long ago, when the stars were eyes

there lived a girl named ella. blog tracking the progression of my novel dragon-slayer. filled with bits of this and that.

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[ellawinesea]

the hornes of baystone

gerald horne <---------> merida longbourne                              |                              v

theo horne ------ hury horne -------- gery horne                                    |                                   v

harlan horne --- edward horne --- godfre horne --- berny horne ---- thon horne

[consul-agrippa]

City Gates by andreasrocha

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[illustrations-blog]

Dragon Forest by simonfetscher

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Desert Winds by Andreas Rocha

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Battlemage by 88grzes

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Fires of the Desert by Aaron Miller

[ellawinesea]

myth #2, the fire-eater

The Fire-eater

Long ago, when the stars were eyes, the desert was black and cold and impassable.  Once it had not been so, for there were elves who raised cities on islands of oases and men who lived in the marshes and the mountains that ringed the desert, but the sands themselves could not be crossed.  The elves in their cities stood alone, and the men of the marshes believed that the world ended at the beginning of the wide salt wastes.  

But to the far west the Windy Sea fell upon the desert shore, and there the waters nourished the thinnest scraps of life.  One day the sea dashed a ship full of men upon this shore, and so Nylishmen came to Einyas.  These men were hungry and frightened and tired.  They had fled their homeland a generation and a day ago, and lived on their ships.  Their children had been born on the water, and on the water their fathers died.  The desert was the first solid earth many of them had ever seen.  

But the desert was not a kind land.  There was little food and little fresh water, and no warmth at all.  The Nylishmen starved, went mad with thirst, and froze in the cold days and cold nights.  The elves in their city-islands could hear the Nylishmen crying out, but they could not cross the desert either.  

The Nylishmen knew that they would all soon die.

"We have no ships," the men said.  "We have no food and no water.  We're going to die here."  

Among these men was a young girl named Nashara.  Her father had been slain upon the sea.  Her mother had died in the birthing bed.  Her siblings had all perished in the cold.  "We can't stay," Nashara said.  "We have to keep going.  This desert can't be the end of the world."

All of the men scoffed and shook their heads.  The cold had driven the girl mad, they said.  No one could cross the desert.  

But Nashara was a brave girl, and she kept the old faith of the Nylishmen, even though it had been many years since any of them cried out to their gods for aid.  "My father taught me how to fight," she declared, "and my mother taught me how to pray.  Give me a spear and an offering for Nyila Fire-eater, and I will go into the desert and bring back light and warmth and water, so that we might live and not die."  

The Nylishmen knew that they had little choice.  "The girl will die out there," they said to each other, "but if she does, it will be one less mouth to feed."  So they gave Nashara a spear and a gnarled old goat, too old to bear young or milk, and sent her out into the desert.

Nashara prayed and walked, and walked and prayed.  She grew from a girl into a young woman as she walked, and as long as she prayed, she was not hungry or thirtsy, not cold or tired.  The desert went on and on.  It was a bleak, dead place, and Nashara knew that a great curse lay on the land.  Something had poisoned this place, poisoned the rocks and the water, the sun and the moon, and great monsters prowled the sands.  

"Nyila Fire-eater," Nashara prayed, "show me the way to save my people.  I brought you a sacrifice.  Tell me when you want it, and it shall be yours."

Not yet, whispered the Fire-eater, in the shifting sands and the moaning wind.  Not yet, my devout, not yet.  

So Nashara kept walking.  As she moved through the sand she cut a path, a stone road that reached from the Windy Sea into the heart of the salt wastes.  She grew from a young woman into a woman grown, and still she did not hunger or thirst, nor freeze or tire, for she kept praying.  

Nyila was not a goddess of Einyas.  Her lands lay far to the west, across the Windy Sea, a land that her people had fled from.  She was not powerful here.  But Nashara's faith sustained her, and finally the woman reached the very heart of the desert, where the bones of a great dragon lay.  Rot and corruption made the dead beast bloated and foul.  Its blood ran in black rivers and polluted all of the water in the desert.  Its bones trapped the wind and turned it sour.  Its jaws were closed, and all of the heat and light and life that had ever existed in the desert was trapped behind its teeth, held close and tight.  

