In the Hall of the Mountain King
By Asso
Chapter Seventeen
The sixteenth without the prologue, the seventeenth counting the prologue
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Fun.
Oh yeah.
This is a fun filled chapter.
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"Why?"
Once again.
Even more subdued.
Even more painful.
"Why?"
Then, suddenly, a thought.
The answer.
Why? But because wickedness is blind.
And, in its being blind, it's vain.
Wickedness enjoys being evil.
It is closed in on itself, in its being wickedness.
And beyond...
Beyond it cannot go.
It goes after itself, crushing people under its heel, to the point of making them unable to understand how, after all, it is not too much difficult to counter it, because, in its blind way of proceeding, of acting, of thinking, it is incapable of seeing the nonsensical silliness of its actions.
But, if you notice it...
...If, however arduous and hurting the trial may be to face in order to counter it, you notice how stupid and counterproductive its manoeuvres are...
The man gets up. And he raises with him the woman in his arms.
Slowly, laboriously, with the woman lifted up on his sore arms, clung to him, trembling and aching, her face hidden in his chest, he turns towards the flame gate.
The mouth of hell.
He watches it.
And hard it's his face.
Something is felt.
Something...
Like a doubt.
Something immaterial.
Yet real, present.
As an unspoken - disquieted - question.
The man moves.
But he doesn't run, he doesn't rush.
Slowly, he moves towards the gateway to hell.
Slowly.
And the sense of unquiet unease grows around him.
He perceives it. Feels it.
And a hard smile emerges on his face.
He stops, right in front of the mouth of flames.
The uneasiness he senses around seems to grow further.
And his hard smile also grows.
And, with that smile on his face, with the torture of the woman in her arms tormenting him atrociously, he enters the flame gap, passing between the two fire columns that clear the way for him to come in.
The intolerable heat envelops him and clouds his senses; the dancing fingers of the flames lick at and bite his flesh and that of the woman; the rock sears under his bare feet and burns them excruciatingly; the hot, suffocating, unbreathable air takes his breath away.
But he does not double back.
He doesn't.
Indeed, he advances.
He takes some steps.
Slowly.
And then he stops.
Among the flames.
And he raises his head.
He lifts his face up at the vault of fire.
A sweaty, dripping mask of unspeakable fatigue and pain.
And on that face, on that mask of inexpressible suffering, openly and impudently the smile gets shown - tense and sore and hard and toilsome - that his livid lips laboriously draw over his grinding teeth.
"Now let's see" - A painful rale, a heartbreaking gasping - if you still have fun, Devil of my heart."
"Okay, the circle closes.'
Mal's harsh voice rouses me.
"But we have to find a way to break it."
His Excellency turns his gaze to Mal, as I do. He gives the Bannerda a hard look.
"More clues, Your Excellency. More elements. Come on, give them to us. We need them to find out who is behind all this and how to neutralize what he, or more likely they, have set in motion. We need them, if we are to try to find the missing pages of the book and, thanks to Oshi, find in them what we need to break the circle. "
Mal's gaze gets harder than ever.
"What else can you tell us, Your Excellency? I don't know, maybe it is of little use, but - for example - how did your Great Monarch neutralize the revived King? Because that's what happened, right? You said it yourself, and you said that the price to pay was immense. What price, Your Excellency? And... "
"Lieutenant..."
"Excellency?"
"I... I do not know."
There is anger all around.
A heap of anger.
A mountain.
An ocean.
Livid.
It is clearly perceived.
But, suddenly, the sense of anger deflates, goes out.
And so do the flames.
Suddenly, nothing burns anymore.
And only the rock tunnel remains.
Dark and rapidly getting colder.
The heat dissipates quickly.
The air...
The air becomes breathable again.
And, in that air, a kind of hollow mocking laugh.
A kind of voice without a body.
His disembodied voice.
*"So you fooled the devil, huh, man?"*
The man attempts to collect the residual forces, tries to think with a bit of clarity again.
A superhuman effort.
But he has to make it.
Because something is still missing.
The flames are out. Sure. But T'Pol is still prey to the malignant force that locks her in a grip of unspeakable pain.
And so he has to be able to think straight again.
Now it comes to continue to deceive that hellish Being again. It comes to force that devil to stop torturing T'Pol and not to make him interrupt that damned game. It's necessary to prevent him from getting annoyed and taking possession of his body, simply and without too many compliments. Without further ordeals. Because the hope, albeit faint, that that demon will keep faith in his word, taking him and leaving T'Pol free, goes hand in hand with the continuation of that infernal game.
