2. The Door At The End Of The World
CHAPTER 2
The Door At The End Of The World
Melinda Mayweather
The mountain air around me crackles, a pull so strong it’s almost tangible. My heart races, every beat echoing in my ears, drowning out every other thought.
“It’s here, dad. It’s close,” I whisper to my stepfather, Michael, who’s been my dad my entire twenty-five years on the earth. My birth father died when I was born–because I was born. Literally cursed to die because of me.
“Good, Mel. This is what your mother and I always wanted. She would be so proud.” His voice breaks, but he does a good job of hiding it behind an encouraging smile. “It’s what we all wanted for you,” he said referring to the entire family group making the hike with us today.
Last week my mother was executed by the Inquisitors. Burned at the stake.
Because of me. Because of my inability to control my stupid fucking magick. Because everything and everyone I love eventually ends up dead.
I take a deep breath and will the wild vibrating magick inside of me to settle. If I lose control now it would make everyone around me sick. It would kill plants. Animals.
My stepfather wouldn’t let me come alone. And now we’re hiking up a Peruvian mountain on the western edge of the Amazon Rainforest. And not just us, all of my mother’s closest friends insisted on coming along, too, plus a guide Dad found in a local village at the base of the mountain.
My mother’s friends have been around since I was a little kid. They’re family. Aunt Margo, Aunt Dottie, and Uncle Lars have even lived with us from time to time through the years. They insisted on coming with Dad and I when I found the map in mom’s things. Aunt Margo is my only true blood relation–my mother’s sister–but they’re all family.
They’re all determined to keep me out of the Enclave’s greedy hands, the equivalent of the magick mafia. Which I appreciate. I don’t really want the criminal underground using my powers for evil. I already carry enough guilt for the pain and accidents I've caused.
Unfortunately, the Enclave isn’t the only shadow lurking the dark. The Inquisitors’ evil eye is always watching too–a global agency with unrestrained access and full authority from all governments to eliminate anyone caught using magick. (They do their erasing by burning people alive, just in case you were wondering.)
So here we all are, hiking up a mountain in the dark, in Peru, following a map I found in my mother’s things that she never got around to investigating. Which is strange, because the map was tucked inside her most recent journal and there were no notes. Nothing. Not a single mention of the map on any page.
Her life’s work, her obsession, had been to find Avalon. To find a way to help me learn to control my very out-of-control magick.
The map specifically mentions a door to Avalon. Mom would’ve been bouncing off the walls with excitement. She wouldn’t have tucked it in a journal and hidden it. But it was there. And now we’re here.
Well, almost there. The cave, with its secrets, beckons me closer. The power inside me thrums and sings to my ever-present magick. I take several deep breaths, pushing it back down again.
Don’t lose it. Keep it together. Don’t ruin this. Your dad’s right in front of you. You’ll hurt him. Aunt Dottie and Margo are right behind you. Breathe. Count. Midén. éna. Dío. Tría. Tésera. Pénde… It was a trick my mom had taught me to push the magick back.
My foot slips and I squeak, falling forward.
My dad’s strong arms catch me before I faceplant in the dirt and stands me back upright on the path.
“Good?”
“Yeah. Just distracted. I can feel my power,” I whisper. “My whole body is humming. I’m scared. I started to count to distract myself and I just…”
“This is where you’re supposed to be. I know it.”
“Why didn’t she say something, though?” I pull the parchment from my satchel and unfold it. I point to the Irish Gaelic phrase Tír na n?g inscribed on the corner of the map–The Otherworld. Or Avalon in some legends . “This is the find of a lifetime. We’ve never found a single documented reference to Avalon or the Otherworld outside of a fairytale.”
“I don’t know, Mel, but it was in her journal. She thought it was worth investigating, even if she hadn’t shared it with us yet.” He takes the map from me and traces his finger along the path up the mountain. The one we’re on. “She had to have been so excited to have found something like this.”
