XVI. SEEKER
The mountains were nothing like the ancient rockcrete cliff-walls and sky-bridges of Hive Makasar, even though the natural might have resembled the artificial on first glance. Back in his tribe hive, in the sprawling shantytown where his father Nirendra Dhatta had been exiled by his highborn foes, there were no fiery pits raging with the earth's deepest heat, nor the icy freeze of Dhombai's greatest heights.
'I am falling yet keep climbing,' the boy told himself over and over. 'Falling yet keep climbing… Falling… yet... climbing…' Higher, always higher! For that was the only way leading to the gods.
So, this must be the Kelermet Keep. This monumental, cyclopean, glorious place, the grandest of all on Keletros. Surely it couldn't have been built by mere mortals?.. Shernak felt his breathing – barely stable as it was after the near-asphyxiation of high altitudes – hitch at the incredible sight.
This was his grandest dream come true, and it was before his very eyes. This was like heaven on earth, and for a fleeting moment the young Makasari wondered if he'd fallen dead somewhere in the Laghman Pass and was brought here by the god that had created the wardens of this miraculous fortress.
'Thank you, Maker-Lord!' Shernak yelled at the highest of the Keep spires, still transfixed by the vista, before gathering the last of his strength and covering the remaining several hundred mtars to the fortress of deities as swiftly as his starved, battered body would allow.
Abruptly he stopped in his tracks a couple dozen mtars from the enormous entrance. There were two massive, angular figures flanking the gates, no doubt the Keep's guardians. Never once had he seen their likes before. They were clad in butter-yellow armour adorned with long spikes featuring a multitude of skulls, both human and certainly non-human, behind their backs. On what served as their chestplates they had words in a script he barely knew, but recognized all the same. The one on the left bore the name Troilus, the other, on the right, Laghman. For a moment the boy couldn't believe his eyes, as the second name immediately called to mind the Pass that he'd so torturously traversed only hours before. Surely it can't be…? The thought escaped his mind as the mechanical giants noticed him, and the one designated as Troilus addressed the youth.
YOU HAVE COME FROM AFAR, TRESPASSER, the giant boomed from somewhere in his middle. I ORDER YOU STATE YOUR NAME AND YOUR PURPOSE.
The voice was almost as the young Shernak would imagine – very deep, rumbling, patronizingly stern – although with a trace of… humour? – woven therein.
It was the voice of a mountain god.