A Cave with Two Doors.

It looked like an ordinary boulder, if one were to approach it from behind. Grey, large, contoured smoothly. In the Eastern Carpathian Mountains it belonged to, its roundness was out of place. These were granite cliffs, sheer and mighty. The lone and level sky stretched far away above it, and far below the swampy and coniferous taiga could be seen. The traveler was late in his task, and not at all inclined to become later. However, the sun was going down.

This was no place to be wandering around alone. It was 1649, in Ukraine, and all of Europe resembled a madhouse. It was time to find shelter for the evening. A strong staff and a long stride will take you very far in this world, but not forever. Every man must eat. The traveler felt a drop of rain on his face as he approached the boulder, which appeared to be a slight promontory off the central crag. It curved around slightly to run parallel with it, facing the forest below. There appeared to be a cavity between the two outcroppings large enough to tuck into and start a fire. In the pocket of his jacket he had a spark and tinder kit, and a few lumps of coal with which to keep a small blaze going through the night. This was necessary. There were wolves in the forests of Modiga. The circumstances of the time had allowed them to wax brazen, and grow huge. They had grown accustomed to large meals. Still forms, left to the forest by the unkind turns of fate, were feeding wolves all over Europe in 1649. It had been a cataclysmic year. And far from being over, another cataclysm was on the brink of breaking loose in earnest. Stepping forward, his foot landed squarely on the first stone of a small path, as if it had been guided by intent. The stones were so uniform they could have been mistaken for stairs. He followed this unexpected trail to the foot of the boulder. To his surprise, he found on the face of it two small stone doorways, leading to a very long hall. There was one on each side, like Chinese dragons standing guard at a temple. The traveler could hardly believe his luck. The fading autumn sun illuminated slightly the hall of the first corridor. It was neatly fitted together, in odd shapes; more like the pieces of a puzzle than the traditional masonry of a Western European work of architecture. As the light receded and the hall began to grow dim, he briskly hurried inside. Entering, he was forced to slightly duck his head. Turning around in a circle, he became aware of another bit of good fortune, in the form of two torches, hanging above the doorway of each gate. They were twisted in the ancient way of Romans, dipped in sulfur and soaked in lime. The vagabond had never even seen such a torch, much less a fresh one, and what two of them might be doing in such a place as this he could not say. The hallway darkened, and seemed endless. But, at last, the nameless and weary traveler reached a corresponding corridor. It ranged off into the darkness, down another narrow but lengthy hallway. He glanced at the outside world once more, and noticed that the moon had grown full and strange. A cloud passing by seemed to give it a leer, and a moss-green glow. In the forest below, wolves were fighting. Many were snapping and snarling, and one was screaming in a way that sounded almost human. Clearly an omega wolf was being worsted, and the sound was both eerie and sad. None of this was having a constructive effect on the traveler's state of mind. He was hardly expecting a serene repose, but a few minutes of sleep was at this point obligatory. He was hoping to find a room, or at least a little alcove of some sort to tuck into for the night. This, however, was to no avail. Within this enigmatic cave, there was only a latticework of hallways, each longer than the next. It rapidly become clear they went on for quite some time. Call him what you will, our traveler was tired. He returned to the double doors of the entrance and began to build a small fire. He took his rucksack out of his bag, and prepared to get some rest. However, in the glow of that unusual and foreign moon, the place that had seemed a boon in daylight was now feeling too large and dark. The traveler felt uneasy. So he took a look around at the messenger's equipment he was carrying. He had met, some weeks ago, a mute old Khazan trader who had had his tongue cut out on the steppe in some primally deliberate act of savagery, and made bargains with him under the dusky autumn sky. The traveler had thought him rather spectral and disturbing, but he'd had some excellent wares. He'd had a dark blue, knee length leather coat from faraway England, taken off the corpse of some Cavalier too disorganized even to coordinate the color of his uniform. He'd had knee high broad top boots, well broken in and with sharp metal tips on the shoes. He also had a staff, made of rock-hard jatoba wood, polished like an obsidian crystal with a dark mahogany color. The forests of Modiga had other types of beasts in them, worse than any wolf. Some beasts in this world go about in human skin, and these are the most terrible kind. On this night, a war band of them happened to be crossing through the forest at the hill of the mountain. They were Cossacks, of