Twenty-Two || Burning Mountain
Rue examined the phantomite more closely once he was out of the cavern and in the sunlight. The hunk of metal was silver, but bore a faintly green luster, and on closer examination was riddled with fine veins and speckles of pale green itself. It also seemed almost to hum in his hands; he hadn't given it much thought inside the mountain, in the presence of a dragon, but out in the relative stillness of the mountain trail it became much more obvious.
The phantomite also made the hike back down the path a little more rigorous than it had been going up. The path was sloped gently enough that descending would be easy, but he was still sore after having already ascended the trail, and after his confrontation with Wylaf, and after several minutes of travel he was starting to feel it.
He wasn't in a rush, though. The whole venture hadn't taken more than an hour and a half; there was more than enough daylight to get back to the beach, and back to town, in good time. So he took a moment to rest, settling at the next bend of the path. He looked down over the slope and across to the beach. His eyes settled for a moment on the bright crimson of the Pulsar-inferno Typhoon Omega, then trailed out, over the water, out to the horizon. He relaxed into it; the cool of the breeze, the faint scent of water and foliage, the quiet of the moment–
–no. Not quiet.
There was a sound, rhythmic, mechanical, a whirring of devices and a low rumble of engines, punctuated at even intervals by an off-tone clunk. He listened hard for several seconds, trying to make sense of what he was hearing, but couldn't quite grasp it.
Then he heard a voice, muffled by distance and quiet beneath the growing hum of machinery. It was drawing closer – the machine, the voice with the machine – and he finally had to give up waiting. He scrambled to the edge of the pathway and looked forward, around, up.
Down.
There was something rising toward him, a sandy golden disk with sharp, geometric lines cut across its body, glowing faintly with magical energy. Two heavy arms emerged from its sides, reaching up and gripping into the wall over and over again, using its thrusters and to keep itself upright while it slowly climbed the mountainside. On its back was a figure, her dark dress a sharp contrast to platinum blond hair. The voice belonged to her; she seemed to be shouting obscenities down at her golem.
He stared for a moment, baffled, before he remembered the conversation he had exchanged with Mint. He recognized Belle easily enough; the golem she was riding on must have been the Hexagon.
He scooped up the phantomite and moved.
He hadn't caught his breath yet, but he couldn't afford to wait much longer. The way Belle was ascending the slope – almost perfectly vertical – meant that he might have a chance to duck around her on the path. Her attention was diverted. With a little luck, if he could head down fast enough, he would pass right beneath her and avoid a confrontation.
And judging by the increasingly harsh language he was hearing from below, she was looking for a confrontation.
He descended down the slope, turned with it, and started the zig-zag down the mountain path, listening constantly to the hum of the Hexagon's engines, and the occasional punctuation of an expletive. At the end of one of the path branches, he came to a stop, panting, and peered down the way. He had almost met up with the Hexagon and found himself contemplating the best way of slipping down past it. A plan formed in his mind, and he edged toward the side of the path, keeping himself low to the ground and the phantomite in his hands. Carefully he shifted to the edge, leaned over, checked what was below. The phantomite was a solid, ragged piece of ore; if he dropped it over the side, it wouldn't roll too far, probably, and he could easily follow it down the cliff, pick it up, and be on his way without being seen.
He leaned the phantomite to the edge and tried to gauge the drop. It shouldn't fall too far, but the slope of the cliff and bad luck might send it careening downslope, and if that happened–
"Hey, you!"
He gritted his teeth and looked over. The Hexagon's head was peeking over the side of the path, its heavy arms gripping the stone, its engines reduced to a purr as it worked to sustain its altitude instead of increase it. Belle was half-turned, looking over her shoulder, her cold gray eyes focused on him. For a moment, there was intensity and calculation, but it quickly gave way to a much softer expression; abject confusion.
"What the hell are you doing?" she asked.
At that precise moment he was crouched half over the edge of the drop, resting a large hunk of metal on the ground and keeping it in place with one hand. He knew what he was intending to do, but he must have looked absurd to a bystander.
Anyway, no sense not telling her now.
"Trying to avoid you," he said.
She shrugged. "Guess I can't blame you for that. Hexagon, up."
The Hexagon's engines came to life again, a dull roar and a deep, off-rhythm thunk, and the golem tensed its fingers and hauled itself fully over the side of the cliff. One hand remained on the edge, but the rest of its body pivoted around to face Rue, and the golem itself settled the bulk of its body easily onto the pathway, completely filling the road. It moved a little forward, half-dragging itself just above the ground, until Belle made another motion and it settled, one hand on the side of the cliff while the other balanced on a jutting rock. The Hexagon sighed, the engine lulled, and it drifted the last few inches to the ground, where it came to a full rest, its blocky head ornament watching him through its wide, painted eyes. In better circumstances, it might have been cute.
