The juvenile stopped. For a moment, everything was silent. Then something enormous answered. The earth moved. Not a tremor. Not an earthquake. A step. The sound itself came later. Not a roar or growl. It was like the desert itself took a breath. Next came the wind. It was close. The Mountain remained still after that. For several moments, Calenelda wondered if it had understood anything she had said at all. Then she felt something. Not anger. Not approval. Something older. The sensation was difficult to describe because it did not feel like a thought. It felt like attention.
Calenelda had spent her entire life learning to distinguish vibrations. Footsteps from falling rocks. The heartbeat of an animal from the shifting of sand. The subtle pressure of magic moving through the ground. This was different. The Mountain did not simply produce vibrations. It seemed to exist through them. Every movement it made travelled through the earth for kilometers. Its breathing altered the pressure of the air. Its heartbeat was so slow that Calenelda couldn't immediately recognize it as a heartbeat at all.
One pulse. A long silence. Another. She suddenly realized that what she had felt beneath the temple wasn't the Mountain approaching. It had been there for much longer. It had simply taken a step. The realization made her stomach tighten.
"How far away was it?" Talia whispered.
Calenelda frowned. "What?"
"When you first felt it."
Calenelda thought about it. "I don't know."
"You sensed it before we saw it."
Calenelda nodded. "Yes."
"How far?"
"I don't know."
Talia looked toward the enormous creature. The question suddenly seemed impossible. Distances had become meaningless. The Mountain wasn't standing at the other end of the desert. It was occupying the desert. Its body crossed the horizon in both directions. What Talia had initially thought were distant hills were actually parts of its body. A ridge in the distance turned out to be the rise of its back. What looked like a dark forest was growing along its side. And there was still more behind it. Far more. The creature's body extended beyond what either of them could see.
Calenelda slowly lifted her head. "I can't feel all of it."
Talia looked at her. "You can't?"
"No."
That frightened Talia more than anything else. Calenelda could sense things underground from enormous distances. She had sensed the juvenile Colossus before anyone else. She could follow footsteps through solid earth and perceive the shape of objects without seeing them. If Calenelda couldn't perceive the entire creature, then what did that say about its size?
The Draconians were still in pursuit. Somehow their culture failed to register the impossible scale of the mountain. After all, what could possibly compete with a dragon?
The Mountain shifted. The movement was almost imperceptible at first. Then the earth beneath them sank which caused Talia to stumble. Stonefang lowered himself instinctively, claws digging into the sand. A sound rolled across the desert. Not a roar. Not a growl. Something deeper. The sound of stone grinding against stone. Except it wasn't stone. It was the Mountain moving. The Draconians, which were much closer to it, were sent flying. The meaning was clear. Enough!
Talia looked toward its nearest limb. She couldn't see where it began. The enormous appendage descended from the creature's body and disappeared behind a dune. The dune itself looked like a tiny wrinkle beside it.
Talia stared. "How tall is it?"
Calenelda shook her head. "I don't know."
"The murals showed it." Talia looked, trying to guess.
"They weren't drawn to scale."
Talia swallowed. "That isn't an answer."
"No." Calenelda's voice became quieter. "I don't think anyone knew."
That was perhaps the most disturbing thing about the murals. Ancient civilizations had documented the Mountain. They had built cities upon it. They had watched forests grow and die across its back. They had carved images of its passage into temples. But none of the murals had shown the whole creature. They couldn't. Every civilization had apparently done the same thing. They had drawn the parts they could understand. A mountain. A ridge. A valley. A massive limb. Then they had given up.
The oldest carvings had depicted entire settlements clinging to its back. Later civilizations had built roads. Then walls. Then towers. Then cities. Some had apparently believed the Mountain to be an island. Others had worshipped it. Some had hunted upon it. Some had apparently never realized that the land beneath them was alive.
And eventually, every one of them had vanished. The Mountain had remained. Calenelda touched the ground. The realization came slowly.
"The temple wasn't worshipping it."
Talia turned. "What?"
"The murals." Calenelda's fingertips moved over the sand. "I thought they were." She shook her head. "They weren't."
"What were they doing?" Talia still tried to guess how tall the creature was. She swore she saw carrions fly over it. Or from it?
"Remembering."
Talia stared at her. Calenelda looked toward the enormous silhouette.
"They weren't trying to explain it." Her voice became almost reverent. "They were trying to make sure someone remembered that it existed."
Foxglove's ears lowered. "Then why would they build their cities on it?"
Calenelda gave a faint shrug. "Maybe they didn't know what it was."
