ground rumbled and shook, hurling rocks down the craggy mountainsides. There were no trees, no foliage, and no creatures-just barren desert wasteland that stretched into infinity. Red dirt maelstroms whirled angrily, burning Tristan’s skin like red-hot needles.
Tristan heard another strange sound, then gasped as a gigantic sinkhole developed, its closest edge not ten meters away. The gaping hole quickly widened, pulling nearby rocks and soil into oblivion. Then the roaring heat hit him fully.
This bizarre world was a living blast furnace, its fiery atmosphere so intense that sweat started pouring from Tristan’s skin. Soon his clothing was soaked, and his dark hair lay matted against his head. Even though Shadow was at rest, the horse’s chest and neck were already lathering. Xanthus turned to look at Tristan. For some reason, the Darkling had taken on his human form.
Tristan was about to speak when a lightning bolt struck a nearby peak, exploding it into rubble. Shadow suddenly reared, nearly throwing Tristan to the ground. Then the stallion started dancing wildly, disobeying Tristan’s every command. Soon Xanthus’ mount became equally frenzied.
The Darkling jumped from his horse. Removing two blankets from his saddlebags, he tied one over Shadow’s eyes, then did the same for his mount. The horses started to calm. Xanthus urgently beckoned Tristan to dismount. When the prince’s boot soles hit the ground, the heat seeping through them nearly caused him to faint.
Tristan glared hatefully at the Darkling. He was now certain that this entire journey had been a ruse, designed to draw him into a horrible death. But when he saw Xanthus’ worried expression, he realized that something had gone horribly wrong.
“Where are we?” Tristan shouted. He could barely hear his own voice above the raging elements. “This place can’t be what you promised!”
Struggling against the wind, Xanthus placed his lips against Tristan’s ear. “It’s not!” he shouted back. “The Heretics have activated the Borderlands! Their struggle against the Ones must have escalated! Magic has no use here!”
Just then the wind howled and another dust storm arose, sending more whirling soil toward them. Raising their arms, they tried to shield their eyes. After what seemed like an eternity the maelstrom passed. Xanthus pointed to a mountain range lying against the horizon.
“There is where we need to go!” he shouted.
Narrowing his eyes, Tristan looked into the distance. His heart fell. Leagues of deadly wasteland loomed in between. They would never get across it alive. Then he turned to look behind him. To his horror, all he saw was more endless, heat-baked desolation.
“Can we go back?” he shouted.
“No!” Xanthus answered. “To survive, we have to go forward! You must trust me!”
“I don’t understand!” Tristan shouted back. “What are the Borderlands?”
Ignoring the question, Xanthus grabbed the horses’ reins then beckoned Tristan to follow him. Bent against the raging wind, they started for the horizon.
Never had the prince traveled across such deadly terrain. As they plodded desperately along, more sinkholes surfaced here and there, nearly sucking them into oblivion. With every step, sweat ran from their bodies, threatening death from dehydration. Wind and sand tore at Tristan’s skin like hot knife blades. The ground shook so violently that he went down twice, the scalding earth burning his palms as he fell. Each time he stood he had no choice but to somehow go on. Wherever Xanthus was taking him, he knew he would never live to see it.
After about an hour, Xanthus stopped. Nearly unconscious, Tristan staggered to his side. Xanthus pointed to a nearby slope.
“There!” he shouted. “Do you see it? That dark spot in the mountainside-I think it’s a cave!”
Tristan strained his eyes. After a few moments, he saw what Xanthus meant. But given all the swirling dust, Tristan couldn’t be sure. Only going there would tell the tale.
Without waiting for Tristan’s response, Xanthus started trudging toward their new destination. Summoning his remaining strength, the prince followed.
After another grueling walk they finally arrived. Looking up, Tristan nearly fell to his knees with relief. A huge cave entrance loomed before them, its edges smoothed by the constantly blowing sand. Wasting no time, they led their horses inside.
The cave’s interior was immense. Dark red stone lined the walls. As they walked deeper, Tristan and Xanthus turned a corner to see the tunnel’s end. The cave’s entrance was far too high to seal with rocks to block out the terrible sandstorm, but being around the bend gave them some relief from the elements. The wind moaned as it swirled its way into the cave’s depths, then back out again.
His throat parched and his skin burning, Tristan looked around. To his dismay there was nothing to be found. No food, no water-just bare stone and the constantly moaning wind. Reaching to his saddle he untied his canteen to take a welcome drink.
Almost as soon as he started drinking, the Darkling ripped the canteen from his hands. Surprised, he glared at Xanthus.
“What are you doing?” he growled. “I am near death with thirst!”
Xanthus looked back at him calmly. “I know,” he answered. “So is my human side. But there is a long way to go before we reach the mountains. Some food remains in my saddlebags, and we have a certain amount of water. Crossing the Borderlands is our only hope. To succeed, we must ration what we have left.” Xanthus thought for a moment. “Unless things change,” he added softly.
“What are you talking about?” Tristan demanded. “What in this awful place might possibly change?”
Ignoring the question, Xanthus closed Tristan’s canteen.
“I agree about the food!” Tristan shouted. “But you charmed the canteens to constantly replenish themselves! Why can’t we drink all we want?”
“I have already told you why,” Xanthus answered calmly. “Magic has no meaning here. My spell over the canteens no longer works.”
So tired he couldn’t stand, Tristan sat on the ground. He looked up at the Darkling with angry eyes. “What do you mean?” he demanded. “What in the name of the Afterlife are the Borderlands?”
Xanthus sat down across from the prince. As the wind moaned, the Darkling looked into Tristan’s eyes.
“There is so much that you do not know-thatno one on your side of the world knows,” he said. “You are right about one thing: This place is not our destination. Once we entered the azure wall, we should have arrived among the Heretics. When I saw that we were crossing through azure fog, I knew it had all gone wrong. Even so, there could be no turning back. I have done all I can to keep us alive, Jin’Sai, and I will continue to do so. Even though you believe I’m your enemy, you must trust me. I’m all you have.”
Suddenly an alarming thought struck Tristan. His eyes darted to the Paragon hanging around the Darkling’s neck. To his great relief, it looked as vibrant as ever.
“If magic has no meaning here, why is the Paragon still alive?” he asked.
Xanthus looked down at the stone. Cupping it lovingly in his hands for a moment, he looked back at the prince.
“All the craft’s spells are made useless here,” Xanthus answered. “The Borderlands purpose is to create a deadly environment, protecting the Heretics from the Ones during an intense attack. The environment is meant to be severely hostile-so hostile that if we survive it, we will be the first. It is also said that dangerous creatures- designed by the Heretics to withstand these elements continually wander the Borderlands, hunting for the Ones. But that is not to say that magic does notexist here, just because those who enter cannot call forth spells. The fact the Paragon still lives proves that.”
Tristan looked unbelievingly at Xanthus. “Do you mean to say that the Heretics are powerful enough to havecreated this place?”
“Yes,” Xanthus answered. “Their ability to conjure and dispel the Borderlands is aeons old. But in all that time, the Heretics have needed to summon its protection only twice before. We seem to be witnessing the third time. Summoning the Borderlands is a drastic measure. The Ones must be making a particularly savage attack. Had I known that the Borderlands had been summoned, we would have waited longer in your world. Unless the Borderlands are dispelled soon, our chances of surviving are not good.”
“If the Borderlands protect the Heretics from the Ones, then why don’t the Heretics summon it constantly?”