Sure.
Because if that cursed play continues, it means that that Being vomited from hell intends - may have intention - to keep what has been agreed upon.
This is why he must be able to gather the few remaining strengths and think clearly.
And this is why he succeeds.
It is true. He fooled the devil, because...
Because of what use could it ever be to the devil - to that devil, the devil who wants his body - a body reduced to ashes?
The man moves his head, in a strained and tired nod.
And he smiles.
Yes. He smiles.
Ironic and mocking.
And ironic and mocking his voice rings.
Fatigued, exhausted, drawn. But ironic and mocking.
"Glad you were able to have fun while I was doing the exact opposite of what you expected me to do to amuse you." And here, a sarcastic and defiant giggle. "It's not something all devils are capable of doing."
Is he exaggerating? Is he going too beyond? Perhaps. But that is the way. Yes, that is it. He has learned - he believes he has learned - something of the essence, of the way of thinking, of that evil and nameless creature that holds T'Pol and him in his clutches. It is the way of thinking - the way of being - of those who are evil and powerful, so much that they cannot be hindered. Beings like that, whether human or demon, love to be challenged, enjoy being challenged, because they know that in the end any challenge thrown at them will be in vain. The winners will be them. And this is even truer for that infernal Being whose power seems to be immeasurable.
For this reason he, that infernal entity, after an initial and explosive rage, has made his mocking and incorporeal laughter resound, in seeing that he has been hoaxed by the man he intended to hoax. The game was getting for that hideous creature even more interesting, even more fun and it would be even more pleasing, even more fun, precisely, to take possession of the man who had been able to make fun of him.
So it is. The man has realized this and therefore this is the way he has to follow.
He has to continue to challenge, as he has done from the beginning. And to hope. To hope that the sense of omnipotence - the awareness of possessing such a power - could push that Being, in the end, to keep his word, to have fun - yes, to have fun - in proving that he is so powerful to be able to afford to keep faith to his commitments. Because wickedness can take pleasure in granting what it knows it can help but grant.
Would it end like this? Would it really end like this?
The man doesnt know, but he knows there is no other way.
It is a road that has borne fruit, up to now, and, therefore, it is the way to go.
He has to keep challenging that Being.
He has to keep making him have fun.
Therefore, no. He isnt exaggerating, he isnt going too beyond. And, indeed, perhaps this is the time to be even more daring, to make that Being understand that he is the puppet master of a puppet who has broken the strings that commanded him.
A puppet who will go where the puppeteer wants him to go, yes. But only of his own free will and in his own way.
Otherwise...
No fun.
NO FUN!
And the disembodied, amused sardonic laugh that rings in his mind and in the dark air tells him he is right.
So he goes straight the road he has set out to walk.
Exhausted, in pain, with burnt skin, the man falls on his knees, on the hard rock still warm from the intense heat of before, but with the woman still tight in his arms, raised on them, which enveloped her as in a protective cloak.
She weighs to him.
He cant take it anymore.
But he holds out.
And his brain operates. And is at work. At full swing.
He lifts his face, bathed in sweat and worn out.
And he smiles.
He still smiles.
With huge effort.
Ironic and mocking. Once again.
"Now, my devil so full of self-irony, would you be so kind to stop torturing this woman? You know, her pain is unbearable for me and I really don't think I would be able to make you have fun yet if you continue to torment her."
A sudden surge feel of anger reverberates immaterial in the still atmosphere.
But the man reacts immediately.
"I might even die of heartbreak, you know, feeling her at the mercy of this unspeakable pain. It's not impossible. If you've seen in my mind what I feel about her, you know it's not. And, in this case, goodbye fun."
Anger does not go away, but something else is perceived. A kind of hesitation, of indecisiveness.
"Or, maybe, I could think of ending hers and my torments by smashing up the heads of both of us against the rock. Yes, I could. And so then, in this case too, goodbye fun."
This time it's a laugh. Yes, a disembodied laugh of mockery.
To which the man responds with a mocking laugh in turn.
"Oh I know, I know, my dear Devil. You could easily stop me from doing such nonsense. But you know very well that in that case I would no longer do anything of what you want me to do. And what fun could there ever be in making me do it without me doing it of my own free will? Right, isn't it? So, even in this case, goodbye fun."
The incorporeal mocking laughter has died, now. In its place, a bated silence.