"Or perhaps," Foxglove said quietly, "they did."
They all looked toward her. The Nyxir's expression had become strangely distant.
"There are stories among my people," she said. "Very old ones. Stories about creatures that existed before kingdoms. Before roads. Before names."
Talia frowned. "What kind of creatures?"
Foxglove looked at the Mountain. "Things that were never meant to be gods."
Calenelda's expression changed. Foxglove continued.
"They were simply here first."
Silence followed. The Mountain's head shifted. Its enormous eye became visible between distant ridges. Or one of its eyes. Talia couldn't distinguish whether it was amber, like Stonefang's, or molten stone. For the first time, Calenelda understood why the ancient people had called it the Moving Mountain. Not because it resembled one. Because from the perspective of anyone standing beneath it, there was no meaningful difference. A mountain did not care about you. A mountain did not notice your city. A mountain did not understand your prayers.
And this creature had existed long enough that perhaps it had learned to regard civilizations the same way humans regarded grass. Not maliciously. Simply without consequence.
Talia tightened her grip on her sword. Then she looked down at it. The gesture was almost instinctive. Her sword had been with her through countless battles. She had trained with it since she was young. It had killed cultists. Broken armor. Deflected magic. For a moment, she imagined striking the Mountain. The thought was so ridiculous that she almost laughed. Her sword wouldn't be a weapon. It would be a pinprick. She would probably be unable to reach anything vital.
If she somehow climbed the creature's body, the journey itself could take days. There were forests on its back. There were valleys. There were rivers. There might even be ruins. Talia suddenly understood something else. If the creature was truly forty kilometers long, then the civilizations in the murals hadn't merely built houses upon it.
They could have lived entire lives there without ever realizing they were standing on an animal. A child could have been born on its back. Grown old. Raised children. Watched those children have children. And died believing the valley beneath their home was permanent. Meanwhile, the Mountain might have taken three steps.
Talia shuddered. "We really are very small."
Calenelda gave a quiet laugh. "Finally noticing?"
Talia looked at her. "You're not allowed to make jokes right now."
"I wasn't joking." Calenelda was neither smiling nor teasing.
That made Talia look back toward the creature. The Mountain's head lowered. The movement itself created a tremendous wind. Sand tore across the dunes. Foxglove instinctively folded her wings around herself. Stonefang growled. Calenelda somehow remained standing. She could feel the creature. Its attention was settling on her. Not her body. Not her magic. Something deeper.
The vibration she had used to call its child. The Mountain had followed it.
Calenelda suddenly understood. "It knows."
Talia looked at her. "What?"
"Why I called the juvenile." The Diviner stepped forward. "I didn't hurt it." Her voice trembled. "I frightened it."
For several seconds, Calenelda simply stood there. She could feel the juvenile beside the Mountain now. Its heartbeat had steadied. The frantic rhythm that had driven it across the desert was gone. It was no longer running blindly. No longer stumbling beneath the spears of the Draconians. It was safe.
That should have been enough to ease the knot in Calenelda's chest. It didn't. Because the thing protecting it was standing directly before her. Calenelda slowly raised her head. Her earthsense spread outward. She tried to understand what stood in front of her. The attempt failed. She could feel the ground beneath the Mountain. She could feel the enormous pressure of its weight travelling through the earth. She could sense the ridges of its face, the shifting layers of sediment embedded in its skin, the deep movements of muscles beneath them. But she couldn't find the edges.
Even standing beneath its head, she couldn't perceive the whole thing. Her earthsense simply disappeared into distance. One of its eyes alone was larger than she could comprehend. She couldn't fill it with her senses, let alone her body. The thought of walking across the sediment-laced skin between its eyes made her stomach turn. It would take hours. Perhaps longer. And that was only its face.
Calenelda's throat tightened.
What have I done?
She had called its child. She had deliberately drawn a living creature into danger because she needed a distraction. She had known the juvenile was dangerous. She had known it was powerful. But she had never understood what it belonged to.Now she did. And the realization made her feel very small. Not metaphorically. Small.
She was an elementalist who could move mountains of earth, tear apart stone, summon winds strong enough to throw men from their feet. She had faced the Colossus. She had survived the temple. She had stood against things that should have killed her. None of that mattered here. If the Mountain decided she was a threat, there was nothing she could do. It could crush her without effort. One step. One movement. One careless shift of its enormous body. She wouldn't even have time to react. Calenelda's fingers curled at her sides. She imagined trying to fight it. Earth magic. She could bury its feet. Perhaps. Air magic. She could summon a storm. Perhaps. But what would either accomplish?
