Tales From Topout: The Holy Hex

By S Ogborn

Told in the quest tradition, this story is based in a fantasy world dedicated to rock climbers: The Holy Hex has been stolen and Prince Rockhard must retrieve it before the kingdom of Cliffedge crumbles away. His party for this epic quest includes an obsessive chef, smug rock, a cheap-skate with a magic chalkbag and the world champion at climbing anything under three metres high. Together they face dark forces, evil mercenaries, bad weather and a crux more fearsome than anything seen on a cliff face before.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S Ogborn
• Release date: Jul 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301206469

S Ogborn

Samuel Ogborn loves climbing and writing and doesn't do nearly enough of either.

Book preview

Tales from Topout

THE HOLY HEX

a tale for rock climbers

Samuel Ogborn

Smashwords Edition.

First published in 2013.

Copyright Samuel Ogborn.

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Edited by Liz Drummond.

Cover art by Charlotte Sarossy.

Preface

The following story is about rock climbing – the fantasy elements are merely the background and not the focus. If you don't know about rock climbing then you should take it up - and then read this story.

The inspiration for Prince Rockhard, his world, friends, enemies and all their adventures came from a weekend conversation at Mt Arapiles, Victoria in 2009. While discussing the weekend's climbing, the idea of our trip as a quest came up. This hypothetical stuck and became the main conversation on the long drive back to Melbourne. We laughed at the concept of a Holy Hex, what a land ruled by climbers would look like and who would live there. Some possible characters emerged, all based on the nicknames of various climbers we knew. Somehow this ridiculous concept seemed to work and I decided to write it down. Maybe it would be a page or so, nothing longer.

Since then I found myself occasionally working on the story (that went far beyond a single page). As it went on, others have pitched in. Many climbers gave feedback, Liz (a climber completing tertiary studies in professional writing), volunteered her much needed editing skills. Finally my lovely wife Charlotte organised the astonishing cover art. For all the contributions and inspiration I give thanks.

But when all is said and done, this story is for a pastime I will always love and be grateful for. For all the climbs I’ve done at Mt Arapiles and elsewhere. Especially for all the people I have done those climbs with - particularly Angry Possum, Dave, Larderman, Kate, Simon and Mish. But I must especially thank Andrew the Gecko; for starting it all for me. Regardless of how equipment changes, people will always be the most important thing you take climbing.

I hope you climbers out there enjoy this Tale from Topout. I imagine it to be seemingly pointless, misunderstood by outsiders and a whole lot of fun - just like rock climbing.

Samuel (Sam) Ogborn.

Prologue

Welcome to Topout – a world dedicated almost entirely to climbers.

In a manner of speaking...

It’s more accurate to say that climbers are dedicated to Topout. Much in the same way the ocean doesn’t exist purely for the benefit of fish, but local conditions are hard to argue against.

The view from above shows a maze of kingdoms, crags, cliffs, canyons and more, each one with it’s own terrain and people. They weave and wind around each other like the lines of a fingerprint. Beyond the expected alignment, sometimes these kingdoms and countries spread out vertically as well. Like a coral reef, life exists at all the different levels, borders stacked above and below. From the closest to the sun to those that stay in the darkness beneath the lowest ledges.

But first, welcome to Cliffedge – a land far from overdeveloped areas but still close to amenities. A fairer land, where climbers are mostly free from poor weather, chossy ascents and the social pressure of having to bathe more than twice a week when on a strict climbing schedule. For centuries Cliffedge has enjoyed unparalleled prosperity, but the locals are about to learn just how quickly things can go bad when you lose even a single piece of protection…

Chapter 1

The odds of anything going wrong are very low. But should something go wrong, the odds it will be catastrophic are very high.

Standard pre–climbing pep talk.  

Dominating the local landscape are the famed Big Walls. Visible for miles, they are the unofficial monoliths of Cliffedge, right on the edge of the kingdom. Today, without binoculars, a keen observer may notice a distant splash of colour against the white stone. With them they could make out an unusually well presented individual quietlyi soloing up the cliff face. He’s no novice; simply being at this cliff let alone climbing it is evidence of that. The towering wall of rock both inspires and intimidates. Even people on the ground had been known to tie themselves to a tree before looking all the way up. This individual is in fact climbing royalty. This isn’t just a reference to his ability. The crown and royal seals on his chalk bag and clothes make it an official title.

Enough talk, climb on!

It was bright and warm, probably close to noon judging by the sun hovering directly above the dot-sized climber on the cliff. At that angle there was no shade and each upward glance was like staring into a furnace. In the face of all this Prince Rockhard of Cliffedge grimaced. Partially due to the glare but mostly because he couldn’t decide his next move.

From here the land below took on a curiously two-dimensional quality; forests and hills blurred into green and brown patches. The only thing that mattered was the rock face just inches away. In the climber’s focused vision, the surface dipped in and curved out, changed texture and tone, each section offering different sections of grip or peril.

Except for his grunts and the jangle of gear, the only noise was the wind sighing past. Occasionally bringing birds in for a closer look before carrying them up over the cliffs on the afternoon thermals.

Right. The decision now made, Rockhard adjusted his crown’s chinstrap and put more weight on the low pinkie jam keeping him on the face. He launched upwards and with only minor twangs and protests from his groin, snared a big toe on the crimp hold by his shoulder.

Right, he thought. The next bit may get tricky. 

‘Sire!’ The Castle Ghost, a former climber who made the transition to spirit some centuries earlier, appeared next to him. 

‘Huh!?’

‘You must come at once my lead! The Holy Hex has been stolen!’

The Prince almost lost his grip and swore as best he could with a quickdraw in his mouth. He’d warned the ghost about his tendency to interrupt climbs at delicate moments, but this was bad. The idea was near unthinkable, the Holy Hex had been a permanent fixture for years. Like the sky, or porridge you forgot to clean out of a pot now set like concrete. 

The ascent abandoned, Rockhard abseiled down as fast as relative safety allowed. At camp he hurriedly stuffed his backpack. Cursing as climbing equipment got caught, tangled or sprang out of different openings, like he was forcing an octopus into a new suit. But by ignoring neatness and using his knee, he finally jammed everything in. After a quick bush bash, trail hike, scrub walk and a discreet stop in the bushes, he arrived home; Castle Rockhard.

As always it stood high off the ground, proudly protruding out of the cliffs like some bizarre growth that incorporated bunting. The castle’s stone took the characteristics of the crags it was attached to. There were deep oranges and reds with slashes and smears of lighter stone, mixed through the rock like the lines of a multi-layer cake. All of which combined to become an enormous work of