#god quest

Iorik Dazhbog rummages around his own duffle bag and produces two items, one of which he hands to Yobi without a word. Only when the iorik fastens it over his eyes does Yobi understand what it is for, and it answers another of his questions – he’s seen it, now. The bright, burning form of the Alatyr shining from the top of this mountain. Its light scatters throughout the cave system, dulled now by the dense ice but sure to grow in intensity once they approach.

They climb the ice-hewn steps. Normally a neck-breaker and a half, up here the air is so thin the ice cannot produce its slippery layer, instead attempting to adhere to their footwear as they walk.

“The sun buried within the mountain.”

Yobi starts as the iorik speaks. The god-king has stopped, forcing the young hero to do the same. “The father of all stones”, he continues. “The navel of the world, from which the World Tree springs. Through its gifts, we are able to live here. Without the Alatyr, Buyan would not exist. My city of Ledenets would not exist. I would not exist.”

A beat of silence, and Yobi wonders if the iorik will say more. It seems as if he wants to. But then the god-king turns and continues their climb. His words echo in Yobi’s mind. The Alatyr. The miracle stone. The wish-granter. Only the Alatyr has what Yobi wants. What he needs.

Even with their eye-covers, the light of the Alatyr is almost painful. The lenses have turned it down to a biting blue, and Yobi is sure if he took them off, the white light would blind him instantly. Part of him is curious if iorik Dazhbog invented these lenses himself or if they existed before him, and if so, then who had made them? But he pushes the question away; if this goes as planned, he will have all the time in the world to find the answer.

They have reached some form of central chamber. Yobi is surprised by how bare it is – only two statues, one of an eagle, one of a snake. They stand almost directly under a shaft going directly up and- Yobi averts his eyes, squinting to get the spots out. Turns out they call it ‘the sun within the mountain’ for a reason.

The statues are larger than life, only slightly taller than Yobi, and he can’t shake the feeling of those amber eyes locking upon him as he comes up the stairs.

“The Alatyr”, iorik Dazhbog says. “You have a wish to ask of it.”

It is barely a question, but Yobi nods in affirmation anyway. Something has started, and he has little intent to step out of line.

“’Tis admirable, truly”, the iorik says, as he starts to pace between the statues. “Back when I was your age, I had little vision of the future. ‘Twas naught but fog and shadow to me. I had ideas, sure. Many ideas. Grand ideas.” He halts. “Great ideas.”

“Sadly I was a boy, and many of those ideas now lay dead and dark by the wayside. But one survived.” He looks directly at Yobi now, golden eyes burning with an intensity Yobi can sense even through the heavily tinted glasses.

“I wished, with all of my heart, to protect my country. To save my country. To see it to prosperity and beyond. The gifts of the Alatyr could serve us so much better if only I was allowed to implement my vision. That idea is what continued to burn within me. It consumed me. ‘Twas all I wanted, all I needed. ‘Grant me that one wish, and I would be complete’ was my thought.”

He turns, glances at Yobi from an eye corner. “You think me arrogant, surely”, he notes. Yobi keeps his face mostly neutral. True, the iorik did sound like a man suffering from delusions of grandeur. But that was only if one failed to consider the land below. What should have been a frozen wasteland was a thriving country of many cultures. Despite the cold and darkness, there was light and joy. Prosperity and beyond.

Had the iorik failed, he would indeed have been an arrogant man. Now, however, surrounded by his many successes, he simply turned out to have been correct in his assumptions.

And that’s what I want, Yobi thinks.

Despite his best efforts, iorik Dazhbog apparently clearly sees the disagreement on Yobi’s face because he smiles. “You are like me”, he says. “Very much. I can tell. You too have a goal greater than yourself. Something you need.”

“If I can have my wish granted by the Alatyr”, Yobi says. “I will have fulfilled my duty.” I will be complete.

“And what, boy, is that duty?”

“Save my people.”