She couldn't even perceive its entire body. Her strongest attacks would be meaningless against something this large. At full strength, she doubted she could do more than make it aware that something had landed on its skin. She wouldn't tickle it. Her stomach sank. Even Tan'Thalon's Arc Wall suddenly seemed insignificant. The wall that had been built to withstand armies, monsters, siege weapons and magic was a speck compared to this thing. If the Mountain decided to walk through the city, the Arc Wall wouldn't stop it. It might not even slow it down. Calenelda had never felt powerless before. Not truly. Even when she was afraid, there had always been something she could do. Something she could sense. Something she could manipulate. Some piece of the world that would answer when she reached for it.
But there was nothing to reach for here. The Mountain was the world. And she had just used its child. Her breathing became shallow. Talia noticed.
"Calenelda?"
The Diviner didn't answer. Her hands had begun to tremble. Talia stepped closer.
"Calenelda."
"I know what I did." Her voice was barely audible.
Talia frowned. "What?"
"I called it."
"I know."
"No." Calenelda shook her head. "I called it."
Her fingers pressed against her palms hard enough to hurt.
"I dragged it here. I made it fight. I frightened it because I needed it to distract the Draconians."
Talia stepped in front of her. "Because we needed to save Foxglove."
"That doesn't make it right."
"No. But it doesn't make you its enemy either."
Calenelda gave a weak laugh. "You don't know that."
She turned her face toward the Mountain. "I don't either."
The enormous creature shifted slightly. The earth groaned.
Calenelda flinched. Actually flinched. Talia had seen her face monsters without blinking. Had watched her stand in the path of a sand storm. Had watched her throw herself between Talia and things that could tear her apart. But now she watched Calenelda instinctively take a step backward.
The Diviner swallowed. "It could kill me."
"Yes." Talia didn't lie.
Calenelda's shoulders sank. "And there's nothing I could do."
"No." Another pause. "But it hasn't."
Calenelda looked toward her. Talia gently reached for her hand.
"It's had plenty of opportunities."
Calenelda's fingers closed around hers. "Maybe it's deciding how."
The words came out almost childishly.
Talia's expression softened. "You're scared."
Calenelda nodded. "Terrified."
The admission seemed to cost her more than any battle ever had.
She squeezed Talia's hand. "I don't know what to do."
Talia moved closer until their shoulders touched. "Then don't do anything."
Calenelda frowned. "Just wait."
"For it to kill me?"
"For it to decide what it wants."
Calenelda breathed out slowly. The Mountain remained still. The juvenile rested beside it. For a moment, the only sound was the wind moving over the dunes. Then Calenelda felt something. Not movement. Not anger. Something deeper. The Mountain's awareness seemed to settle upon her. Her breath caught. It was impossible to describe. She couldn't feel its entire mind. She couldn't even begin to comprehend something that old. But she could feel its attention. And that was enough.
Calenelda lowered her head. "I am sorry." The words carried almost no sound. "I didn't know." She swallowed. "But I should have."
Talia tightened her grip. Calenelda stepped forward. One small step. Toward something that could erase her with a single movement.
"I won't hurt your child again."
The Mountain remained silent. Calenelda waited.
Then something changed. The Mountain inhaled. Calenelda froze. The breath came slowly. At first, she felt only wind. Then the pressure increased. Sand rose around them.
Talia grabbed Calenelda's arm. "What's happening?"
"I don't know." Calenelda raised her voice over the sound of the wind.
The Mountain exhaled. The sound became a low, resonant pressure that passed through the desert. Calenelda's entire body stiffened. It wasn't merely wind. It was vibration. Every grain of sand around her trembled. Every stone responded.
The metal buried beneath the earth gave a faint, almost imperceptible shiver. Calenelda gasped. Something inside her answered. Her magic surged. Earth first. Then air. The two currents collided inside her. But something else was there. Something she had felt before. Subconsciously used before, but something she had never understood. A hidden pull. A pressure. A force that didn't belong entirely to earth or air. Calenelda's breath caught. Her skin prickled.Loose fragments of metal began to move around her.
Talia's eyes widened. "Calenelda?"
"I…" She looked at her hands.
She couldn't explain what she was feeling. The earth beneath her seemed to have become connected to everything around her. Not just stone. Not just sand. Metal. She could feel it. Tiny pieces of iron buried beneath the dunes. The steel fittings in Talia's scabbard. The buckle at Foxglove's belt. Stonefang's metal collar. All of them suddenly felt strangely close. Not physically. Magnetically.