Tharn was surprised not to see lava. He had always associated volcanoes with molten rock, or so the tales said. But the accounts of the smoke were accurate; it had spread wider over the sky for the past two weeks. The smoke’s movement had been nearly undetectable for most of the journey. It wasn’t until recently that he had the chance to watch it for more than a few minutes between the trees, the brief glimpses through the leafy canopy showing the dark haze thickening as it neared the horizon. The road finally broke out of the forest as the caravan crested a hill and he could then see where the gray slick oozed out of the earth, spilling through the sky and dulling its hue. It concentrated to a point on the horizon marking where it emerged from the black cone.
The pilgrims he traveled with grew more excited each day as the road brought them closer and the volcano grew more dominant. Two days beyond the town of Woodside they found a clearing near dusk that offered a spectacular view. Tharn sat on a fallen log long after he had finished dinner, watching the sun set behind the cinder cone less than fifty miles away. It had risen out of a line of gentle hills and was by far the tallest thing in sight except for the white mountain tips far to the north. He watched the smoke, its movement clearly visible now as it slowly poured upward.
The pilgrims were having their evening ceremony again, and the night’s view was impressive enough to quell their normally excited voices. Their voices filled with quiet awe as they kneeled towards the west, murmuring in unison as they gently swayed.
Tharn hadn’t heard of this group before he left the city of Roystille. He had initially been concerned about a long trip with a cult of volcano-worshippers. But though they had readily admitted that they intended to journey to the volcano to commune with their deity, they had accepted him as a fellow traveler and not as a potential convert. He’d offered to act as a guard during the journey, but aside from having to negotiate a toll at one point with some local toughs, he had no duties beyond that of a fellow traveler. None of the pilgrims were inclined to ask any probing questions, which suited Tharn. He had needed to leave Roystille quick, and the fewer questions, the better for all concerned.
He grimaced, remembering that night. The black silhouettes of cone and smoke against the thin red of the vanishing sun were occasionally illuminated with internal flashes of lightening, but he was still too far away to hear the thunder clearly. It didn’t matter. The memory of the old man’s scream filled that void.