course, wearing wolf-skins, and they were out seeking hell to mate with its inhabitants. For all their savagery, they were loyal as dogs in a pack to one another, and they were hot on the trail of whatever unfortunate was first to cross their path. The cave with two doors had a sonic peculiarity about it. It was almost like the ear of the mountain, meaning that it could capture sounds that came from very far away and echo their contents. Their contents tonight were very horrible. A cacophony of brutal laughter, brittle command, and marching combined with the howls of wolves and came hammering through the doors. It carried with it all the agony of war-torn Ukraine. It was not a good night to be a lone roamer, and he could only hope for his luck to hold and for this barbarous band to simply crash drunkenly by. It was right as he had that thought, that the traveler remembered his fire. Below, in the taiga forest, the mountains above came into stark relief, beneath the light of the indifferent and gibbous moon. It was an ominous, and awe-inspiring sight. Certainly it was of a nature to catch the gaze of anyone alive, no matter how savage or cruel, and the wolf-skin Cossacks were no exception. They fell in line, and were silent for a moment at the sight of them. The crags above made a perfect tripod. The central one was tallest, like a goddess with two attendants. And right up its face, almost glowing in the moonlight, was a thin grey line of smoke, coming from the ashes of the nomad's fire. The Cossacks threw back their heads, and howled a ululating battle-cry at the moon, like a pack of hyenas who have caught the scent of their quarry. It was high pitched, and shrill, and utterly terrifying. Deep in his bones, the traveler could feel this howl reverberate. An icy chill ran through his very blood. He knew what had been happening in Modiga. The swishing sabers and the frightened screams. Terrible life, reflected in eyes that saw the Cossacks ply their awful trade. The urge to flee came upon him, suddenly. The traveler stood as transfixed to the doors. The Cossacks approached like an onrushing storm. The way he'd come was nothing but steppe and frozen tundra for hundreds of miles. They would spot him, and dog him endlessly, and perhaps cut his tongue out as they had the Khazan trader. The cave's empty hallways were the only possible escape. All the while, the war pack was getting closer, laughing frenetically and continuously shrieking at the moon, in some type of wild berserker's fury. Surely nothing human could hope to stand before them, so he spun on a heel and fled into the darkness of the cave. He reached the first great hallways, and flung himself frantically to the left, not stopping for a second to note the carvings of inhuman bas-reliefs on the upper edge of the walls. Running to its end as far as he could, he found himself confronted with another hallway, again, enormously tall and going off to the left and right. Although they were growing fainter, he could still hear the yowlings and yelpings of his bestial pursuers, who in his terror he imagined to be shifting form, with twistings of the back and exploding forth and the growing of gigantic teeth. He fled forth all the faster. This time he chose the right, and running, noticed the clackings of his bootheels, echoing about the massive chamber. Another hallway materialized, and then another. Each was vast, lengthy, and identical to the rest. He zigzagged in algorithm, as if by instinct. Left, right, left, left, right. Further and further, he ran frantically into the darkness. To his dismay these halls seemed to be gradually sloping downward. His first torch was still glowing brightly- but it was not at all brand new any longer. At last, the sounds of his pursuers faded away. Right about then, he came to a place where the floor slanted downward dramatically. A small patch of translucent stalactites and stalagmites provided some light, reflected in some water collected at the center of the floor. He strode more slowly down this cavelike passage of a hall, and then another, for good measure. Turning the corner, he arrived at last at what seemed to be the end. Before him was a doorway, with a word written on it that he did not know. He pushed, and felt give, and walked through. Having found himself in a vast and unlit chamber, he held high his torch, and stopped for the first time to look around. The only thing that had been different in the slightest wont, on all this madcap dash, in all of these vast hallways, were those ominous carvings on the walls. What he saw now disturbed him in the extreme. This traveler was something of a learned man, and had read a book or two about symbology, petroglyphics, and ancient languages of every variety. All three had combined in the fresco he now saw clearly before him, glowing faintly in the torchlight. In it, a banquet was set, at a vast and magnificent table. There were fifty chairs opposing one another on both sides of it. On the left, all the chairs were made of solid gold. Their counterparts were made of copper. It was undoubtedly beautiful furniture, but half the chairs were smaller than their counterparts. These were oddly overflowing, with fifty