The iorik scoffs – but there is humor in it, as if Yobi has given him the answer he wants. “I will ask you now, boy”, he says. “Is that wish worth it?”

He had been pacing again as he spoke, now coming to a stop directly below the Alatyr. Silent guardians Gagana and Garafena flank him, amber eyes burning as fiercely as their king’s. Arms held loosely behind his back, the god-king radiates power.

“I had to think, when I came here”, he says, his usual softer, gentler voice now deep as the raw magic of the Alatyr flows through him. “And now you have to think. To consider. To weigh your wish against your life.”

“If you make this wish, it will become the totality of your existence. You will not change. You will not age. You will not die. The pain and the suffering, the laughter and joy, all that what ultimately makes it worth it, it will be never-ending. As long as you wish to have your wish granted, this will be your life.”

Iorik Dazhbog holds out his hands, and something materializes. Something black and shriveled, yet nonetheless the size of a fist. Yet nonetheless beating with relentless fervor.

“Not until you take your own heart into your hands once again and crush it to dust, will you end. Unless you extinguish your own flame, you will continue to burn. Consumed by the one desire. The one desire that was worth it all.”

The iorik parts his hands and the object vanishes as he once again brings his hands behind his back in one fluid motion. “Boy”, he says, his tone once again gentle like fresh snow. “You must find a determination within you. One that will carry you across the ages. You must not hesitate. You must not doubt. And above all, you must be true. The Alatyr will grant you the means to grant your own desire. You set the fire, it fans the flame.”

“Will you let it consume you?”

Fire…

Yobi doesn’t answer, at least not right away. Wasn’t it ironic? He’d come all this way in hopes of taking down Katla, the fire god. He’d left his parents, Thule, and now even Lionel to find the one thing that could oppose the Lord of the Volcano.

Because it had started to solidify, the idea, when he’d been first accosted by Angeline, when he’d met Mareritt again – that this wasn’t fair. Lionel, Mareritt, Angeline, himself, they were all just pieces on a board Katla could play with- could sacrifice just to preserve himself. Just so the day where he’d meet the Howling Blizzard could be postponed indefinitely.

‘So disgustingly selfish’, Nazo’s words return unbidden and Yobi has to give it to the Sky King, it was an apt description of the former Primordial.

It had started to solidify then, that if Katla was so dead-set on surviving as long as he could, trampling on the lives of others in his selfishness, lying to all no matter the cost, then Yobi would be the opposite. Selfless. Ensuring the end to come. Truthful. A dead man walking.

It now solidifies. A rock-hard ball of pitch-black desire. A lump of coal for Yobi to toss into the burning light of the Alatyr.

If only I could tell everyone the truth about Katla. If only I could outlast him so he can’t twist the story again. If I can become untouchable, I can keep Angeline safe. I can keep the entirety of Thule safe. I can keep the Wind Weaver safe.

I can keep Mareritt safe.

Had Yobi been allowed to grow up a normal boy, learn the trade of farming from his father, the skill of weaving and knitting from his mother, and perhaps one day seek out education for himself, a life-partner, a future, this choice might have been harder.

But Yobi is the Hero of the Surface, and his duty is to thwart evil no matter where it may rise – be it up in the sky or down in the caldera.

Yobi takes a step forward, and the statues move. They close in on him as he advances until they surround both him and the iorik.

His hard green eyes find the iorik’s burning golden ones – ones he will likely possess himself, after this. “I will be the master of my own fire”, he says. “My wish, my desire, they serve me. I will not serve them.”

For a moment iorik Dazhbog’s face is as if carved from ice as well. Then it splits into a wide grin.

“Gagana.”

“Garafena.”

The god-king steps back as the living statues twist and coil around themselves, a mass of stone feathers and scales now fully encircling Yobi, amber eyes occasionally flashing amidst the dark.

“Before you is one with burning desire. Before you is one with one sole wish. See if you find him true.”