Chapter 53: The Mountain Plan

Chapter 53: The Mountain Plan
Randell's finger moved slowly across the map, finally stopping at a marker in the northwest direction.

That mountain lay to the northwest of Aethon, like a silent beast crouching in the night, exhaling curling mists as if guarding some unspeakable secret.

The elevation marked on the map was higher than all the other mountains in this region, inspiring awe and dread. At the summit's position was drawn a symbol I had never seen before—three intersecting fine lines, like some ancient and mysterious curse mark, silently speaking of danger.

"This mountain." Randell's finger pressed heavily on that symbol, as if he wanted to pierce through the map.

"Yes."

"Its peak is closest to the Sky City. The height difference, according to the numbers I've gathered, is about one thousand meters."

"One thousand meters." I repeated the number, my throat tightening, feeling a wave of suffocation, as if an invisible hand had seized my breath.

"That's the distance." He confirmed again, his tone unwavering, as if those weren't one thousand meters of void but one thousand steps of level ground, presenting no difficulty to him whatsoever.

I stared fixedly at that number, trying to construct in my mind the concept of this distance—it was an almost insurmountable chasm, the boundary between life and death.

"Your method."

"We climb to the summit." He said, "From the peak, we throw a hooked rope toward the Sky City."

He pulled out a coil of rope and a four-pronged metal hook from the supply pile. The rope was made of a deep gray material I had never seen before, its surface so smooth it almost reflected light, and touching it gave an odd, cold sensation, like a hibernating snake that might awaken at any moment. The four claw tips of the hook were ground extremely sharp, gleaming with cold light under the oil lamp.

"This type of rope." He said, "Has been specially treated. Its length is much longer than it appears—it can extend to one thousand meters. The weight is very light, but the bearing capacity is sufficient to pull two people, even under loaded conditions."

"What about the hook?"

"Specifically designed to catch the ring of roots left by the elves around the edge of the Sky City." He said, "According to the information I've gathered, the Sky City floats in the air anchored by that ring of roots. The roots are smelted from some kind of metal—only this type of hook can grip them; any other material will slip off."

I stared at that coil of rope, as if it were an umbilical cord leading to hell or heaven, connecting the two ends of life and death, where the slightest mistake would mean eternal damnation.

"Even if this rope can be secured, how can we possibly climb one thousand meters?"

He seemed to have anticipated this question and took out two small bottles. Inside was a liquid so pale it was nearly transparent, slightly swaying in the lamplight, like fragments of solidified sky.

"Flying potion. Single-use, single-person dose." He said, "After drinking it, you can fly for about an hour, but there's a limit. It can lift a person off the ground and move along an established path, but it's not enough to fly you to the Sky City's height on its own—you must rely on external force."

"So the rope is the path."

"Correct. We fly while climbing along the rope. The potion's effect will assist your muscle strength, making the rope feel like level ground beneath you."

Every step he described was like dancing on a knife's edge—one misstep meant being shattered to pieces, with no second chance. Every link could fail. Every failure meant certain death.

"This plan is absurd." I said, my voice somewhat dry.

"Very absurd, and very risky. If just one of these links goes wrong—"

"Then we're finished." He said calmly, as if discussing something trivial, yet his gaze remained fixed on that metal hook, as if it were his only faith.

"What about other methods?" I clung to a sliver of hope, wanting to hear another option, even if only the faintest possibility.

"I've gone through them all." He said, "None are more feasible than this. Some require summoning flying creatures—the summoning price we can't pay requires sacrificing life. Others need the elves to actively receive us. They haven't come down in over a hundred years; they won't make an exception for us."

"Then this is the only method."

"Yes."

I looked at that flickering oil lamp, the flame dancing restlessly inside the glass cover, casting the silent shadows of both of us. We had no time. All of Aethon was hunting us. My only resource now was Randell and those things he had long prepared. And my only certain goal now was the Sky City.

"When do we leave?"

"Before dawn."

We spent the next several hours preparing. Randell divided the supplies into two cloth packs. Dried food, water, a length of rope, a hook, a bottle of flying potion—one set for each person.

I also reorganized all my belongings, each item like my last connection to the past world, carrying my mission and memories.

My hand touched Osric's letter.

I had reached the foot of the Sky City; now only the distance of one mountain remained.

Osric had told me to open it only there. I didn't know what he had written to the elves, but the contents were my last trump card.

I finished organizing the last item and tied the cloth pack tight.

The oil lamp's flame flickered gently on the table. Rendell had his back to me, doing a final check. The basement was so quiet I could hear the extremely soft clicking sound his knuckles made pressing against metal.

I took the notebook out from my inner pocket.

That notebook had accompanied me from leaving the court until today. The leather cover had worn soft, the corners stained darker in several places by sweat.

At the spine, I had added reinforcement by binding it with string myself. Opening it, there was the date of the day I left Aldenmere, and flipping further, every herb I had seen each day in each place, all the people and events I had recorded on each stretch of road, all the judgments I had made before Rendell found me.

I closed it and walked behind Rendell.

"Rendell."

He stopped what he was doing and turned around.

I held the notebook out to him.

He looked at my hand, then looked at me.

"What is it."

"Keep this for me." I said.

He didn't reach out.

I kept my tone as steady as possible.

"If I die on the road." I said, "Take it back to Aldenmere. Give it to my parents."

His gaze settled on my face.

"Everything inside is for them." I said, "My father will want to know where I went. You just need to place this thing at their bedside. Nothing else needs explaining."

He didn't reach out to take it.

His eyes moved away from my face, landing on some nonexistent position behind me.

"You keep it yourself." He said.

"Rendell."

"It'll be fine."

He said this sentence very softly.

This one sentence of "It'll be fine" was so pale and powerless.

He was unwilling to bear this responsibility, and couldn't give me a guarantee either.

I held the notebook before him and paused for a few more seconds.

"What's wrong with you? Take it."

He kept avoiding my gaze and turned back to continue packing.

My hand remained suspended in the air for a while longer, until finally I withdrew the notebook and put it back in my inner pocket.

The weight of that notebook in my pack hadn't changed, but the position it fell back to felt different from where it had been before I took it out.

Outside, the bell sounds finally ceased.

Dawn was approaching.

Before the sun rose, we left the basement. The manhunt outside the city wasn't as dense anymore; this time was relatively safer.

Randell led me into the sewers again, and this time we entered a section of abandoned drainage tunnel, the entrance so narrow only one person could crawl through, the putrid stench here even heavier. But now nothing was more important than escaping.

He crawled in first, like a skilled mole, groping forward in the darkness. I followed behind him, the rough stone walls scraping my shoulders, bringing waves of sharp pain, my clothes torn, my skin seeping threads of blood.

After about a quarter hour, light appeared ahead.

When I crawled out from the opening, morning light was falling on that patch of low shrubs.

Looking back, Aethon stood silent on that massive basalt plateau, the city's spires gilded one by one in the first rays of light. It was so magnificent behind me, so indifferent.

I would never go back.

Rendell was already ahead organizing equipment.

"Which direction should we go?"

"That way." He pointed toward the northwest, "From here, three days to the mountain base, then two more days to reach the summit."

"Let's go." I said.