River Of Life (Book 3) Read Free

had picked up along
the way.  He hoped that it had been worth the time, the energy, the mental
exhaustion, and the physical wear it had put on him to retrieve it.  So far it
had only been a burden, something heavy that he could not leave behind.
    He looked on sunlight and evidence of life, and sighed.  What
lay behind, he felt hopeful that it could not follow, but what lay ahead could
be almost as bad.
    But here he could relax.  Looking around, he realized that he
had stumbled into a jungle, a rainforest.  Great leafy trees hung everywhere. 
Trunks several times as wide as his waist were towering out of the underbrush
like pillars to hold up a ceiling of foliage.  Water dripped off of everything,
clinging moss, the heavy humid atmosphere, and fog hanging in and drifting
through the tops of the trees blocked out the sky.  The rustling of wind and
animals was a comforting sound that soothed the man's nerves.  Out in the
distance, the hooting and whistling of exotic birds could be heard at one
moment only to be drowned out by the low vicious growl of some carnivorous
animal.
    For a moment, the man looked around.  Slowly, he began to
realize that he recognized this world, this forest.  Slowly it came back to
him.  This is where the terror had started.  It had been months since he had
been here, at that time hopeful, full of the spirit of adventure, arrogant and
filled with pride.  This had been his chance to prove himself, to prove his
prowess as a wizard.  He was the pupil of Erelon, after all.  He should be powerful,
prepared for this task.  Days into the adventure and his mind had begun to fail
him as the spirit world of the Humbas stole his memories.
    Kicking open a rotted fallen log, pieces flew away, exposing
brightly colored insects and slimy crawling and slithering pests that ranged
from thousands of legs to none.  Narrow paths wound their way silently through
the forest, created by animals brave enough to explore near the opening to the
Humban underworld.
    Strange runes cut into the stone decorated the door posts
through which the man had exited.  He followed flat stones that lay in the
ground.  Just as ancient as the old runes, a black iron fence blocked his
path.  A locked gate still stood in the way, not only sealed with rust but also
a craftily constructed padlock and a locking spell that kept unwanted visitors
from the underground realms.  Being persistent, the man soon found where the
ground had been washed away from beneath the fence as well as from beneath the
roots of an ancient tree, creating a natural tunnel through which animals
traveled in and out of the secluded garden.
    Looking down, the man saw the old prints of boots filled with
rotting leaves and water.  His heart leapt into his throat.  Somebody was
nearby, somebody had come for him.  Slowly, he thought back.  No, those were
his prints.  He laughed at himself and said, “Wow, Easton, you really are
losing your mind after all.”
    After escaping from the enclosed space, Easton turned to look
back north at the old mountains through which he had passed, marveling at his
luck.  The massive rock wall towered high above him, blocking all sound that he
might have heard coming from beyond.
    The most amazing part of the local landmarks he found as he
began descending a stairway made of tree roots was the giant sculptures that
had been cut into the rock.  Smoothed by chisel and fine sanders, many carven
images—several being smooth faces with huge noses, big ears, and decorated with
beads—lay peering from their rock wall prison.  But there were others that had
bodies as well, and some more that were not human, some not even other animals,
but instead grotesquely broken figures with gnarled limbs and shrunken bodies.
    As he followed paths formed by the flat stones and the animals
that kept them cleared, many more statues followed, some carved from the mountain’s
roots that ran above ground.  Others came from transported rock