And there is puzzlement again, in that silence. Decidedly perceivable. And even something... something like embarrassment. Indecisiveness.
It is a breach, which it is necessary to squeeze into.
"There is one last chance, I know it well. You get annoyed and get it over with. You take me, and her too, and that's that."
A faint sardonic giggle. Forced, strained, but perfectly audible, from the man.
"Ultimately" - The sarcastic chuckle is heard again. - "to the devil with everything, to put it briefly."
The giggle goes out. The man's face gets hard.
"And to the devil with the third and final ordeal and all the fun it could bring with it. For you."
Silence.
Nothing else now.
But then something...
It is not anger.
It is not hesitation.
It is not perplexity.
It is...
It is amusement!
Yes.
Evil.
But it's amusement.
And nothing happens.
Nothing reaches out of nowhere to take possession of him.
Does it mean perhaps... does it mean that...?
To the devil!
Really!
Now or never!
It is the moment!
With a tremendous effort, the man gets up and raises the trembling and gasping woman clinging to him with her eyes and fists clenched, in the throes of unspeakable pain, the skin, like his, marked by multiple burns, lifting her up above his head towards the invisible vault of the great rocky tunnel.
"So? Do you make a decision or you don't? Should I think, perhaps, that the devil doesn't know what to do?"
And his voice does not sound faint.
To challenge.
To challenge!
To mock.
This is what he has to do.
And may... may the devil be with him!
Everything's silent.
Nothing is heard.
Nor felt.
Nothing is perceived anymore.
Then...
Then...
TPol...
Up there, lifted on his hands, raised above his head...
She...
She... slowly... she stops shaking.
Her body relaxes.
She is a dead weight, now, which no longer arches.
The man lowers his arms and takes her back in a hug.
He kneels again, holding her close.
He looks at her, scrutinizes her.
He listens to her.
Her breathing is no longer stertorous; it is quiet, calm, regular.
Her hands are no longer convulsively clenched into fists.
Her body is quiet, it no longer fidgets.
Her eyes are closed, but not tightly.
And, suddenly, those eyes open.
They look at him.
Softly.
Quiet.
Damp.
"Trip ..."
A murmur, her voice.
A soft, sweet, tenuous whisper.
Broken words, hardly pronounced.
But words that no longer betray any pain.
"I was... I was sure you... I was sure you... you would... you would... you would free me from that torment."
Then, those eyes fill with tears.
"My Ashayam!"
"Your Excellency..."
Mal's harsh voice rouses me from my bedazzlement
"What do you mean 'I do not know' ?"
One moment, one only moment.
But infinite.
He hugs her, presses her to him, kisses her.
On the forehead, on the cheeks.
All over her face.
But it's a moment.
Just a moment, even if it is endless.
There's no time.
There is not.
It is sensed.
Clearly.
Impatience.
Vexed impatience.
All round.
And inside him.
The game must resume.
The devil must have fun.
And he has to keep baiting him.
It costs him a lot, but he breaks off the embrace, limiting himself to holding the woman tight to him.
He raises his head.
And he smiles again.
Slyly.
"Very well. It seems, my dear devil, you have decided to listen to me, which, if I'm not mistaken, means the game continues."
Then, another challenge.
The man's face gets hard.
"Go on, then. The third ordeal, please."
And the man's voice becomes lashing.
"But mind you, I won't face anything that separates me from my woman."
Even more lashing
"Otherwise, I will no longer do anything I don't want to and you will have to take possession of me straight away, with not even the slightest shadow of fun at my expense for you anymore."
Lashing and mocking.
"Come on, then. Or should I believe the devil doesn't know which way to turn?"
And then, again a smile.
Crafty.
"Or it s it that my woman and I are too weak? She to follow me, and I to face the ordeal?"
Definitely mocking.
"Is it ever possible that a devil like you is unable to fix such a trivial problem?"
"Here, Lieutenant... I... I mean..."
"Would you, Your Excellency, be kind enough to clarify? Please?"
He made it.
Yeah.
He made it.
He knew it was possible. It had happened before. And he has pushed that infamous creature to make it to happen again.
Risking, of course.
But talking about risks in the situation he and T'Pol are in is at least stupid.
Be that as it may, he made it.
He feels stronger. More and more.
And T'Pol's face, the way her body comes to life and vigour in his arms, tells him that the same thing is happening to her too.
And their skin is healthy now. No burns marks. No pain due to them.