An elvish arrow had pierced its heart.

Murder, Nyila told her faithful, and Nashara cried and prayed, for murder was the worst crime one being could visit on another.  The murder of this dragon had poisoned the desert for all who lived there, and broke the peace at the heart of the world.  

"What can I do to save my people?" Nashara asked.  "I'm just one, and I have no power to bring back the peace."  

You will have my power, Nyila promised.  You must do as I ask.  

"Always," said Nashara, the devout, and Nyila told her what she must do.  Nashara wept bitterly, for it is no one's dream to die, but no goat's blood could undo what had been stolen from the world by the murder of the dragon.  

Nashara freed the old goat, and plunged her spear through her own breast.  

At once there was a great clap of thunder and a great gout of fire.  The elves saw it in their oases and the Nylishmen saw it on the shore; the marshmen saw it in their moors and the stars saw it in the sky.  

Nyila Fire-eater again walked on the earth, brought down by Nashara's sacrifice, and the Fire-eater placed her hands upon the dead dragon's corpse and burned it away.  As she did she burned the poison out of the waters that flowed to her people.  She burned the foulness out of the winds that blew.  She burned the rot out of the desert spirits and the death out of the sands.  She burned the cold out of the desert and she burned the sun back into the sky.  

When she was done burning, the desert was black, but blood and fire had bought peace again, and life, and on the western shores the Nylishmen fell to their knees and cried out for joy.  

"We are saved!" They cried, and followed the stone road into the desert.  Food was scarce still, water scarcer, but the desert was now a thing that could be passed, and so the Nylishmen passed it, until they came to the heart of the desert where fire still blazed.  

Here is the holy place, Nyila told them.  Here is the place where I have lain Nashara's bones.  Here, you will prosper, and your enemies will never find you.  

"Here," the Nylishmen—reachmen, now, for they had traveled from the farthest reaches of the world into this new place—agreed.  They named their new city the City of Fire, and Nyila Fire-eater has dwelled among them ever since, keeping the peace at the heart of the world.

[meditationtemptation]

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wolfzrain:

shadowtruthvitality:

The Eyes of God

Prohodna (Bulgarian) is a karst cave in north central Bulgaria, located in the Iskar Gorge near the village of Karlukovo in Lukovit Municipality, Lovech Province. The cave is known for the two eye-like holes in its ceiling, known as the Eyes of God or Oknata.

[fantasyartwatch]

Dragon Tower by Emmanuel Shiu

[pantherasleo]

Dragon-slayer (Short Fiction #2)

Dragon-slayer

               Ella and her companions had been in the dark for three days.  Captain Lyro had given them a torch, a sack of salt beef, and a horn before he’d sealed them in Nighthawk Peak.  “The torch is for light,” he had said, “the salt beef to eat or to please whatever beasts you might find in the dark, and the horn for if your week passes and you can’t find your way out.  Blow it, and I’ll come find you.”

Blow it, and fail your Trial, Ella Winesea thought, edging ahead of Rasha’s magelight, keeping one hand on the smooth tunnel wall and the other on Storm, her sword.  Their torch had burned out after the first day, and they had lost their salt beef over the side of an ancient tower.  All they had left now was the horn.  Ella was carrying it, the smooth curve of it snug against her side, and she didn’t intend to let Rasha or Galfarin give up and call for help.  

If we get out of here, we’ll be proper Nighthawks, Ella told herself. Hunger and sore feet would mean nothing when Lyro was pinning copper feathers onto her shoulders back in Cinder Valley.  We just have to make it out. 

Keep reading

[fantasyartwatch]

Hunting by Bayard Wu

[ellawinesea]

eagle guards of the cinder valley roost, from commander to newest fledglings 

[fantasy-art-engine-blog]

Ice Kingdom by Nikolai Lebedev

[fantasyartwatch]

The Unexpected by Zihan Chan

[ellawinesea]

family tree for the wineseas, sailors and soliders of baystone

[fantasyartwatch]

What’s Left by Steven Tobiasz