I nod. A smile curves my lips. She would’ve been. I can imagine her face. The energy in her voice. This was what she lived for, the exploration, the hunt, the hope that one day she would be able to save me from myself.
Losing her had happened so fast. And so publicly. My mother had tried to shift reality to show people an illusion of a normal parking lot after I lost control, but there were too many witnesses… It had been too big a mess to cover up.
Tears run down my cheeks. “I wish she was here.”
He steps closer, wrapping me in his big burly arms. His hug is silent, but his heart beats, steady and strong against mine, a rhythm that’s been a constant in my life. He’s always been there for me. Tucked me in when I was little. Kissed my knee when I fell. Threatened to beat up the first boy who broke my heart.
“It’s not fair, Dad. Everything is my fault,” I grind the words out, the anger making my magick burn inside my gut, but I don’t let it out. I won’t hurt my dad.
The fabric of his shirt brushes against my cheek, a soft contrast to the stubble on his chin. I close my eyes, allowing myself to sink into the moment, trying to anchor myself in the warmth of his presence. We might be on the side of a mountain, but his arms are a strong, familiar safe haven in my whirlwind of grief and it helps my magick calm down to a safe hum.
“None of it is your fault, Mel. Your mom always said you were special in a way that none of us understood. And you are.”
We pull away from our embrace, and with a mutual, silent nod, we turn to rejoin the hike.
The night has draped the Peruvian mountainside in a cloak of thick darkness, the dense canopy of the western Amazon rainforest is still thick, even at this altitude.
The guide, a shadowy figure with a flashlight, leads the way. His light cuts through the darkness, a beacon guiding us along the narrow uneven trail. The air is thick with the scent of wet earth and the rich, organic aroma of the rainforest, intensified by the cool night air at this height.
Ahead, the silhouettes of Dottie, Margo, and Lars are just visible. Their flashlights bob like fireflies in the darkness, occasionally illuminating their faces. Dottie’s laughter, a surprising sound in the stillness of the night, echoes softly. Margo moves with purpose, her light steady, while Lars’ flashlight beam darts around, revealing glimpses of the surrounding wild.
The darkness amplifies the sounds of the forest—distant calls of nocturnal creatures, the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze, the occasional crack of a branch underfoot.
The higher we’ve climbed the more challenging the path has become, but the pain of the hike is a welcome distraction and escape from the thoughts and guilt swirling in my mind.
There’s this strange feeling inside me—like my magick is waking up. It’s different than anything I’ve ever felt before. Like there’s something at the top of this mountain desperately calling to me.
Instead of being tired from the hours of climbing, I could break into a run at any second. There’s something here. I know it.
I jog a few paces, quickly catching up with my Aunts and Uncle. The guide is right ahead of them. “We’re close, aren’t we?”
He turns, shining his light toward me, his face briefly illuminated by the beam of his flashlight. “Yes. Very.” He looks straight at me, like he can see into my broken soul. “Are you ready?”
My heart is pounding, a mix of anticipation and a deep overwhelming yearning. And still I hesitate. Why does he sound like he knows more about this cave and our trip than he should? My father puts a hand on my shoulder, but I meet the guide’s steady gaze and nod. “Yes.”
This is the moment. It has to be. I’m Indiana Jones taking the leap onto the invisible bridge. I’m Lara Croft turning the dial to unlock the tomb. I have to trust that Avalon is there because I need it to be.
With deliberate movements, the guide begins to push aside the thick, tangled vegetation. Each movement is precise, as if he’s unveiling a sacred space. The brush gives way, revealing a dark opening in the mountainside.
We’re standing at a dark opening, but it’s potentially the mouth of another world, a gateway hiding secrets of a world long forgotten by this one.
I can barely breathe. This could be the answer to why my magick is so different from my mother’s and Aunt Margo’s. Why I can’t control it… Why it’s so unstable...
My father’s hand finds mine, squeezing it gently, a silent assurance. I glance at Aunt Margo, her face a mix of apprehension and awe. The guide steps aside, gesturing for us to enter first.