The head tilted down, and Belle used it as a sloped ramp, stepping off the Hexagon's back and sliding down to the ground. She landed, casually dusted herself off, and only after a few seconds of forced nonchalance turned her attention to Rue.
"I've been looking for you," she said.
"I'm not surprised," he said.
He must have sounded tense or hostile, and not without reason. In response, Belle raised her hands, palms open to prove she wasn't holding any weapons. Not that the gesture meant much, coming from a magicker, but he appreciated the implication and allowed himself to relax.
Slightly.
But he didn't move much more than that.
Belle took a few steps forward, but stopped before getting more than a couple of feet ahead of the Hexagon, keeping herself close to her weapon while giving Rue ample space. When she came to a stop, she waited for a moment, lowered her hands again, and met his gaze.
"I want to talk," she said.
That caught him. "Talk?"
"Talk," she repeated, folding her arms.
"You had to follow me out here just to talk?"
"I had to wait until you weren't with Mint," she said. "We don't get along all that well, and you seem more... level-headed."
"I'm not sure where you got that idea," Rue said, "given you were trying to kill us the last time we spoke."
"Mug you," Belle corrected. "I'm not a fan of outright murder. That's just impolite."
"Either way, it was bad terms."
"It was," she said, her voice pitching up slightly in agreement. "And I wanted to fix that. You can stand up, you know. We're negotiating, not groveling."
He hesitated, but quickly conceded, rolling the phantomite on its side before standing up. He didn't pick it up again, though; he let it rest in front of him while he shifted his weight slightly, putting himself in a better position to maneuver in case he needed to– and a possible position to shove the phantomite out of the way, if he needed to do that, too.
"And what, exactly, are we negotiating?"
She smiled. "I've been thinking about what you're doing– you and Mint both. Mostly her, actually. The treasure she's collecting is small-time stuff, it just doesn't seem right for her. Not unless there's something more to it. And knowing her... you're looking for a Relic, aren't you?"
He stared at her.
"You've... you didn't know that?" he asked, almost aghast.
"Well, I do now."
"You've been stalking us these past few days and you didn't know why?"
"I wasn't certain," she said. "And really, we were just trying to scoop anything you might have found in Elroy's atelier. Then I saw that little brat of a princess. I've met her before, I know how greedy and manipulative she can be, and I figured if she was hunting for a treasure it had to be worthwhile. A box, earrings, tiara... whatever it was Duke didn't take from you... nothing she would be interested in. Not unless it was linked to something big." She nodded to him. "Which, as you just said, it is."
Her eyes flicked from his face down to the hunk of metal at his feet.
"And that's all you took from a dragon's den?"
"What are we negotiating here?" Rue said sharply.
Belle looked at him, somewhat surprised, and then smiled again. "What do you think? I want the Relic."
"You're going to need a better opening offer than that."
"That's the only offer," she said. "We still have the tiara, remember. I'll give it back to you – that, and help with anything else you need – if we get a piece of the spoils."
Now Rue regarded her carefully. "How do you mean, a piece?"
"Split off from your party," she said. "Bring what you've already got to us. We'll give you the tiara, do anything else we need, and we – that is, the three of us – will get the Relic and make merry with the riches it brings."
Rue was quiet for a few seconds. "If I say no?" he asked.
She waved over her shoulder. "I've got a mystical golem. I don't need to be nice about this, but I hate to waste my energy on senseless fighting and you seem reasonable. Certainly more reasonable than your friend."
He considered.
To say yes would be so much simpler, he knew that. He only wanted one thing from the Relic, and who it ended up with afterward was not entirely his concern. Out of all the people he had met so far, he would have liked to hand it off to Klaus when all was said and done, but he'd already agreed to Mint that she could do what she pleased afterward. And, apparently, that meant take over the world.
How much of a difference would it make if Belle and Duke had it afterward? He didn't know their aspirations, but he had a feeling it was far less grandiose than global conquest– probably far less threatening. Mint wouldn't be happy about a sudden change of arrangement, but she could take that up with Belle and Duke; Rue had no reason to keep himself in the conflict once he had fulfilled his duty. He was more than ready to go home.
He smiled gently at Belle.
"Sorry," he said. "I'm not that reasonable."
