I had been rescued, but the strain of my journey finally caught up with me, and I felt utterly exhausted. I knew I had to find and lock the Green Door soon. I wasn't sure how much longer I could carry on. The mental strain was even greater than the physical toll on my body.
The multiverse appeared to be without order and subject to constant change; there was nothing stable to hang onto, other than my love for Montana.
That was permanent, and would never vary, no matter which bizarre world or fantastical dimension I entered. The thought gave me comfort and renewed my flagging spirits.
The road out of the woodlands was mostly straight, but after I had been walking for about an hour, it curved slightly, and I followed a steep incline that took me below ground level. At the bottom, the land flattened out, and directly ahead of me were the ruins of a huge stone building.
Protected by the steep sides of the valley, it had partially survived whatever calamity had befallen this world, because at the front were the remains of a long ramp or drawbridge, now broken into unequal sections, which led to the ruins of what would have once been a very imposing main entrance. I walked around the side, looking for a way up, and found that I could climb the fallen walls. However, it was a long way to the top, and due to my poor physical condition, I often had to stop and rest.
At the summit, I walked around the parapets of the castle, if it could be called a castle, but there was no way down to the inner chambers; the staircases had collapsed into an impenetrable mass of rubble. The enclosed upper courtyard lay under a layer of rocky ash, and I scraped my boot across the surface to reveal an ornate marble floor.
The colours had faded, and the marbled surface was a spider's web of deep cracks, but the broken tiles depicted images I remembered from the books I had read on ancient folklore. There were dwarves and giants from Norse legend; fauns, centaurs, minotaurs, and dryads from Greek myths; and strange creatures from places I could not even guess.
In the far corner stood a broad brick tower, shaped like a chimney, narrowing as it rose to form a slender turret. Originally, it may have served as a lookout over land once inhabited, now long deserted and in ruins, and I found it difficult to imagine what kind of country it once was or who built this fortification.
The outer wall had collapsed, but there was a gap in the stones at the bottom, revealing space beyond. Moving some rocks aside and looking upward, I identified the shape of a spiral staircase. The treads were missing, but the staircase itself remained intact. I pushed my shoulders through the gap and started to climb. The winding staircase stretched upward for a long way, and on its curved walls were names and brief messages in various scripts, created by generations of bored sentries passing the time during long watches. Some were so old they were barely legible.
On reaching the top, I emerged onto an enclosed viewing platform that gave panoramic views in every direction. Two of the sides had fallen away, and the platform was leaning away from the supporting column in imminent danger of collapse. I tested the floor's strength with my foot. It gave way slightly but was otherwise reasonably stable, and I cautiously moved out to the centre.
A brass plate, tarnished with verdigris, was mounted on the upright wall opposite, and I moved nearer to examine it more closely. Above the plate was a relief carved into the wall, thick with dust, but I scraped away a section to clear it and discovered it was part of a sculpture in polished white stone. Using both hands, I brushed away the surface dirt, then, more eagerly, gently dug into it with my fingers until I had uncovered every detail. It depicted the head of a massive, fierce lion, mouth agape with fangs bared. I stood beside the carving for quite some time, gazing at the meticulously wrought image, and I thought of the unknown sculptor who must have once seen this majestic creature in the flesh.
A sudden thud awoke me from my reverie, and standing before me was a woman, the jewels on her green robes rattling like sabres in the fierce wind. She turned to face me, and I saw the form of the immortal Ayesha, a queen of great power. Beautiful beyond description, she was terrible to look upon and radiated a cold power that could kill a man.
"You tremble like a leaf in the wind, boy. Do you dare to look upon my face?"
I raised my eyes and had to fight with every ounce of my will against an overwhelming compulsion to prostrate myself before her.
"You can resist me, "said Ayesha in surprise.
She paused, and I stared resolutely above her head. I was determined not to succumb, but my mind was racing ahead of me. Had I somehow crossed the border and entered 'The World of Fiction?'
Ayesha was the legendary 'She who must be obeyed,' from She by H. Rider Haggard. A novel set during a time when England was a world power, and explorers from the country ventured far into the unknown continent of Africa.
"You look afraid, boy; you have no reason. It is refreshing to talk to a man who is immune to my charms. What troubles you?"
Ayesha was looking at me kindly and was no longer a threat. I knew how dangerous it was to look upon the beauty of the immortal goddess, but I had to ask her a question.
"Ayesha, is this the world of fiction?" I asked, keeping my eyes averted from her face.
"No, boy, this is the Badlands; the next world lies far to the north. A great battle was fought long ago to secure the border when this land was ravaged by war. All who lived here are gone, but I am immortal and have survived. The years have been endless, but I have seen in the waters of the enchanted fountain that a great flood will soon come to erase all traces of the evil that once plagued it. Look, boy, it is arriving even as we speak".
Ahead, I initially thought I saw a solid bank of storm clouds, but then I realised it was a massive tidal wave, and the entire sky echoed with thunder. The deep foundations of the castle began to tremble and shake as the supporting columns gave way, and large slabs of masonry tumbled down the mountain's side, crushing everything in their path. An avalanche thundered down in a great rush of bricks and debris, engulfing me in its flow.
Fortunately, I managed to grip a light wooden door torn from its hinges and squeeze myself beneath the metal framework still attached to the side. The lightweight door skimmed the surface like a surfboard, but then the wave hit, and I resurfaced like a cork, turning and twisting in the rising water. I couldn't breathe and felt the strength draining from my already weakened body. It was a desperate situation, but I couldn't surrender; I must find the key to the Green Door and find my way back to Montana.