A Hero's Journey
Act IV - The Adventure Begins
Forest Temple Entrance, Shell Ridge Open Space
The morning sun had climbed above Mount Diablo by the time the father and son reached the western edge of the valley.
From the hillside, their village looked much smaller than it had the day before. The familiar rooftops, winding paths, and ancient oaks lay scattered across the green slopes beneath them. Beyond the hills, the land stretched toward the distant forests of Marin.
The boy turned in his saddle for one last look.
“Do you think they'll notice we're gone?”
His father smiled.
“I imagine they'll notice by lunchtime.”
“Especially if we miss lunch.”
“Especially then.”
They continued along the narrow trail, their horse picking its way between rocks and tall grasses. Golden sunlight washed across the hills, and the breeze carried the scent of oak and wildflowers.
For a while, neither spoke.
The boy had never traveled this far from Diablo. He had climbed its hills, explored its creeks, and followed his father along countless trails, but there had always been something familiar waiting around the next bend.
Today, everything beyond the horizon was unknown.
He glanced at the unusual sword hilt fastened to his father's belt.
“Are you sure that thing is going to help us?”
His father looked down at it.
“I hope so.”
“But it doesn't have a blade.”
“You've mentioned that.”
“A few times.”
“More than a few.”
The boy grinned.
His father rested a hand on the hilt. Seven empty settings ran along its surface, waiting for something neither of them fully understood.
“Your grandfather once told me that knowing how to use something was more important than how powerful it was.”
“Did he know how to use that sword?”
“I don't think he ever had the chance.”
The boy considered this.
“Then how are you supposed to figure it out?”
His father looked toward the sunlight breaking through the branches ahead.
“The same way we figure out everything else. We pay attention.”
They traveled west through the rolling foothills, where patches of woodland interrupted the open grasslands. Their horse occasionally stopped to drink from a stream, and the boy collected interesting stones until his pockets became too heavy.
By afternoon, the countryside had begun to change.
The grass was greener, the shadows deeper, and the trees grew closer together. A cool breeze drifted from the west, carrying a faint mist that gathered beneath the branches.
Then the birdsong stopped.
The boy noticed first.
“Father?”
“I hear it.”
“There's nothing to hear.”
“Exactly.”
They slowed their horse.
Ahead, the trail entered a grove of towering oaks. Their branches twisted together above the path, creating a canopy so thick that only scattered patches of sunlight reached the ground.
A wooden marker stood beside the trail, almost completely hidden beneath moss.
The father dismounted and brushed away the growth.
MARIN — WESTERN FOREST PASSAGE
Below the lettering, someone had carved a warning.
Those who enter may find the path they seek is not the path they see.
The boy leaned forward in his saddle.
“That's not very helpful.”
“No,” his father agreed. “It isn't.”
He led the horse beneath the trees.
Within minutes, the trail divided.
One path continued straight ahead, bright and inviting beneath a break in the canopy. The other curved downhill into the shadows, disappearing behind a wall of ferns.
The father chose the brighter path.
They followed it for some time before arriving at a familiar wooden marker.
The boy stared.
“Didn't we just pass that?”
His father approached the sign.
The same moss. The same crooked lettering. Even the small scratch he'd made while brushing the wood was still there.
They had returned to where they started.
“Maybe we took a wrong turn,” the boy suggested.
“Perhaps.”
They tried again.
This time, the father paid careful attention to the position of the sun, the slope of the ground, and the shapes of the trees. He was certain they were traveling in a different direction.
Yet, before long, the same marker appeared.
The boy folded his arms.
“I don't like this forest.”
His father looked upward.
Through the branches, sunlight reflected strangely from patches of moisture suspended in the air. The reflections seemed to shimmer across the trail, making one direction appear brighter than another.
He remembered the Oracle's final words.
Sometimes you need only change the way you look at it.
He reached beneath his shirt and removed the small amulet she had given him.
Its circular glass surface appeared almost black.
“What are you doing?” the boy asked.
“Trying something.”
The father lifted the amulet toward the trail and slowly turned its outer ring.
At first, nothing happened.
Then the bright reflections began to disappear.
The inviting path ahead faded into a dense tangle of branches. What had looked like an open trail was nothing more than light scattered through the mist.
But the darker path was changing too.
As the glare vanished, a narrow opening appeared between the ferns, leading toward a distant patch of clear sky.
The boy's eyes widened.
“It was there the whole time?”
“It seems so.”
“Then why couldn't we see it?”
His father lowered the amulet.
“Because something wanted us looking in the wrong direction.”
They followed the hidden trail, leading their horse carefully downhill.
Gradually, the forest opened around them.
Across a small valley stood an enormous stone structure, half buried beneath roots and climbing vines. Great pillars rose between the trees, and a broad staircase disappeared into darkness beneath an archway.
It looked ancient, as though the forest had been growing around it for hundreds of years.
But something was wrong.
The surrounding trees leaned inward toward the ruins, their branches tangled together in unnatural knots. Thick roots crossed the ground like enormous ropes. Even the small stream flowing through the valley had been forced away from its natural course.
The boy looked at the structure.
“Is that the temple?”
His father nodded slowly.
“I believe it is.”
“Where's the creature the Oracle told us about?”
Before his father could answer, a deep sound rolled across the valley.
It was unlike thunder.
It sounded more like an enormous tree bending beneath a weight it could no longer support.
The horse shifted nervously.
Somewhere inside the temple, stone scraped against stone.
Then came another sound.
A slow, heavy movement beneath the earth.
The boy moved closer to his father.
“Did you hear that?”
His father placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Yes.”
“Are we going in?”
The father studied the dark entrance, then looked at the blade-less sword hilt at his side.
They had traveled only a short distance from home, and already the world was proving stranger than either of them imagined.
He took the horse's reins and started toward the temple.
“We came to find out what's happening here,” he said. “Let's start by finding out what needs our help.”
Together, they crossed the valley.
Behind them, the forest grew quiet once more.
And deep beneath the ancient temple, something opened its eyes.
Their adventure had begun.