The Monster in the Mountain

There is a monster, they said.

The mountain has slept for generations, a peaceful reign long enough for the people to prosper and outgrow their town. Long enough for them to spread up the mountainside, and make use of its fertile soil and dense forest.

The people spread and grew like a tide, rising up the mountain, while it continued to slumber. It had slept so long that all said it would never again wake.

It was only grandfather's grandfathers grandfathers fathers that had seen the living mountain in it's rage, and they had died long past. Now it slept the forever sleep. It was obvious.

So when the thing came to the town and was cast out, when it stumbled up the mountainside away from the people, when it disappeared and the mountain woke with thunder and fire, all was clear.

It was a monster, they said.

As I climbed the ten thousand steps, as I crossed rivers of fire that ran through houses that were, as I drew my cloak across my mouth to combat the noxious breath of the mountain, I could not argue. What could cause this much destruction, this much loss, but a creature of the vilest hells.

And here I stand, sword drawn, at the mouth of the cave it has made its home. Bathed in the orange light of the searing earthblood, fatigued by the oppressive heat, swaying with the shuddering earth, I stand ready. I can see the thing now.

It is a monster.

Its body is twisted and hunched in a painful attempt to hide from the scene unfolding around it. Its clothes tatters and rags of singed fabric, barely holding together on its gaunt frame. Worst of all, its face is contorted in a grotesque mask of pain and fear. I can see in its wet eyes the same shame and sadness that threatened to take me, once. And in that moment, I know what I must do with my sword.

I cast it aside, and step towards the boy. He cannot have seen any more summers than I, barely in his teens. He tries to recoil, but I'm too fast. My hand reaches his shoulder, and I bring him to me in a tight embrace. I press him to me, holding him firm.

The heat is almost unbearable, I can feel my skin beginning to burn all across me, but I will not let go. The cave erupts with flame and heat, the mountain shakes, and the cavern echoes with screams of loss and sadness. I grip him tight. It is too much. I drop to my knees. But I will not give up.

The moment comes that I think I might lose consciousness, and in that blistering moment of heat and panic, the mountain goes silent. The fire dies, the earthblood cools back to stone, and the thunder that pealed across the sky is replaced with the quiet sobbing of a boy, cursed to be a sorcerer by an uncaring world.

I open my burned eyes. Everything hurts. I loosen my grip on the young sorcerer, but do not let go. He buries his head in my shoulder, and I do not stop him. I rest my head on his, and pat him on the back reassuringly.

"It's going to be alright," I lie to the boy, in accordance with the Divine Book of the Platinum Dragon.