wants?”

He knew the elf favored silence, but he needed clarity. If he were to follow Tesing, he wouldn’t do it blindly.

The old warrior regarded him, weighing whether to answer. The fire crackled as he paused.

“The king took me as a child—about your age, in elven years. He came to my village, tore me from my people, and raised me to be his right hand. He bent my mind. Made me see the world through his eyes. And I carried out his wrath across the land.”

Delvin was stunned into silence.

The same man who spoke of justice had served that tyrant? And he had chosen to follow him?

He looked into the elf’s eyes—faded now, weary, the blue dimmed.

“You slaughtered families? Burned their bodies? Left children without parents?” Delvin asked, his voice cold.

“I did.” The old elf didn’t flinch. “Dark magic consumes the mind when wielded the way he does. He turned me into a weapon. His butcher’s hand.”

Anger crossed Tesing’s face. But Delvin felt no pity. Doubt crept deeper.

“Why fight him now? What changed?”

The elf leaned back and looked toward the sky.

“Something shifted in me. I don’t know what—but it cleared my mind. The king’s hold broke. I realized what I’d become and what I’d done.”

Tesing sighed and met Delvin’s gaze.

“I’ve worked in secret since, at great risk—helping those hunted by him, building alliances, offering protection. I know it doesn’t undo what I did. I can’t fix the lives I ruined. What I can do is help build something better.”

Delvin studied him. He believed him. Yet something still felt missing—a door left only half open.

“Then you just woke up one day, the spell gone, and chose to be good?”

“Good?” Tesing almost smiled at the word. “I don’t believe I can be that again. Different might be the right word. Let me ask you something. How did you defeat trained soldiers? How did you survive the forest alone? What is this thing that pulls you toward the mountain?”

Delvin held his breath. He had no answers.

“I told you before:there are forces in this world beyond sight and logic."

They stared at each other across the flickering fire, questions hanging between them.

The following day, they continued north.

Delvin still hadn’t decided whether to fully trust Tesing. Something told him the elf wasn’t revealing everything. But for now, he chose to follow—carefully, and on his own terms.

Coolness of the mountain was left behind as they traveled. They moved far from the coast. The forest was a distant shadow, ahead an endless stretch of sand was all there was.

Waves still roared faintly in the distance as they journeyed further from the shore. The landscape shifted into a vast sea of golden dunes.

Small oases dotted the terrain, each crowned with palms and glimmering blue ponds. The air was thick and dry. The sand, soft and deep, scorched Delvin’s feet when the sun climbed too high.

Enormous crabs scuttled away from their path. Giant black birds circled overhead. Dragonflies of every color buzzed above the dunes.

Massive boulders jutted from the sand, forming island-like pillars, and from their tops, orange blooms stretched toward the sun.

Tesing had warned that following the coast would take too long. They would cut through the sands instead, halving the journey to Yënil.

Miles from the shoreline, the sound of the ocean barely reached them. They moved around the scattered rocks, the elf scanning the horizon, growing more tense with every step.

He had instructed Delvin to drag his feet rather than lift them, minimizing disturbance. Delvin obeyed, though the heat made every stride a battle.

The deeper they pushed into the sands, the harder Tesing pressed the pace—sometimes sprinting between rocky outcrops.

They rested only atop the stone islands, where the air was cooler.

Delvin didn’t understand the urgency, but he didn’t question it either. During breaks he kept working on the wooden sword he had started at the beach. It wasn’t elegant, but it was better than swinging splinter-filled branches.

He still carried the broken blade.A reminder.

Using palm bark he had fashioned a crude belt, which now held his wooden weapon, a few pouches, and his waterskin.

Tesing’s black mare stayed with them, though they hadn’t ridden her since the coast. The elf had wanted to leave her behind, but Delvin had insisted otherwise.

The image of the horse wandering alone through the frozen woods haunted him. She had been a quiet guardian, a source of calm. There was no reason to abandon her now.

They trudged on. The sun gave them no quarter.

Delvin used his breathing exercises between marches, which kept the worst of the heat-induced headaches away.

Up ahead he spotted another rocky outcrop. The black birds hovered above it, as they always did.