The two of them exchange a knowing look.
He gently sets her down on the ground.
She tests her capability of standing up.
She nods.
He nods in turn at her.
Okay. Now...
"Very well, my dearest devil. Evidently the devil also has a certain sensibility, at least in the face of well motivated requests."
A further nod. But not at TPol.
At HIM.
At the devil.
"We are ready. I... am ready."
He feels TPols hand squeeze his.
Feels her sudden apprehension.
Her fear.
For him.
But he ignores all that.
He has to do it.
And then... yes, and then his reckless shamelessness is part of his way of being. And, what's more, T'Pol loves him for that too.
He knows it.
She herself - honestly - told him.
Therefore...
"So?"
Cheekily. Impudently.
"This third ordeal?"
The Bannerda stammers? The olympic, godlike, wise, self-confident Bannerda, living specimen of the oldest race, of the race by virtue of wich all the races of today exist... he stammers at Malcolm's rough request?
The irritation mounts in me. It replaces amazement.
And I can't hold back.
"Yes, Your Excellency. Explain."
There is silence.
Too much.
And nothing is perceived.
Nothing.
The seconds pass.
And all is silent.
Nothing happens.
Nothing is heard or sensed.
The seconds pass.
They pass.
The man and the woman exchange a glance.
An uncertain look. Worried and anxious.
He lowers his eyes.
Has he exaggerated this time? Has he crossed the line?
But no! T'Pol and he feel strong now. It's a matter of fact. That Being... that Being has heeded him. But then... then why this silence? This deadly silence inside and outside his mind? Why does nothing happen?
"Trip!"
The man suddenly looks up at his womans call.
"Trip! It's getting light!"
He, all of a sudden, realizes it.
It is true!
The tunnel is lighting up!
And the light... the light comes from...
Their eyes meet, then they turn together in the direction from which the light is coming.
Over there. On the opposite side to the one they entered from.
An opening, which is getting wider and wider.
A loud rumble shakes them.
Behind them.
They turn on themselves, in unison and abruptly.
The entrance to the rock tunnel is no longer there.
The vault has collapsed over there. A stone wall blocks the passage through which they had entered.
They turn to look at each other again.
There is no need to speak.
It's clear. They cannot go back, they can only go forward.
They have to proceed along the tunnel to the gap that has now opened there.
It is large, now, a lot, and no longer widens.
Gushes of light enter from it, going illuminate the tunnel.
A violent light, almost. Reddish.
A light that reminds them of something.
Something...
A light that they both know.
But it is not really the case to think about it at this moment.
The two exchange a glance again.
He smiles at her.
It's a broad, confident smile, as cheeky as his smiles are.
It costs him an immense effort to do it, but he knows she needs it.
"Okay. Apparently we have to go there, T'Pol."
And how much he has to endeavour for assuming that self-confident and mocking tone, which is the tone he so often uses, intentionally annoying her and making her roll her eyes with a lot of fun on his part!
But she needs it, at this very moment.
She needs to walk on ground she knows, she needs him to be him.
He knows it.
And someway he manages to take that tone.
And her grateful gaze rewards him for every effort.
Then he turns his eyes to the opening.
He laughs
Openly.
Still a little challenge.
"Very well, my friendly devil. I was almost beginning to think you were fallen asleep."
And there is a reaction now.
A laugh.
Incorporeal, insubstantial and yet thunderous, which persists for a long time for finally fading slowly.
The man takes the woman's hand.
He smiles at her again.
Then, softly, he pulls her with him.
And together they get walking.
Towards the wide opening of bright sulphurous light.
Beyond it...
The grip of T'Pol's hand on his, the apprehension, the anxiety, the fear - image of his apprehension, his anxiety, his fear - that her hold plainly transmits to him, make it very clear to him that she too knows as he does what lies beyond that opening.
Out there, beyond the gap, who knows where or how, the third ordeal is waiting for him.
End of Chapter Seventeen
TBC
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Oh yeah.
Fun.
FUN!
A bit demonic, to tell the truth, don't you find, my friends?
But it must be said that Trip keeps pace, right? And T'Pol, certainly, is not far behind.
Of course, one wonders if he will be able to continue doing it and TPol together with him.
Well, we'll see, my friends.
We'll see.
And let's not forget The Bannerda and Malcolm and Hoshi.
And what about Enterprise? We left the ship and its crew in pretty trouble, do you remember?
Damn, how much meat on the fire!
Really, we have to see what will happen!