He travels through the darkness for what seems like an eternity, having lost any way to measure time except by the beating of his heart. All is silent. Even his footfalls are muted as the force carries him through the void.

As he presses forward, the light begins to return. Shapes manifest in the darkness, and soon he can make out the stalactites and stalagmites around him, the blessed light glinting off the moisture that coats them.

NOT MUCH FARTHER NOW.

Who are you?

YOUR QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERED. KEEP MOVING.

I am in the thrall of a draga, Alaric thinks.

AH. SO QUICK TO LABEL THAT WHICH YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

“What is label?” Alaric asks aloud.

He receives no answer.

Another yawning crack in the skin of the mountain materializes before him, washing his body in holy light. It is a baptism, a rebirth, his body anointed with the warm kiss of the sun.

This place is not known to his people. If Edulf or any of his arrogant ilk had ever ventured this far, surely they would have boasted of it. Pride surges in Alaric’s chest. The force squeezes his ruined calf.

WITH MY HELP, ALARIC. REMEMBER THAT.

How do you know my name?

The voice offers no answer.

The crevice opens onto a flat area between the mountain’s peaks. Charred pine stumps protrude from the mountainside like the remnants of an enormous ribcage. In the center of this sore in the mountain’s hide sits a giant thing that Alaric cannot comprehend. Nothing in his experience on the planet Eursus provides him with the ability to know what lies broken before him in the clearing. He turns to flee, for even the she-bear terrifies him less than the irreconcilable thing before him. But the unseen force holds him in place.

Boat. Fish. These are the only terms that his brain can align with the construct before him. It is so large that Alaric cannot see it at all once without turning his head. It protrudes from the blackened ground like an arrow sunk deep into the mountainside. Vines as thick as Alaric’s legs entwine the construct, so densely packed that he can barely see its hide beneath them. A black, leafless tree made up of twisted limbs emerges from the top through a visible tear in the structure’s hide.

As Alaric draws closer he can see the fish boat’s obsidian surface glistening from between the vines. It is made of a material that resembles the stuff the blacksmith pounds into swords and shields.

Hollow silver cups as big as huts line the flattened backside of the construct. Alaric cannot even begin to discern their purpose. He dares not take a step closer, but then he hears the bear crashing into the clearing behind him.

He chooses the unknown threat before him over the known terror behind him as the unseen hand guides him closer to the giant old thing, under its crushing shadow. As Alaric draws closer, he sees what he presumes is a door. It opens with a hiss, and the force draws him toward it.

He takes a moment to look back. The bear is standing on her hind legs, her head cocked, watching events unfold with what Alaric imagines is absolute bafflement. Perhaps the very force that guides him on is holding her in place. Or maybe she has some primal notion that she will only find fear and death inside the belly of the fearsome thing atop the mountain.

Once inside, Alaric surmises that the giant thing is some sort of house. He sees doors that open onto dark hallways choked with dirt and underbrush. Shadowy things with bright eyes and bristly legs scramble and skitter. He sees the eyes of a large mountain cat peering at him from a walkway above, emerald light glimmering in its eyes. A strange fire glows from torches that line the walls and ceiling of the structure. The firelights, as he names them, do not flicker like flames, but blink intermittently in shades of red, blue, and yellow.

He does not understand all of what he is seeing, but he guesses.

These small pieces of ground (stairs) are for climbing above this path and going to the next.

These glowing eyes (screens) allow the god to see me.

These are the veins through which the god’s blood travels (wires).

The unseen hand moves him farther into the hut to a final doorway. Inside he can see the base of the black tree, and rays of light filter in from the gaping hole in the roof through which the tree has grown. The invisible hand presses him between the shoulders gently, and he steps over the threshold.

The black tree has grown up from the floor of the room. The root section is a tangled mess of ropy vines, and there he sees a pair of eyes gazing back at him. At first he cannot reconcile what he is seeing. How can a tree have eyes? But then he begins to make out the shapes around the eyes. The eyes are set in the face of some sort of animal; the face ends in a toothy snout that is contorted with rage, or maybe pain—Alaric cannot tell which. He cannot fathom how a creature came to be trapped inside the flesh of a tree.

“Alaric. At last you have come,” the thing says, at last aloud, though its mouth doesn’t move. Alaric is not sure which is more absurd, the voice existing only in his head, or coming from a strange beast trapped in a tree.

“Draga, you have brought me to your lair. I am at your mercy,” Alaric says.

“I am no demon, Eursan. And I mean you no harm.”

“How do you know my name?” Alaric asks.

You must never speak to the draga. Their words are poison and their trickery is boundless, says the voice of the holy man from his village, inside Alaric’s mind. Alaric senses the creature’s potent intellect and the raw press of its desire all around him.

“I know your name, young one, because I can see into your mind. It is also how I can speak your native tongue. But we have greater things to discuss.”

“I will hear your words, wise one,” Alaric says. The creature laughs. It sounds like thunderclaps echoing off the stone face of the mountain. It is the most beautiful sound Alaric has ever heard.

“Very well, Eursan. I have watched your people from afar for a span of time you cannot imagine. I have seen your race rise up from the lesser beasts and claim dominion over the land. I have waited long for one of your race to discover this place so that I might bestow a great gift upon him. Many have come to the cave, and I have spoken to them. But you are the first to make it to my lair, as you called it. “

Alaric does not understand the meaning of all the draga’s words, but the creature is feeding him meaning and imagery, tilling the soil of Alaric’s fertile mind and planting seeds there.

“What is this gift you speak of? Why me? Why not Edulf? Hrogar?”

Peals of laughter again.

“Those fools? Their minds would shatter under the weight of the gift. They are weak here.” Alaric feels an invisible finger tapping on his forehead. “You know you are something different, set apart from them. It is your mind, young one, that has allowed me to bring you to this very place.”

Imagery as clear and brilliant as shards of lightning gashing the sky.

“The strength of your intellect allowed me to maintain the bond between our minds long enough to bring you here alive. But you will not remain so for long. Once I release you from my grip, your wounds will begin to bleed anew. Even if you make it out of my lair alive, the bear outside will surely finish you.”

Only the draga doesn’t say lair. He uses the words of Alaric’s tongue for star and boat. Alaric understands. He has all but decided to give himself to the creature. What other choice does he have?

“What would you have me do?” Alaric asks.

“I answer your question with another. What would you have me do? What do you want, Alaric? Power? Riches? Glory? Is there a woman whose love you desire? Or a man’s? I can give you all that you desire, and more. Power that your mind cannot yet comprehend.”