“Delvin!” Tesing’s voice cut through the air.

Startled, he turned. He had never heard the old elf shout like that.

“Run! Get to the nearest island now!”

The urgency jolted his heart. He didn’t hesitate and sprinted toward a rocky island, perhaps a mile away. His lungs blazed. Heat seared his skin. The blisters on his feet burst and he pushed through it.

Then he stumbled, his foot catching a stone.

He crashed into the sand. Salt and grit filled his mouth. His palms sizzled against the burning ground. Delvin scrambled to rise.

Too late.

From the ground behind him, a black shell began to emerge—slimy, segmented, and massive.

An eight-foot scorpion, black as obsidian, rose from the dune.

Its exoskeleton was slick with translucent slime and studded with jagged spikes. Six hairy legs, each the length of Delvin’s entire body, twitched and clicked. Its pincers gleamed like twin blades, scraps of animal hide still clinging to the claws.

The creature’s many eyes—dull, gray, and monstrous—fixed on him. Its tail arched high, nearly twice the length of a man, the stinger dripping clear venom.

Delvin froze. His limbs wouldn’t respond.

A whistling sound cut through the wind—then a splatter.

Dark blood sprayed across his face.

The creature shrieked—an awful, rasping cry.

A brilliant arrow had struck it directly in the eyes. The monster recoiled, twisting toward Tesing.

The elf stood poised, white bow in hand, already loosing another arrow. The creature lashed its tail and caught Delvin across the chest.

He had never felt pain like that.

The air left his lungs in an instant. He heard the crack of his ribs. The impact sent him flying before he crashed against the rocky outcrop.

He crumpled—limbs useless, back against stone, head lolling. Blood and iron filled his mouth. His vision blurred. Everything spun.

Through the haze he saw them—Tesing and the scorpion locked in combat. Sand exploded. Arrows flew.

A shrill neigh to his right snapped him back. Delvin blinked and forced his eyes to focus.

The elf moved with impossible speed—leaping, striking, landing, releasing arrow after arrow.

But the creature didn’t yield. It swung its stinger, missed, and twisted again.

Tesing dodged, slashed, fired.

Then, behind them, the black mare screamed. A second scorpion rose from the sand—sickly beige, smaller, but still enormous.

Its pincers lunged for the horse, who danced back, alert and clever.

Then the giant scorpion vanished beneath the sand.

The mare turned in every direction, searching. Found nothing.

Moments later the scorpion burst from the ground and struck. One claw seized the horse’s head, the other gripped her hind legs.

In one terrible motion, it tore her in two.

Delvin screamed. The memory of her warm presence beside him in the forest hit like a wave.

She had been a friend. A shield. A comfort. Her quiet companionship had sustained him as surely as Tesing had.

Blinded by grief and rage, Delvin rose. He ignored the agony in his chest. His vision narrowed. His hands quavered—not from fear, but from fury. Tears streaked his face, hot and wordless.

Grabbing his wooden sword, Delvin charged at the beige scorpion.

“Delvin, stop!!” Tesing shouted.

He didn’t.

The monster released the horse’s remains with disdain and lunged. Its tail curled back, ready to strike.

Just before it could, Delvin dove sideways and rolled through the sand beneath its chitinous belly.

With the wooden blade, he struck upward. He knew it would do nothing—but the anger in his chest had silenced reason.

The creature screeched. It didn’t bleed, but it seemed enraged by the audacity. It reared back and snatched his leg in one pincer, hoisting him into the air.

Delvin howled. He felt the bone snap under the pressure.

The scorpion opened its maw—dripping fangs, a glistening throat. Venom oozed from the stinger. Drops fell on his right arm, searing through flesh.

He gritted his teeth. The pain was unbearable. But his wrath was greater.

Raising his sword, Delvin drove it into the creature’s face.

A burst of green fire exploded from the wood. The beast shrieked, its eyes igniting. It dropped him.

Delvin hit the ground. The impact disappeared into the pool of pain he was already drowning in.

The creature’s squeal grew distant.

His vision faded. His limbs went numb.

Then nothing.

A cave. Massive and hollow.

Lit only by slivers of moonlight through the cracks.

Moss grew across the walls.