And he shoved the phantomite over the cliff before throwing himself after it.
"Oh what the hell!" Belle shouted above him. "Hexagon! Pursue!"
He couldn't look up, of course, but her words caught on the wind and filtered down to him and he knew he was going to need a little more of a plan than to swan dive down the cliff and hope for the best.
He didn't have time to think of it, though. The slope of the mountain met him as he fell, and he managed to land on his shoulder and roll, side over side, down the cliff face until he came to a hard, rough stop at the next bend of the path. It was fortunate the mountainside was relatively smooth; all he had come away with was some bruises and contusions.
He pulled himself back up to his feet and took a quick look around. The gleaming silver of the phantomite lay only a few feet off; he marked it and looked up to see the Hexagon leaning itself over the cliff, the octagon carved into its underbelly burning with internal energy. He turned away from it, snapped up the phantomite, and started to run.
It was still a long way down, though. And even if Belle took a leisurely pace at descending, she didn't have to worry about the horizontal motion of following along the path. She would catch up to him soon. She would be unhappy.
He needed a plan.
One that preferably did not involve any more accelerated forays down the mountainside.
A transformation that could help? But he couldn't think of anything; most of the monsters he had assimilated were prey animals or their lithe predators, nothing that was really capable of quick movement while lugging around the phantomite. None of the birds he could think of were nearly large enough to carry the stone. Maybe if he just tossed it over the edge and pursued it later–
But flying wouldn't help, not while the Hexagon could fly.
Or plummet.
He came to a strong halt and hid his face behind his hands as a spray of rock and debris erupted in front of him. When he finally looked up, he saw that the Hexagon had crashed into the path, cracking off heavy chunks of rock from the side. Belle had managed to remain rooted to its back through some expression of magic, and already he could feel the air around him shimmer and ignite.
"Look," she snarled, "I'm really not in the mood for a fight. Give me what you have and we'll discuss the rest of it back in town. And we can behave like civilized adults, and you can–"
Rue realized suddenly that the heat rising in the air was not from Belle's spellcasting. As confirmation, the mountain exploded.
A plume of lava ripped from the rocky side of the mountain, catching the underbelly of the Hexagon and almost instantly hurling it clear of the mountainside. Belle barely managed to keep herself planted on its back as the Hexagon careened at a wild angle, its underbelly bearing a black blast mark when the lava had scorched it. Rue had to backpedal from the scene, the air suddenly choked with heat, but almost as soon as the lava had arrived it sealed up again, and the flow cooled over, leaving a scar of scoria down the mountainside.
He waited a few more seconds, until the unbearable heat had mostly dissipated, and vaulted himself over the lava path. Hugging the phantomite against his chest, adrenaline suddenly singing through his veins, he charged down the trail.
The Hexagon tilted wildly back toward him, Belle crouching on its back to keep her balance, and it charged back against the mountain path. Rue dove forward and ducked, and heard the heavy crash of the Hexagon slamming into the path behind him, the sound of rocks crumbling and sliding down the path. He half-turned to look over his shoulder and saw it pushing itself back, using its hands for balance, the light of one of its engines guttering.
Then he saw it; energy and light dribbling out along the Hexagon's side, briefly illuminating a thin crack in its shell. Inside, in the flashes of light, he could see an indication of the mechanics of the thing, and even as he watched he saw something inside falter and heard the same deep clunk that he had heard before.
He had an idea.
He came to a stop and lay the phantomite on the ground. He turned to face the Hexagon and drew the gladius from its sheath. He didn't have much of a window, only a few seconds– he would have to make this count.
He lunged.
The Hexagon was slowly turning itself to face him. He ran up almost to its head, dove around to its side, and sprang up right near the fine fissure in its side. Above him, Belle leaned over, raising her hand. Heat shimmered in the air again– this time, though, it was definitely from her.
"Hand over your thing," she snapped.
She should have been more specific.
He pulled back as best he could, giving himself a little room to breathe, and raised the sword. Belle drew back, clearly expecting him to attack her; judging by her expression she realized what he was actually doing just a moment too late.
He plunged the sword into the Hexagon's wound.
He heard a snap, a whine, a horrific high-pitched whine. The sword tried to yank itself out of his hands as the Hexagon's gears ground again it, but he held firm and kept it in place as best he could while the Hexagon continued to fight against it. If he could keep it in place, he could possibly break some of its equipment. If he could break its equipment, he could probably outrun Belle down the mountain, and he could definitely get away from her once he reached the Pulsar-inferno Typhoon Omega again. If he could just–
Something snapped. The shock of it ran back through the sword and up his arm, and he was thrown back with such unexpected force he almost slid down the mountainside again. He yanked the sword back with him and moved to strike again, only to realize that the gladius suddenly felt substantially lighter than it had been.