Taking a deep breath, I step forward, crossing the threshold. The cool air of the cave brushes against my skin, and I imagine I’m crossing into a long forgotten realm, a place where the veils between worlds are thin and the mysteries of magick pulse with a life of their own.
This is it. This is where I find my answers. With each step into the darkness, I’m not just moving deeper into the earth–I’m delving deeper into the unknown realms of my own heritage and destiny.
“I feel it, Mel. There’s something here.” Margo’s voice holds the same awe I present in my chest.
“I know. I feel it too,” I answer.
The scrape of a match cuts through the silence. A torch flares to life near the guide, Juan. There’s a series of them down the wall mounted in old metal brackets. He takes the first and lights them. One by one, the light expands until the warm, golden glow illuminates the cave’s interior. The effect is mesmerizing, like stepping into a world lit by firelight, where every shadow and flicker tells a story.
And there, on the walls, are the stories themselves–incredible reliefs and faded artworks carved and painted onto the stone. They depict scenes of the Knights of the Round Table, their forms proud and noble, even in their time-worn state.
“How are they here… in a cave… in Peru?” I say, my voice filled with wonder.
Everyone is silent, except Juan who speaks up, still walking along the edge of the large cavern lighting torches. “There are legends,” he begins, his voice echoing slightly in the cave, “of travelers from long ago, explorers who journeyed far beyond this world. Some stories speak of exploration, others say they were fleeing something.” He knows something. Something more than he’s sharing.
Once the last torch is lit, the chamber opens up, revealing its full majesty under the steady flickering flames. It’s so much bigger than what I had imagined it would be.
“It’s amazing. Beautiful.” I hear my aunts and uncle talking to my left.
Directly ahead stands a massive stone doorway. It’s imposing and intricately carved with symbols and motifs that seem to blend different cultural influences. The doorway is a piece of art, telling stories that are both familiar and brand new to me.
“Dad,” I say, walking towards the door. There’s a crystal clear pool of water in the center of the chamber. Perfectly round. Water so transparent I should be able to see the bottom, but the pool is dark. I walk closer, around the edge, and peer down into the mirror-like surface. It’s so still it looks like a sheet of glass.
The hushed reverence of the chamber is suddenly pierced by distant, muffled sounds.
Someone is outside the cave.
Someone followed us.
My dad draws his pistol from the holster at his waist.
My heart pounds in my chest and I gasp for a breath I can’t find. The power in my body thrums with the panic building in my mind. No. No. No. I can’t lose control. Not now. I’ll hurt everyone, not just whoever is coming. Breathe. In and out. In and out. Don’t use your magick. Don’t let it out.
Aunt Margo, Dottie, and Uncle Lars exchange a quick, concerned glance with my father before springing into action. “We’ll hold them off, Michael. Get her through that door,” Margo says with urgency in her voice. “That’s all that matters, Mel. You hear me?”
I nod, still unable to speak.
The three of them run back for the cave entrance, their footsteps quick and purposeful against the stone floor. “Inquisitors!” echoes through the cave, a declaration that turns my blood to ice.
The guide moves forward, toward me, toward the pool. He opens his hand and drops something shiny into the water. There’s a strange shudder in the air and I watch, mesmerized by the ripples on the surface of the pool.
I want to ask him what he did. What he dropped in the water, but a gunshot distracts me and he drops to the floor with a heavy thud .
“Fuck!” I finally get my voice back. More shots ring out, pinging off the floor near me. “Dad!”
“Mel, get to the door!” He shouts at me, aims and fires his pistol, dropping the man at the entrance to the chamber. The stranger’s body drops to the ground . “You have to try and get it open,” my dad shouts waving toward the massive stone door.
Screams and shouts cut through the air and my legs find wings. My heart races and I surge toward the stone door.
My palm connects with the stone and in that instant, the world as I know it shatters, everything changes.