uncomfortable giants. They had noble faces with regular and intelligent features. All of them looked disconcerted and somewhat confused. The larger seats were filled by small and streamlined people. They had long, thin, and unpleasant faces, with pointed noses and chins. Their eyes glittered in the flames of the traveler's torch, with a troubling and devilish light. They were dwarfed by their seating to such an extent, that they could perch on the edges like gargoyles. They seemed to be looking at the discomfiture of their larger counterparts with a less than wholesome mirth. The thrones were likewise unequal. Both were designed with a delicate and devious intricacy. The one on the left was a massive granite masterpiece, with griffins facing outward for arms. It had an eagle perched on a cloud, engraved upon its simple, solemn backrest. It was an elaborate, high backed chair, with turned legs and decorative features, but it was nevertheless the smaller of the two, especially when compared with its occupant. He was a stern but kindly looking man, infinitely old and wise. His cast was noble, but one of his eyes was gone. Aghastness and shocked disgust registered clearly on his face. In his indignant hand was a mighty spear made of lightning, about to be cast. The larger of the two thrones was of an even more gigantic nature. It was jet black obsidian and utterly immense. The legs were curved, with a back composed of three uprights. The backrest swept across the thoracic spine, and supported the back of its titanic shoulders. Across it was a terrifying picture, an amorphous shadow, assuming the shape of a wolf. Beneath, cloaked by it and dwarfed by its immensity, sat a dapper and curt little man. He wore elfin features, and a wicked glee cavorted in his expression. He wore a thin silver crown, shimmering and ethereal, and on it was written some phrase both forgotten and obscure. The table itself was piled high, with ornate silver and pewter plates and utensils. There were ivory dishes and ebony glasses. There were cadmium cups and cobalt casks, and a whole assortment of other precious and pure elements, fashioned into ordinary pots and pans. The walls were all blood-red, and covered with a tapestry hinting at images of the most unsettling variety. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings. Food and the very best wine overloaded the tables in cornucopic abundance. In the center of the table, was a vast and glimmering cauldron, made of black rhomium, the world's rarest metal. It was steaming hot. Two of the lean and wiry little folk were preparing to lift its lid. Its contents hinted at the most obscene abhorrence. Above the whole spectacle, these words appeared: "Mount Nonacris-Wolf of Trapezus". As this awful inscription was read by the paralyzed traveler, the red eyes of the Cossacks could be clearly discerned, as they silently appeared from the darkness to take hold of him. They had crept up upon him, before he could turn to flee, and now they had him, these terrible howlers, these wild eyed cursers of God, and he could hear himself somewhere screaming, and suddenly knew no more. The traveler awoke to find himself strapped down to an altar with his clothes removed. The wolf-skin Cossacks stood in a ring in grim procession, howling no longer, but still, and utterly silent. Each one held a candle. In their eyes, that candlelight flickered, and shifted constantly, and glimmered with a malevolent expectation. Unable to cry out, he could only watch, as the tools for the ancient sacrifice were readied. It was Ukraine, in 1649. It was not a good time to be alone, and traveling in the darkness, even for one with a jotoba staff and a purposeful stride, both of little use now. The faces of the Cossacks looked not so much like wolves, at they did dogs. Huge, jolly, hunting hounds, who rip and tear and run with the pack under the moon. The traveler found his voice. He screamed and screamed. His screeching echoed out of the cave with two doors. Distorted by its passage through the labyrinth, it sounded like the lowing of a blind and enormous bull. The wolves below heard, and howled along. The alpha, bedecked in finery, stood over the traveler, the intended victim. The fifty Cossacks had become indistinguishable, one from the next, so that it was impossible even to tell where one ended and the next began. It was all the same gargantuan creature. "Ly-KAYYY-onnn!! Fatherrr!!", slobbered the beast wailingly, no longer wolf or man, but something shapeless altogether, illuminated in the white hot flash. It threw back its head, in the ecstasy of hunger, and buried its teeth in the traveler's viscera. The traveler awoke with a shriek, hands fumbling desperately at the foot of the temple. He was back near the dual doorways , where he'd made his place of rest, in the softly rounded boulder he had found in the Eastern Carpathians. Fleeing off downward into the welcoming taiga, the traveler glanced back at it no more. The Sun was coming up, and the cave had its secrets to keep. It was 1649, in Ukraine, and it was good to mind one's business. For in the right kind of light, those doorways looked suspiciously like nostrils. And one wonders if mountains grow hungry.