The Hexagon's gears continued to shriek and grind against foreign metal. He looked down at the sword he was holding and realized that he only had about three inches of blade left.
"I guess that could have worked better for you," Belle said.
He didn't respond to her. Instead he pitched the hilt, wheeled, and made a mad run for the phantomite.
But Belle had already seen it, this time, and the Hexagon's reach was far greater than his. The golem lurched forward, nearly bowling him over, and one of its arms reached forward and slammed down on the hunk of ore. Rue came to a stop, breathless, as the Hexagon's arm lifted and its fingers came together, gingerly plucking the phantomite core from the ground.
"This something you needed?" Belle called. "Must be pretty–"
Rocks erupted from beneath the Hexagon, jolting the golem hard enough that the phantomite went flying, landing hard on the ground a short distance away. The Hexagon itself was knocked into the air again, tilting crazily from the impact, Belle's sentence cutting off into a furious scream. Rue didn't have much opportunity to appreciate the moment; he was close to the Hexagon and caught in the sudden rupture, finding himself flattened from the force and showered in fractured stone. He managed to bring his arm over his face just in time for his forearm to be pelted by sharp slivers of rock.
Now he was hurting.
But Belle had to concentrate on keeping control of her vehicle. As soon as he felt safe to do so, he threw himself back to his feet and darted across the damaged pathway, back to the phantomite core. Once he had it, he started again down the path, this time not sparing a second glance to the Hexagon or its rider.
After a few more seconds, he found that he had to. The mountainside shook with enough force that he had to stop for fear of being thrown from his feet. The tremor settled, but as it did he heard a new sound, a low groaning from somewhere up above, and he shot a glance up the face of the mountain.
Rocks. Nothing massive, but hunks of the pathway had been torn loose by the tremors and were now showering down the mountain, sending a wave of heavy dust and dislodged stone down toward him. He looked around for something he could shelter under, found nothing, and did the next best thing. He threw himself against the wall and hunkered down, feeling a wash of stone and rock clatter against his back. He tried to hold his breath, but he could only do that for so long and when he had to breathe again he nearly inhaled a lungful of stone dust. Hacking and coughing, he shoved his shirt up against his mouth and tried to use it as a filter, waiting for the air to clear up again.
Finally, the stinging rock no longer struck against his back, and the air was relatively clear. He unwound and looked up just in time to see the Hexagon crashing down to his left, caught up in a jumble of rock and dust. The Hexagon crashed powerfully into the pathway, tearing loose a massive hunk of stone before it continued on its way down the path, flipping and twisting end over end as it collapsed down. It left in its wake a series of cracks and fissures and ruptured pathways before it hit the next slope at a bad angle and sent itself at a spin into the trees below. There was a horrific crash, a shattering of palms and foliage, and the Hexagon finally came to a stop amidst the tropical forest.
It was still; it was silent. He waited for a few seconds, staring down at it, but saw no sign of Belle.
He felt a little twinge of terror somewhere in his chest. Had she managed to abandon it in time? He hadn't seen her during the fall, either, perhaps she–
He looked up and exhaled.
Belle looked a mess, but she was there, plainly alive and plainly livid, standing on the edge of the path above him. Her eyes were focused on the ragged route the Hexagon had taken down the mountain.
"What was that!" she shouted, her voice carrying down to Rue, full and powerful. "What the hell was all that!"
She continued to shout down into the trees, but Rue's gaze roved further upward. Something caught his attention, something well above them, and for a moment he couldn't quite make sense of it. Then it moved, leaping from the apex of the mountain and spreading its wings, and against the brightness of the sky the dark silhouette stood out, imposing and terrible and beautiful.
"Belle!" Rue yelled. "Get down!"
She shot him a glare. "What?"
"It's the dragon!"
Belle looked up to where Rue was clearly focusing, and immediately went pale. "Oh," she said. "Oh no."
He was circling overhead, a long and lazy arc. Beneath them, the mountain trembled, a dull and thunderous roar building up somewhere inside. Rue looked from Belle to Wylaf and back again, and decided that staying much longer would be a bad idea. He turned and once again set off down the path, moving as fast as he could while carrying the phantomite.
He heard something from behind and turned to see Belle had simply jumped the distance, cushioning herself with a little pocket of air. She was running toward him now, but she was too flushed and desperate to be preparing for another round of assault.
"What did you do the piss off the dragon?" she demanded.
"Nothing!" Rue said. "I don't–"
He cut himself off as Wylaf's silhouette suddenly shifted. He was descending – he had been descending – but then he turned to face them and was diving down to the edge of the mountain. He wings flared open, blotting the sunlight, and he slammed into the mountainside, massive claws digging into the rock to keep him in place. The path segment he had landed on crumbled beneath him; he ignored it.
"This," he said, his mental projection punctuated by a low growl from the depths of his throat. "This is why I no longer tolerate human visitors. Noisy lot, you are, and bringing war golems to my den..."
Belle gaped. "I– was following him, I had no intention of–"
"I don't care," Wylaf said flatly. "Leave."
He furthered his point with a brief surge of magic; behind them, the pathway erupted, a blaze of lava tearing free of the volcano and pouring a river of molten red down the rocky slope. Wylaf tilted his head down, adjusting his wings to keep his balance on the cliff face.
"This mountain is mine," he said. "The fire of the land obeys my command. Now kindly depart, and spare myself and this... young man, any further confrontation."
She didn't need further telling. Belle shot a quick glance between Wylaf and Rue, then moved, scrambling down the mountain face, twisting the wind to glide back down to the ground. Rue watched her for a few minutes, waiting for his pulse to slow down, before he looked back at Wylaf.
The dragon spoke before he could. "I know the hearts of humans," Wylaf said. "I gave you my blessing, Rue Artema, but I have no such words for her."
"You... you wouldn't kill her."
Wylaf chuckled. "She is selfish, but she is not evil. Still, there is no reason for me to suffer such visitors to my home. And it has been too terribly long since I've had a bit of fun like that." He nodded and spread his wings. "Please try to avoid any further trouble before you've left my island."
Rue looked down the slope and saw Belle's retreating figure disappear into the forest, making her way toward the Hexagon. "I think," he said slowly, gathering himself again. "I think it's okay."
The mountain's rumbling quieted.
Wylaf inclined his head, and on that note started to climb, his claws scoring furrows into the mountainside. Rue stood where he was for several minutes after that, both to wait until Wylaf and Belle were well out of the vicinity and partly to recover from the sudden spurt of activity. He cast a glance further down the path, where Wylaf had formed the lava river, and saw that it was still trickling bright heat from the opening. He had felt Wylaf's physical power while in the den, but now, seeing the destruction wrought on the pathway and to the Hexagon, he realized suddenly that Wylaf had been holding back completely– in their physical confrontation, in the fiery explosions on the mountain. Had it pleased him, Wylaf could have rendered Rue to cinders without a second thought.
Rue felt a bit shaky.
"Hey!" Another voice, very much separate from the two and very much male, called to him from down below. He jolted himself from his thoughts and leaned over the edge of the path, looking down. He was most of the way back to where the mountain path merged into the beach, and standing at the head of it, where the sand vanished completely and the rocks rose up, was Rod, waving broadly up to him.
"Hey," Rue called down.
"Man, what did you do up here?" Rod asked. "Explosions, a dragon–" Rod cut himself off and laughed. "Got here too late for the good stuff."
"Tell you on the way," Rue said. "Hey, make sure this doesn't bounce off into the forest, okay?"
Rod nodded. Rue shoved the phantomite over the edge, giving it a little forward push to get it past the last bit of the pathway below, and it fell down to Rod and rolled a bit before coming to a stop. Rod picked it up, and Rue heard him whistle.
"Phantomite! This is good stuff."
"So I heard," Rue said. "I'm on my way."
Rod waited for him, twisting the phantomite and admiring its flecked viridian sheen. Several minutes later Rue finally met up with him, and Rod gave him an approving nod.
"Can I carry it?" he asked. "I've never seen raw phantomite before."
"Sure," Rue said. He decided not to add that his limbs felt weak and he wasn't entirely sure he would be able to drag the stone back to the ACV to begin with.
"Cool," Rod said, his smile expanding into a grin. "This would make a hell of a weapon."
"We need it for something else," Rue said.
"All of it?" Rod asked. "You got a lot."
"Maybe? I'm not entirely sure how Klaus will use it..."
"Mm. That's a shame."
Rue looked around him, to the ACV, resting brilliant scarlet against the black sand. "Ready?" Rue asked, and then added, "I think we're done here."
Rod nodded. "Let's you get back," he said.